“Ren showed me your text,” Rose continued.
Logan readjusted in her seat, gaze scanning the room as if looking for a decent reason to excuse herself. Aimee rested her hand under her chin, watching us with interest. I wouldn’t be shocked if she’d pulled out a notepad and started scribbling down our behavior for a future research project.
“Did she play the voice note too?”
“She did.” Rose nodded, expression remained unchanged. “You’re hanging out with David Evans these days?”
Logan’s attention snapped back. “David Evans…wait, was that the guy in your room that night?”
“In your room.” Aimee whistled, impressed. “Not you having late-night company.”
Mom wasn’t impressed or stunned. The wrinkles on her brow indicated disapproval. As a woman who got married before attending university and then divorced before getting the opportunity to enroll, she was a stickler for education first.
“I’m a senior,” I reminded them. “I’m old enough to have people over after bedtime.”
“David’s that football player, right?” Aimee pivoted. “The one who almost got kicked off the team?”
Logan nodded in confirmation. “A lot of kids got into some trouble for vandalism. The school board had a whole meeting about it. Mom and I went to the open forum. The whole thing was a pitchforks and let’s burn the witches vibe.”
“And yet, he avoided getting arrested multiple times during senior year,” Rose said. “Everyone loves a problematic pretty boy with a good throwing arm.”
“David had a rough patch. Not everyone had a healthy home life,” I said. “And his arm’s not that great; he’s a tight end.”
They all looked at me blankly.
“His specialty is blocking and receiving. So that makes him a pretty boy with good blocking and receiving ability.”
“Okay…” Rose shook her head, not caring.
My defense of David was automatic. I didn’t like how Rose’s nose wrinkled when she recalled who he was. Or the slight hint of judgment in Aimee’s tone when she mentioned him almost getting kicked off the team. They hadn’t seen this guy in years and talked about him as if they had him all figured out. I was the one who’d spent countless hours aweek going back and forth with the guy, disagreeing with him until my head hurt and my patience ran thin. If anyone had the right to act like they knew him, it was me. And I’d never claim to know half of who that guy was because he never actually let me see him.
“Whatever he is, he doesn’t have a good sense of humor,” Rose said. “Sending my soon-to-be fiancé a ‘I still want you’ text is the furthest thing from funny. Which makes it hard to believe that it was a joke.”
My gaze hardened. “But it was. I’d never say something like that to Ren. I’d never in a million years go behind your back.”
“Alright, sure.” She nodded, sounding nowhere near understanding. “But you can’t blame me if I’m a little worried. Because in every joke, there’s some truth.”
Aimee hummed in agreement, but when I glanced at her, she stopped and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’
I scratched the back of my neck, frustration like a rash spreading across my skin. “Maybe, but I didn’t tell the joke. Thus, making your logic flawed because no part of my truth was in those words.”
Rose blinked, unconvinced. “You know, we never talked about it. All the stuff that happened with Ren and me. It was so fast, and we never got to discuss how it made you feel.”
There was a pause when they all looked at me, genuine in their curiosity about my headspace.
“We did talk,” I reminded her of the hurried conversation we’d had back home when she was still a gorgeous, deep brown from the Italian sun, and I was coughing up the last bits of flu. Rose had confessed her whirlwind romance in a single, run-on sentence. Her nails had been bitten down as far as they could be on her trip back home. I would have been furious and hurt if I hadn’t already seen that she’d mentallybattled that version of me already on her twelve-hour flight. It hadn’t seemed fair to put her through more anguish, and to be honest, I’d just wanted her out of my face so I could throw up in peace.
“But nottalktalk,” Rose insisted.
“You know I support you two,” I said. “I helped throw her birthday party last year. “
“A birthday party’s different from a wedding,” Rose said. “Ren’s going to be a permanent fixture in this family. I want to make sure there’s nothing underneath the surface. Not just for you, but for everyone.”
Her gaze scanned our sisters and Mom. But honestly, what protest would they have made? Everyone loved Ren. She was a six-one goddess who played beach volleyball and modelled for Nike. The woman spoke three languages and wanted to become a biotech engineer after she attempted to make the US Olympic Team. She never forgot a birthday or anniversary, and was the type to send roses just because.
Okay, yes, maybe I had some lingering jealousy. But that wasn’t because I was in love with Ren. I got over her as soon as I realized she wasn’t ever going to be in love with me. I did feel some type of way that while my sisters seemed to be moving forward, full-steam ahead, I was stuck, struggling with the same hurdles I’d been trying to clear since freshman year. I haven’t had a successful fundraiser, a promising internship, a fellowship, or a loving partner to show for the past four years.
“I’d rather have any lingering resentment bubble up now than while we’re at the altar,” Rose continued.
