Chương 10
Then she walked out.
I sat alone with the food between us.
That was my mistake.
Not the first.
Probably not the last.
I had spent twenty-four hours trying so hard not to defend my family that I had begun defending myself instead.
The distinction mattered less to Emily than it did to me.
I gave her five minutes.
Then ten.
At twelve, I walked outside.
She was sitting on a low concrete wall near the parking lot.
Cars passed on the road behind her.
She had wrapped both arms around herself.
I stopped a few feet away.
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded once.
I waited.
After a moment, she said, “I know you didn’t create Ashley.”
“No.”
“But you brought me into that house.”
“Yes.”
“And I agreed to go.”
“Yes.”
“So can we stop assigning percentages for one night?”
I sat beside her.
“Okay.”
She looked straight ahead.
“I’m scared.”
The admission surprised me.
“Of Ashley?”
“Of Saturday.”
I did not answer.
“What if everybody comes and spends the whole ceremony thinking I threatened her?”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
“What if your mother believes her?”
I looked down at my hands.
“I don’t know.”
“What if your dad does?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if nobody says anything, but they look at me differently?”
That possibility felt more realistic than shouting or confrontation.
Quiet judgment was how families did damage while preserving manners.
Emily rubbed her palms against her jeans.
“I can handle Ashley hating me.”
She paused.
“I don’t know if I can stand in that church feeling like I’m on trial.”
I looked at her.
“Then we don’t.”
She turned.
“You said you wanted Saturday.”
“I want you more.”
She gave me a tired look.
“That’s almost a speech.”
“Sorry.”
“Almost.”
I smiled slightly.
She did too.
Then the smile vanished.
“I don’t want her lie deciding our wedding either.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because canceling from fear gives the lie power.”
Emily considered that.
“I hate that you’re making sense.”
“It happens occasionally.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
We sat there while traffic moved past us.
A woman came out of the restaurant carrying three takeout bags and spent nearly a minute trying to remember where she parked.
Eventually she found her car two spaces from where she had been standing.
Emily watched her.
“Maybe that’s us.”
“What?”
“Searching an entire parking lot for something right in front of us.”
“What’s right in front of us?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Then that metaphor needs work.”
She elbowed me.
The ordinary humor loosened something.
We went back inside.
Her curry was cold.
Mine was colder.
Neither of us cared.
By the time we returned to Rachel’s apartment, Mom had called five times.
Dad twice.
Nathan once.
Ashley not at all.
That worried me more.
I called Nathan first.
He answered in a whisper.
“They’re still talking.”
“Where are you?”
“Basement.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m apparently twelve.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“What happened?”
“Mom believes parts of it.”
My stomach dropped.
“What parts?”
“She says Emily probably didn’t threaten Ashley exactly the way Ashley described.”
“That is a ridiculous sentence.”
“I know.”
“But?”
“But Mom thinks Emily has been cold to Ashley for weeks.”
“Cold?”
“That’s the word.”
I walked toward the kitchen so Emily would not have to hear every detail.
“What does Dad think?”
“He thinks Ashley’s story doesn’t add up.”
“Grandma?”
Nathan lowered his voice further.
“Grandma called Ashley a liar.”
I stopped.
“She said that?”
“Pretty much.”
“What exactly?”
“She said, ‘I have known you since the day you were born, sweetheart, and you are lying now.’”
I could picture Grandma saying sweetheart in the same tone she used when describing expired milk.
“What happened then?”
“Ashley cried.”
“Of course.”
“Mike.”
“Sorry.”
“She cried a lot.”
I leaned against the counter.
“And then?”
“Mom got mad at Grandma.”
“What did Grandma do?”
“Left.”
I closed my eyes.
“Great.”
“Yeah.”
Nathan hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Ashley says she has texts.”
The words sent a fresh current through me.
“From Emily?”
“She says so.”
“What texts?”
“She showed Mom screenshots.”
“Of what?”
“Messages where Emily supposedly tells her to stay out of the wedding and says nobody wants her there.”
I looked toward the living room.
Emily was taking off her shoes.
“That never happened.”
“I figured.”
“Did you see them?”
“From across the room.”
“Send me a picture.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Can you get one?”
Nathan went quiet.
I immediately heard how I sounded.
“No.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Forget I asked.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not making you spy.”
“Good.”
“Did the screenshots show dates?”
“I couldn’t see.”
“What app?”
“Looked like regular texts.”
Emily appeared in the kitchen doorway.
She knew something else had happened.
I mouthed, screenshots.
Her face went blank.
Nathan continued.
“Mom wants you both to come over.”
“No.”
“I told her you wouldn’t.”
“Thanks.”
“She says refusing makes it look worse.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because there was apparently no action Emily could take that would not be interpreted through somebody else’s suspicion.
“If she comes, she’s dramatic.”
“Yeah.”
“If she stays away, she’s guilty.”
“Pretty much.”
“Tell Mom we’re not coming.”
“I’m done carrying messages.”
“You’re right.”
I caught myself.
“I’ll tell her.”
We hung up.
Emily leaned against the doorframe.
“Fake texts?”
“Supposedly.”
She took out her phone.
“Here.”
“What?”
“My messages with Ashley.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I know.”
She unlocked it anyway.
The thread was short.
Mostly logistics.
What time is rehearsal?
Can I bring Kevin?
Do you know where Mom put the seating cards?
A few exchanges were colder.
One from three weeks earlier caught my attention.
Ashley: Why do you always act like I’m annoying you?
Emily: I don’t always act that way.
Ashley: You do.
Emily: I’m trying to get ready for a wedding.
Ashley: So am I.
May you like
Emily: Then please stop changing things without asking me.
Nothing resembling a threat.
