She hugged me.
“But we wanted you here.”
Then somebody called her from the reception, and she ran back.
I stayed crouched for another second.
When I stood, Edward was still waiting.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“You should be.”
“I’m still mad at you.”
Before I could answer, Max approached.
He had left the trousers on the table.
His smugness had returned.
Max looked at Edward.
Then at me.
“You’re marrying Claire,” I said. “You got what you wanted. Why do you still need me to be undesirable?”
His smugness had returned.
He didn’t answer.
Claire had followed him.
She stood several feet behind us.
Max glanced at her.
“She’s twisting this.”
Claire looked at me.
Then at him.
“You told me she stopped trying.”
“She’s twisting this.”
Max frowned.
“She did.”
Claire’s eyes stayed on him.
“That’s not what I just heard.”
Max wasn’t smiling anymore.
And for the first time since he’d packed those suitcases, I wasn’t waiting for him to tell me what that meant about me.
“That’s not what I just heard.”
***
Back inside the reception, Edward picked up the trousers and started folding them into the box.
“What are you doing with those?” I asked.
“Taking them to the donation center.”
I looked at them once more.
“Good.”
“Taking them to the donation center.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m still mad at you,” I said.
“Fair.”
“You owe me.”
“Also fair.”
“Start by getting those pants out of my ex-husband’s wedding.”
“You owe me.”
Edward lifted the box.
“Best fake date you’ve ever had.”
“Only fake date I’ve ever had.”
“Still undefeated.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Only fake date I’ve ever had.”
I gathered the girls soon afterward. My youngest had somehow doubled the amount of frosting on her dress.
As we reached the exit, Max called my name.
“So what happens with you and Edward?”
I turned.
Even now, he wanted an answer.
“So what happens with you and Edward?”
If Edward wanted me, Max could measure that.
If Edward didn’t, he could measure that too.
“You really need to know, don’t you?”
Max opened his mouth.
I kept walking.
If Edward wanted me, Max could measure that.
Outside, my older daughter stopped beside the car and smoothed both hands over her dress.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Does this make me look weird?”
The question was casual.
That made it worse.
“Does this make me look weird?”
I could have told her she looked beautiful.
Instead, I asked, “Do you like your dress?”
She looked down at herself.
Then she turned once, making the skirt swing around her knees.
“Yeah.”
“Do you like your dress?”
“Then I like that answer.”
She smiled and climbed into the car.
Her little sister followed, leaving a frosting handprint on the door.
“I look sticky.”
I laughed.
“You definitely do.”
“Then I like that answer.”
After buckling her in, I walked around to the driver’s side.
My reflection waited in the dark car window.
For a second, Max’s voice returned.
“When was the last time you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”
So I looked.
For a second, Max’s voice returned.
I didn’t inspect my waist.
Didn’t turn sideways.
Didn’t wonder what Max would see or whether Edward would approve.
I simply looked.
“Mom!” my three-year-old yelled from inside. “Go!”
I opened the door and got in.
I didn’t inspect my waist. Didn’t turn sideways.
