Chapter 4

I stood outside the café and enlarged the screenshot Diane had sent.

The “postponement notice” had gone to every wedding guest.

It said Aaron and I needed time to reconsider our future and hoped everyone would respect our privacy.

It came from our wedding email account.

Aaron had the password.

So did I.

He wasn’t buying us time.

He was deciding that I would stay quiet while he arranged the rest of my life.

When I got home, I opened my laptop.

The guest list was still on the screen. Eighty-three names. College roommates, coworkers, relatives from both sides of the family.

I didn’t write much.

I didn’t mention Naomi’s pregnancy, either.

I didn’t need to turn her body into something people could discuss just to prove what Aaron had done.

I wrote four sentences.

The wedding has been canceled.

The postponement notice sent earlier today was not written by me and does not reflect a mutual decision.

Please don’t contact me for details or pass messages from Aaron along to me.

I will reach out to the people I need to reach out to myself.

When I finished, my cursor hovered over Send.

Seven weeks earlier, Aaron and I had sat together choosing paper for the invitations.

He thought one shade of white looked too cold and said we should pick something warmer.

I had laughed at him for caring that much about paper.

Now it took less than a minute to cancel the entire wedding.

Replies began appearing almost at once.

Diane was first.

I knew that email didn’t sound like you. Do you want me to come over?

A few other friends simply wrote, I’m here.

I didn’t answer them one by one.

I grabbed my coat and the journal and drove to the place where we were supposed to get married.

It was an old greenhouse that had been converted into an event space, with strings of lights hanging beneath the glass roof.

The first time we’d toured it, Aaron had stood behind me and said the place made marriage feel light.

Megan, the coordinator, looked surprised when she saw me.

“Clara, I was about to reach out. Aaron left a message yesterday saying you might want to move the date.”

“We’re not moving it,” I said. “I’m canceling.”

She looked at her computer, then back at me.

“Are you sure? It’s very close to the wedding.”

“I’m sure.”

She didn’t ask anything else.

Megan slid several printed confirmation forms across the desk and explained which services could be canceled and which had already entered their final preparation stage.

She spoke slowly, leaving room for me to change my mind.

I read every page.

Then I signed the cancellation confirmation.

Before I left, I asked her to add a note to the account.

No one could reactivate any part of my wedding by saying we were still discussing it.

Aaron called as I walked out of the greenhouse.

I didn’t answer.

Ten minutes later, my mother was standing outside my apartment.

She didn’t come in.

I opened the door only a few inches, and she immediately held up her phone.

The screen was full of email replies.

“How could you send something like that to everyone?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Do you know what the relatives are asking now?”

“They should ask Aaron.”

“Naomi is pregnant. Your email is going to make everyone stare at her. At the baby.”

“I didn’t use her name.”

My mother looked at me, her eyes slowly filling.

“Couldn’t you wait? Let everyone calm down, then handle this privately?”

“Privately?” I asked. “Like last night, when you all sat around the table waiting for me to bless them?”

Her mouth tightened.

“Your father was right. Right now, all you care about is making everyone uncomfortable.”

I kept one hand on the doorknob and didn’t move back.

“Canceling my own wedding makes people uncomfortable?”

“You tore apart more than a wedding,” she said. “How is this family supposed to face anyone after this?”

Then she turned away, as if she had finally understood I wasn’t going to apologize.

I closed the door and stood against it for a moment.

At nine that night, Aaron sent me an email.

He didn’t ask whether I was okay.

He wrote one sentence.

You shouldn’t have made everyone think I made this decision on my own.

I didn’t reply.

A little after one in the morning, my father forwarded three screenshots from the family group chat.

My mother had written:

Clara isn’t listening to anyone right now. She’s shut herself away.

My aunt replied:

She just needs time. Once the baby is here, she’ll soften.

Then my father sent the last message.

First, we need to convince her to stop making this bigger. At least until the baby is born, Aaron and Naomi shouldn’t have to keep dealing with people talking about them.