Page 77 of The Marriage Blunder

I drifted to the window, water glass in hand, and watched the city move below. This was the same view as always—skyscrapers in recession, the Hudson blurring into late-winter haze—but the air inside was different. Not tense, not charged, just alive in the way of people who had chosen to be in the same room with one another.

I made the rounds, topped up drinks, exchanged words with everyone. Jai and Lucas were mid-discussion about something technical—fund structure, maybe, or a merger that neither was allowed to name. Kyue and Jake spoke in low tones about the next phase of the gallery’s expansion. Sam, sensing my approach, looked up from his book and said, “This is even better the second time.”

I smiled. “It’s the only way to read something worth reading.”

He nodded, the movement small but genuine. “You should try The Alexandria Quartet next. It’s messy. You’ll like it.”

I made a note, mentally, to order it later. I would probably forget, but Sam would remind me next time, and that was how we kept track of things.

The elevator opened again, and in walked Delancy, wearing a suit so white it threatened to ignite under the apartment’s lighting, and Alejandro, whose default expression was “formally displeased” but who, in this context, looked almost content.

Delancy did a quick circuit, kissed Sam on both cheeks, shook hands with Lucas and Jake, and then came to stand beside me at the window.

“Nice place,” he said, voice pitched for only me to hear. “How’s the view?”

“Better than it was.”

He smiled, sharp and knowing, and watched the city for a beat. “You did good,” he said, and then, quieter: “Really. You did.”

I did not know how to answer, so I just stood there, letting the silence be what it was.

When Kenneth emerged from the study, the room stilled and recalibrated around him. He wore a light blue shirt, open at the throat, sleeves rolled, and he carried with him the effortless authority of someone who had stopped trying to impress anyone ten years ago.

He went first to Lucas, shook his hand, and said something that made Lucas laugh—a rare, brassy sound that startled Jai, who smiled at it. He poured a drink for Jake, who accepted it, and clinked glasses with Delancy before moving on.

He ended up beside me, at the window, and stood there close enough that our arms touched. He handed me a fresh coffee, the one I liked, exactly as I liked it. I didn’t say thank you, because there was no reason to. The gesture was not an act; it was just a fact.

The evening settled into a pattern—people grouped and regrouped, the conversation rolling over itself in waves. No agenda, no looming crisis, just the kind of gathering that happened when there were no emergencies left to manage. It was unremarkable in every way except that it was happening at all, and I knew the price of that was not zero.

I tracked the room, inventorying interactions the way I did numbers on a ledger. Jake and Jai sat together, the physical ease between them so practiced you could mistake it for boredom if you didn’t know how hard-won it was. Lucas and Kyue split off to the kitchen to argue, quietly, about real estate. Sam and Delancy debated the relative merits of different kinds of chili peppers, with Delancy arguing that anything over 50,000 Scoville units was “just a show.”

I was happy to sit back and let it happen.

It was only when the group eventually migrated to the living room, arrayed around the sofa and the low table, that someone—maybe Sam, maybe Delancy—said, “Jude, you have to tell the story.”

Kenneth, beside me, did not react, but I could tell he was braced for it.

I sat up, coffee in hand, and asked, “Which one?”

“The Vegas story,” said Delancy, with the confidence of a man who had already decided on the answer.

There was a moment of silence, then a low, rolling laughter from the entire room.

I looked at Kenneth, who shrugged, and said, “You should.”

So I did.

I set my coffee on the table, looked at the expectant semicircle of faces, and launched the Vegas story.

“I’ve gotten better at telling it,” I said, “which is not the same as getting better at living through it. For context, there was a bachelor/bachelorette party. There was also a bottle of single malt scotch with a price tag that could have covered my last semester of undergrad. The night was not intended to end in felony, but if you know the people involved, that was always a risk.”

Miles, across the table, nodded. “That’s accurate.”

Sam, beside him, leaned forward, eyes shining with the eager energy of a man who had never set foot in Nevada and wanted to experience it vicariously.

I continued, “The main thing is, at two-thirty in the morning, we decided to walk the strip, which is what you do when you want to make bad decisions on a timeline. Somewhere between the third and fourth casino, Kenneth suggested—logically, calmly—that we could do a practice run at one of the twenty-four-hour wedding chapels. He claimed it would be good reconnaissance.”

Kenneth, next to me, raised an eyebrow. “You were the one who brought up the discount for same-day service.”