“You can celebrate them,” I offer with a shrug. “Every one of you. If this is what the family does now, then do it. Buy them a card. Go to the wedding. Put it in the church bulletin. That’s your business and I’m not going to waste my life worrying about it.”
Vivian’s mouth opens.
“But I’m not going to be your punching bag anymore. I won’t compete for your love. If you choose them, so be it. It’s a bad choice, because those are two people who lied to me for years and made jokes about my body in writing while they did it, in my bed, on the day we buried my dad. You can call it fate and dress it up with pretty words however you want, but I was there. I’ve read the receipts. I’m not going to stand here and say a nicer version of it out loud so that dinner goes smoother.”
The room is complet
