3. Carly #2
"Your work," Savannah said. She tilted her head, smiling. "I realized I don't actually know. Boone's always so busy with his music, and Diane mentioned you don't work outside the home, so I was just curious. What do you do with your time?"
My stomach dropped. The question sounded innocent. Friendly, even. But the way she asked it — the tone, the tilt of her head, the slight emphasis on actually — made it feel like she was asking what I was good for.
I opened my mouth, trying to find an answer that wouldn't sound defensive. "I help with the house," I said. My voice came out quieter than I wanted it to. "And I — I help Boone with his music."
Savannah's eyebrows went up. "Oh?" she said. "How so?"
I looked at Boone. He was staring at his phone again, his thumb moving across the screen. He wasn't paying attention. He didn't hear the edge in her voice. He didn't see the way everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to explain myself.
"I — " I stopped. I wanted to say I wrote the songs with him.
I wanted to say I fixed his melodies and rewrote his lyrics and spent hours at the piano turning his rough ideas into something people actually wanted to hear.
I wanted to say I was his partner, not just his wife, and that every song he'd ever released had my fingerprints all over it.
But I didn't. Because Boone didn't say it. Because he was sitting right there, and if he'd wanted people to know, he would have told them. And because saying it out loud felt like admitting something I wasn't allowed to admit.
"I help where I can," I said finally.
Savannah nodded, her expression sympathetic. "That's so sweet," she said. "It must be nice, having the time to support him like that. Not everyone has that luxury."
I wanted to throw my water glass at her.
Emily's hand found mine under the table and squeezed. I squeezed back, hard, and tried to keep my face neutral.
Boone's phone buzzed. He picked it up and frowned at the screen, completely oblivious.
Diane cleared her throat. "Carly's always been very supportive," she said. Her tone was pleasant, but there was something underneath it that felt like glass. "It's one of her better qualities."
I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't know if it was a compliment or an insult. So I just smiled and looked down at my plate.
The conversation moved on. Savannah and Diane started talking about the charity event, about who was invited and what the dress code would be. Gordon asked Boone something about the label's distribution network. Boone answered, still half-distracted by his phone, and nobody asked me anything else.
I sat there with my hands in my lap, my food barely touched, and tried to make myself as small as possible.
Emily leaned close to me, her voice low. "You know, there's something going on with Mama and Savannah," she said. "I don't know what it is, but they've been talking a lot lately, and it's — "
She stopped. Diane's gaze snapped to us, sharp and sudden.
"Emily," Diane said. "What are you whispering about?"
Emily straightened. "Nothing, Mama," she said. "Just asking Carly how she's been."
Diane's eyes lingered on me for a second, and then she looked away. "Well, don't be rude," she said. "We're all here together. Let's keep the conversation at the table, shall we?"
Emily didn't finish what she was going to say. She just gave me a look that said later, and turned her attention back to her plate.
I wanted to ask her what she meant. I wanted to pull her aside and make her tell me what Diane and Savannah were talking about, what they were planning. But I didn't. I just sat there, my throat tight and my chest aching, and listened to everyone else talk like I wasn't even there.
Boone laughed at something Savannah said. His phone was still in his hand, the screen glowing in the candlelight. He didn't look at me. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't notice that I'd gone completely silent.
The dinner dragged on. Dessert came, something elaborate and French that I couldn't pronounce.
I ate a few bites and pushed the rest around my plate.
Diane told a story about one of her friends.
Gordon talked about a case he was working on.
Savannah complimented the food, the house, the wine, everything she could think of to compliment.
Boone nodded along, checking his phone every few minutes, and Emily sat beside me in silence.
Nobody asked me another question. Nobody looked at me. I sat there with my hands folded in my lap, my spine straight and my face neutral, and I didn't say a word.
By the time we left, my jaw ached from clenching it. Boone kissed his mother goodbye, shook his father's hand, thanked Savannah for coming. I stood on the steps and waited, my arms wrapped around myself against the cool night air, and tried not to feel like I was being erased.
Boone got into the car and pulled out his phone before I'd even closed the door.
I sat there, staring at the house through the windshield. The lights were still on inside. I could see Diane and Savannah through the window, their heads close together, talking about something I'd never be part of.
I felt like I'd sat through the whole thing and said nothing.
Because I had.