Chương 2
Dad laughed.
So did I.
Only for a second.
Only because the timing caught me wrong.
I had apologized to Emily afterward.
At least I thought I had.
I had said, “You know how my family is.”
Standing beside the pool with her dress bleeding chlorinated water onto my arms, I finally heard how useless that sentence sounded.
My family was not weather.
They were not gravity.
They made choices.
So did I.
Emily turned toward the house.
“Em.”
“I need to change.”
“You didn’t get wet.”
“I know.”
She walked away anyway.
The sliding door shut softly behind her.
Ashley exhaled.
“See?”
I put the gown across two patio chairs.
“See what?”
“That.”
“What?”
“That whole wounded thing.”
She pressed her lips together and widened her eyes in a cruel imitation of Emily.
“I didn’t even do anything that bad.”
My mother snapped, “That is enough.”
Ashley stopped.
Mom rarely raised her voice at her.
For half a second, my sister looked nine years old.
Then the expression hardened.
“She’s not even technically family yet.”
I looked at her.
My mother looked at me.
She knew before Ashley did.
“What?” Ashley said.
I wiped water from my wrist.
“We got married three weeks ago.”
Nobody spoke.
Even the lawn mower running somewhere beyond the fence seemed suddenly loud.
Nathan was the first one to react.
“What do you mean, married?”
“County courthouse.”
My grandmother sat up straighter.
“You’re already married?”
“Yes.”
Mom’s face changed in stages.
Confusion first.
Then hurt.
Then anger.
“You didn’t tell us?”
“We were going to.”
“When?”
“After Saturday.”
“You let me spend three months planning a wedding when you were already married?”
“The ceremony still matters.”
“To whom?”
“To us.”
Her question struck harder than she probably intended.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Jesus, Michael.”
Ashley laughed.
It was short and ugly.
“Oh, that’s perfect.”
I turned toward her.
“So what you threw in the pool was my wife’s dress.”
The laughter stopped.
Ashley’s mouth remained open for a second.
Then she crossed her arms.
“That doesn’t make it more expensive.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t change what I did.”
“No.”
“So why are you saying it like that?”
“Because you just told her she wasn’t family.”
Ashley’s eyes flicked toward the house.
For the first time since I had come outside, she looked uncertain.
It lasted perhaps two seconds.
Then Mom stepped between us emotionally without moving an inch.
“We need to focus on fixing this instead of making everything worse.”
That was her gift.
Turning consequences into inconveniences.
I picked up the dress.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked.
“To get this rinsed.”
“With what?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Mike, don’t do something stupid.”
I almost laughed.
The sentence had apparently arrived several hours late and landed on the wrong child.
Inside, I found Emily sitting on the edge of our bed in my old gray Ohio State sweatshirt.
She had changed out of the dress she had been wearing, though there had been nothing wrong with it.
Her purse sat on the floor.
Her phone was in her hands, screen dark.
I carried the gown into the bathroom and laid it carefully in the empty tub.
Emily watched me from the doorway.
“Don’t rinse it yet.”
I stopped.
“I was going to use cold water.”
“I know.”
“Is that bad?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither of us knew anything about preserving silk or lace after a swimming-pool disaster.
I had never felt more useless.
“I’ll call the bridal shop.”
“They’re closed.”
“I’ll leave a message.”
She nodded.
I took out my phone, searched for the shop, and called anyway.
The recorded message sounded offensively cheerful.
I left my name, number, and a description of what had happened.
I did not say my sister had done it intentionally.
I could not make myself hear those words aloud yet.
When I hung up, Emily was staring at the gown.
“I should’ve left it at Rachel’s.”
“No.”
“I knew Ashley kept going into that room.”
“You told her not to touch it.”
“I know.”
“I told her too.”
“I know.”
She kept saying that.
Not angrily.
That made it worse.
I sat on the closed toilet lid.
Water dripped from the dress into the tub.
“I’m sorry.”
Emily’s eyes finally met mine.
“For what?”
“For all of it.”
“You didn’t throw it in.”
“No.”
She looked away.
There was another answer sitting between us.
I had laughed at jokes.
I had translated insults into personality.
I had repeatedly asked Emily to be patient with people who had never been asked to be careful with her.
Downstairs, a cabinet closed.
Somebody began running water in the kitchen.
Life continued with irritating normality.
“I don’t want to stay here tonight,” Emily said.
“Okay.”
“I don’t want your mom to come upstairs and explain Ashley to me.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t want anyone paying for another dress and then acting like that fixes it.”
I hesitated.
“Okay.”
She rubbed her thumb along the side of her phone.
“Do you still want Saturday?”
The question caught me so completely that I answered too fast.
“Yes.”
She gave me a tired look.
“I didn’t ask if you want me.”
“I know.”
“Do you still want Saturday?”
I looked toward the bathroom.
The gown lay twisted in the tub, beautiful even ruined.
For months, I had imagined the church full of my relatives.
My grandparents in the second pew.
My father pretending not to cry.
Ashley making some joke before walking down the aisle as one of Emily’s bridesmaids.
That detail suddenly felt obscene.
“I want the ceremony,” I said.
Emily waited.
“But not like this.”
Her shoulders loosened by perhaps half an inch.
It was not forgiveness.
It was simply proof I had given one correct answer.
We packed overnight bags.
Emily called Rachel, her maid of honor, and asked if we could stay at her apartment.
Rachel asked why.
Emily said, “Something happened to the dress.”
May you like
Then she began crying.
Not loudly.
