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“Great,” I respond. “Well, I’ve got an early—”
“Did you see Teddy?” The question comes in a rush, giving away its urgency.
This is why she called. I knew it when I made the mistake of answering. I fling an arm over my eyes, focusing on the press of skin that’s blocking out the sliver of moonlight slipping between the curtains.
I think Teddy is over Ellie.
I’m not sure if Ellie ever got over him.
“Yeah,” I answer. “He came to the service.”
“Did you talk to him?”
I let my arm drop so I can rub my forehead with my free hand. This conversation is giving me a headache. “A little.”
This is when I should tell her he’s coming on tour with me.
It’s nothing I need to hide. He offered; I didn’t ask him. But telling her will prompt a whole lot of other questions I don’t want to answer. Especially in the middle of the night.
I’m not sure if Ellie and I would have ever been close, been like sisters. We’re very different people in lots of important, incompatible ways. But I could easily pinpoint the reason this is the first time I’ve talked to her in months.
“Did he ask about me?”
I’m surprised. Not that she’s wondering, but that she asked. It’s more vulnerability than she usually likes to show around me.
“It was a memorial service, Ellie, not a high school reunion.”
“Right. I know.”
“I’m sure he’s heard about the wedding by now,” I tell her.
“Mom said he’s dating someone. Did he bring her?”
“Yes.”
Ellie makes an annoying humming sound I know is a request for more information. Wondering what she looks like. How Teddy acted around her. Whether he’s serious about this woman.
Answers I only have because I asked myself the same questions.
“I have an early morning, Ellie. Send me the details about the dress fitting, and I’ll let Hannah and Suzan know so they can put it on my calendar.”
“Right. Let me know if you can’t fit me in.”
I literally bite my tongue. “I’m letting them knowsoI can fit you in, Ellie.”
“Uh-huh. Night, Sutton.”
“Night,” I tell the empty air that follows the dial tone.
I drop my phone onto the comforter and stare up at the canopy of my four-poster bed.
Teddy didn’t mention Ellie once in the twenty-two hours I spent in Brookfield. That’s not a truth she would want to hear, but it’s one I fixate on.
I hate second-guessing. Hate the pit it forms in the bottom of my stomach. The way alternate actions crawl across my skin like ants, a constant nudge that echoesmistake.
Eight years ago, I thought I’d made the right choice.
Theonlychoice.
Now? After seeing him again?
I’m not so sure.
