Elin Hilderbrand - The Island

“I think you should call your father and explain your decision in your own words,” Birdie said. “I won’t be able to do it justice.”

“Please?”

Birdie sighed. The hour weighed upon her, as did the reality of No Wedding-all that work for naught!-as did the prospect of speaking to Grant about this catastrophic turn of events. But she mustn’t think of it as a catastrophe. She would think of it as Chess saving herself from a lifetime of unhappiness. A catastrophic event would have been Chess getting married, bearing three children, and then realizing that any one of a hundred other options would have been better than marrying Michael Morgan. You only got one life, and Chess was going to treat hers with thoughtful care.

Birdie was exhausted.

“Let’s talk in the morning, and then talk again after you speak to Michael in person. Then we’ll worry about your father. This thing might reverse itself.”

“No, Birdie, it won’t.”

“Okay, but-”

“Birdie,” Chess said. “Trust me.”

Chess was steadfast in her decision. Michael came home from California exhausted and frantic, willing to do absolutely anything to get Chess to change her mind, but Chess shut him down. She would not marry him in September. She would not marry him at all. Michael Morgan, former King of the World, former Golden Boy, former All-Ivy athlete, and one of Inc. magazine’s Young Entrepreneurs of the Year, was reduced to gravy.

Michael called Birdie early the following evening. It was Sunday, cocktail hour, and Hank Dunlap was in Birdie’s living room with a glass of wine, eating her savory palmiers, listening to Ella Fitzgerald on the stereo. Birdie had invited him over for a springtime supper of roast chicken and asparagus, despite the fact that her world was tumbling down around her. Or not her world, exactly, but the world of people she loved.

When Hank had called Saturday at noon, what Birdie said was, “I find myself in the middle of a startling family crisis.”

And Hank said, “Would you prefer company or space?”

The wonderful thing about dating again at her age was that she was dealing with a partner who was emotionally mature. She could choose either company or space, and Hank would understand. She decided she wanted company. She barely knew Hank Dunlap, but she sensed he would give her a sound perspective. He had been a school headmaster. He had dealt with students, teachers, parents, money, emotions, logistics, and, most likely, dozens of thwarted love affairs. He might be able to help, and if not, he could just sit there and Birdie would feel better for looking upon him.

He had arrived at her door with a bottle of Sancerre, her favorite wine, and she had poured two glasses immediately, pulled the palmiers from the oven, and told Hank the story. My daughter Chess called in the middle of the night with the news that she’d broken her engagement. She gave no reason. She simply isn’t in love with him.

Hank nodded thoughtfully. Birdie had begun to feel slightly embarrassed on Chess’s behalf. Why on earth had she agreed to marry Michael Morgan in the first place if she wasn’t in love with him? Michael had proposed to Chess onstage at a rock concert, which had seemed rash to Birdie, bordering on unseemly, but Chess and Michael had met at a rock concert and he was after some meaningful symmetry. He had thought it through; he had asked Grant for Chess’s hand the week before. Chess hadn’t seemed bothered by the public nature of the proposal, or had seemed bothered only slightly. What she’d said was, How could I say no? But she said this lightly, and what Birdie thought she meant was, Why would I want to say no? Michael and Chess were made for each other.

Hank interrupted Birdie’s thoughts by putting his hands on her waist and pulling her to him. She felt a light-headed rush. She set her wineglass down. Hank kissed her. Instantly, she was aflame.

He stopped and said, “I feel like the guy who is only thinking about sex when we’re supposed to be studying.”

“Sex?” Birdie said. “Studying?”

Hank took off his glasses and started kissing her again.

And then the phone rang. Initially, Birdie ignored it. Nothing was going to tear her away from… but then she realized she had to answer. She pulled back. Hank nodded and put his glasses back on.

“Hello?” she said.

“Mrs. Cousins? It’s Michael Morgan.”

She had told him at least half a dozen times to call her Birdie and he had never complied-his Ivy League sense of decorum stopped him-though now she was glad.

“Oh, Michael,” she said, and Hank repaired to the living room sofa with his wine and the tray of palmiers.

Michael’s voice was shaky, then stronger, then shaky again, with high-pitched, boyish breaks. What did he do wrong? What could he do to change Chess’s mind? It seemed Chess had failed to come up with a convincing argument. She didn’t want to marry him but she didn’t have a reason. He wasn’t buying it.

“It doesn’t make any sense, ” Michael said. “At eight o’clock, everything was fine. She called me on her way to Aureole. She told me she loved me.” He paused, allowing Birdie to express her sympathy with a clucking noise. “Then at ten o’clock her time, I got another text saying she was leaving the restaurant and going out to a bar.”

Birdie said, “I see.”

“Four hours later, she had taken off her ring.” His voice grew stronger, angrier. “Mrs. Cousins, I want to know what happened at that club.”

“Oh, goodness,” Birdie said. “I don’t know what happened.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t say a word about the club. Other than that she left without telling the other girl. She walked all the way back to Sixty-third Street in the middle of the night by herself.”

“Are you sure she was by herself?” Michael said.

“That’s what she told me,” Birdie said. “Why? Do you think there’s someone else?”

“Why else would she break the engagement?” Michael said. “There is no other reason, is there?”

Is there? He was asking Birdie for her opinion. She was torn between wanting to comfort Michael and wanting to fairly represent Chess’s point of view. She was, she realized, being plopped right in the middle of this.

She said, “I can’t speak for Chess, Michael. She told me she doesn’t want to get married. Her feelings have changed. You proposed in a very public way.” This came off as an admonition, and it was: if Michael Morgan had proposed privately, Chess might have answered differently. “Maybe Chess felt like she had to say yes when what she meant was that she wanted to think about it.”

“I proposed six months ago,” Michael said. “She’s had time to think about it.”

“She’s had time to think about it,” Birdie said. “And I know this comes as cold comfort, but having her realize now is much better than having her realize in ten years when you have four kids and a mortgage. This is a perspective that comes with age, and you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

Michael said, “I can’t give up hope. I love her, Mrs. Cousins. I am madly in love with your daughter, and I just can’t turn it off like a faucet. My heart…” Here, he started to sob, and Birdie cringed. The boy was used to getting whatever he wanted, but he couldn’t have Chess. He didn’t know it, but this kind of earthshaking disappointment would be good for him. “My heart is in a thousand pieces.”

“You need to talk some more with Chess,” Birdie said.

“I was just with her for four hours.”

“A little later, maybe. Once she’s had time to reflect.”

“I have to go back to San Francisco,” he said. “I left two candidates for a seven-figure job sitting at the Marriott.”