“No,” I insist, feeling sorry for him. In the end, he’s just a man in love with my mom. He hasn’t done anything wrong. “I’m fine, please. I’m sorry.”
I heave the remaining intact bags together and what remains of the split bag, rushing to the kitchen. I drop them onto the metal table by the industrial fridge, and lean against the edge of the countertop.
“Lil?” Rose says. “What are you doing back here?”
My mom is standing by the door next to the freezer, her backpressed against it. She looks beautiful: a golden statue. There are a few pages of printed paper folded in her left hand.
“Uh.” I empty the split bag full of dirty ice and listen to the clink as it lands into the industrial sink. “I’m just dropping off the ice. There was an accident.”
The wordaccidentmakes me think of the deer, and the scratch, and all of the many irrevocable mistakes I have made this summer. I close my eyes tightly, forcing the image away.
“Are you okay?” Rose approaches. “We have five minutes to showtime, but I can talk if you’re upset.”
“I’m totally fine,” I say, faking a smile. “I’m just going to give one of these to the bartender. Sorry for interrupting you. You’re going to do great.”
Before she can respond, I am out the door again, thinking only of escape. I locate the bar in the right corner of the large, elegant hall, and hand the ice bag over to the bartender. I pause to catch my breath.
“Lily!”
No, no, no, no. What now?
Approaching to the left of the ballroom is Thomas, eager and handsome in a dark suit. In his hand is a cluster of white hydrangeas. “How are you doing? I can’t wait to see Rose! Do you know where she is? I’d love to give her these.”
“Oh, yes! So nice of you, really. Thank you for coming. I think she’s going to take the stage soon, but I can hold on to them for her.”
I reach for the bouquet. At that moment, Rose walks by, a practiced smile on her face, all grace. William trails after her in a slinky, sulky manner. I wonder if they’ve had a fight.
“Oh, perfect!” says Thomas. “I’ll give them to her myself!”
He waves to Rose as she makes her way through the crowd, gesturing to the flowers in his hand. He mouths, “For you! Good luck.”
Horror flashes across my mom’s face before it is wiped clean. I turn to see William staring at Thomas with his hands clenched. His eyes are hard and black like buttons. Rose shoots me a wide-eyed glance.
Uh-oh, I think. Now I’ve really done it.
“Thanks, Thomas!” I grab the flowers from him quickly. “I love them!”
William squints in our direction.
Thomas looks confused but goes with it. On the podium, Rose clears her throat, brushing loose strands of red hair behind her shoulder. She looks thin. Too thin. Has she always been this small and breakable? I’m nervous for her, the way I was nervous for Theo at karaoke but amplified by a hundred.
“First off, I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight,” Rose starts. Some guests are still mingling, and their voices carry to the stage, drowning out her soft words. “There is nothing more important than prioritizing our mental health, and there is nowhere more important to me than this community. I was so thrilled when the organizers of the Dragonfly fundraiser asked me to speak tonight. As many of you know, it has been my great honor to serve this island. But perhaps my greatest honor is—”
“YOU BITCH!” A yell echoes across the room. Every head swivels to catch sight of the source, myself included. That is when I see Henry’s fiancée, Mary, barreling toward me.
My blood runs cold; not in a figurative sense, but in a very literal, physical sensation, as if the ice bags have bled into my veins. This can’t be happening; this can’t be happening.
“You fiancé-stealing, cheating, lying, ginger freak!”
Mary pushes through the crowd. People jump out of the way to avoid her. She is wearing a long white dress as if it’s already herwedding day. It strikes me then that I have never seen her in anything but a white dress. In one of her hands, Mary is clutching a letter.
No, no, no, no.
“You had the audacity to leave a love note in my fiancé’s mailbox this morning? What did you think was going to happen?”
Mary waves the envelope so close to my face, I have to step back in order to not be sliced. In my mind, Mary has been like a fictional entity, more concept than person, some perfect girl next door who radiates sunshine, and warmth, and smells of fresh cookies and vanilla extract. But here she is, red-faced, furious, shoving me back into the wooden counter of the bar. Is it weird that I respect her even more for it? Under different circumstances, I might be cheering her on.
“It’s—it’s not a love note, I swear. It was a goodbye.” My voice comes out weak.
