Maxwell Turner and Claire Dawson request the honor of your presence.
There was a little card inside. RSVP. Number attending: ___.
I put it on the refrigerator under a magnet shaped like a strawberry and stared at it every morning while I made the girls’ lunches.
I didn’t want to go. God, I didn’t want to go.
But Max had already told the girls. Ava was going to be a junior bridesmaid. June was going to be the flower girl. Claire had picked out matching pink dresses for them. June was so excited she wore the dress around the house for three
days straight. She even slept in it.
“I get to throw flowers, Mommy!” she kept telling me. “On the GROUND! On PURPOSE!”
I knew Max would take our daughters to the wedding. And I knew what it would be like. A big fancy party, a hundred and fifty people, and my girls in the middle of it with their dad and his new wife and nobody who was really looking out for them.
June still needed help in the bathroom. Ava still got overwhelmed in big crowds. She’d go quiet and find a corner and not come out.
I didn’t want to leave them there alone.
So I decided I would go too.
The thought of it made me sick.
But I looked at that RSVP card on the refrigerator. Number attending: ___.
And I looked at that text again.
We all know perfectly well you don’t have anyone.
I didn’t
plan to ask Edward.
It just came out. We were eating lunch in the back room of the library on a rainy Thursday in May. He’d brought me half of a turkey sandwich, like always. I was picking at it.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“Max’s wedding is in three weeks.”
“You’re going?”
“I have to. The girls are in it. I’m not leaving them alone with him for a whole day and night.” I took a breath. “He sent me this text.”
I handed Edward my phone.
He read it. His face didn’t change much. But I saw his hand tighten on the phone.
