Chapter 3 - The Price of Staying
“Give her some space,” Ethan said.
My mother blinked at him.
“This is a family matter.”
“She’s my family.”
“We aren’t finished with the ceremony.”
His voice stayed level.
“I didn’t say she was my wife. I said she was my family.”
The ballroom had gone painfully quiet.
I could hear the air-conditioning, the faint squeak of a shoe, somebody trying to silence a phone.
I suddenly hated that people were watching.
I had wanted the truth seen. I hadn’t understood what it would feel like to stand inside it.
“Turn the screen off,” I told Nora.
My mother exhaled.
I looked at the guests.
“Please don’t record this.”
A few phones lowered.
The officiant stepped closer.
“Would you like a few minutes?”
“Yes,” Ethan said, looking at me. “Would that help?”
I nodded.
We moved into the small room behind the ballroom, with Nora following.
The moment the door closed, my knees weakened.
Ethan caught my elbow.
“Sit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sit first.”
I lowered myself onto a velvet bench.
Nora brought water. I couldn’t open the bottle. My fingers had finally started shaking.
Ethan took it, twisted the cap, and handed it back.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
There it was.
Not anger exactly.
Something worse.
Hurt.
“I thought you’d try to fix it.”
“I would have tried to help.”
“I know.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
I stared at the water.
From beyond the door came a sharp burst of my mother’s voice.
“I didn’t want her explaining it away,” I said. “I needed people to see what happened before she made me sound unreasonable.”
Ethan crouched in front of me.
“I understand why you did it.”
“But?”
“But I was standing there thinking somebody was about to tell me you didn’t want to marry me.”
My eyes filled.
“Oh, Ethan.”
“You don’t have to protect me from the ugly parts of your family. But don’t leave me outside the room while you make decisions that put me in the middle of them.”
He wasn’t asking me to be smaller.
He was asking to stand beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. This time, I knew exactly what I meant.
He squeezed my hand.
A knock came.
The hotel’s event manager, Lena, entered with a tight expression.
“Olivia, your mother has asked us to stop dinner service.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She says if the reception continues, she won’t authorize payment.”
May you like
Ethan stood.
And from the hallway, my mother said, “Now perhaps we can have a sensible conversation.”
