The Engagement Party, page 1
THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY
A NOVEL
FINLEY TURNER
To Mom. I miss you.
PROLOGUE
SOME DAYS, WHEN my mind is restless, I revisit the subway platform. Like an animal who leaves home, I always wander back, hungry and with filth clinging to me, searching for comfort. But I find no comfort there. All I find is guilt.
Sometimes I pretend it was all part of a movie and that all it would take is to yell, “Cut!” and turn the camera off. In my head I change the script and wardrobe. I modify the set, just like I do every day for work. But no matter how many times I alter the camera angle or how many times I gut and rewrite, the ending is always the same. My mind won’t allow anything else to happen.
The pulse of chemicals preserves the memories, making them sharper. Making them sting more. In a way, the memories are addicting too.
I know this doesn’t make me special. Everyone has had the dream at least once in their life—the dream where your mind disobeys all logic. Whether you’re trying to run and your legs just aren’t moving, or you’re punching through air like molasses, you’re being betrayed by your mind.
At least some people can conceal that betrayal to those dark hours of sleep while they lie in the safety of their bed.
I, on the other hand, am betrayed ever hour of every day. Asleep or awake. There’s no pattern in the timing.
I simply blink, and there I am.
Screaming on that same subway platform that will never let me leave.
CHAPTER
1
TWO NIGHTS AGO, it finally happened—the moment that I’d been imagining since the day I met him. As I lay in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs and the morning sun cutting through drifting dust like snow, I twisted the ring around my finger.
It still felt foreign on my hand as I caressed the silver band and the sharp cut of the single center stone. I pulled my hand from under the cover and extended it toward the sunlight, watching it spark colors along the white bedding.
“Kass?” Murray’s voice startled me despite the comforting gruff of his sleepy voice. “Do you still like it?
I turned my head to him, taking in the golden-brown glint in his eyes that bled seamlessly into the green. Freckles of the same golden-brown dotted along his prominent nose. It was a bit crooked at the bridge, but I loved that. I suddenly wanted to ask how that happened—there were so many things we didn’t know about each other yet, and the thought of the years to come sent a thrill through me. Would our children have his nose? Would they have his lanky height? We’d decided we wanted two kids, one boy and one girl—as if those were things we could plan.
“I love it,” I said as I reached out to brush aside a piece of his hair. Like his eyes, the sun streaming in laced his hair with gold. Self-conscious of the sleep on my breath, I planted a kiss on his forehead instead of his lips. Although it was now Sunday morning and he’d proposed Friday night, the time in between had been a blur of one continuous celebration. We’d overindulged in champagne and chocolates last night, and while the sugar was wreaking havoc on my temples, I’d never been so happy in my twenty-three years of existence. I’d never been so weightless.
Gone were the worries of deadlines at work—namely, the set design I’d been asked to scrap and rework. No more annoyances with friends or family. This was simply our moment. Our golden hour.
“You look beautiful,” he said, caressing my cheek with his thumb. “Come here,” he murmured as he nuzzled into my neck before pulling me in for a real kiss. The warmth of his lips brought me back to the first kiss we’d had as an engaged couple, after I pulled him up from one knee and responded with one long, high-pitched squeal. He’d had to confirm later that that noise did, in fact, mean yes.
Heat was building in my body, and I threw off the comforter, wrapping my legs around his waist. Murray lay below me, the deep divots above his hip bones leading my eyes downward to his pale, smooth skin that was dotted with freckles and scars, a cipher to the story of his life—so much of which I hadn’t learned yet. He reached for my hips, veins pulsing beneath warm skin.
A series of loud knocks erupted from the door, and my thighs reflexively constricted around him, both of us startled by the noise. A moment of silence passed before a man spoke, his accent unidentifiable. “Courier delivery for Mr. Sedgemont.”
“Oh wow, a courier.” I giggled, unfurling myself from him. “It must be from the Queen herself.”
Murray slid out of bed and pulled a pair of dark gray sweatpants over his boxers before trotting to the door in bare feet.
For Murray’s long legs, it was only four steps, as our Brooklyn studio apartment was just one open room, with a microscopic bathroom the size of a linen closet. Although the apartment was cramped, it was fantastic for nosy people such as myself. I could shamelessly observe everything—no room for secrets.
Which made it even more impressive that Murray hid the ring and his plan from me, I thought with a smile. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Murray was meticulous in everything he did. He was always the one to plan everything, from our grocery shopping to our date-night dinner plans. It helped settle my anxiety, knowing he had everything under control.
He pulled open the door to reveal a man standing there with a large envelope, both his hands gripping the sides, like a nervous host of an award show. His posture was rod straight and unnaturally stiff, and his maroon polo had a white crest embroidered over his left breast, but no company name.
Murray took the envelope from the man, with a thank-you, before shutting the door. He brought the envelope to the bed and plopped down next to me, both of us like children on Christmas at the sight of an unfamiliar delivery.
“Don’t you think that was a little weird?” I asked, slightly amused. “He didn’t have a badge or anything.”
“Outsourcing deliveries, I guess?” he said. “You want to open it?”
“How do you know me so well?” I smiled, taking the envelope from him. Our fingers brushed as I took it from him, sending a jolt of happiness through me. This was my fiancé, I reminded myself, reveling in the thrill of his new title.
I studied the envelope, excited to see what was inside. Murray knew one of my small joys in life was opening mail—there was something about the nostalgia of it. Most of the time the only mail we got was crumpled to-go menus shoved into our tiny mailbox, so this felt special.
I pulled out the contents, revealing thick, expensive paper enclosed with a crimson wax stamp. I ran my finger along it—it appeared to be some sort of crest.
“Oh,” Murray said at the sight of the seal. “Can I have that?”
“Sure,” I said. I watched his face, trying to decipher what he was feeling.
Murray took the envelope from my hand, and instead of carefully prying the stamp away from the card stock, he snapped the wax in half. I winced at the unnecessary fierceness of it. I’d kind of wanted to keep it.
“Mur? What is it?” I asked, eager to see who could possibly still use wax stamps. It was gloriously over the top. The envelope unfolded, revealing an invitation inside, its looped text gilded with gold. He tilted the invitation toward me so we could read it together.
Mr. and Mrs. Phillip Sedgemont Request your presence at the celebration of Mister Murray Sedgemont and Miss Kassandra Baptiste’s engagement Sedgemont Estate Fourteenth of August Six o’clock
“Your parents are throwing us a party? In a week?” I asked, my voice rising an octave. I’d never met a single member of his family. They weren’t a huge part of his life, and he rarely spoke about them. I honestly hadn’t even known his father’s first name until now. And I still didn’t know his mother’s, I thought. I guessed that the old-fashioned tradition of excluding the wife’s name was a hint as to his family’s beliefs.
“Looks like it,” Murray huffed.
I grazed my finger against the edges of a small card that fell out of the invitation. Répondez s’il vous plait, it said, followed with no contact information, as if everyone should already know it. I’d never seen RSVP written out before—another sign that this would be more formal than any party I’d ever been to.
“I didn’t realize you’d even told your family yet,” I said. Murray had made it clear from the beginning that he was no longer close to them and had no desire to be. He’d never told me why, and I’d never found the right time to ask.
“I haven’t,” he murmured. He tossed the invitation on the bed and put on a T-shirt. It looked like a band T-shirt but was so faded and tattered that I couldn’t read the print.
We’d made one call after he proposed. My head had been shimmering with a full bottle of Veuve Clicquot—an extravagance I’d assumed was a gift from Murray’s boss, who was still reveling in the success of the art gallery’s last show. My parents had cheered through the speakerphone, their excitement slightly muffled by what I imagined to be my mom being squeezed tightly by my dad. His hugs were always a bit too enthusiastic—my family were big fans of affection. And being loud.
“Wait, so how could they even plan a party this fast?” My voice hitched with the beginning of a laugh, but it sputtered out.
“They’ve been waiting for this since the day I was born,” he said with a hint of embarrassment.
“Just like me,” I said as a smile spread across my face.
“You cheeseball,” he said. His previous annoyance with his parents disappeared from his face, replaced now with a goofy grin.
“You need to give me a full TED Talk on your
“Well”—he paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek—“they’re rich assholes.”
“Okay, never mind. I’m more nervous now.” I’d gathered that Murray’s family had some money from his stories of private schools and his lack of student debt, but he’d never confirmed it until now.
“We’ll have a good time,” he reassured me. “Their parties are always fun.”
Despite the strangeness of the invitation, a thrill bloomed in my chest. I was excited to celebrate the happiest moment of my life, and although it was nerve-wracking, soon I would be able to meet my future family-in-law. And by the sound of the invitation, we’d get to dress up and drink on someone else’s dime, which was always when the drinks tasted the best.
“Well,” I said, “I guess we’d better get our ducks in a row.”
CHAPTER
2
THE REST OF the week was a flurry of congratulations and frenzied attempts to wrap up projects at work. Murray was much closer to career stability than I was—his recent show at the art gallery had been a huge success, and as of today, nearly every single painting had sold. He was finalizing paperwork at a leisurely pace, but I, on the other hand, felt like I was on the verge of being fired.
The set I’d designed had been approved, but exactly one week into building it, the director wanted to scrap the design and start over with something completely different. There was no way I’d be able to finish the redesign before leaving for North Carolina, so I’d been scrambling all week to placate everyone in charge.
Despite the stress, this is what I’ve always wanted to do, and I knew I had to prove myself. After graduating from NYU, I’d gone straight into set design. I’d worked my way from small community-theater productions to off-Broadway shows, and I was struggling to keep up.
After a long day at work, I finally got back to our apartment at eight o’clock, worn down from being barked at all day, when there was a knock on the door. Murray rose to get it while I, exhausted, yanked my boots off, letting them fall onto the floor with a thump.
I immediately sparked back to life at the sight of my best friend, Zoey, as she burst through the door with a bottle of red wine and package of Oreos.
“For the future bride and groom!” she yelled as she set the gifts down. She yanked me up for a hug, squeezing the air out of my lungs. This was the first time I’d seen her since the proposal, and this meant more to me than all the congratulatory direct messages on social media combined. For all I cared, I could never receive another DM in my life if it meant I had Zoey’s approval.
“So how did it go? I want to know every detail,” Zoey begged me as she nestled into an armchair.
“You tell it,” I told Murray. “I want to hear it from your perspective.”
“We started with dinner. She had no idea the entire time—it was hilarious,” Murray said.
“I was so clueless. And I spilled red wine all down my top. Absolutely mortifying. I was so confused when he insisted we come back to the apartment to change,” I said quickly, my heart racing just thinking about it all.
“Then I took her to the gallery. All the lights were off, and there were candles everywhere.”
“Fake candles, obviously,” I interjected, thinking about how the soft gold light had flickered across the art.
“Of course—can’t burn the place down or I’d be unemployed. And then I got down on one knee, and she immediately let out this little squeak. It was the best noise I’ve ever heard. So then, before I even said anything, we both start crying. Even after I asked her, she kept squeaking, and I had to ask her if she was saying yes.” We all laughed, but I had to blot away tears at the memory.
“So what did you say to her? How did you phrase it?” Zoey asked.
“Well, I started by telling her how much she means to me.” His voice cracked, and he struggled to continue.
I chimed in, knowing how much he hated talking while on the verge of tears. “He said that even though we’ve only been together for a short period of time, he’s never been happier. And that he didn’t want to waste another day when we both knew we would be together for the rest of our lives.” Murray reached over and wiped a tear away from my cheek.
“Aw, Murray. I had no idea how cheesy you were.” Zoey laughed, blotting away tears from her own eyes.
The three of us continued talking while we ripped through the wine and package of cookies. Eventually the topic veered toward our trip to North Carolina.
“So, get this. We’re leaving tomorrow for North Carolina. His family is throwing us a surprise engagement party,” I said as I showed her the invitation.
She took it in her hands and placed it on her palm, feeling the weight of the paper. “This is fancy as hell. Murray, you got some sort of secret family money you want to tell us about?”
Murray laughed. “Y’all are crazy,” he mumbled with a smile as he took the empty wine bottle to the recycling. I wondered if he’d ignored her question on purpose. Was he keeping it a secret on purpose, or was it insignificant because he wasn’t close to them?
“Y’all!” Zoey howled with laughter. “His Southern roots are already coming out, and you haven’t even gotten there. So, are you nervous?”
“Absolutely terrified,” I said. Murray came behind the couch and squeezed both my shoulders.
“It’ll be fine,” he said as he kneaded his thumbs into my tense muscles.
“Yeah, it’s normal to be nervous, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Once they see you two together, it’ll be obvious this is a good thing. I mean, have you two ever even had a fight?”
I tilted my head back and looked at him, his smiling face distorted from the upside-down view. I looked back at Zoey. “Not really. It’s just … easy.”
“Well, cheers to you, because I sure as hell don’t know what that’s like.”
Murray planted a kiss on the top of my head. I was telling the truth—our relationship was easy. And if his family was anything like him, we would get along just fine.
CHAPTER
3
“WHAT DO YOU think about this one?” I said, holding up a canary-yellow, floor-length dress. It was one of my favorites—a steal from an online sale—and I’d worn it to an embarrassing number of summer weddings.
“I love that one on you,” he said, glancing up from his laptop perched on the kitchen counter. “I think it’s perfect.” He smiled sweetly and returned his gaze to his laptop.
Although we were still buzzing from our engagement, bills had to be paid, and vacation time had to be requested and approved. Murray’s parents had included an equally extravagant insert in the invitation, requesting that we arrive at their house next Thursday for dinner so they could get to know me before the party. The presumptuousness of it raised my hackles—them thinking we would be able to drop everything to come visit—but I also enjoyed knowing how much they wanted to meet me.
Murray had made a quick call to them after the initial shock of the invitation wore off, stepping outside where I could no longer see his rigid muscles nor hear the tension in his throat. I wondered what was said—there was a hesitant thickness to the air, like Murray had tried to make an excuse not to go, but was left with no choice but to go along with it.
Murray’s soft smile faded as he furrowed his brow at our online rent portal. He picked up his phone with a shaky hand, likely checking his bank account to make sure he could cover his half. We’d been living in New York City for years—albeit separately until two months ago—and rent always arrived like an icy slap to the face.
Some of our friends had urged us not to move in together so quickly—only two months after we started dating—but when confronted with the fact that splitting rent and other bills meant I could afford to replace the warped and pitiful bike I used to get around for a model that could actually steer straight, their arguments quickly deflated.
My mother had described our relationship as a “whirlwind romance,” and she was right. We’d met briefly as students at New York University but didn’t meet again until years later, when we’d bumped into each other at a bar, our eyes locking instantaneously as I walked inside. We’d spent the whole night talking, and now, four months later, here I was with a ring on my hand. I tried to remind them that plenty of people had long engagements these days, so it’s not like we were going to be walking down the aisle next week.
