“Two reds, please,” I say to the bartender, just to have something to do with my hands.
Stevie gives me a smug look, arms crossed over her chest.
“Stevie,” I say. “What, exactly, do you think you know?”
She pouts. “Idoknow,” she says. “You just won’t tell me because you don’t really talk to me anymore.”
“Stevie,” I say, even though she’s right. After the rift opened between me and Ren, I became well-versed in only sharing surface level things, with Stevie, with my parents, retreating further into work and myself until ignoring what happened became second nature.
“No,” she says on a wobble. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s tipsy or about to cry, and my immediate reaction is to do anything to stop the latter, tell her anything she wants to know. But she continues first. “Ever since Sasha’s wedding, you’re not talking to me like you used to.” She sinks a hip against the bar. “I know you’re not happy, Joni. I can tell. And I know it was you who changed the sheets.”
I squint at her. “How—”
“Because you came up early,” she says. “You don’t listen to soundscapes. Youshouldhave been at work. It was the middle of the day on a Monday. Why—”
I grasp her wrist to angle her toward the bar so the people at the tables can’t hear her rapidly rising voice, contemplate all the ways she could have figured it out. Maybe I left my phone open to an email from Ramona. Maybe I somehow caught Ren’s sleep-talking and she overheard me. Maybe Stevie isjust that goodof a journalist. My eyes dart down the table to our mom, who’s laughing at something Hannah just said.
“Stevie, I’m really sorry. I should have told you, but—” The bartender returns with our wine and I thank him, give one to Stevie, try to keep the shaking in my hands to a minimum. “I just didn’t think your wedding week was the time to tell you.”
“Why not?” she asks, that same hurt splashing across her face.
I falter, confused. Even Stevie, queen of not really caring, should be able to suss out why I wouldn’t want to tell her about the dissolution of my life right before she gets married. “I mean, I just didn’t want it to get in the way of things.”
Her brow furrows. “How would that get in the way of anything? I’m not going to tell anyone.”
I soften. “I appreciate that,” I say. “But me getting fired isn’t really what we need to talk about during your wedding week.”
I know I’ve made a mistake as soon as Stevie’s expression morphs into one of pure shock, her grip on her glass tightens. “Joni,” she says. “That’s not—”
“You gotfired?”
We both whirl at my mom’s high-pitched voice, all the color drained from her face where she stands behind us. She’s said it loudly enough that all other conversation slowly dies, until the entire deck of wedding guests is staring at us. It feels like Stevie and I are spotlighted against the flowered bar, each of us holding a glass of red, each of us frozen.
My eyes go to his immediately, the only person I know will center me right now. He’s at the table closest to us, between Sasha and Oliver, that sliver of chest I was finding so distracting during dinner now rising as he takes in a breath through his nose. He looks at me like he’s just a little confused, like I’ve shared some anecdote he’s not totally familiar with, and for some reason it hurts more than if he’d shouted at me and stormed out. Not that Ren would ever do that.
“I—” I stammer, every sip of my previous glass of wine seeming to suddenly make their way to my brain as the earth rocks beneath me. I swallow, try to steady myself. I knew this would happen eventually, that I would have to tell my mom. I just didn’t think it would be at Stevie and Leo’s rehearsal dinner, in front of so many people I love and others I just met for the first time who have no context for the situation and are here to celebrate,not listen to my sob story. I thought, at minimum, it would be on my own terms.
“You were fired?” my mom asks again, still speaking at a volume that carries across the deck, all eyes still on us.
“Mom,”I grind out. “Can we not have this conversation right now? It’s Stevie and Leo’s rehearsal dinner.”
“That’s not going to stop her,” Stevie mutters.
“Sweetie,” my mom says to me, shifting into therapist mode and completely ignoring Stevie’s comment. “Why didn’t you tell us? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, but it isn’t true. That same quaking unsteadiness I felt when I walked out of Novo a week ago is vibrating around my knees. Only a week ago, really? It’s like I took a step off the edge of my old life and plunged into an alternate one I deluded myself into thinking could be real, and now I’m waking up, scrambling to climb back into it, but can’t get a strong enough hold.
“Sweetie, do you need to talk about—”
“I’mfine,” I whisper harshly, shoulders hitching up as I try to quiet the buzzing in my ears. I don’t want to be someone who was just fired, who people will pity. I want to crawl back into some moment three years or five years or ten years ago and make a different choice. Don’t move to New York. Or, if you do, look around at your life once in a while. Don’t put everything you have into your career. Don’t pitch the idea for a movie that everyone will hate. Don’t, don’t, don’t.
If there were crickets around, they’d be sounding right now. Instead, someone drives by blaring Justin Bieber, and I see Leo’s lips twitch before he tries, hard, not to smile. And suddenly I can’t help it either. A laugh stutters out of me. At the music. At the absurdity of the situation. About what a terrible job I’ve done keeping secrets.
When I look at my mom, I know it was the absolute wrong thing to do. “What else aren’t you telling me?” she asks. There’s hurt in her eyes,and the fact that I can’t undo it is a weight bearing down on me.
“Nothing,” I lie, attempting to bring my voice to neutral. The car is moving on now, and the musical soundtrack isn’t so funny anymore. My eyes drift back to Ren’s over her shoulder. His mouth is open, like he might jump in, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to help me through this, because I kept this from him too. “It’s just— Can we please talk about this another time?”
“No, I think we can talk about it now.”
