A photographic map of their relationship, every image leadingthem further along, closer and closer to the day Brighton finally broke.
Brighton stared at a selfie she’d taken of them that morning in Lola’s room, and she could see it then. She could see the dark circles under her eyes from a sleepless night, could see the panic brewing behind her eyes. She could—
“I knew it.”
She yelped at the voice behind her, the shock making her flop like a fish. She rolled over, covering her phone’s screen with her hand, and saw Adele standing at the end of the bed with a glass of what looked like straight bourbon in her hand.
“Adele, what the hell?”
Adele smirked. “You know, I’ve always loved how that phrase rhymes with my name, but right now, you are not the one who should be using it.”
Brighton just stared at her, hoping Adele hadn’t seen…
“You know her,” Adele said, and hope vanished like a wisp of smoke in the wind. “You know Charlotte. I knew you two had a weird vibe going on.”
“Adele.”
“But I figured there was no way, you know? Because surely,surely, I would know if you and my sister’s best friend used to fuck.”
Brighton flinched at the word.
Adele’s brows went up. “So it was more than fucking.”
Brighton just groaned and let herself collapse on the bed again like a starfish, limbs spread in defeat.
“Oh my god,” Adele said, the mattress dipping a bit as she sat down. “She’s not…no. No fucking way.”
Brighton lay like a slug, waiting for Adele’s sharp mind to come to the correct and awful conclusion.
“She’s the fiancée,” Adele said, awe curling around her voice. “The one you won’t talk about. I honestly thought you’d made her up.”
Brighton pushed herself up on her elbows. “What? For real?”
Adele shrugged. “Seemed sketchy.”
“Your confidence in me is astounding.”
“You’re the one keeping secrets, baby girl.”
Brighton sighed and sat up, tapping on the picture of her and Lola at their rehearsal dinner and handing the phone to Adele.
Adele took in the details, a slight crinkle to her brow, the image reflected in her glasses. “May I?” she asked, her finger hovering over the screen, ready to scroll.
Brighton waved her onward, because what difference did it make now? Adele had caught her mooning over Lola like a homesick kid, and honestly, it was a relief.
“Wow, this goes back…far,” Adele said after a couple minutes.
“We met when we were twelve,” Brighton said, her gaze going unfocused, their history playing like a montage behind her eyes. “Fell in love. Went to college together. Moved to New York after we graduated. Came home to get married that December.”
“So what happened?” Adele asked. “Why didn’t you get married?”
Brighton opened her mouth. Closed it. Adele let her sit in silence, sipped her bourbon like she had all the time in the world. Finally, Brighton lay down and curled onto her side, took Adele’s hand, and started talking.
Chapter 11
Five Years Ago
Brighton stared at the ceilingfan in her childhood bedroom, a thin layer of dust dotting the white blades. Outside her window, the morning had just started to break through the night, a blue-purple glow slowly unfurling into pink.
