4: 4
4
When both sets of parents had arrived, Paul was still asking me about the budget spreadsheet.
"Where did you put it?"
"I didn't make one."
He pulled me into the kitchen.
"Today is not the day for you to be difficult. I'll put the money back, and Sara will move out. Just apologize to her first. Don't make us look bad in front of both families."
"Why should I apologize?"
"The way you've treated her these last two days, you really don't know?"
I looked at the older relatives in the living room, already talking about the wedding.
"Weren't you the one who said you wanted to explain everything, once and for all?"
"Explaining doesn't mean throwing a fit in front of everyone." Paul kept his voice low. "Once we're married, I'll manage the boundaries."
"And the past four years?"
He stopped.
"That's all behind us."
"Behind you, sure."
The lock clicked at that moment.
Sara let herself in with a key, carrying fruit.
Everyone in the room looked over at her at once.
She was obviously nervous.
"Hello, everyone. Mr. James said we'd clear up the misunderstanding today, so I came over."
Paul took the things from her hands and told her to sit.
My mother recognized the coat she was wearing.
It was the same one worn by the person Paul had said he was driving to the storage unit on the day of her surgery.
Paul's father spoke first. "And who is this?"
"My subordinate, Sara. She's going through a divorce right now." Paul said. "Her old place wasn't safe, so she's staying here for the time being."
My mother slowly turned her head.
"Staying here?"
Sara said quickly, "It's only for a little while, ma'am. I'll leave once the paperwork is done."
"How long has it been?"
She didn't answer.
Paul answered for her.
"A few months, on and off. Not the whole time. Only when something came up."
My mother's face darkened by degrees.
"I came here for surgery, and Fiona booked me a hotel. She said your place wasn't set up for guests."
Paul's mother was stunned too.
"Paul, don't you hate having anyone in your apartment?"
"This is different," Paul said.
"Different how?"
"Sara's out here on her own, and the divorce has gotten ugly. I'm her boss. I can't just do nothing."
My mother pointed at the second hook by the door.
"Doing something means giving her a key to keep?"
Sara stood up.
"Ma'am, don't blame Mr. James. I had nowhere to go. I'll move out right now."
Paul gripped her arm.
"Sit down."
He turned to both sets of parents, his tone even firmer than before.
"I asked her here today so we could get everything out in the open. She'll stay here until the divorce paperwork is finished. Separate rooms. Nothing has crossed the line between us. And don't put any pressure on her, either."
"And the wedding?" I asked.
"The wedding goes on as planned. Don't mix the two things up."
"She's living in our home, using our wedding money, taking part in our wedding. How is that two things?"
The last scrap of patience left Paul's face.
"The legal fees were to get her moved out faster. The process is because she knows my work. I've explained all of it. What more do you want from me?"
"And my mother?"
"Doesn't your mother have someone looking after her?"
My mother stood up.
"So what you mean is, my daughter and I both have other arrangements, so we should go to the back of the line?"
"That's not what I meant, ma'am."
"Then what did you mean?"
Sara's tears fell.
"It's all my fault. Would it help if I just left?"
Paul pulled a tissue and handed it to her.
"It's not your fault."
Then he looked at me.
"Fiona, do you really have to blow this little thing up in front of the parents and humiliate her like this?"
The facts were already laid out for everyone to see.
I took the wedding cancellation confirmation out of my bag and set it on the coffee table.
"The wedding's already been cancelled."
Paul didn't catch up.
"What?"
"The planner, the hotel, the photographer, the wedding company. Whatever could be refunded has been. Whatever couldn't, each side covers under the contract."
He snatched up the confirmation and flipped straight to the last page.
"Who told you to cancel it?"
"Fiona Swanson, you——"
The doorbell rang.
The movers were outside, confirming the address.
Two of them came in and started with the sample cases in the study, then took apart the bookshelf and the sideboard I'd bought. My half of the closet had already been packed ahead of time, the sealing tape marked with numbers.
Paul blocked the bedroom doorway.
"When did you set this up?"
"Yesterday."
"You had it all ready?"
"Yes."
He looked at my mother, then at the cancellation confirmation on the table, and his voice finally broke apart.
"Let's talk. If you want Sara to move out, she can move out right now. I'll put the money back too. There's no need to go this far."
Sara stood in the middle of the living room, pale.
I handed him the joint account statement.
"My share, the furniture itemization, the lease responsibility. It's all written in there. My lawyer will be in touch with you."
"I'm not asking about money."
"But every time you made a choice, you never once asked what I wanted."
The last box was carried out.
I took the key off the first hook by the door and laid it on the statement.
"I'm off the lease at the end of the month. You can cover the whole rent yourself, or you can give up the place."
"Fiona."
Paul chased me to the elevator and, for the first time, reached out to pull me back.
I stepped to the side.
"Don't touch me."
His hand stopped in midair.
In the elevator, my mother took my hand.
As the doors closed, I saw Paul still standing there, the half-emptied apartment behind him.
This time, the one walking away was me.
My wedding. I wasn't going.
The one who had to figure out how to deal with everything had finally become him.
