Chương 7
Logan glanced toward our father again.
“I’ve never asked.”
“Start.”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Vanessa came over carrying my purse.
“You left this by the pantry.”
“Thanks.”
She handed it to me.
Her fingers stayed on the strap for an extra second.
“I’m mad at you.”
I stared at her.
“That’s efficient.”
“I’m serious.”
“I can tell.”
“You got engaged nine days ago and didn’t call me.”
“How do you know it was nine days?”
Her eyes shifted toward Alexander.
“He told me.”
I turned.
He was still talking to Sophie.
Traitor.
Vanessa released the purse.
“I would have wanted to know.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
The answer was uglier than anything I had said to my mother.
“Because I didn’t want you to make it about you.”
Vanessa flinched.
I immediately regretted it.
“That was mean.”
“It was also apparently what you think.”
“I’m sorry.”
She folded her arms.
“You know, I didn’t choose to be the favorite.”
“No.”
“But you punish me for it anyway.”
I looked down.
She was right enough to make me angry.
“I don’t punish you.”
“You disappear.”
“That’s not punishment.”
“It feels like it.”
For a moment, we stood between the dining table and the kitchen doorway while relatives pretended not to watch.
Vanessa lowered her voice.
“When Sophie was born, I sent you the announcement because I thought you were working.”
“You posted it first.”
“I posted it because Mark’s mother had already posted a picture of me looking like a hostage in a hospital gown.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Vanessa smiled faintly.
“Not my best angle.”
Then her smile disappeared.
“I should have called.”
“Yes.”
“And you should have called me about this.”
“Yes.”
That was harder to say.
She held out her hand.
I thought she wanted the purse back.
Instead, she touched the ring.
“It’s annoyingly beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
Her eyes filled slightly.
She blinked it away before anyone else could notice.
“Are you happy?”
I looked toward Alexander.
He had crouched beside Sophie’s chair because she was explaining, with great urgency, why triceratops were unfairly underrated.
“Yes.”
Vanessa nodded.
“Good.”
Then she hugged me.
Not elegantly.
My purse got trapped between us, and the buckle pressed painfully into my ribs.
I hugged her anyway.
When we separated, my father was standing near the head of the table.
He did not approach.
That hurt too.
Every emotion tonight seemed to arrive with its opposite attached.
I walked toward Alexander.
Sophie looked up.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t eat dessert.”
“I’ll survive.”
She considered this.
“There’s pumpkin pie in a container.”
Vanessa called, “That was supposed to be for tomorrow.”
Sophie ignored her.
“You should take it.”
Alexander stood.
“That sounds like an excellent idea.”
My mother appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“I’ll pack some.”
“No, Mom.”
The words came out automatically.
She stopped.
I softened my voice.
“We’re fine.”
She nodded once.
Alexander put on his coat.
My father finally came toward us.
He extended his hand again.
This time Alexander took it immediately.
“Good night, Richard.”
“Good night.”
My father glanced at me.
“Emma.”
“Dad.”
He looked as though he wanted to say something.
He did not.
Alexander opened the front door.
Cold air slipped into the foyer.
The rain had slowed to a mist.
I stepped outside beside him.
We walked down the front steps without anyone following.
A black sedan waited at the curb.
The driver opened the rear door.
Alexander did not get in.
He turned to me beneath the porch light.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I frowned.
“That’s a strange response.”
“I’d be concerned if you were okay after that.”
I looked back at the house.
Through the dining-room windows, I could see silhouettes moving around the table.
Nobody looked triumphant.
Nobody looked destroyed.
They simply looked like my family, cleaning up after a difficult Thanksgiving.
“I thought leaving would feel better.”
Alexander put his hands in his coat pockets.
“Do you want to go back?”
“No.”
“Then maybe it doesn’t need to feel good.”
I looked at him.
“That sounded like your therapist again.”
“It cost me at least eight hundred dollars to learn that one.”
I laughed.
Then, without warning, I started crying.
Alexander moved before I could turn away.
He wrapped both arms around me and pulled me against his chest while I stood on my parents’ front walk crying like someone who had just survived a funeral nobody else knew had happened.
I pressed my face into his coat.
It smelled faintly of rain and cedar.
“I hate this,” I said.
“I know.”
“I hate that I care.”
“I know.”
“I hate that I wanted Dad to stop me.”
His hand moved slowly over my back.
“He almost did.”
“That’s worse.”
“Probably.”
I laughed into his coat and cried harder.
The driver looked discreetly toward the street.
A porch light came on at the house across from my parents’.
Alexander shifted so his body blocked me from view.
That small kindness made something inside me crack again.
“I thought tonight was going to be ridiculous,” I said.
“It was ridiculous.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
I wiped my face with the heel of my hand.
Alexander reached into his pocket and handed me a handkerchief.
I stared at it.
“You actually carry these?”
“My grandfather believed tissues were evidence of social decline.”
“That explains so much about you.”
“Take the handkerchief.”
I did.
It was absurdly soft.
I blew my nose into what was probably expensive linen.
Alexander looked pleased.
“There.”
“I ruined it.”
“It has fulfilled its purpose.”
“You sound eighty.”
“I was raised by men who wore cuff links to breakfast.”
I leaned against him for another minute.
Then the front door opened behind us.
I stiffened.
Logan came down the steps carrying a plastic food container.
He stopped when he saw my face.
“Wow.”
“Go away.”
“I brought pie.”
May you like
“That does not redeem you.”
“It’s not for redemption.”
