20. June #2
Eddie sticks to Meredith’s side like glue, a hand on her lower back as she diplomatically deals with the distant relatives I haven’t seen in decades.
Trent, I notice, is at the bar, tucked under Davon’s arm as they chat with the bartender—a pretty young girl who looks like she could still be in high school.
I only catch glimpses of Richard, positioned on the other side of the room among a crowd of similarly aged suits. Friends? Colleagues? Either way, they all look to be of the same, dreadfully boring stock.
I give in to the urge to pluck a glass of wine from the bar. All things considered, it’s pretty good that this is the first drink I’ve had since Birdie’s. Still, I make a point of avoiding Louisa.
It’s during a quick dart away from the tattooed barkeep that I stumble into a surprising scene.
Sophie, with a taller man, dark hair speckled with gray, leaning close together to share a hushed conversation. It takes me a minute to place him. It takes me a minute to recognize Noah without a look of pure disdain on his face.
And yet there he stands, looking down at my sister as if he couldn’t be more interested in what she’s saying. Not quite able to hide his distress at her grief, if the way his hand keeps making aborted movements to reach for her is any indication.
I take a sip of my wine, grateful for the bitter, burning acidity that grounds me in the moment. Forcing myself to turn away from their rendezvous, I leave in search of a distraction from my suddenly overbearing loneliness.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound Meredith makes when the last important handshake ends, when her polite smile fades, and when strength is no longer required of her.
There are still enough people in the room to draw a concerned eye, but it’s a clear sign that the day is coming to a close. People have been slowly filtering out throughout the afternoon.
Eddie is there instantly, gathering her in without hesitation, her face disappearing into his chest as she finally lets herself fall apart. Her shoulders shake. Her knees soften. She clutches his jacket as if it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
I move to block others from seeing the vulnerable scene, and Trent does the same on the opposite side. A fierce protectiveness rises in the face of her distress. After she’s carried us so fiercely and so elegantly and so bravely all day, I want to have her back for just a minute.
I really do.
It’s just that now that I’m facing the dwindling crowds, movement catches in the corner of my vision. A shape that shouldn’t be here. A familiar face in the wrong place entirely.
For a second, I think grief is making me see things. That my brain, raw and frayed, is misfiring. But then the figure shifts and steps a little more into view.
And my body goes cold.
Mark.
That absolute, miserable, insufferable waste of a person.
He can’t be here.
And yet, he is. His hands are clasped awkwardly in front of him. Suit immaculate. Hair combed back as if he’s attending a board meeting instead of his ex-wife’s mother’s funeral. A crease forms between his brows as he tries to make eye contact through the bodies that divide us.
Something hot explodes behind my ribs.
My feet move before I fully register the choice. The sadness in my chest sharpens into something hard and blazing. Meredith is sobbing ten feet away, broken open, and he thinks he gets to be here? I can’t let her see him, can’t let anyone else see him.
Not today.
Ironically, he seems almost relieved to see me approach, which is funny because I want to rip out his throat.
“Are you kidding me?” I snap the second I’m close enough, the words practically hissing out of me. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
He startles, blinking like he wasn’t expecting it. How can he not be expecting it? I thought he was supposed to be smart.
“June!”
“No.” My voice is a blade. “I’m not doing this with you. You don’t get to say my name all excited and act like we’re best friends.”
His mouth presses into a smirk. “We are friends.”
“Then, as your friend, let me help you out,” I say sharply. “Leave. Now.”
“Wait—”
I don’t wait. I grab his arm and drag him toward the door. A few heads turn. I don’t care; the farther away we get from my family, my sister, the better.
“Will you get off me? I can walk on my own.”
“Oh yeah, sure,” I reply as I push him through the double doors into the smaller reception area.
He stumbles slightly, trying to remain on his feet, a dark expression settling across his brows. “Was that necessary?”
I step into his space, lowering my voice.
“You can’t be here. You don’t get to do this anymore.
Meredith doesn’t need you. She doesn’t want you.
If she saw you, this would hurt her. Do you understand that?
She doesn’t need you coming in here trying to manipulate her while she’s grieving.
You spineless, worthless, pathetic little man. ”
He swallows, eyes flicking past me for the barest second, as if he could see through the double doors now blocking the view of my family.
Regret shadows his face.
“I’m not here to hurt her,” he says quietly. “I would never?—”
“But you will,” I snap. “You forfeited your right to maintain a decent, mature, supportive relationship when you tried to blackmail her into staying married to you. So go. Go before I physically escort you out.”
He almost smiles, as if the idea of me dragging him outside seems absurd, if I haven’t done so already. But he sobers quickly because he knows me well enough to realize I’m not bluffing.
“June,” he tries again, softer now. “Please. Just hear me out. I know how this looks. I know the timing is terrible. But I didn’t come to… I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks, but you wouldn’t answer any of my messages.”
I blink at him. Then throw my hands in the air. “My mother is dead. I’m so sorry you weren’t on the top of my priority list, you egotistical?—”
“Okay, I think we’re getting a little overkill with all the name-calling.”
“You genuinely, sincerely believe that you are that important to any of us? That I would want to speak to you of all people when my mother had just died?”
He breathes out slowly. “In my defense, I was trying to reach you before she died.”
I slap him across the face.
It echoes throughout the room with a satisfying crack. The sting of my palm is a small price to pay for the sight of alarming pink flushing across his cheek.
The exhale through his nose is visceral. “I came to speak to you, June. Because I didn’t want you finding out from anyone else.”
The scoff that leaves my mouth is inevitable. “Oh great, you have another golden piece of information for me, let me guess, that only you have access to? And what is it that you want in exchange this time? Seven minutes in heaven with my sister? Give me a break.”
The look on his face is angry now, urgency spilling into the way he forces me to listen. “I didn’t want it to feel clinical or distant or like another headline. You deserve to hear it as…news from someone who actually respects you. But clearly, you have a corrupted view of what respect means.”
“You’ve never respected anyone in your life, Mark.”
“I thought we were friends,” he snaps right back. That final word caught in the back of his throat, oddly vulnerable. “I came here today as your friend.”
To say it catches me off guard is an understatement. It’s one thing for him to say it sarcastically, as he had done earlier. It’s another thing entirely when it’s…well, earnest. It’s not something either of us has ever acknowledged before.
And suddenly, his rigid posture and furious expression seem more serious than I thought.
“Mark, what’s going on?”
His fury looms over me for another moment before his eyes flick a glance around us, as if someone might be listening. His jaw works. Suddenly, I see how shaken he is beneath the calm lawyer’s veneer.
“I shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters, frustration seeping into the edges of his tone. “This is the worst possible setting. I know that. But when I heard… I’ve been trying to reach you, June. I wish it weren’t here.”
My pulse starts to race in that horrible anticipatory way, like standing at the top of a roller coaster and feeling gravity shift. Knowing the plunge is coming. “Mark,” I say, quieter now. “You’re circling. Just say it.”
He looks right at me then.
And I know that whatever he’s about to say isn’t just serious, it’s huge. Life-changing, earth-quakingly massive…and I’d just slapped him for trying to deliver it.
“Ashton’s trial,” I whisper. “It’s over, isn’t it?”
Air freezes in my lungs. My hands go numb—the world, which has already been tilted sideways by grief all day, tips further still.
“It’s over,” he confirms.
But I knew that. That’s not the question I was asking.
“Mark.” It’s a warning he thankfully heads.
“It was announced this morning,” he says gently, clearly, devastatingly.
“Ashton’s been cleared of all charges.”