Southern Charm (35 page)

I took a deep breath. For all I knew, she was one of the people making those terrible comments on Social Roster. She had a lot of time on her hands and an unhealthy obsession with other people's business. She'd made comments to my mother on several occasions that I was “shaming” the family up in New York, “running around town” and drawing attention to myself. She wasn't the only person in Charleston, of course, who shared that opinion, but she was certainly the most vocal. I was sure she was thoroughly enjoying the fact that Tripp and I were over.

I made eye contact with Scarlett, who shook her head and winked at me in an attempt to brush off the attack.

Darby turned to me and rolled her eyes.

“So you'll be coming back to us, then, dear?” Farleigh turned her attention back to me.

“I'm sorry?”

“Coming back to us. You'll be moving back to Charleston, I imagine? It's the civilized thing to do.”

As if fragile little ol' me couldn't handle the big bad city.

“Actually, I'm just planning on staying here for a few days, Farleigh, and it's wonderful,” I said. “But New York is my home now.”

The entire table grew quiet, even Darby, who cocked her head to the left, scrunched up her face, and took a huge gulp of her Tom Collins. Why was that so surprising? I was tired of people treating my time in New York like it was a flight of fancy. I finished off my champagne and ordered another.

“I think Farleigh here is just saying, baby,” my father interjected, reaching across the table and patting my arm, “you might want to think about your options in light of everything that's going on.” His tone was soothing, borderline patronizing. “You just might want to think about . . . what do you really have keeping you there now?”

All right, that was it. Now I was mad.

In the meantime, my mother had started up a side conversation with the waiter about the dinner specials. When she was finished and the waiter walked away, she turned back to the table and rested her eyes on me.

“Well, that's said and done,” she said, letting out a big sigh. Another one of her famous segues, I thought. “Shall we move on and have a little toast to Gharland Senior's seventy-fifth birthday? No use in getting ourselves in a tizzy over a little canceled wedding, now. After all, there are other grooms in the sea.”

We all raised our glasses.

“To everything your mother just said,” my father said.

“To everything Scarlett just said,” we repeated.

The evening carried on rather civilly from that point on. By the
time we got around to dessert, my grandfather was singing Johnny Cash songs and my father was adding a bit of percussion with his fork and knife. As my father signed the tab, Darby and I looked at each other and decided to make our exit.

“Mints and I are going to walk home,” Darby announced. “Get some fresh air, you know.”

“Is that what they're calling cigarettes these days, Darby?” my mother asked.

Darby scowled.

We each gave Grandfather and Gram a hug and said our good-byes to the rest of the table. Scarlett looked peeved, as if we were up to no good, when the reality was we really were just walking home.

“Want to head over to the gazebo?” Darby asked. “It's en route. We can cut through the seventeenth hole.”

“Sure,” I said, pulling my cardigan tighter around my body. I'd forgotten how the temperature dipped at night in the springtime. Funny, though, in New York I'd probably have been wearing a full-length coat, gloves, and a hat. As we were making our way onto the green, I got an e-mail from Kevin. He said he'd “gotten wind” of the “scene at Cipriani” and wanted to see if I was all right.

“Oh great,” I said.

“What's going on?” Darby asked.

“Word is out about what happened at Cipriani.” I closed my eyes. “I can only imagine what kind of story ‘Page Six' is drumming up right now.”

For a minute I felt like I might have another breakdown. Then I read the rest of Kevin's e-mail. He said he thought my bag sketches were “phenomenal” and that the design team was “eager” to meet with me to get started on production. Could we set up some time as early as this coming Monday?

I closed out of my BlackBerry. I was needed back in New York.

Darby put her arm around me.

“Is everything okay?”

I looked back at her and smiled.

“Yes,” I said. “Everything is
going
to be okay.”

Make an Entrance

I
had a career now. Pretty much my
dream
career. I had a life too, even if that didn't necessarily include Tripp. And it was all north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

So I did what any self-respecting southern belle would do. After some rest and relaxation, I picked myself up, brushed myself off, and sprang for a first-class flight back to New York. The flight was less than two hours. Typically, I was happy to fly coach on such a short trip. But now was not a time for frugality. I deserved the legroom and the free champagne. I owed it to myself.

New York is one of the most magical cities in the world for many reasons, but the view from an incoming plane is, by far, my favorite reason. I'd been visiting the city since I was eight years old, but it still impressed me every time. It was like each structure had fought for its place in the terrain. For a newcomer to stake a claim, you had to knock something down and rebuild. I guess it was my turn to rebuild.

“Hot towel?” the stewardess asked.

I had my forehead pressed to the window, staring out as we circled over the island. I thought I spotted my building for a moment and I surprised myself by feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. I was dreading
the experience of walking through my front door. But stronger than that feeling of trepidation was a feeling of . . . home.

“Hmmm?” I jumped, turning around. “Oh yes, thank you.”

I took the towel and held it over my face and let it sink in. When I pulled the towel away, I felt fresher, ready to face the Delta terminal and all that lay beyond.

As I walked off the plane and toward the baggage claim, where my driver was waiting for me, I knew the first thing I had to deal with was Tripp. I called him as I made my way down the escalator. He picked up on the second ring.

“Meet me at my apartment in about an hour,” I said before he could get a word in edgewise.

“Minty, I—”

“I'll see you soon, Tripp,” I said. I hung up.

I
t only took about forty minutes to get from LaGuardia Airport to my doorstep, which was record time. There was something quiet about the city that Sunday. The temperature had started to rise, and at five o'clock the sun was still high enough in the sky that people walking the streets needed sunglasses. I noticed a new energy in the way they walked. There was more smiling, more stopping on a street corner to chat. Some people weren't even wearing jackets. It was like New York had been hosed down and polished while I was away. I guess sometimes it takes a long winter to appreciate the benefits of spring. Living in constant tank-top weather had its merits, but there's something to be said for those first few days of spring in New York, when it's pretty clear that winter is gone for good.

I opened my door, thankful for the few extra minutes I had to compose myself before Tripp arrived. Before everything happened, I'd started to accept the concept that my apartment was no longer the place I would call home. And now I'd come full circle.

Since I'd escaped to Charleston, Spencer, Emily, and even May had reached out in one way or another to show their support, which was nice. Emily sent a sweet e-mail saying she hoped I was doing
okay and if I needed anything to let her know. Spencer informed me in a voice mail that there had been a few mentions in the press about what happened at Cipriani, but he didn't seem too concerned about it. May sent a BBM that said, simply,
Let me know when you're back in New York.

The doorman announced Tripp's arrival just as I was finishing freshening up. I had already taken my engagement ring out of my purse and had placed it on the sink as I dabbed concealer under my eyes and fluffed my hair with a little dry shampoo. It sat there next to the soap dish like an afterthought. It wasn't part of me anymore.

Tripp walked into the apartment with his head hung low. He didn't look as homeless and bereft as I had hoped. There wasn't even a sign of stubble, no stray stains on his khakis. All I kept thinking was, Do not let him charm you, he's already made too many excuses.

We sat down in the living room on either end of the sofa. I hadn't felt this much adrenaline surge through my veins since my last tennis match in college.

“We'll start off with this,” I said, placing the engagement ring on the cushion next to his leg. A facet was hit by the light coming from the lamp on the side table and sparkled. He glanced at it and gawked.

“Minty.”

I took a deep breath. “You were always the one guy I daydreamed about, Tripp. I romanticized you, all of these years. And then when you came back into my life, I was willing to do anything to make it work.” I shook my head. “I mean, Jesus, I got married to you in a courtroom!”

He stared at me.

“I was willing to put up with a lot. Looking back, I put up with a lot more than I ever should have. And even after all of the humiliation, the fact that I had to crawl under a table at Cipriani on my hands and knees, I have to say, it's the dishonesty that got me in the end. Regardless of what you've done, who you've done it with, the fact that you've lied to my face about it makes it a million times worse.”

Tripp sighed. “I can see why it might be hard to trust me,” he began. “I know what you think you overheard at Cipriani, and yes,
there was a girl in London but we, we just had a drink!” He gulped and looked around the room. “If you were there you would see there was nothing to it.”

“I just can't give you the benefit of the doubt anymore, Tripp,” I said. “And I wish I could. I've always wanted to trust you because I love you, but I'm done doing that now. I just can't. I'm done.”

Tripp looked at the ground.

“I get it, Minty,” he said, gulping. “And all I can say is I'm sorry things turned out this way.”

For some reason, that last part really hit home. My entire face flushed with a mix of anger and disappointment.

“I'm glad you're sorry.” I gulped. “You should be.”

Tripp tried to get me to keep the engagement ring, which made me so angry that I almost threw it out the window.

“I need you to get out now,” I said, hoping that he'd leave before the tears I was holding back started to flow.

“Fine,” he said, standing up from the sofa and depositing the ring into his pocket. “I wish you wouldn't do this, but you're the boss.”

Finally, I thought to myself. As I closed the door behind him, the tears started to fall.

T
here's a saying that March “comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.” I tried to keep this in mind in the weeks following the breakup. Because not having Tripp in my life was definitely an adjustment, to say the least, but things could only get better, right?