Chương 8
“Eat.”
“We ate.”
“You had coffee.”
“I had half a bagel.”
“That is not a defense.”
She left two frozen burritos on the counter anyway.
Emily stood at the window after she was gone.
A delivery truck blocked the alley below.
The driver argued with somebody from the dental office about where he was allowed to park.
I joined her.
“Do you want to cancel Saturday?”
She did not answer immediately.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s allowed.”
“I hate that answer.”
“It’s still allowed.”
She leaned her forehead against the glass.
“I spent months worrying your family thought I was too sensitive.”
My chest tightened.
“They did.”
She looked at me.
I had not meant to say it that directly.
Some things, once stripped of excuses, became ugly in plain language.
“Not everyone,” I added.
“That almost makes it worse.”
“How?”
“Because the people who didn’t think it stayed quiet.”
I could not argue.
She crossed her arms.
“I kept trying to earn my place with them.”
“You shouldn’t have had to.”
“I know that now.”
The sentence sounded tired rather than triumphant.
I touched the back of her hand.
She turned it over and laced her fingers through mine.
“I still want to marry you in that church,” she said.
“We’re already married.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“I want to walk in with Dad’s old cuff links on your shirt and Rachel crying too early and your grandmother pretending she isn’t crying at all.”
She paused.
“I just don’t want Saturday to feel like I survived your family.”
“It won’t.”
“How do you know?”
I did not.
That was the problem with promises.
I had made too many based on confidence instead of evidence.
“I don’t know yet.”
She studied me.
Then she nodded.
“That’s better.”
At one-fifteen, the bridal shop called.
Nora had begun treatment.
The discoloration was responding.
The silk had not weakened as much as she feared.
There was still staining near the lower hem, but she believed the gown could be wearable if Emily accepted that part of the damaged lace might need replacement.
Emily sat down so quickly the couch cushion sighed beneath her.
“Can she save the original lace?”
I relayed the question.
Nora said she would preserve anything removed and return it separately.
Emily pressed her fingers against her mouth.
“Tell her yes.”
I did.
The estimated cost was now twelve hundred dollars.
Possibly fourteen.
Nora could not guarantee completion until Friday afternoon.
After I hung up, Emily cried.
This time there was relief in it.
She laughed once through the tears.
“I hate weddings.”
“I thought women dreamed about these things.”
She shoved my shoulder.
“Careful.”
“I deserved that.”
She wiped her face.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I wanted one nice day.”
“You can still have one.”
She looked at me.
“One nice day shouldn’t require a textile conservator.”
“That is a strong point.”
By two, her phone had accumulated twenty-three notifications.
She turned it on only because her father was supposed to call.
Instead, Mom’s name appeared three times.
Ashley’s appeared seven.
There were also messages from Aunt Diane, Grandma, two cousins, and an unknown number.
Emily stared at the screen.
Then she handed it to me.
“I don’t want to read them.”
“You want me to?”
“Only if it’s something I need to know.”
I opened the messages.
Mom’s first text was an apology.
The second was an explanation.
The third was a request.
I’m sorry today became such a mess.
Ashley is very upset and feels like everyone has turned against her.
I know what she did was wrong, but removing her from the wedding without giving her a chance to make things right is only going to deepen this.
Please talk to Michael.
I read it twice.
“Anything important?” Emily asked.
“No.”
That was not technically true.
It was important.
Just not useful.
Ashley’s messages were less careful.
The first accused Emily of making me hate my family.
The second said she had never intended to ruin the dress.
The third said chlorine came out of fabric all the time.
The fourth said she would pay for cleaning but not some ridiculous replacement.
The fifth asked why Emily was ignoring her.
The sixth was just three question marks.
The seventh said, Fine, keep playing victim.
I locked the phone.
Emily watched my face.
“What?”
I hesitated.
She held out her hand.
“Give it back.”
“You don’t need to see this.”
“That means I definitely need to see it.”
I gave her the phone.
She read silently.
By the time she reached the final message, her expression had become completely calm.
“That actually helps.”
“How?”
“Because now I’m not confused.”
She placed the phone on the table.
“About what?”
“Whether she’s sorry.”
I sat across from her.
“She isn’t.”
“No.”
Emily looked toward the window.
“She’s sorry something happened to her.”
The simplicity of it made me uncomfortable.
Because I had seen that pattern before.
Ashley’s regret always began at the point where consequences reached her.
At three, Dad called again.
This time I answered.
“Your mother wants everyone here tonight.”
“For what?”
“To talk.”
“No.”
“Mike.”
“No.”
He exhaled sharply.
“We cannot do this through text messages.”
“We don’t have to do it tonight.”
“The wedding is in five days.”
“Which is exactly why Emily doesn’t need a family tribunal.”
“It’s not a tribunal.”
“Who’s going to be there?”
There was a pause.
“Your mother, Ashley, Nathan, Grandma, me.”
“And?”
“Diane.”
I laughed once.
Dad said, “What?”
“Why is Aunt Diane part of this?”
“She was there.”
“So were twelve other people.”
“Your mother talked to her.”
“Of course she did.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not coming.”
Dad’s voice hardened.
“Then what is your plan?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to work until five.”
There was silence.
“Michael.”
“Then I’m taking my wife to dinner.”
“This is serious.”
“I know.”
May you like
“That answer doesn’t sound like it.”
“That’s because I’m done treating every crisis Mom schedules as mandatory.”
