Playing with Matches by Hannah Orenstein

Author:Hannah Orenstein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone

The ceremony is formal, and if I were in a better mood, I’d think it’s beautiful. Instead, I want to bolt. Jonathan stands stoically next to Charlie, Toby’s best man, his attention focused on the happy couple. I gaze down the aisle toward the back of the room where Mary-Kate’s other single friends undoubtedly are hating every minute of this sappy nightmare, too. When the ceremony ends, I slip through the crowd and head to the ladies’ room. I just need a second alone to decompress.

The restroom is decked out in white marble. I file into the first stall, flip the toilet lid down, sit down hard, and slump forward with my palms pressed to my cheeks. Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe. My mind spins in circles: the night we first kissed in Paris, the first time he brought me home to his parents, the easy confidence in his smile. And then, the image shifts: Jonathan’s face on Georgie’s phone, Cassidy’s glossy pink lips, Cassidy’s 250,000 fans, cheering her on daily with likes and praise. It’s too much.

I hear the door open and two more sets of heels clack into the ladies’ room and stop in front of the sinks and mirrors.

“You’ll never guess what Carol told me,” one says, voice dripping with gossip. Carol is Jonathan’s aunt.

“About Mary-Kate’s nose?”

“No, she’s very coy. She never confirmed that.”

“Oh. Well, then, what?”

“Did you see that tall bridesmaid?”

I snap to attention. What?

“Which one?”

“Dark hair, busty?”

I’m torn between opening the door and revealing myself, and staying put. I know it’s about to get dishy. I lean my elbows on my knees and listen as intently as possible for whatever’s about to come next.

“That’s Jonathan’s girlfriend. Her mother is apparently some kind of Russian mail-order bride. Picked out of a catalog and everything.”

“No . . .”

“Mhm. Can you believe it?”

Part of me can’t believe that my secret leaked through the Colton family like that. But part of me feels naïve for ever expecting I could keep a lid on it forever. Of course Jonathan told, or Mary-Kate told, or Toby told. Of course that was the thing that would precede me—not that I’m a matchmaker or that I just graduated magna cum laude from NYU. Of course the dirt would travel fastest.

“How trashy,” one of them continues. “I didn’t even know that Jonathan was seeing anybody.”

“Well, obviously they’re not trying to show her off.”

They fall into silence, probably reapplying lipstick or fluffing their hair. It’s all clear now. I don’t belong here. I can try as hard as I want—borrow a dress from the daughter of a would-be congressman, have my face contoured beyond all recognition, sit idly by as Jonathan cheats on me—but I won’t ever be one of them. I’m not thin, I’m not blond, I’m not old money. What’s the point in trying anymore? I stand up, unlock the stall door, and step up to the middle sink between the two women.

“Excuse me,” I say, turning on the faucet and running my hands under the stream.

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