“If the situation had been reversed,” I say, even though it guts me to consider myself doing anything similar to what he did to me, “I hope you would’ve done the same thing. It would’ve killed me if something that happened between you and me kept me from Gabby’s wedding.”
“I would’ve deserved it, if you hadn’t wanted me to come.” Even though I know from experience that Ethan is quite a good liar, I make the choice to believe him this time.
“I’ve never been vindictive, Ethan.”
“I know that. It’s one of the things I-” He stops himself before he says it. It’s one of the things he loved about me. Loved, past tense. Past tense, like the two of us. And this is the moment when our breakup feels final to me. It wasn’t when he cried, begging me to give him another chance. It wasn’t when I packed all my things into boxes and put them in a cold, empty storage room. Not when he stopped by my mother’s house three days later to return a pair of my earrings that he had found on the dresser. Now. Here. In a hallway in Virginia at our best friends’ wedding.
It’s over. And I’m okay with that.
“Your new girlfriend is pretty.” I’m not really sure what possesses me to say it, but it feels right to be nice to him for some reason, for my own sake.
“I just want you to know, I only brought her with me because I knew I wasn’t welcome with the group. I didn’t want to come here and be alone when I wasn’t hanging with Ben.”
For the first time since our breakup, I feel bad for him. I know that he wants me to extend an offer to him to hang out with all of us, but I can’t do it. It’s not fair to his new girlfriend, Emily, to have to hang out with his ex, and it’s not fair to myself to offer up something that I’m not ready to give. Maybe in time I can be around him, but not now.
“I should go see if I can help Amy with dinner,” I say, ready to make my exit. I can’t stand here and make small talk with him any longer. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah, later.” Ethan offers me a small nod as I walk past him. “You look really good.”
There are a thousand nasty responses I could make, but instead I settle for a simple thank you.
I turn and make my way down the hall. I can’t see Ethan’s face, but I know he’s watching me walk away.
THE WRIGHT home at dinnertime is unlike anything I’m used to. Coming from a single-parent household, dinner usually consisted of me throwing something frozen in the microwave and eating by myself while I finished my homework. Here, everyone is gathered together, engaging in conversation.
There is some familial bickering going on in the dining room just off the kitchen; Ben and Nate’s sister Jessa arrived earlier this afternoon from Philly. She and her father are arguing about how much she should pay for the granite countertops she wants for the kitchen renovation that she and her husband are working on. I like Jessa; she’s boisterous like her mother, and she doesn’t take crap from either one of her brothers. She’s gorgeous too, and at twenty-seven, she’s the oldest of the Wright children.
Here in the kitchen, Amy has given me the task of making garlic bread. Truthfully, I’d do anything she asked me to. I love being around her; she makes me feel like part of her family. The lasagna that she made is bubbling away in the oven, smelling so good that I have to stop myself from walking over there, opening the door, and shoveling handfuls into my mouth while it’s still cooking. I bet the burns would be worth it, that’s how good it smells.
“There’s this park in New York that was built on old train tracks,” Amy says enthusiastically as she fills a pot with water. “It’s so gorgeous and green among the concrete buildings of the city. I think I’m going to take the train up this spring and have a nice, long visit. You should come.” She looks over at Gabby.
I pick up a dollop of butter with my knife and spread it on the bread, trying not to feel so left out because the two of them are on the other side of the kitchen making plans without me. It’s not like I’m a member of this family, so I have no rational reason to be jealous. Still, I am.
“We could make a weekend out of it,” Amy says as she scrubs the pot.
Gabby is busy slicing carrots for the salad. “Yeah, that’d be fun.”
“Callie?”
I look up, expecting Amy to correct my butter-spreading technique, but she’s just staring at me expectantly.
“I’m sorry?” I have no idea what she’s waiting for.
“Would you be up for a girls’ weekend in New York? We could see a show or something.”
I look over at Gabby, who is just smiling down at the salad bowl.
“I’d like that,” I say, unable to stop my ridiculous grin.
“We’d have to go to a spa or something, do it up right,” Amy says, and I can tell that the prospect of this trip is going to fuel her for the next few months. She is definitely the type to put together a whole itinerary on her own, and having someone else plan things for me makes the trip sound all that much more exciting. Amy is so organized that I want to take her aside and ask her if she’d mind taking a look at my life. See if she can put things in order.
Once I’ve finished with the garlic bread, I ask Amy if there’s anything else I can do to help with dinner.
“Nope,” she says, looking over at Gabby with a conspiratorial grin. “Why don’t you go out into the living room and meet Madeline?”
Madeline is Jessa’s daughter, and I just so happen to know that she’s out in the living room playing with her Uncle Nate. The very last thing I need to see in this world is that beautiful man with a small child. Amy and Gabby must know that, and because they’re both evil, evil women, they insist I go out there, grinning all the while.
“You two are about as subtle as an anvil to the head,” I say as I head to the door.
I can hear them giggling behind me as I walk out of the kitchen.
IN THE living room, Nate is sitting cross-legged in front of a child-sized table, which is covered by a pink tablecloth with tiny purple flowers embroidered all over it. A hot pink feather boa is wrapped around his neck. It’s tiny, meant for someone Madeline’s size.
“Pinky up, Uncle Nate!” Madeline says. She sounds exhausted, like she’s told Nate to remember his manners a thousand times before. He complies immediately, gently lifting the tiny purple tea cup from the tiny purple saucer that he’s holding in his right hand.
He sees me standing in the doorway and he smiles. He smiles without a hint of embarrassment, without even reaching to pull off the boa or set down the cup. It’s like he’s living for this little girl’s amusement, and I have to admit that’s so incredibly endearing.
“Mad,” he says, nodding in my direction. “You have a customer.”
Madeline grabs an old notepad from the pocket of the tiny checkered apron that’s tied around her waist, and she rushes over to me.
“Welcome,” she says, pulling a pencil from behind her ear. “How many?”
“Just one,” I reply.
“This way.”
Nate grins as his niece leads me toward him, and I sit cross-legged on the floor, mirroring him.
“Nice boa,” I say.
“My purple one’s at the cleaners,” he replies, tossing it over his shoulder.
“Well, pink looks good on you.”
Nate puts the cup and the saucer down on the table. “You know, I’ve heard that before.” He offers me a sly grin.
“I’ll bet you have.”
Madeline walks up to the table, her oversized pencil at the ready. “Coffee or tea?”
“Tea please.”
She clinks her tiny tea kettle against my tiny cup and pours it to the brim with air.
“Maddie,” Nate says. “This is Miss Callie. Callie, this is my niece Madeline.”
“Hi Miss Callie,” Madeline replies, completely disinterested. Her laser-like focus on her fake cafe operation is so cute, and I can’t help but smile at her even as she snubs me.