Save the Date(111)

“Charlie,” Danny said, his voice warning, which only caused me to get madder.

“You don’t have a say in this family,” I said, ignoring Danny and turning to face Mike more fully, “when you’ve done all you can for the last year and a half not to be part of it.”

“So I don’t even get an opinion?”

“I don’t think you do,” I shot back. “And maybe if you’d been here, maybe if we’d been able to have a real Thanksgiving or Christmas—”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?” Mike asked, two red splotches starting to appear on his cheeks. “I’m the reason they’re getting divorced?”

“Of course not,” my dad said loudly, clearly trying to stop this. I could tell this wasn’t the way he’d expected it to go. “Don’t be silly—”

“So, what’s going to happen?” I interrupted. I looked at my mom, trying to understand how this could be the same person who, just minutes ago, was getting a second piece of cake and winking at me. How could she have done that when she knew this all along? “You guys are going to sell the house and then—you get two separate places and we split our time?”

“Well,” my dad said after a pause in which it became clear my mother wasn’t going to jump in, “yes. We have things to sort out, of course. But you’ll be headed to college in the fall, so lots of things will be changing regardless.”

I felt my stomach clench again. I was having that terrible feeling you have when you know you were right about something but didn’t want to be. I thought about all those fights my parents had been having, those months where there had been anger and slammed doors and unsaid things. Even today, with the daybed in my parents’ room—I hadn’t wanted to see it. I’d just pretended none of it was happening, hoping it would go away on its own. This suddenly seemed like the height of stupidity and childishness.

But was I supposed to stay here in Stanwich, go to school here when I no longer had a home here? When my family wasn’t here, together, like they were supposed to be?

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head, my words coming out with a harsh laugh. “Right. No wonder you didn’t want me to stay in Stanwich—you knew that everything here was going to change.”

“That’s not why—” my mother started, but I was already talking over her.

“But you know what? You know what you all had during college?” I looked around at my siblings. “You all had a home to come back to! You all got to come here, with your bedroom and your stuff on the walls and all of us here waiting for you. What am I going to have? What’s that going to look like for me? You guys all have your own places, your own lives. But I’m not going to have that. I’m not going to have anywhere to go. I’m not going to have a home.” My voice broke on the last word, and I put my head in my hands—my face felt hot, and there were tears building up behind my eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

“And you,” I said, straightening up, brushing a hand over my face and glaring at Mike, my eyes blurry with tears, “you could have been back here for two years, and you blew it. I bet you’re happy, aren’t you? You’ve wanted to be out of this family forever, and now you finally get your wish.”

“I’m not,” Mike said, and I could see that his eyes looked shiny, “happy, Charlie. Of course I’m not, and fuck you for saying that.”

“Language,” my parents both said, in unison, then looked at each other, like they weren’t sure if they should laugh or cry.

Linnie’s shoulders were shaking, and Rodney was sitting close to her and rubbing her back. J.J.’s face was very red, and he was blinking hard.

“Guys,” my dad said, finally breaking the silence, running his hand across his eyes. He sounded exhausted, and suddenly looked about five years older. “I think we should all get some sleep and maybe in the morning—”

“In the morning, when we’re going to be filmed as the perfect family?” J.J. asked , his voice flat. “You know, for national television?”

Linnie let out a short laugh—the kind without any humor in it.

“This will all be for the best,” my dad said, his voice quiet. “In the long run.”

We just sat there for a moment, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was what people who’ve just been in an earthquake or a tornado felt. When you’re standing among the rubble and wreckage of what just moments earlier had been your life, wondering how you got there and what happened now that everything was destroyed.

“I’m going to bed,” my mother finally said, pushing herself to her feet. “We have a big day tomorrow. Good Morning America’s here at eight, so . . .” Her voice trailed off, and I wondered if what she’d just said had sounded as hollow to her as it had to me. She left the room, and my dad got up a moment later, picking up his tux jacket and folding it over his arm.

“Good night,” he said, his voice tired, and this was somehow made all the worse by the fact that he was still in his tux, like a reminder of the fact that only an hour ago, we’d all been dancing. “I just wanted . . .” But his voice trailed off, and what he wanted was left unsaid. He let out a breath, then turned around and left the room, his step heavy on the carpet.