Chapter 4

By nine the next morning, three people had asked me what we were doing instead.

Michael's mother wanted to know whether Sunday dinner should move to the following weekend. His sister suggested separating the celebration into two smaller meals. One of our oldest friends offered her backyard if being in our house had become inconvenient.

No one was trying to be cruel.

They simply believed there had to be another arrangement.

There was always another arrangement because I always made one.

I sat at the dining table with my planning folder open in front of me. Forty-eight hours earlier, the pages had contained seating notes, food allergies and reminders about who needed a ride.

I picked up a pen.

Michael's parents could come Saturday. Daniel's family could come Sunday. Our friends could meet somewhere neutral later.

The old machinery in my head started running immediately.

Move this person. Reassure that one. Protect the parents. Prevent gossip. Keep both families connected until Michael decided what he wanted.

Michael entered the dining room with a cup of coffee.

"Mom said you haven't called her back."

"I know."

"We don't have to cancel everything," he said. "We can postpone it until things settle down."

"What does settled mean?"

He looked away. "Until we understand what happens next."

Meaning until he chose.

My phone rang again. His mother.

I answered.

"Laura, sweetheart," she said, "I know something is wrong, and you don't have to tell me what it is. Just tell me what would make Sunday easier."

The kindness in her voice nearly undid me.

I looked at the folder. At the plans for a family structure that no longer existed in the form everyone expected.

"There won't be a dinner on Sunday."

"Of course not. We can do next weekend."

"No. I'm not moving it."

A pause.

"Then perhaps Michael and I could arrange something for your side, and you could take Daniel and Vanessa—"

"I'm not dividing everyone into new groups."

"I only want to keep this from becoming harder than it has to be."

So did I.

That desire had governed nearly every decision I had made for twelve years.

"I know," I said. "But I'm not arranging another version."

When the call ended, I closed the folder.

Michael stared at me. "What did you tell her?"

"That the dinner is canceled."

"And when are we rescheduling?"

"We aren't."

My phone began filling with messages. Disappointment, concern, alternative dates.

For once, I did not answer them.

Michael's phone began ringing again.

He looked at the screen. "It's Mom."

I closed the planning folder and held it against my chest.

Michael waited, giving me one last chance to take the phone from him.

I didn't.

He answered. "Mom, we're not rescheduling."

Her voice rose faintly through the speaker.

Michael gripped the edge of the table. "Because Laura and I aren't okay, and Vanessa is part of the reason."

Silence.

Then his mother said, very clearly, "Vanessa Mercer? Daniel's Vanessa?"

Michael closed his eyes.

"Yes."

I carried the folder out of the dining room and left the phone in his hand.

Behind me, his mother finally asked the question he had spent two days avoiding.

"Michael, what did you do?"