by Kaela Coble
He’s right. I know he’s right. Here I am, defending Danny’s fucked-up choices and judging Emmett just because he made some of his own. And all that before we get to my own past. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I guess I got defensive. You know, now that he’s not here to defend himself.”
“You always defended him. Even when Danny was here to defend himself. And most of the time he was smirking behind your back, like the little brother who just got away with something by telling Mommy that the other kids were mean to him.”
There’s a hurt in his voice, and in his eyes I see a frightened teenager realizing he was on hallucinogens against his will. I see a humiliated, gangly pre-teen sprawled out on the auditorium floor because Danny had stuck his foot out to trip him in front of the whole school. I see a little boy, gazing up at Murphy and Danny swinging from their knees in a moment of fearlessness he himself wasn’t capable of. What that must have felt like, to a boy who was, at five, already set in his ways. Like the earth was shifting on its axis. Like he would never be good enough. Suddenly I see Danny grinning maliciously down at Emmett, raising his middle finger. Whether it happened or not, it certainly feels like it could have.
“Murphy didn’t love Danny more than you, you know,” I say, almost forgetting that I’m now speaking to Emmett the grown man, and not the little boy. “He loved you both the same.”
A deep crimson spreads across his cheeks, already pink from the cold. I’m about to apologize for embarrassing him, when Emmett says, “Everyone has their favorites, though. Dan was everyone’s favorite.” He glances at me for just a second before tearing his gaze away again. I wonder for the first time if maybe Murphy’s friendship wasn’t the only thing he competed with Danny over. Maybe it was mine as well. And Ally’s, too. Danny needed us more than Emmett, and so he got us. And Emmett got left out. As much as he tried to make Danny feel like an outsider, he—Emmett—felt like one. I guess, for one reason or another, we all did.
I don’t want to embarrass him any further, so I keep this thought to myself. Instead, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “I saw this movie a few years back, about this guy who could travel back in time and fix all the mistakes he had made. Any little thing he changed made all his loved ones’ lives change completely.”
“I remember it. No matter what he did, everything still ended up shitty, so in the end he did everything exactly the same.”
“I read some interviews after I watched it. Originally it was supposed to end with the main character going back to the womb and strangling himself.”
The words hang in the air for an uncomfortable moment, and I wish I hadn’t said them.
Graciously Emmett clears his throat and changes the subject. “So you didn’t write the article, but when are we going to see your name in print?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think journalism is on the cards for me. I prefer fiction. It’s . . . tidier.” I remember something from the variety of conversations I had last night. “Ally thinks I should write about this,” I say, waving my arm at the headstone, then at Emmett, and then sweeping it around to indicate Chatwick as a whole.
“Maybe you should. You’d have to be a bit of a journalist, though, to figure out the rest of the secrets. Of course you know mine and yours. And we know Ally’s . . .”
“Well, Ally said hers wasn’t true,” I point out. My heart begins to pound. It feels only right to defend Ally when I know the truth, but we’re getting too close to a topic I still can’t discuss before talking to Murphy. Plus, Emmett is about as pro-choice as Glenn Beck, and I’m guessing his comment was meant to draw me out on a subject I don’t have the energy to debate.
He nods in a way that tells me he thinks Ally is full of shit, then continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “And I’m guessing you know Murphy’s. Or that they’re linked, somehow.”
All things done in the dark . . .
“I don’t know what Murphy’s secret is,” I say.
He gives me the same nod. Yeah, right.
“Really,” I add. “And it’s none of my business.”
“You know he really loved you,” he says out of nowhere. It’s not a question, but a statement. Another statement that knocks the wind out of me. “Still does, I’d bet the house.”
I force a laugh. “I think you’re in enough trouble, without making ridiculous bets like that.”
He smiles sadly. “Ruby.”
I hear all his disappointment in those two syllables. We were having an honest moment, and I pulled away. It’s going to take some time to break this habit. I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head. “Murphy doesn’t even know me. Not really. He hasn’t for a long time.”
“And whose fault is that?” He waits a moment for his point to resonate and then cuffs me on the shoulder. “See ya at the wedding.” He turns to leave.
“Emmett!” I cry after he’s walked a few paces toward the exit. Suddenly I feel desperate for him to stay. I’m not ready to say goodbye. To him. To Danny. To Chatwick. Emmett turns back. “Aren’t you going to talk to Danny?” I ask. “That’s what you came here for, right?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t talk to him here,” he says, but he walks back anyway, passes me, and snatches up the bouquet. “But thanks for reminding me. I wanted to make sure none of these things were left. Danny would have hated it.” He starts to walk away again, but I grab his arm and pull him into a hug. Our second hug ever.
When we come apart, I turn to Danny’s stone and say, “Happy Birthday, Danny.” I try to keep a smile on my face when I say it. Just in case he’s watching.
“Yeah, and Merry Christmas,” Emmett says. We look at each other with sad, tucked-in smiles.
“Come on, I’ll give you a ride home,” I say.
He nods, slings his arm around my shoulder, and we walk back to my car. And for once we don’t debate, or bicker, or dig at each other. We just let the silence settle over us. I look back at Danny’s stone, left behind alone and in the cold. I try to convince myself that it’s not him. That he’s moved on to that hideously clichéd better place. That he’s been forgiven for what he’s done, and that maybe he’s even forgiven himself. And us.
Halfway to the car it starts to snow. I’ve never been a big believer in the afterlife, but something tells me it’s Danny’s doing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ALLY
Now
I should have said no when Steph first asked me about red satin for the bridesmaid’s dresses. She probably would have listened to me. But no, I kept my trap shut so Steph could have everything she wanted. Now I’m standing here six months pregnant, my belly looking like a giant tomato with a button at the center; I can only imagine how many times it will be pressed at the reception. Spanx engineered by NASA couldn’t cover up this belly button in satin, the bitchiest of fabrics, if you ask me.
At least I’m not the only one who doesn’t look her best. I finally wrestled Ruby into my chair to give her some highlights, insisting that the dress would clash with her hair and make her look sick, which it does. She wouldn’t let me do more than a partial, always so cautious, ever since I made that one tiny mistake in high school. You couldn’t even see the parts that turned black; I don’t know why she had to be so dramatic about it. Anyway her hair is still too strawberry, and I did my best to give her a good up-do and makeup, but it doesn’t look right together.
Emmett and Steph say their vows, the traditional churchy ones. Aaron is straight across from me, where the groomsmen stand. He catches my eye and winks. I swear when he does that, it gets to me just like it did when we were kids. And here we are, about to have a kid of our own. Someday she will get winked at and feel that skip in her heart that makes you stupid. What a scary thought.
Of course I don’t know for sure it’s a girl. My sister-in-law told me that not knowing the sex gave her that extra motivation to push, no matter how tired she was, and I thought that sounded sensible as anything, so we decided to be surprised, too. But I th
ink it’s a girl. I just have a feeling. Ruby said she had a dream it was a boy, but I think that’s wishful thinking on her part. She’s always been more comfortable around boys.
I try to pay attention to the service, but they’re doing a full mass, and honestly it’s enough to concentrate just on keeping upright. Finally they get to the part where the bridesmaids and groomsmen get to sit down, and I collapse into the front pew and fan myself with the program that was on my seat. It’s hot as Halley’s Comet in here. I’m guessing they crank up the heat for the old people. Ruby notices a trickle of sweat on my forehead and wipes it away. Every time she does something tender like that—something I picture her mother doing when Ruby was little—I worry about Ruby inheriting Nancy’s dark side, too. I remember researching bipolar in the Chatwick High library, wanting to understand why Ruby’s mom was the way she was, and read that it can be passed down to your kids, but sometimes it doesn’t show up until your mid-twenties, which would be right about now for Ruby. Aaron tells me I’m a worrywart. Well, he better get used to it. As much as I love Ruby, can you imagine what I’ll be like with my own kid?
I watch Emmett closely, looking for signs he’s not taking it seriously, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Steph for even one second. Good. I don’t blame him; Steph does look beautiful, angelic almost. Her dress, well, I won’t get into it because her family kept going on about how unique it is, but let’s just say she could have saved herself the money by taking mine out of storage and tying a sash around the middle. It could have been her “something borrowed”! But besides the dress and the hair and the makeup—all beautiful on their own—she has that look to her. I’ve been to a lot of weddings over the years, and you can tell the brides who just want to get married from the brides who are truly in love with their husbands, and she is one of the second kind. She’ll need it, being married to Emmett McDowell. I do not envy her. I love Emmett the same way Ruby does, in that we both want to kill him most of the time. He’s become a little more thoughtful, though, a little softer, since his secret came out. Seems to me his heart condition is making him more aware he has a heart. Or maybe I’m just not taking everything he says as hard.
I hate to say it, but I’m glad we’re at the finish line, that tomorrow this wedding business will be over. And it’s fitting they’re getting married on New Year’s Eve. Today will be the last day of this insane year, and tomorrow we get to start fresh. The last few months have been exhausting, what with the wedding planning and the bridesmaid bickering and the pregnancy. And then there’s the fact that this all started with Danny in a coffin, which I haven’t really even had time to process, I’ve spent so much of my energy being mad at him.
People think I’m mad just because he lied about my secret, or because he’s calling us out on our private business, but that’s not true. Well, not entirely. I’m mad because he killed himself in the first place. I’m mad he became a heroin addict. I’m mad he never told me he was abused. You better believe I would have done something about it. I know people think of me as a bigmouth, but don’t you think that might have been a good thing in this situation? Really, what good did keeping secrets do Danny in the end?
And maybe that’s the point he was trying to make with his little suicide project. Maybe. I’m still too mad at him to think like that, and the hormones don’t help. Plus, it’s hard to forgive someone when you’re looking over your shoulder all the time, waiting for whatever booby trap he’s set up to reveal what you’ve really been hiding.
I know, I know. I’m a hypocrite. I’m the one who made us promise we would always be honest with each other. That stupid pact is what started all this in the first place. But hey, give me a break! When we made that pact, the worst thing we could think of to share—once I had told about my parents’ divorce—was our middle names (mine is Dorothy, Emmett’s is Herbert). Besides, obviously I’m not the only one who broke it. So back off!
“Josh, do you think you could move down a seat? I would like to sit next to Murphy. You know, my date,” Krystal says to Emmett’s brother, louder than seems necessary.
Honestly I don’t see why Krystal goes to the trouble of embarrassing herself over Murphy. He certainly wouldn’t do it for her. Most of the time she swears up and down they’re not in a relationship and she’s fine with that. She’s still getting over what’s-his-name that she dated since high school, and she’s not ready for anything real, and blah-blah-blah. But then there’s times like these when it’s obvious she wants everyone to treat her like she’s part of a legitimate couple. Weddings make people a little desperate, I think.
I’m glad I’ve never had to go to one of these things alone, with everyone else coupled off. Poor Ruby, the only one in the wedding party without a date. She’s always been the independent one, though, trying to make it seem like it doesn’t bother her that she’s always single. Aaron thinks maybe it doesn’t, but how could it not? I mean there’s gotta be a reason she still keeps Jamie on her hook. Everyone gets lonely.
Ruby’s parents are here, so is my mom and Murphy’s parents, and Charlene, too, although I haven’t seen her in a while. Ruby hugs Murphy’s mom and Murphy hugs Ruby’s in opposite corners of the reception hall, both mothers shouting about how the kids are so grown-up and how they turned out so well. I suddenly get a flash, like this is Ruby and Murphy’s wedding and they’re mingling with their own guests. I shudder. What a disaster that would be. Murphy’s a Chatwick boy through and through, and if the last few years have been any indication, he would sooner jump off a bridge than settle down. And Ruby, well, now that I’ve seen her in New York, I can’t help but notice how jittery and unsure of herself she is here, in the place where she grew up. Ruby’s not comfortable in Chatwick, and Murphy’s not comfortable a mile outside of it. They would have to be married over Skype.
Ruby sits next to me and Aaron at the head table, and I notice her refilling her champagne twice over dinner. Either she’s loosened up over the years, realizing that just because her mother’s an alcoholic doesn’t mean she is, or else she is starting to show signs . . . When I make eyes at Aaron, he mouths, “Worrywart” at me.
Murphy gives his speech. His hands shake as he reads from his piece of lined paper, and his voice is a little wobbly at first, but he does good anyway. He makes a joke about Emmett making all the wedding plans because he’s too particular to leave them up to Steph. He says how beautiful Steph is, and how lucky she and Emmett are to have found each other. It’s one of those moments when it hits home that we’re all grown-up. I’m sitting here pregnant, Emmett is getting married, and Murphy is giving a toast that doesn’t have any burps or swear words in it. It’s good and bad. Good because we’re independent; we’re choosing the lives we want to live. Bad because it’s a slippery slope until we’re old, and the first one of us has already died.
Elizabeth gives a beautiful toast, talking about how Steph was the first one to tell her she should go to college, and how Steph’s support is what got her through some really hard times with her own family. Everyone cries. By comparison, Krystal’s toast seems a little whiney; she manages to sneak in a reference to her surprise that she will be the last one married out of their little group. I think she thought it would be funny, but it was just kinda awkward.
The only fun thing about being at a Chatwick wedding and not drinking is watching how stupid everybody looks the more they drink. The dance floor is full of fools, and even though I’m dead tired and my feet ache more than they do after a full day at the salon, I dance, too. Your friends only get married once. Hopefully.
At one point Aaron and I are dancing in the middle of the floor, and Emmett and Steph are next to us. Ruby and Murphy see us and hip-bump their way through fourteen million of Steph’s cousins to join us. It’s like no one else is there, just our little crew, like always. I mean, it’s Steph instead of Tara. And Danny’s not here. But right now all that matters is the rest of us are together. My heart swells with the love I have for these people. My chosen family,
who understand each other better than any outsider ever could, secrets or no.
And then Krystal is there. She swoops in from whatever corner she’s been sulking in and she’s got that look in her eye, like she’s had about enough and is about to make a stand, ruining everyone else’s time in the process. I shoot her a warning look and she relaxes a little bit, pretends she just came over to dance. She shakes her way in between Ruby and Murphy, who, in Krystal’s defense, are a bit glued together.
Ruby arches an eyebrow at me, but she tries to pretend that getting boxed out doesn’t bother her. She dances with me and Aaron instead, taking deep swigs from Aaron’s beer. When Krystal leaves to request a song, there Ruby goes, back to Murphy, both of them throwing their heads back and laughing like they’ve never had a better time in their lives. If she’s trying to butter him up before she tells him what she’s hiding, I think it’s working. The music changes to a slow song and I see a moment of hesitation before they clamp together, swaying back and forth.
I stop paying attention to them and look into my husband’s eyes. It’s not our song, but I remember dancing to it at our wedding, and even though my swollen tummy makes it hard to be near to each other, I know we’re even closer now than we were the day we got married.
I hear a stomping of heels and suddenly Krystal is back. She puts her hand on Ruby’s shoulder and gives her one firm push. “I’ll take it from here, Ruby,” she says.
Ruby takes one step backward from the force, but she doesn’t say anything. She looks stunned.
“Uh-oh,” Aaron says to me under his breath.
“Krys, I was dancing with Ruby,” Murphy says.
“Oh, trust me, I know you were dancing with Ruby,” Krystal slurs. “The little slut’s been all over you all night. I’m just trying to take my date back.”
“Excuse me?” Ruby says, whisper-yelling. I can tell she’s at least trying to be respectful that we’re at our friend’s wedding, unlike Krystal, who seems to be itching to cause a scene.
