Chapter 6: She Had Already Been Telling Everyone
Lauren's name appeared on Ethan's phone before we even pulled into our driveway.
He answered on speaker without hesitating.
"Lauren."
"Ethan." Her voice was bright, almost cheerful, the tone she used when she had already decided how a conversation was going to go.
"I heard you went to see Mom."
"We did."
"How did that go?"
"About how you'd expect."
A small pause.
"Listen, I've been thinking.
I feel like things got really out of hand at the bachelorette and I want to fix it before the wedding.
Can we just start over?
All of us?"
Ethan pulled into the garage and cut the engine.
"Lauren, did you tell people that I pulled the wedding funding because of my wife?"
Silence.
"Lauren."
"I may have mentioned to a couple of people that there was some tension—"
"That's not what I asked."
"Ethan, people were asking why the bachelorette got disrupted.
I had to say something."
"You told them she was the reason I froze the card."
"I told them there was a disagreement—"
"You made her the villain in a story where she didn't say a single word." His voice was still even.
That was the thing about Ethan when he was truly angry — he got quieter, not louder.
"She sat in a lounger and read a book while you performed your way through the afternoon.
She didn't cause a scene.
She didn't argue with you.
And you still found a way to make it her fault."
"I'm trying to protect myself here, Ethan.
People were talking."
"Who sent her the message, Lauren?"
Another silence.
Longer.
"What message?"
"Someone texted her tonight.
Told her what you'd been saying.
Unsigned."
"I don't know who would—"
"Was it one of the bridesmaids?"
The pause that followed was a fraction too long.
"I don't know," Lauren said.
But her voice had changed.
Flatter.
More careful.
I thought about the bridesmaid who had stepped away.
The one who had said "that's awful" in the apartment kitchen, then said it again at the pool.
The one who had stopped pretending to look at her phone.
Ethan leaned back in his seat.
"Here's what's going to happen.
Before the wedding, you are going to tell the people you spoke to that you were wrong about what you said.
Not that there was tension.
Not that things got complicated.
That you were wrong."
"Ethan, I can't just—"
"And you're going to call my wife and apologize.
Not an 'I'm sorry you felt that way.' A real one."
"You're asking me to humiliate myself."
"I'm asking you to correct a lie."
Lauren's voice went sharp.
"You know what your problem is?
You've completely lost perspective.
You've been with her for what, six years?
And suddenly your own sister, your own mother, none of us matter anymore?"
"You matter.
You've always mattered.
But you don't get to matter at her expense."
"She has changed you."
"Lauren." He said her name like a door closing.
"I'll see you at the wedding.
But if you want me to stand in that room and mean it — really mean it — you know what you need to do."
He ended the call.
The garage was very quiet.
I looked at my hands in my lap.
"She's not going to do it," I said.
"Probably not."
"So what happens at the wedding?"
Ethan was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "I've been thinking about that."
He reached into the back seat and picked up a folded piece of paper I hadn't noticed before.
He'd had it with him all evening.
He held it out to me.
I unfolded it.
It was a printed email chain.
I scanned the top of the page and felt the air leave my lungs.
May you like
It was between Lauren and her fiancé, Ryan.
And the date on the first message was four months ago.
