Page 134 of Beautiful Scars

She demonstrates how to curl a ribbon and then puts the bag down in what I assume is the “done pile”.

“Fascinating. I’ll be in the gym, princess.”

I don’t make it a step out of the door before she clears her throat.

“I’m joking,” I tell her, sinking onto the couch. “And I thought it was only bad luck thenightbefore. It’s only five. Technically still afternoon.”

She shrugs. “Well. If you’re here, you can make yourself useful.”

For the second time today I find myself down on my hands and knees with a Ford. After I make a fucking farcical attempt at curling a ribbon, we mutually agree that I’ll bag while she curls.

We get a little production line going and have at it for a while in comfortable silence. “How many have we got left?”

“We’ve done thirty-six,” she says, and then screws her face up. “So…Four-hundred and seventy-four.”

I do the math in my head. Four-hundred and sixty-four. “Christ. I thought you could count.”

She smiles sweetly at me. “Ten spares, darling. For the ambulance crew.”

I shake my head and go back to bagging “baby” bottles of whiskey. We’ll be here until dawn at this rate.

What is it supposed to feel like, the night before your wedding? Are you supposed to be nervous? I glance up at her, snipping big lengths of ribbon like she’s one of the mice in Cinderella.

She doesn’t look nervous.

That’s a good thing, right?

I’m not nervous about the wedding either. About marrying her.

But it’s only fair I tell her where my head’s at. And now that I know what I know for certain, I can’t keep it from her.

“Can we talk?”

Meisie smirks, still snipping away. “Only if you don’t insult my arithmetic again.”

“I need to tell you something.”

She tilts her head to the side and puts down the scissors.

I keep bagging because I can’t sit still, and I don’t smoke in the house anymore.

“There’s something we don’t talk about. And I think we need to.”

Her tongue peeks out and wets her lips. “Go on.”

“The baby. Your baby,” I say, correcting myself. “Her name’s Maddie. Well, Madison.” I swallow. “But she gets called Maddie.”

She stares at me.

Blinks.

Looks at the ground.

“That’s not her name.”

“What was her name, princess?”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”