“What is that?” Sophie asked.
I already knew.
A toast.
My ex-husband’s new wife had apparently written a toast for a bride she had met exactly one time.
Sophie turned to me slowly. “Mom.”
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said a single word.”
“Your face has said plenty.”
Part Five: Emma Handles Everything
By dinner, Sophie’s anger was visible from across the room. It radiated off her like heat off summer pavement.
I found her near the bar, gripping a ginger ale like it had personally offended her.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” I said, “don’t.”
“I’m thinking Emma hasn’t eaten half her dinner because she keeps getting up to deal with Dad’s wife.”
“Emma can speak for herself.”
Sophie looked at me for a long moment. Then she said, very quietly, “Can she?”
That irritated me more than I wanted to admit.
“Of course she can.”
Sophie didn’t argue. She just turned and looked toward the head table.
Emma was smiling at something Tom had said. Calm. Gracious. Composed. Exactly the way she’d been at every birthday. Every graduation. Every Christmas dinner. Every single family event since the divorce.
