Chương 6
Claire had rehearsed her apology for two hours.
She abandoned it the moment she saw the bandage.
“I hurt you.”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I believe you.”
Claire had expected more.
When nothing came, she continued.
“I was angry about things that had nothing to do with you. That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No.”
“I thought you had ruined my dress.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t excuse it either.”
“No.”
Claire swallowed.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Margaret shifted in her chair.
“My wrist hurts.”
Claire blinked.
“What?”
“You asked what I want you to say. I don’t particularly want you to say anything.”
Claire’s face warmed.
Margaret looked at Ethan.
He remained by the window.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said again.
“I know.”
“Do you forgive me?”
Ethan looked sharply at Claire.
Margaret did not.
“No.”
The word was soft.
Claire’s throat tightened.
“I might,” Margaret added. “Eventually.”
Claire nodded.
“That’s fair.”
“I’m not trying to be fair.”
Margaret examined the bandage.
“I’m trying to be honest.”
Another silence.
Then Margaret said, “I also owe you an apology.”
Claire stared.
Ethan straightened.
“Mom.”
“I arrived at your wedding under false pretenses.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Margaret looked at Claire.
“I wanted to observe you before you knew who I was.”
“So it was a test.”
“No.”
“What was it?”
Margaret considered.
“Cowardice, maybe.”
Claire had not expected that.
“I was intimidated by you,” Margaret said. “I’d seen photographs. Heard stories. Ethan loves you very much.”
Claire glanced toward him.
He looked away.
“I wanted you to like me before you had a reason to be polite.”
“So you pretended to be a server.”
“When you say it that way, it sounds especially stupid.”
“It is especially stupid.”
Margaret laughed.
Claire did too.
Then stopped, uncertain whether she was allowed.
Margaret noticed.
“You can laugh.”
Claire rubbed her hands together.
“I don’t know what I’m allowed to do around you now.”
“Good.”
Ethan looked at his mother.
Margaret shrugged.
“She should be uncomfortable.”
Claire nodded.
“I should.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Don’t agree with everything I say.”
“What?”
“You’re doing that thing people do when they want forgiveness.”
Claire almost argued.
Then realized Margaret was right.
“I don’t think what you did was fair.”
“Better.”
“You watched me without telling me who you were.”
“Yes.”
“That feels manipulative.”
“It probably was.”
“And Ethan should have introduced us months ago.”
Margaret looked at her son.
“He should have.”
Ethan sighed.
“Great.”
For the first time since the terrace, the three of them occupied the same problem rather than separate versions of it.
It did not fix anything.
It made fixing something possible.
The lodge incident might have remained private if not for a nineteen-year-old cousin named Owen.
Owen had filmed part of it.
Not because he expected violence.
He had been recording snow falling behind the champagne table for his girlfriend, who had missed the wedding because of an exam.
His video began three seconds before Claire kicked the tray.
By Sunday afternoon, he had shown it to two cousins.
By Sunday night, someone had copied it.
Monday morning, Claire woke in Chicago to seventeen missed calls from her business partner.
The video was online.
She watched it once.
That was enough.
The clip was twelve seconds long.
It showed Claire kicking the tray.
It showed Margaret stumbling.
It showed the shove.
It did not show Ethan arriving.
It did not explain who Margaret was.
The caption did.
BRIDE SHOVES GROOM’S ELDERLY MOM AT LUXURY WEDDING.
Claire sat on the edge of the bed in the apartment she and Ethan had shared for eighteen months.
He had gone to stay with a friend.
Her phone vibrated again.
Her business partner.
This time she answered.
“Hi, Rachel.”
“Tell me that’s edited.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“It isn’t.”
Silence.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“You shoved her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There isn’t a good answer.”
“I didn’t ask for a good answer.”
Claire looked at the kitchen.
Ethan’s coffee mug sat beside the sink.
He always forgot to put it in the dishwasher.
She had complained about it at least fifty times.
Now she wanted the mug to stay there forever.
“I lost my temper.”
Rachel exhaled.
“We have a problem.”
Claire almost laughed.
Of course that was the phrase.
Her entire career was built around solving problems before they became visible.
She was a senior partner at a boutique brand consultancy whose clients paid obscene amounts of money for advice on trust.
By noon, one client had postponed a presentation.
By three, another asked whether Claire could be removed from an upcoming campaign.
Rachel called again.
“We need a statement.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I’m not putting out some apology written by lawyers.”
“We don’t have lawyers writing it.”
“Then PR.”
“We are PR-adjacent.”
“You know what I mean.”
Rachel went quiet.
“What do you want to do?”
Claire looked at the video frozen on her laptop.
Her own face disgusted her.
Not because it looked monstrous.
Because it looked familiar.
She recognized that expression.
She had worn it in restaurants.
At airports.
In conference rooms.
Never while shoving someone.
But the face was the same.
“I want to call Margaret.”
“Before we make a statement?”
“Yes.”
“Is she willing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
Margaret answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Margaret, it’s Claire.”
“I know.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“I’m watching a man try to fix my dishwasher.”
Claire blinked.
“Oh.”
“He has been here forty minutes and has said ‘interesting’ six times, which I don’t think is promising.”
Claire smiled despite herself.
“I can call later.”
“No. What happened?”
“The video is online.”
“I know.”
Claire’s smile disappeared.
“You saw it?”
“My sister sent it to me at six this morning with eleven exclamation points.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For my sister?”
“For everything.”
Margaret was quiet.
Claire stared at Ethan’s coffee mug.
“My company wants me to make a public statement.”
May you like
“I see.”
“I wanted to ask you first.”
