Do I Know You?(69)

“I’ve tried to explain to them I’m not invited,” I say, with the most patience I can muster. Which is not very much. “But I figured I’d call and just make completely sure my invitation wasn’t lost in the mail.”

I examine my fingernails while I wait. Honestly, Michelle’s response feels somewhat unnecessary, with the way this conversation is going. Closer to a formality. Glancing up past the sunlit curtains of my room, I wait for her to confirm. To tell me no, my invitation was definitely not a casualty of the postal service. No, my sister wants me nowhere near her big day. No, I’m too selfish to let into her life.

Michelle’s voice returns, grudging cold in every syllable. “If you were invited, would you show up?”

I bite back the retorts immediately springing to my mind. Staring out the window, I focus on the green hills, the crystal sky. I don’t need to give Michelle the satisfaction of the low blow she’s struck, don’t need to let bitterness betray my wounds. There’s no point making this worse. I just have to get through it.

I can’t believe I let today weaken me into this impulsive, useless phone call. I knew this would happen. It’s exactly why I hate prying open conversations like these. My family, no matter how much they say they love me, can’t resist hitting every sore spot, drawing everything out into tortured interrogations full of performative indignation and petty cruelty. These discussions go nowhere except down.

“Of course I would,” I say hollowly. It’s the truth, obviously. I’m just waiting for the next stinger it will earn me.

“Fine. I guess you’re invited, then,” Michelle replies. “January twelfth in Boulder.”

My mouth literally falls open. Michelle, however, doesn’t give me time to be stunned.

“Fish or chicken for you and Graham?” she goes on.

“Um.” I need a second for my mind to unlock. “Chicken for Graham. Fish for me. Michelle—” I start.

My sister cuts me off. “Great. I have to go. Oh, happy anniversary, by the way.”

I pretend I don’t hear the venom in her parting words, the spite I expected. “Thanks,” I say, but she’s already hung up before the word is out.

I calmly put my phone facedown on the desk. Impossibly, I feel . . . worse. Not pulling my eyes from the hills outside, where I hold on to the view like some sort of refuge, I find myself biting the inside of my cheek. This hurts. Like I’ve swallowed ice, but it’s gotten stuck on its way down in the middle of my chest.

While I expected steely refusal and simmering resentment, what I got was . . . the path of least resistance. Dismissal in the form of cooperation. I thought it was the worst thing to be not worth inviting. Now I know it’s worse to be not worth uninviting.

We didn’t talk anything out. Michelle didn’t ask me to explain what happened with her engagement party. Her invitation might as well have been a closed door. On the day of her wedding, she won’t even glance in my direction. It’ll be the furthest thing possible from the sisterly wedding experience we’ve envisioned since we were kids—me her maid of honor, the cozy photos, the tearful toasts.

I almost wish she’d told me not to come.





42


    Graham


I LACE UP my running shoes with quick, deliberate strokes. It’s funny—somehow, my hotel room now feels empty without Eliza. Like, overnight, some marital magic turned this place once more into hers, too. Underneath my frustration with how quickly she reached for have fun this morning, I miss her. I hate how empty the sterile white hallway feels, how vacant the half-made bed looks.

The run, of course, was David’s idea. Regardless of my disinclination for trail running right now, I’m eager to fill him in on everything going on with Eliza. Honestly, I’m hoping for some words of wisdom before David checks out tomorrow. I’ll need help if I’m going to pull off the tightrope walk of tonight. I know I have to play the parts of my persona Eliza likes, but I want to celebrate my anniversary, too, which means getting her to fall in love with the real Graham.

As I’m finishing my laces, the doorbell rings. I stand, grimacing from how unprepared I feel. I ran in college, but in the years since, my legs have grown unaccustomed to the prospect. What’s more, if I know David, he’s some kind of serious marathoner. I reach for the door, expecting I’ll find him in an armband, headband, the whole nine.

When I open the door, though, it’s not David.

“Surprise!” my mother says. “Happy anniversary!”

On my doorstep, my parents look incredibly pleased with themselves. My dad is dressed for golfing, my mom for tea. She’s holding flowers, the bouquet so big she can barely see me past the daffodils.

Stunned, I can’t react. I just stare, struggling to comprehend. “What are you doing here?” I finally manage. “How did you even know this was my room?” Possibilities start to swirl in my head. Dark, unsettling possibilities. Have they been staying here this entire week? Did we just not notice them on the beach hike because we weren’t looking—or, god, during couples’ yoga?

It wouldn’t be unlike them. While entirely well-intentioned, my parents have been known to cross boundaries. I’ve patiently explained to Eliza they only want to be friendly, sometimes without considering the way their presence changes situations—like the memorable night I finished finals for the first semester of my final year of law school. When Eliza posted on her Instagram story the West Hollywood restaurant where she took me to celebrate, guess who decided they’d “just drop by” to join us for drinks?