Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Every year, I walk back in here, and every year, I question my sanity.
Tonight I’m walking into a party honoring my sister-in-law’s upcoming marriage to the man I’ve spent the past year trying, and failing, to forget. The man I still dream of and ache for.
I haven’t responded to a single text message James has sent. Every day, first thing in the morning and late at night, they arrive. I never fail to read them—dissecting his every thought, reading far too much into what he doesn’t say.
The only time I can bear his name, the only thread I allow myself to hold, is when I speak with his mother.
Vera and I have grown close this year through my volunteer work at the shelter.
Anna and I have spent countless weekends at her house, finding comfort in her warmth, the stillness of her quiet country road, and the endless running trails beyond her back door.
After long days at the shelter, Vera pours wine and shares stories about James.
Embarrassing tales of his childhood mischief, teenage drama, and college disasters.
The little things that made him, that led him to be the man he became.
She never mentions Ivy, never brings up the engagement, never says how he’s doing now.
Only the boy he was. The son she still fiercely loves. And somehow, that makes it bearable.
We gloss over my marriage and never discuss Mason.
I never tell her about the dream that was crushed on New Year’s.
About how I relive those moments every day.
More often than not, under dark skies filled with stars or when the sun crests the horizon on quiet roads where I’m fully alone, I wonder if I made a mistake.
Otherwise, I pretend everything is fine and move through my days with laser focus, pretending I’m not a walking shadow—because I miss him so much it physically pains me.
Mason and I broached the subject of what happened on the deck once.
I told him if he ever touched me again like that, I was done.
But we’re still technically together. Still married.
I couldn’t bring myself to face the fallout and lose the Wallises when I was already carrying so much loss, even if they aren’t the perfect family I had placed on a pedestal all these years. They’re still the only one I have.
Ivy and James’s wedding is set for December 28. Tonight is the bachelorette party. The men arrive tomorrow for the holidays, then comes the grand finale—the joyous wedding. Yay.
I’ve stayed as far removed as possible from everything leading up to this. I’ve skipped every shopping trip and family get-together. Ignored the concern in Margaret’s voice every time she paused, as if she were about to raise the subject of why I’ve shut down since last New Year’s.
But tonight, I can’t miss.
The cabin is cloaked in silence as I gingerly step inside.
Pine and cloves mingle in the air. Holly and lights sparkle throughout.
The place I once loved now wraps its talons around me, assaulting me with memories and images of last year.
But it’s not only those memories haunting me.
My disastrous phone call with Jules from a few weeks ago rises to the forefront of my mind.
Our first real fight.
“Sydney, will you listen to me? Do you know he hasn’t participated in a single decision for this wedding?
He nods, goes along with whatever Ivy wants.
He’s so clearly heartbroken. A shell of himself.
Ivy knows something is wrong. But she’s steamrolling toward the altar and won’t listen to reason.
I don’t know what’s going on with her, but it’s like she’s decided being Mrs. James Navarro is the only thing that matters. ”
“Jules, just support her. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be there, with a smile on my face.”
She exhaled so hard I could practically hear her pacing on the other end of the line.
“This isn’t even about you and James. Or you and Mason. It’s about you. Why are you doing this to yourself? Staying with Mason like some penance for a crime you didn’t commit?”
I said nothing. Sealed my lips tight so no sound escaped.
Her voice softened, while her words hit, sharp and unrelenting.
“I’ve thought about why he’s going through with the wedding. Why he’s not backing out. And I think I finally get it. It’s how he keeps a connection with you.”
My lungs stopped working. A sharp gasp broke through.
“If he ends it with Ivy, there’s no reason to see you. You’ll vanish into your world, he’ll disappear into his, and you’ll both spend the rest of your lives pretending you aren’t miserable.”
“Fuck off, Jules. I don’t need this from you.”
“No, Syd. You do need to hear this. Because it’s not too late. You have to stop letting fear run your life, stop letting your past trap you. Choose yourself.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the sting behind them, willing the walls to slam back into place.
“I’ve got to go.” And I hung up.
We haven’t spoken since. I’m utterly alone walking into tonight. I close my eyes, roll my shoulders back, and lift my chin. Take the final step. Grab a glass of some sickly-sweet, pink concoction to hide the tremor in my hands.
The basement is a pink paradise—soft, romantic, and unmistakably Ivy. Bouquets of peonies spill from every corner, their delicate fragrance blending with the warm vanilla of flickering candles.
Everything is beautiful.
Everything is perfect.
Everything feels suffocating.
I tug at the hem of my deep burgundy dress, its thick wool hugging my body in a way that feels both comforting and armored. Paired with nude tights and sky-high stilettos, it’s a deliberate contrast to the lacy pastels and glittering fabrics worn by the other women.
A quiet rebellion against the pretense of my attending.
I needed something that made me seem put-together. To not let Ivy see the wreckage beneath.
Jules stands at the center of the room, backlit like the ringleader of some elegant circus.
When our eyes meet, a wicked grin plays at her lips as she brandishes a handwritten list. “Alright, ladies. Time for a game I call: Ivy’s Wedding Hangover!
I asked James all these questions earlier, so no fibbing, Ivy. ”
The room erupts, and Ivy, already flushed from cosmos and attention, claps excitedly. She glows, eyes glittering at every mention of James. She touches her engagement ring absentmindedly, in awe that this is her life.
It starts light, harmless.
“How did they meet?” In the elevator at their office building.
“How does he take his coffee?” Black.
“What’s his favorite color?” Green.
Ivy nails every answer, giggling like a schoolgirl. Until the questions shift.
The surface-level trivia fades, and the questions begin probing deeper. His hopes and dreams, the moments from the past that have shaped him, things that make him… him.
Ivy’s smile falters. Her eyes shift with uncertainty. She laughs it off and takes a sip of her drink.
But I see it. The moment she realizes she doesn’t know the answers.
She’s marrying him, and yet, she doesn’t know.
But I do.
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips because these aren’t hard questions, not for me.
“What musician is James most looking forward to seeing in the amphitheater he designed?”
Ivy straightens, confidence snapping back into place. “U2!”
“Taylor Swift.” I scoff, letting the answer slip out in a whisper, barely audible.
“Drink up, Ives.” Jules clinks her glass against Ivy’s. “It’s Taylor Swift.”
Ivy’s cheeks flush, but she waves it off.
“Where does James want to travel most in the world?” Jules keeps asking, keeps pushing.
“Africa?” Ivy ventures.
“Not good enough. It’s a big continent. Be specific.”
I breathe out, soft as a snowflake landing. “Climb Kilimanjaro.”
Jules watches me, a hint of trouble glinting behind her lashes as she delivers the correct answer. The one I didn’t have to hesitate to find.
It’s like she’s forcing me to see this. Hear it. She planned this whole game for this moment. For me. For Ivy. A cruel airing—for Ivy to see how wrong they are for each other, and for me to finally admit everything I’ve denied this past year.
“Dear, don’t you think this is enough?” Margaret’s voice breaks the tension. Jules stares at her sister, as if willing her to concede and bow out.
Ivy fluffs her hair, smiles wider. “It’s all good, Mom. Just a harmless game.”
The look on Margaret’s face suggests otherwise.
Jules doesn’t wait—she fires off the next question, her voice all innocence and sugar. “What’s James’s favorite book?”
“Oh, that’s easy! The Alchemist.” Ivy lights up in triumph.
I groan but keep myself under control. “Dune” is the correct answer. Jules smirks like she’s developed a sixth sense for things I mumble under my breath. She gives Ivy the correct response and turns her smile directly to me as if she’s daring me to break.
“What is James’s favorite comfort meal? The one his mom made for him growing up?”
Ivy shifts uncomfortably as all eyes in the room land on her. “Lasagna?”
Something inside me snaps.
“Drink up, Ivy.” My voice is loud and clear. “It’s her Chicken Parmesan.”
The room stills.
A long pause follows.
The kind that comes after a bomb goes off.
The friends who know me as Ivy’s sister-in-law look puzzled. The extended family eyes me wearily. Margaret wraps her arms around herself and looks off into the night sky. Jules watches with quiet satisfaction. Ivy’s eyes, usually clear and kind, hold the fury of a nor’easter.
“Sorry, it’s nothing,” I laugh half-heartedly and will my face not to flush. The lie comes out easily: “Just a little trivia Vera mentioned when we were working. Now I drink for interrupting the game!”
I force a smile, playing it off, pretending this wasn’t a shot fired in the dark.
But Ivy’s eyes don’t leave me. She’s studying me, dissecting every word, knowing my outburst wasn’t a joke at all. The three of us know that what we’ve ignored and lied about is finally out in the open.