The Wedding War - Liz Talley Page 0,101

her old friend might offer her the forgiveness she never knew she craved so much. But Melanie didn’t. Instead she looked down at her fingernails. “I should go. I’m sure people have been texting and calling asking where I am and if I’m okay. It was super irresponsible to leave everyone. It was selfish.”

Tennyson shook her head. “Don’t do that. You needed a moment to deal. They are not the only people dealing with a loss, Melly. It’s okay to need some time, to be a little selfish.”

Melanie shrugged. “Maybe so. I probably shouldn’t have smoked a joint, though.”

“I don’t think it hurt.”

“It’s illegal.” As Melanie said those words her eyes widened a little as if she truly realized that she’d not only been a little selfish, but she’d also broken the law.

“Not in some states.”

“But here it is.”

Tennyson smiled. “You can get it medically. I think.”

“I don’t have glaucoma, Teeny,” Melanie said, her mouth tightening back into that now familiar disapproving line.

“But you have Anne for a mother.”

Melanie stared at the refrigerator for a few seconds and said, “Well, that’s true.”

The sound of the front door opening made both of them turn. Andrew called out. “Hey, anyone home?”

“In the kitchen,” Tennyson shouted.

Her son appeared in the doorway, still wearing his suit sans the tie and the tucked-in shirt. His hair stuck up in a few places, and his mouth looked tight. His gaze landed on Melanie, his eyes widened, and then his shoulders sagged in what she could only guess was relief. “Oh, here you are. Emma’s been calling you for the last half hour.”

“My phone’s in the living room,” Melanie said. She looked away, guilt reflected in the brown depths of her eyes.

“They’re all at the hospital and—” He stopped and made a face. Then he inhaled. “Has someone been smoking weed?”

Tennyson wasn’t sure how to answer that.

Melanie brushed the crumbs from the counter, sweeping them into her hand. She tossed them into the sink. Looking at Andrew, she lifted one shoulder. “We may have.”

“You may have?” He looked at Tennyson with a gobsmacked expression that was both endearing and irritating. “I don’t know what you two have been doing at a critical time for this family, but we really need to get back to the hospital. Everyone is really upset.”

“Melanie needed a few minutes away,” Tennyson said. Melanie remained quiet, studying her fingernails.

“Do you even know what has happened while y’all were here drinking and doing illegal drugs?” Andrew sounded very much like a parent.

“I know what happened,” Melanie said, straightening and heading toward the living area where she’d left her clothes and purse. “I was there by myself when my sister died. None of my family was there. My husband’s in Florida, my mother is more concerned about being right than present, and my children are obviously more concerned with lattes, so don’t lecture me or your mother on where I should have been.”

Andrew stared at her wide eyed as she passed by him. Then he looked at Tennyson. “What’s happening here?”

“I think your soon-to-be mother-in-law is telling you to get your head out of your ass. Does anyone ever think about her? She does so much for that family, and they just take and take.”

Andrew tilted his head. “I thought you two didn’t like each other?”

Melanie breezed back in. “We don’t. I went with her because she had weed.”

Her reply was so saucy that Tennyson turned around to hide her smile. Then she schooled her features into something more suiting the situation and turned back to her son. “Take Melanie back to the hospital. You’re right. It’s time she was with her family.”

Melanie had her dress over her arm, but the only shoes she had were a pair of pumps, which looked ridiculous with the workout pants and T-shirt.

“Hold on,” Tennyson said, jogging toward her bedroom. She entered her enormous closet and flipped the custom shoe cabinet back to reveal her sandal and flip-flop collection. She snagged a pair of flat Tory Burch thongs she’d never worn and went back to the kitchen. “Here’s a bag for your clothes and a pair of sandals. You can’t go out in those heels.”

Melanie gave her a small smile. “That’s nice of you.”

“I can be nice. Every full moon or so, once I make a sacrificial offering.”

“It’s not a full moon,” Melanie said, tugging off the pumps and sliding the thongs on.

“Eh, the weed made me do it,” she said, eyeing Andrew on the phone, most likely with

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