Chapter 3
Chapter Three
On Monday morning, Sophie found a bobby pin in the pocket of Jesse’s suit pants.
She stood beside the washing machine with it in her palm, trying to remember when he had taken it from her hair.
At some point during the reception he must have reached up and freed it because it was pulling, and she had forgotten that kindness while remembering the rest.
The house was full of wedding debris. Gift bags crowded the dining table, two vases of flowers stood on the kitchen counter, and Marianne had sent them home with enough cake to feed six people.
They had postponed their honeymoon until Jesse finished a commercial job in late November, so Sophie had taken three days off to sleep, open presents, and be married without having to put shoes on.
Jesse came in from the porch carrying two coffees. He had gone out for milk and returned with the expensive ones she only bought on Fridays, remembering the extra shot without asking. She put the bobby pin on top of the dryer and took her cup.
“Breakfast on the steps?” he asked. He leaned down to kiss her cheek.
They sat on the back steps in the weak morning sun.
The small garden still needed work, and the fence Jesse had promised to mend leaned toward the neighbor’s shed, but Sophie loved the uneven brick path and the old rosebush beside the gate.
They had bought the house in March after walking through it once, standing in the upstairs bedroom while rain tapped against a window that wouldn’t close properly.
“We’ll fix it,” Jesse had said. Sophie had believed him because he already had a screwdriver in his truck.
Now he rested his knee against hers. She drank her coffee and let herself enjoy the quiet until her phone began vibrating on the step between them.
Haley had sent six screenshots. Above them was a message that made Sophie’s stomach tighten before she opened the first image.
I didn’t want you to find this from someone else. Call me before you answer her.
Sophie opened the first screenshot without calling.
Lorraine’s post had gone up at seven forty-three. The photograph showed her beside Jesse at the fountain, before the wine, her hand on his chest and her face lifted toward him. Hank’s shoulder remained at the edge of the crop, a dark strip that could have belonged to a stranger.
Sophie read the caption twice. Lorraine wrote about a mother being her son’s first love, about raising a good man, and about the pain of being made to feel unwanted on the day she had dreamed of since he was born. She never named Sophie or Haley. She didn’t have to.
I left with a broken heart and missed the rest of my only son’s wedding. I hope the people who found it funny never know how that feels.
There were thirty-eight comments. Jesse’s aunt Ruth had written that some young women forgot who came before them, and a woman Sophie had met once at a barbecue had said cruelty revealed character. Lorraine had responded to both with hearts.
Jesse leaned toward the phone. “What is it?” Sophie handed it to him.
His expression hardened as he scrolled. She watched him reach the photograph again, look at the white dress, and press his lips together.
“I’ll call her,” Jesse said. He handed back the phone without getting up. “Did Haley say anything?”
“About your mother’s post?”
“About apologizing,” he said. “Properly, I mean. If she put something up saying she was sorry, Mom might take this down.”
“Haley apologized at the wedding. Several times.”
“While pretending it was an accident,” he said. He rubbed his eyes. “Come on, Soph. We both know.”
Haley had admitted it on the phone the previous evening. Sophie had spent twenty minutes telling her what an idiot she’d been, then stayed on the call while her friend cried herself into a headache.
“Then text Haley,” Sophie said. She pulled her foot away from the cold edge of the step. “Your mother’s telling everyone I ruined the wedding. Why do I have to fix that too?”
“She didn’t name you,” Jesse said. His shoulders dropped when Sophie looked at him.
Sophie held the comments between them. “Ruth knows who she means. So does this woman. So does everyone who was there.”
He stood and went inside. Sophie stayed on the steps with her cooling coffee, hearing his voice through the open kitchen window as he called Lorraine. He began firmly, saying the post was unfair and asking her to remove it, and Sophie felt the smallest loosening in her chest.
Then he stopped speaking for a long time. When he answered, his voice was softer.
“Nobody said you can’t post pictures,” Jesse said. He moved closer to the window. “It’s what you wrote underneath.”
Sophie leaned back against the warm brick, listening, her coffee cooling between her hands.
“Cream, white, whatever,” he said at last. “You knew what Sophie was wearing. You sent her a green dress.”
Inside, a chair scraped against the floor as Jesse sat down to listen.
“I know,” Jesse said. “I know you missed it. I’m sorry about the dance.”
Sophie drank the bitter last mouthful of coffee.
“I love you too,” he said. “Just take the part about people laughing down. Please.”
When he came outside, he said Lorraine would edit the caption. He reached for his abandoned coffee and drank it cold, spilling a little onto the knee of his pants.
“She said the lighting made the dress look whiter than it was,” he added. He sat beside her again.
“It was white in the parking lot,” Sophie said. “It was white in the hall. She had a matching shawl.”
“I told her,” he said. His voice sharpened. “You heard me tell her.”
“I also heard you apologize.”
“For missing our dance. Am I not allowed to be sad about that?” He looked at her, genuinely angry now. “She picked that song months ago.”
“She could have stayed.” Sophie picked up both cups, although he hadn’t finished.
“You think I don’t remember?” Jesse took his cup back. The coffee went over his fingers, and he swore before setting it on the step between them.
He went back inside. A few minutes later she heard the washing machine start, and she stayed on the step because going in would mean deciding whether to follow him or avoid him in their own house.
That afternoon they opened wedding presents.
Jesse wrote down the gifts while Sophie unfolded tissue paper, and for an hour they talked about towels and bowls and where to put a serving platter too large for any cupboard.
They laughed when they opened a second identical toaster, and Jesse nudged her foot with his beneath the table.
Lorraine’s gift was in a silver box. Inside lay an envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jesse Shields, although Sophie had told her twice that she was keeping Winters.
The check was generous, large enough to cover several months of payments on the car, and Sophie hated that she hesitated before handing it to Jesse.
“We can send it back,” he said. He was watching her face.
“Then she’ll tell everyone we threw her gift in her face,” Sophie said. She slid the card out and read the message, which wished them the kind of marriage built on respect for family.
Jesse turned the envelope over. “We don’t have to do anything today,” he said. “Put it aside.”
She did. Later, while he carried empty boxes to the recycling bin, Sophie sat at the table with the card and tried to write a thank-you note that didn’t sound either falsely affectionate or deliberately cold.
She managed two sentences, signed both their names, and sealed the envelope before she could tear it up.
Marianne called while Sophie was addressing the thank-you envelopes after lunch. She asked whether they had eaten and whether Jesse had taken his suit to be cleaned, then paused long enough for Sophie to put down her pen.
“What?” Sophie put down her pen.
“I wondered if you might telephone Lorraine,” Marianne said. “Just you. Tell her you’re sorry the day ended that way.”
Sophie looked at the envelope bearing Lorraine’s address. “Am I?” she asked. “Would you like me to apologize for my face too?”
“I didn’t say apologize,” Marianne said quickly. “I thought if the two of you could talk without everyone else—” She stopped when Sophie drew breath.
“You were there.” Her voice broke, which made her angrier. “You saw what she did.”
“I know I was there.” Marianne exhaled. “I’m trying to help you get on with being married.”
Sophie put the pen away. “Then stop giving me jobs,” she said, and ended the call before she heard the answer. The envelope lay in front of her with half of Lorraine’s address written on it.
Her mother called again ten minutes later. Sophie let it ring, then read the message that followed.
I won’t call Lorraine. Ring me when you want to.
Sophie left it unanswered until late afternoon. Then she sent a picture of the flowers Marianne had arranged in the jug, followed by a question about how often to change the water. Her mother sent instructions Sophie already knew, and neither mentioned Lorraine.
Haley called that evening. Sophie took the call upstairs, sitting on the bed with the door open because she refused to make it look secret.
“I can pay for the dress,” Haley said. Her voice sounded flat with exhaustion. “I told Jesse that when he texted.”
“He texted you?” Sophie wished she hadn’t sounded so surprised.
“He asked me to make it right. I said I’d pay to clean it or replace it.” Haley paused. “I’m not writing that your family bullied her out of the wedding. That’s what she wants.”
“I know.” Sophie wrapped a loose thread from the duvet around her finger.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” Haley said. “I keep thinking about your face when he stopped the music.”
“I keep seeing the napkins.” Sophie lowered her voice. “All those stupid little napkins. We paid extra for the ones with our names on.”
Haley was quiet for a moment. “I’ve still got one in my bag,” she said, and Sophie began crying before either of them could think of anything else to say.
When Jesse came upstairs, Sophie was washing her face. He leaned in the bathroom doorway and asked if she wanted to order dinner. She said yes, and he stood there a moment longer before telling her he had asked Haley to apologize.
“She told me.” Sophie dried her face.
“I wasn’t going behind your back,” he said. “You said I could talk to her.”
“I did,” Sophie said. She hung the towel over the rail and found him watching her in the mirror.
He asked whether she’d prefer him to go downstairs. She had married him two days ago, and she couldn’t bear another evening of hearing him in a different room.
So she turned. He pulled her against his chest, and she held him tightly enough to make him breathe out. They stood there until the bathroom light clicked off on its timer, and Jesse reached past her to turn it on again.