Then—
Then my cousin Blake jumps in with the worst possible rescue attempt.
“Wasn’t she at the wedding?” he asks. “I remember her leaving early the next morning. Maybe she and Cyrus?—”
Molly chokes on her water.
I could throttle Blake with my bare hands.
Bradley puts a hand on my shoulder, like he can sense I’m about to launch myself across the table. “Easy,” he murmurs.
Dahlia’s face is bright red. I feel her panic like it’s my own.
“I was not—” she starts.
“We were not—” I try at the same time.
My father raises an eyebrow. “You two seem very synchronized for people who weren’t something.”
I inhale sharply.
Dahlia pales.
Bradley whispers, “Abort mission. Abort. Hard pivot.”
But no one pivots.
Because my mother folds her hands and says, “If something happened at the wedding, we’re all adults here. We can handle?—”
“Nope,” Dahlia blurts. “Nothing happened.”
Which would be convincing if she didn’t look like someone caught her kissing Santa while Mrs. Claus was baking cookies.
“Nothing happened?” Aunt Lydia repeats. “Because you two won’t look anywhere but at each other, and Cyrus is smiling.”
“I’m not,” I say immediately.
I absolutely am.
Then a random cousin—who is now my mortal enemy—leans forward. “Maybe that’s why he disappeared at the reception after-party. He was sneaking off with?—”
“ENOUGH,” Molly snaps, slapping her hand on the table.
Everyone jumps.
She freezes, eyes wide, hand still on the tablecloth.
Bradley is instantly at her side. “Honey, you okay?”
Molly swallows hard. Her eyes dart to Dahlia. Then to me. Then to every person staring at us like we’re the mid-season finale of their favorite soap opera.
She squeezes her eyes shut.
“Oh no,” Dahlia breathes. “Molly—don’t?—”
Too late.
“I’m pregnant,” Molly blurts.
