Chapter 7: The Call He Made Twice
I picked up on the second ring of the second call.
"Brandon."
"Nicole." He sounded different from the message — less composed.
Like he'd expected voicemail and hadn't prepared for my voice.
"I — okay.
Good.
I'm glad you answered."
I didn't say anything.
"I want to talk," he said.
"Not over text.
I think we should talk in person, actually.
There are things I want to explain that I can't —"
"Brandon, you withdrew four thousand dollars from our wedding account."
Silence.
"I know how that sounds —"
"I closed the account this afternoon.
Whatever was left is gone.
There's nothing to split." I kept my voice level.
"If you have a legal claim to money you withdrew from a joint account, you're welcome to make it."
"Nicole —"
"I also spoke to Diane today."
The silence this time was different.
Longer.
"What did Diane tell you," he said.
Flat.
Not a question.
"That you told your manager we'd broken up in March.
That you brought Kayla to your office Christmas party in December.
That you removed me from your emergency contact form in January and replaced me with her."
He didn't answer.
"You removed me," I said, "in January.
While I was still wearing your ring.
While I was still paying into our wedding account.
And then in March, when I was lying in the ICU, the hospital called the number on your emergency contact form and got my sister instead of me." I stopped.
"Did she come to the hospital, Brandon?
In those ten days?
Was she there while I was there?"
A pause.
Very careful.
"She came once," he said.
"To check on things."
"She came to the hospital where I was in the ICU."
"She was worried —"
"She was wearing my ring."
"She wasn't wearing it then —"
"I don't care when she put it on." My voice finally rose, just slightly, just once.
"I care that you gave it to her.
I care that you had already ended this in your head and on paper and at your office Christmas party and you let me keep planning a wedding that you knew was never going to happen.
I care that when a car hit me and I woke up not knowing if I was going to be okay, the person listed as the one who loved me most was the woman you were already with."
The line was quiet.
My mother and Lily were both very still at the table behind me.
"I'm sorry," Brandon said.
His voice had gone low.
"Nicole, I am genuinely sorry.
I handled this badly.
I know that."
"You handled it like someone who was hoping the problem would go away."
"That's not —"
"My lawyer will be in touch about the account." I said it before I'd fully decided to, before my mother had even made her call to Ruth.
But it landed right.
It landed where it needed to.
"Don't contact me again unless it's through them."
I ended the call.
I set the phone on the counter.
My hands were steady.
I noticed that and filed it away somewhere.
My mother was looking at me with an expression I recognized — not pride exactly.
Something quieter than that.
"Good," she said simply.
Lily let out a breath.
Long and slow, like she'd been holding it.
I came back to the table and sat down.
My soup was cold.
I ate it anyway.
We stayed at the table until nearly nine o'clock, the three of us, talking about small things mostly — Lily's upcoming exams, my mother's neighbor's new dog, whether the soup needed more salt.
Normal things.
Ordinary things.
The kind of conversation that holds you together when everything underneath is still shifting.
When my mother finally stood to leave, she held my face in both hands for a moment.
"Call me in the morning," she said.
"I will."
"And lock the door."
"Mom."
"Lock the door, Nicole."
I locked the door.
I helped Lily get settled, checked that she had everything she needed for school, stood in the doorway of her room for a moment watching her.
"I'm okay," she said, without looking up from her phone.
"I know," I said.
"I just wanted to see you."
She looked up then.
Something softened in her face.
"Me too," she said quietly.
I went to my own room.
I stood in the doorway — the same doorway — and looked at the bed.
The sheets were different.
Lily had changed them.
I hadn't asked her to.
She had just done it.
I got into bed.
I lay in the dark for a long time, not sleeping, not crying, just breathing carefully around my taped ribs and letting the day sit with me.
Then my phone lit up one more time.
A message from Kayla.
May you like
Not another attempt to explain.
A single photograph.
