have to be grateful that at least Noah is telling you the truth.”
I grabbed another tissue from the box and blew my nose again. Was she right? Should I take my lumps and go home thankful that Noah wasn’t telling me lies just to keep screwing me? After all, Noah had always been my protector. Maybe that’s what this was—he was trying to keep my heart safe. And maybe I was wrong about him wanting a family deep down . . .
But it hurt. It hurt worse than any breakup I’d ever had. I began to cry again.
“God, I’m sorry, Meg.” Sylvia lay down behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist. “I came in here to make sure you were okay and now I made things worse. Some big sister I am.”
“It’s okay,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry for you too. I’m sorry for both of us.”
She held me and let me cry it out for a little while and then gave me a squeeze. “Listen. I’m probably dateless this entire weekend too. There’s no way Brett is going to show. Want to hang out with me?”
“Sure.” I blew my nose into a soggy tissue.
“We’ll carry flasks in our purses and ditch our heels for flip flops and when all the romance is too much for us to bear, we’ll go up on the roof, smoke cigarettes, and curse.”
I had to laugh. “You don’t smoke cigarettes.”
“No,” she admitted, “but I feel like I should take up a bad habit or two. I’m tired of doing everything by the book.” She gave me another hug. “Plus I wanted to make you laugh.”
“Thanks, Syl. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
Much to Sylvia’s surprise, Brett did show up that night. He’d gotten on a plane without telling her and showed up at the rehearsal dinner at Abelard Vineyards wearing a wrinkled suit and a five o’clock shadow. He charmed everyone with sincere apologies and remorseful smiles, and took the empty seat next to Sylvia, giving her a kiss on the cheek before putting his arm around the back of her chair. I was directly across from him, and even from there I could tell he smelled like scotch and someone else’s perfume.
My sister remained stone-faced, and I suddenly understood her expression in all the family vacation photos.
Between cocktails and dinner, I stole a moment alone out on Abelard’s brick patio, which overlooked the neat rows of grapevines planted on the gently rolling hills. I breathed in that autumn smell I loved and vowed not to let the lump in my throat grow any bigger. After a minute, April came out and joined me.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Not really, but I’m trying.”
“Sylvia told me what happened.”
“That’s fine. Saves me from having to tell it again.” I wasn’t sure I could get through it anyway.
“I’m really sorry, Meg. And totally surprised. I thought for sure he’d—”
“You know, the more I think about it, the less surprised I am. No matter how good it was between us, he never once said anything about the rest of our lives. He never even said anything about next weekend, for that matter. It was always a temporary thing for him.”
“Still . . .” She reached over and took my hand. “It hurts. And I’m sorry.”
I tipped my head onto her shoulder and pressed my lips shut to keep the sob from escaping. This wasn’t my night, and the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself.
When I was sure I could talk without breaking down, I let go of April’s hand and cleared my throat. “We better go back in. I think Mack is going to make a toast, and I don’t want to miss it.”
April rubbed my back as we walked in. “I’m right behind you.”
Twenty-Five
Noah
I barely slept on Friday night. My sheets still smelled like Meg, and even though I could have easily changed them, I refused. It was torture, but I deserved it.
Saturday morning, I woke up cranky and stiff. I thought maybe a run and some playtime in the park with Renzo would cheer me up and loosen my muscles, but it didn’t.
I ate lunch even though I wasn’t hungry, and was throwing some laundry in when I got a text from my mother.
Ma: Nina and the baby are home. Go see them.
Still mad at her for smacking me at the dinner table like I was eight years old, I didn’t text her back.