Chapter 2

"A suit. The pickup slip's by the front door."

I still wanted to talk about Dad, but he'd already picked up his car keys.

That afternoon, the woman at the shop held the suit up for me to see.

Dark gray wool, with a deep blue lining and Nathan's initials stitched into the cuffs.

"Have him try it on and let us know if it needs any adjustments," she said with a smile. "There's still time before Saturday's dinner."

"What dinner?"

Her smile faltered.

"The dinner celebrating his recovery. He said it was a very important occasion."

I looked at the amount at the bottom of the pickup slip.

One thousand four hundred and eighty dollars.

Paid in full.

I took the suit and thanked her.

It was covered by a heavy garment bag. I laid it flat across the back seat.

Nathan came home at six. I hung up the suit where he would see it.

"The tailor said you have a dinner on Saturday."

"Yeah. Mom's organizing it."

"To celebrate your recovery?"

He nodded and picked up the mail from the dining table.

"Why hasn't anyone told me?"

"We're still sorting a few things out."

"You've already bought a suit."

"And?"

"Fourteen hundred and eighty dollars."

He put down the mail and finally looked me in the eye.

"I need something that fits. None of my old suits do anymore."

"This morning, you said we couldn't afford for me to visit Dad."

"That's different."

"How?"

He let out a breath, as though he were explaining something I was refusing to understand on purpose.

"I have clients to see. People from work. I need to get back out there and have a life. You're home every day. How is that the same?"

In the kitchen, the dishwasher was draining.

I waited for the noise to stop before I spoke.

"I'm home every day because you needed me."

His jaw tightened.

"I know. You've told me plenty of times."

"No, I haven't."

"You don't have to say it. I can feel it."

He picked up the suit and unzipped the bag to inspect it.

"I bought one suit, Claire. How long are you going to make me feel guilty?"

I watched him smooth the collar with his palm.

During those two years, every time he had to go to the hospital, he insisted I wear loose clothes so I could help support him.

Eventually, those clothes faded from washing, their necklines stretched out of shape.

I hadn't bought replacements because I rarely went out, and because there was always something we needed the money for more.

Now he glanced down at my old cardigan.

"You should make an effort, too. You can't keep looking like that."

He carried the suit upstairs.

I sat back down at the table and opened the ticket page.

The price had gone up nine dollars.

At eight that evening, Diane sent me a message.

"Sweetheart, pick out some photos from Nathan's recovery and send them over. With dates, if possible. We're putting together a slideshow for Saturday."

Another message followed.

"Check the restaurant order for me, too. You remember everyone's dietary restrictions. Leah doesn't eat dairy. Don't forget."

Holding my phone, I typed, "What time does dinner start? Is there anything I need to get ready?"

She replied, "Tonight would be best for the photos. The restaurant needs confirmation first thing tomorrow."

I was going to put my phone down, but in the end, I opened my photo library.

There were pictures of Nathan standing with the help of a railing for the first time, and pictures of him practicing walking in the kitchen.

One was a selfie of the two of us. He'd just walked a short distance, my arm was around his waist to support him, and we were both smiling with red-rimmed eyes.

That day, he'd kissed my forehead and said that once he was better, he'd take me out for a proper dinner.

I chose twelve photos, added the dates, and sent them over.

Diane sent back a heart.

A few minutes later, the restaurant order appeared in our chat.

I changed an appetizer that contained nuts, added a note about Nathan's aunt's allergy, and switched Leah's dessert to fruit.

A seating chart was attached at the end of the file.

Twenty-four guests. Three tables.

I saw Diane's name, Nathan's brother and his wife, his cousin who lived two states away, and two coworkers I'd never even heard him mention.

At the main table, Nathan's mother sat to his left. Leah sat to his right.

I read through it again from the top.

Then I used the search function and typed in my name.

A small line of text appeared on the screen.

No results found.