“Martha, you need to leave.”
I looked at her.
“Martha, you need to leave.”
“No. I’ll say it.”
Then I faced Martha again.
“You are leaving my wedding. You’re not coming to our home, and you’re not calling Nick tomorrow expecting him to smooth this over.”
Martha stared at Nick.
“You’re allowing this?”
“No. I’ll say it.”
He answered quietly.
“Yes. I’m standing beside my wife.”
I stepped closer.
“If we ever speak again, it’ll start with you admitting what you did without blaming me, Lydia, or Nick.”
Martha looked around the room.
Caroline wouldn’t defend her.
“I’m standing beside my wife.”
Lydia wouldn’t soften it.
Nick stayed beside me.
For once, nobody rescued Martha from the consequences of her own behavior.
She picked up her purse.
Then she walked out without another word.
And nobody followed.
Lydia wouldn’t soften it.
***
Nick looked at me.
“Do you want to go home?”
I looked across the restaurant.
Our dinner had gone cold. My hair was uneven. My mascara had surrendered somewhere around the second confrontation.
But our guests were still there.
Don’t miss
“Do you want to go home?”
Our music was still playing softly.
And the dessert Nick and I had argued over for three weeks was sitting untouched at our table.
