Chapter 3 - THE FALLOUT
The morning brought the sun,
but it did not bring peace.
My phone was a constant vibration on the bedside table,
a chorus of notifications from people who suddenly had a lot to say.
There were twenty-three missed calls from my mother,
fifteen from Caleb,
and hundreds of text messages from relatives I hadn't spoken to in years.
I didn't open any of them.
I made Ethan pancakes,
the blue shirt from the night before was already washed and hanging to dry,
a ghost of the battle we had survived.
He ate quietly,
his eyes still a bit wide,
watching me as if he expected the walls to crumble at any moment.
“Are they going to come here?” he asked,
referring to the family.
“They can try,” I said,
setting a glass of orange juice in front of him.
“But the door is locked,
and we aren't answering.”
A knock sounded at the door almost as soon as the words left my mouth.
It wasn't a polite knock.
It was heavy,
demanding,
the kind of knock that expected to be obeyed.
I looked at Ethan and signaled for him to stay in the kitchen.
I walked to the door and looked through the peephole.
It was Caleb.
He was still wearing his tuxedo shirt,
wrinkled now,
his tie hanging loose around his neck.
He looked tired,
miserable,
and angry.
I didn't open the door.
“Go away,
Caleb,” I said through the wood.
“Grace,
open the door,
we need to talk,” he shouted.
“Tiffany is hysterical,
the video of Ethan is all over social media.”
I felt a cold prickle of satisfaction.
“Good,” I said.
“Maybe she can learn what it feels like to be the punchline.”
“It’s my wedding night,
Grace!” he yelled,
banging his fist against the door.
“You ruined my wedding night because you couldn't take a little ribbing!”
I unlocked the door then,
swinging it open so fast he stumbled back.
I stood on the threshold,
shaking with a rage that had been brewing for thirty-two years.
“A little ribbing?” I whispered,
my voice lethal.
“You sat there and let that woman call me a sad single mother in front of two hundred people.”
“You let our mother compare me to a piece of trash on a clearance shelf.”
“And you told her I wouldn't fight back.”
Caleb looked down at his shoes,
the same polished leather shoes that had stood on that stage.
“It was supposed to be a joke,
Grace,” he muttered.
“Tiffany just has a dry sense of humor.”
“No,
Caleb,” I said,
closing the gap between us.
“Tiffany is a bully,
and you are a coward.”
“You chose a woman who hates your sister over the sister who has loved you since you were in diapers.”
“So go back to your hysterical bride and tell her she got exactly what she deserved.”
I started to close the door,
but he put his hand out to stop it.
“Mom is cut off,
Grace,” he said,
his voice dropping.
“She’s saying she’s going to take you out of the will,
she’s saying you’re dead to her.”
I smiled,
and it was the saddest smile I had ever worn.
“She already took me out of her heart years ago,
Caleb.”
“The will doesn't matter to someone who already learned how to pay for her own life.”
May you like
I slammed the door and locked it,
the sound of his retreating footsteps the only music I needed.
