Chapter 4 - THE STORY MY SISTER HAD BEEN TOLD
I read Talia's message twice.
Then I read it aloud.
My mother reached for the phone.
"She's confused."
I pulled it away.
"Then explain what she means."
"Your sister is frightened and looking for someone else to blame."
Dad looked at her.
"Celeste, stop."
Mom's mouth tightened.
She had spent most of my life being the person who explained everybody else's behavior. Now she seemed unable to understand why I wanted her to explain her own.
I called Talia.
She answered immediately.
For several seconds, all I could hear was breathing.
"Are you alone?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Tell me what you meant."
Talia began crying.
Not the loud, helpless crying I remembered from her teenage years. This was quieter, almost embarrassed.
"Mom told me you and Bennett were having problems."
"We were planning a wedding."
"She said you were barely speaking."
"We discussed table arrangements, work schedules, and whether we should invite your ex-boyfriend. That isn't the same thing."
"I know that now."
I closed my eyes.
Talia explained that Bennett had started driving her to appointments because her car was unreliable. He listened when she talked about work. He remembered things she said. When she admitted she was lonely, he told her he and I had become more like business partners than a couple.
"He said you loved him, but you didn't need him," she whispered. "He said you had built a life where nobody could reach you."
I thought of the nights I had worked late.
The times I had canceled dinner because a hospital delivery had gone wrong.
The mornings Bennett had brought me coffee.
He had used my exhaustion as evidence against me.
"Did you believe him?"
"At first, no. Then Mom kept saying the same things."
"What things?"
"That you were planning to postpone the wedding. That you were thinking about taking a job in Charlotte. That you didn't want children for at least five years."
"I never said I wanted to postpone the wedding."
"I know."
"And I never applied for a job in Charlotte."
"I know that too."
Her voice broke.
"Mom said you were going to leave eventually. She said Bennett needed someone who could be present for him."
I stared at the kitchen wall.
There was a photograph of me and Talia from a beach trip when we were teenagers. We were sunburned, laughing, and holding an enormous inflatable dolphin between us.
I had paid for that trip with money from my first summer job.
Talia had forgotten her spending money.
I had covered it without complaint.
I wondered how many times my generosity had allowed her to confuse being protected with being entitled.
"Did Mom tell you to sleep with him?" I asked.
"No."
"Did she tell you to get pregnant?"
"No."
"Then what exactly did she do?"
Talia was silent for a long time.
"She told me that if Bennett and I loved each other, we shouldn't pretend we didn't. She said she wouldn't let the family abandon me."
The words were different from what I had expected.
My mother hadn't necessarily planned the affair.
She had made it easier for Talia to justify it.
She had turned uncertainty into permission.
And once the pregnancy happened, she had chosen the baby over the truth, as if those two things were mutually exclusive.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"Do you expect me to forgive you?"
"No."
"Do you expect me to help raise your baby?"
"No."
"Then why are you contacting me?"
"Because I don't want you to think I planned to steal your life."
I looked at the photograph again.
"You slept with my fiancé."
"I know."
"You let me stand beside you at dress fittings while you knew."
"I know."
"You watched me pay the photographer while Mom was using my money for your appointments."
"I didn't know about the wedding account until yesterday."
I believed that part.
It didn't change what she'd done.
"I'm not going to comfort you about this, Talia."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
"I think I'm starting to."
I ended the call before either of us could turn the conversation into another attempt at making me feel responsible for her pain.
That evening, I drove to the venue.
The garden looked almost exactly as it had during our final walkthrough. White folding chairs stood beneath the pavilion. A staff member was testing the string lights. The florist's sample arrangements remained on a table near the entrance.
I had imagined walking through that garden toward Bennett.
Now I could barely look at it.
The venue manager, a kind woman named Susan, met me in her office.
She was sympathetic but direct.
The nonrefundable deposit was $4,800.
The catering contract allowed a partial refund if cancellation occurred before final food orders were placed. The photographer could return half the remaining balance. The musicians had already declined another booking for Saturday, but they offered to transfer their fee to a future event.
I thanked Susan for treating me like a person rather than a problem.
Before I left, she handed me an envelope.
"Your mother asked me to give you this if you came alone."
Inside was a seating chart.
Someone had changed the table assignments.
Talia's name appeared beside Bennett's parents.
My name was listed at the head table.
And beneath the chart was a handwritten note.
If Marin decides to go through with the wedding, we should keep Talia close. The baby will need family.
The note was in my mother's handwriting.
I took photographs and returned everything to the envelope.
On the drive home, I stopped at a gas station and called my friend Rachel, who had agreed to be my maid of honor.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said, "You don't have to decide what your family will look like for the next twenty years tonight."
"I know."
"You only have to decide what happens Saturday."
"I already canceled it."
"Then Saturday is yours again."
That sentence made me cry for the first time.
Not because I missed Bennett.
Because I realized how long I'd spent arranging my life around other people's expectations.
The next morning, Bennett came to my apartment.
I didn't let him inside.
He stood in the hallway wearing the navy sweater I'd bought him for his birthday.
"I know you blocked me," he said. "I needed to speak to you in person."
"You can speak from there."
He swallowed.
"Talia told you about the affair?"
"Yes."
"And the pregnancy?"
"Yes."
He nodded, as if we were reviewing an unfortunate work report.
"I want you to understand that I never stopped loving you."
"Then you should have told me before I paid the wedding deposits."
He flinched.
"I was afraid."
"So was Talia. So was I, when I discovered that everyone knew except me."
"I didn't want to hurt you."
"You wanted to avoid the consequences of hurting me."
He looked down.
For the first time, he didn't try to correct my wording.
Then he said, "There's something else. Your mother asked me to sign an agreement about the baby."
"What agreement?"
"She said it was to protect everyone."
"Did you sign it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
He looked toward the stairwell.
"Because it said something about the wedding money."
My pulse quickened.
"What did it say?"
"I don't remember the exact wording."
"You signed contracts for a living, Bennett."
"I know."
"Then you remember."
He finally met my eyes.
"It said the money would be treated as a family loan, and that you would help repay it if Talia couldn't."
I stared at him.
My mother had taken money from my wedding account and was preparing to make me responsible for the debt.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I thought she would fix it."
"You all keep saying that."
He reached toward me.
I stepped back.
"Marin, I know I don't deserve another chance. But please don't let this destroy your relationship with your sister."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"You don't get to decide what this destroys."
I closed the door.
Through the peephole, I watched him stand there for several seconds before walking away.
When I turned around, my laptop was open on the kitchen table.
An email had arrived from the bank.
The subject line read:
Request for Confirmation of Unusual Account Transfers.
The message was addressed to my mother.
But I was copied.
And attached to it was a scanned document showing that the missing $4,000 had been transferred three weeks before Talia's pregnancy was confirmed.
May you like
The payment description read:
Initial apartment deposit—future family residence.
