I didn’t know what to say to that. I just took the peonies and put them in a glass of water on the counter.
“Peonies,” I said. “You remembered.”
“Measure twice, cut once,” said Edward.
On the drive there, I was so nervous I couldn’t stop talking.
I talked about the girls. About Max’s mother, Linda, who’d always looked at me like I’d tracked mud on her carpet. About Max’s best friend, Derek, who’d said at our wedding that he gave us five years. About Claire’s whole family, who I’d never met. About how many people would be there. About what I’d say if somebody asked how I was.
Edward drove and listened and didn’t say much.
At a red light, he reached over and put his hand on mine. Just for a second.
“Hannah,” he said. “Breathe.”
I breathed.
“Whatever happens in there,” he said, “you’re walking out with your girls. And me. That’s all that matters.”
“What if he says something?”
“He’s going to say something,” Edward said calmly. “That’s who he is.”
“And what do I do?”
The light turned green. Edward took his hand back and put it on the wheel.
“You let
me worry about that,” he said.
I looked at him. He was staring straight ahead at the road with a very small smile I’d never seen before.
“Edward,” I said. “What’s in the trunk?”
“What makes you think there’s something in the trunk?”
“You put something in the trunk. When you picked me up. A big box. I saw you.”
“Wedding gift,” he said.
“What kind of wedding gift?”
“The thoughtful kind,” said Edward.
He wouldn’t tell me anything else.
The ceremony was beautiful. I’ll give them that.
White chairs on the lawn. A wooden arch covered in white roses. The string quartet playing something classical. A hundred and fifty guests in their summer best, fanning themselves with the programs.
Edward and I sat near the back.
When June came down the aisle, throwing rose petals with both hands like she was trying to fight them, half the guests laughed.
