“No,” I say. “I’m not going.”
“Evie, let’s talk about this. I really want you—”
“No,” I say. “I’m not going and you can’t make me.”
He sucks in a long breath and I know he’s gearing up to flood me with words to try to convince me.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say.
“Evie, I—”
“Really have to pee,” I insist. “Going now.”
He gives up. “Okay,” he says.
I hang up but don’t move from where I am on the stairs.
Mom comes back into the house and slides the glass doors closed. With them shut, it feels like we’re in our own little bubble, cut off from the world.
“Okay, well,” Mom says. “I suppose we should talk.”
Before she can launch into whatever parent talk she’s about to give us, I ask her: “When did he tell you?”
“We spoke about it last night, but he wanted to tell you himself.” She looks at Danica and clasps her hands in her lap. “How are you feeling about the news, D?” she asks.
“I feel fine about it,” she says.
“What about you, Evie?” she asks.
“You know how I feel,” I say.
She nods at the glass door. “I know this can be a challenging time,” she starts, sounding like she’s reading from a parenting book.How to Talk to Your Children About Divorce.
Except I’m not a child anymore. I’m almost eighteen. The visions have taught me more about how love really works than I ever wanted, or expected, to know.
I interrupt the speech she’s giving us. “Mom, please don’t make me go to the wedding.”
She squeezes the arms of the chair. “It’s important to your father.”
“What about what’s important to me?”
Danica slaps at her thigh. “Why are you always so mad at Dad?” she demands. “He didn’t do anything wrong. They fell out of love and got divorced. It happens all the time.”
I press my lips closed tight for a moment so I don’t say anything I shouldn’t say.
“Mom, please don’t make me go,” I beg.
“I think you’re going to regret this, but I’m not going to make you go.” She stands up and heads for the hall closet. “You’re really willing to upset your father like this?”
We both know the answer to that question.
“Promise me you’ll at least think about it,” she says.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been so relieved. “Okay,” I say, but only to make her feel better. I’m definitely not going to think about it.
Mom slips on a sweater. “I’m going for a walk,” she says.
Danica shakes her head at me but doesn’t say anything. She goes upstairs, leaving me alone on the couch.
