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“Suggesting we . . .” She couldn’t make herself say the D-word, so she skipped it. “No. She told me she wanted us to spend Christmas together so that we wouldn’t be tense and ill at ease with each other during the wedding.”
“That’s what she told me, too.”
Silence fell between them now, withawkwardandtensebeing the words of the day. Emma’s throat closed up, and pressure built behind her eyes.I will not cry. I willnotcry!
Jared drummed his fingers against the table. Emma felt the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn’t make herself return it. She feared that if she did when faced with the coldness in his eyes, she’d lose her battle against tears.
“So,” he said abruptly. “How do you want to do this? Trade the names of our lawyers?”
The question was a knife plunging into her heart. Trying hard not to betray the wound, she reached her right hand calmly for her water glass. Hidden beneath the table, the fingernails on her left hand dug into her thigh. A sip of water helped rid her of the lump in her throat. Left with only her pride, she managed to say, “Sure. I’ll email that information to you first thing tomorrow.”
His chin lifted slightly. “Okay. Good. I’ll do the same.”
“Okay. Good.”
Jared pushed a miniature crab cake around his plate with his fork. “I don’t want this to be ugly.”
“I don’t, either. I hope we can avoid that. I’ll certainly try.”
“Me, too.”
Once again, the uncomfortable silence fell. Emma searched for something to say—anything—that would give her a legitimate excuse to leave. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself onto her bed and cry into her pillow.
Jared set down his fork and took a sip of water. “I guess we should tell Molly she’s getting the gift she wanted.”
“Yes.” Emma licked her lips. “I know she worried we would make the wedding festivities awkward. She’ll be happy to hear that we’ve settled everything.”
His fingers tightened around his glass.So, he isn’t as calm as he pretended. Well, good.As time ticked by, Emma experienced the sudden urge to throw away her pride and attempt to talk to him. Really talk to him.
The notion gained strength as he picked up his fork and resumed his meal. Emma rearranged her napkin. Words—honest words—bubbled up inside her, but before she could give them a voice, Jared said, “I’m glad we see eye to eye on this. It makes everything easier. So, have you met Mason’s parents yet? They seem like very nice people.”
Her stomach sank. They saw eye to eye. Well, guess that told her. She worked to keep her voice steady as she answered. “Yes, I like the Malones very much. So does Molly.”
She heard the door behind her open, and she looked around, expecting to see Molly. Instead, she watched Celeste rush into the room. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we have a problem downstairs. Molly and I were rearranging a few things in the parlor in preparation for the bridal portraits you’re scheduled to take in the morning. Unfortunately, she bumped into the Christmas tree. An ornament broke, and it’s led to a bit of a meltdown. I think she could use a parental shoulder for support.”
“I’ll go,” Jared said without hesitation. He set down his napkin, shoved back his chair, and fled the room without looking at Emma or speaking another word.
Just like that, the reunion dinner was done.
Sort of like our marriage.
* * *
Molly knew it was silly to lose it over a broken Christmas tree ornament, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. That said ornament had been a puffed red heart hadn’t helped. When she’d knelt on the parlor floor and began picking up the pieces, the metaphor moment had hit her like a fist.
When she’d first considered bringing up the topic of divorce, she’d known that her parents might jump at the suggestion. Her idea had not been a stab at reverse psychology; she sincerely believed the status quo needed to change. This limbo their family had existed in had dragged on long enough.
In hindsight, she recognized that a part of her had nursed the hope that they would reject the idea out of hand. That hadn’t happened. Her parents’ expressions in the wake of her request had shown stunned surprise and dismay, but not dismissal, dashing Molly’s hopes. So, when she’d accidentally knocked the ornament off the parlor Christmas tree, her emotions had gone berserk.
Then her father had walked into the parlor looking as grim as the Grinch, and she’d needed no further confirmation. The divorce was on.
“Well, fine,” she said, using anger to insulate against the pain as she changed into her pajamas a short time later. “Let them throw our family away. This time next week, I’ll have a new family.”
She cried herself to sleep and slept fitfully. She dreamed she was a rusted metal pinball bouncing through a forest of Christmas trees strung with blinking red lights. Glass ornaments shaped like brides and grooms hung from the branches. She banged into one tree. Bammed into another. Glass tinkled, then crackled and crashed. Shards of ornaments rained down upon the snow-covered ground where they lay like broken promises.
Pinball Molly didn’t want to be rusty and hard. She wanted to be a bright, shiny, soft silver ball. A pretty ball that wouldn’t break the brides and grooms. But her rusty ball rolled into a rabbit hole and fell and fell and fell...Mommy! Daddy!
“Molly?”
