Life would be simpler if she wasn’t Perry’s sister, but you can’t have everything, I guess.
Beside me, Mr. Clancy exhales loudly and wipes his eyes with exaggerated drama. “Didn’t think I’d see the day.”
I incline my head.
He smells faintly of cigar smoke, whiskey, and peppermint. His jacket sleeve brushes mine as he adjusts in his chair. The fabric strains slightly at his shoulder.
Ushers guide guests toward the reception hall across the lawn. The procession of dresses and dark suits begins moving in a measured flow. The floral arch looms ahead of me, its right side still heavier with greenery than the left. I study the imbalance.
Details, details. Anything to keep me from wondering what panties Perry wears beneath that dress.
I follow behind the crowd, head still swirling on truths while I’m stuck in a lie. Inside, chandeliers hang lower, brighter. The tables are immaculate. Crystal glassware is aligned in geometric perfection. Each place card is handwritten in looping script that likely required three drafts to approve.
I catalog the table settings as we move toward our seats. Eight chairs per round table. Two floral centerpieces per ten feet. White linen so pressed it might cut skin. Math is cleaner than reality.
Mr. Clancy settles beside me again at the head table with a small grunt of effort. His wife smooths his lapel without looking at him, a practiced motion.
Across the room, Perry moves through the reception with disciplined grace. Adjusting seating. Whispering to the planner. Reassuring Faith. She looks magical, like Faith’s fairy godmother making all her dreams come true.
The band begins something upbeat as the bridal party enters again to applause. Guests laugh and sigh and raise their glasses. Life is good to these people, all of whom play a role in Snow Valley society.
Watch anything that isn’t the woman who hid my children from me.
The servers begin circulating cocktails. I take one. Then another. Not because I need it. Because it gives my hands something to do. If I stop moving, the weight might press too hard.
Amber sits three tables over with my mother. They lean toward one another. Too close. I know that posture. I know the angle of Amber’s head when she’s planting something carefully chosen.
She speaks softly. My mother stiffens.
I learned a long time ago how to read Amber’s lips. The skill came in handy when we were trapped at dull dinner parties or boring events. We could signal to each other from across the room, make a coordinated excuse, and leave. So when Amber says my name and “fired,” to my mother, I don’t doubt what bomb she just dropped.
I will not give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
But I see my mother’s intake of breath. Reading her at a distance was something I perfected in childhood, because the temperature of the house depended on every shift of her mood.
Amber is leaning close, hand delicately resting over my mother’s wrist as though offering consolation. My mother twists in her chair slowly. She looks at me.
No. She glares at me. The kind of glare that says you have embarrassed this family in ways that cannot be quietly undone.
I hold her gaze for half a beat. Then I look away.
I told Perry I chose to leave. I told her it was my decision. I told Mother the same thing. The white lie was clean, I thought.
Apparently, I thought wrong.
Mr. Clancy nudges my shoulder gently. “Cheer up, Damian,” he says warmly, leaning close. “Your son just got married. Bet you never thought you’d see the day, what with him sleeping with everyone on the East Coast.”
His wife gasps beside him. “Dear, mind your manners. This is a wedding, after all.”
Mr. Clancy grins broadly. “I am minding my manners. I didn’t sayfuckingeveryone on the East Coast.”
The word lands so unexpectedly that I laugh. Actually laugh. The absurdity punctures the pressure building in my chest. “Well done, Mr. Clancy.”
He winks.
The band transitions into something louder. People stand. Chairs scrape. The dance floor begins to fill in hesitant waves. Amber watches me from across the room, her self-satisfied smirk wide across her face.
I finish my drink and set the glass down carefully. This is going to be the longest reception of my life.
