For half a second, I thought he meant we’d figure out how to remove Nathan.
Then I saw his face.
Daniel wasn’t agreeing with her.
He was stopping me.
Not because she deserved protection.
Because he knew me.
He knew if I started, I would not stop.
And once I stopped, Margaret would become the story of that night.
The argument would spread.
Calls would happen.
Families would choose sides.
Nathan might hear something.
It was my wedding.
I wasn’t handing her the story of the night I screamed at her table.
So I smiled.
Actually smiled.
And said, “The salmon was very good.”
Daniel nearly choked.
Margaret looked confused.
The dinner ended 15 minutes later.
I didn’t speak in the car until we’d turned onto the highway.
Then, I said, “Pull over.”
Daniel glanced at me.
“Why?”
“Because I need to yell and I don’t want you crashing.”
He pulled into a gas station.
I unbuckled my seat belt.
“What the hell was that?”
“I know.”
“No, what did you mean, we’ll figure something out?”
“I meant I needed five minutes before you set my mother’s dining room on fire.”
“She said she didn’t want my brother’s face in our wedding pictures.”
“I heard her.”
“And you said we’d figure something out?”
Daniel turned toward me.
“Sarah, Nathan is walking you down that aisle.”
I stopped.
“There was never another option,” Daniel said firmly.
“Then why didn’t you tell her?” I demanded.
“Because if I’d said what I wanted to say, we’d both be banned from Thanksgiving,” he replied.
Despite myself, I laughed.
Then I cried.
Daniel reached for me.
I let him.
“I don’t want Nathan knowing,” I said.
“He won’t.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
That mattered more than anything.
Nathan had spent almost a year grieving Dad.
He didn’t need to know somebody thought his face was a problem.
I didn’t sleep much.
