My apartment was only about twenty minutes away from my childhood home, which, on the drive that day, felt metaphorical for how far I hadn’t come from childhood. When you’re a kid, you think you’ll know how to do everything once you’re an adult. But I must have screwed up somewhere along the way because Amy was the only one actually speaking to me, and I was driving to my parents’ house to apologize for being the biggest jerk on the planet. Not to mention the distinct possibility that I would need Amy’s recently vacated room, depending on how things played out at work.
I parked in the driveway next to Jake’s rental car and took a moment to steel myself. I reached for the doorknob to let myself in—I had never knocked at my parents’ house unless I had forgotten my key—but this wasn’t a normal visit. So I removed my hand and pushed the doorbell, then waited.
My father opened the door, his glasses absentmindedly far down his nose. “Lily?” he asked, pushing the glasses up. “What are you doing here? And why did you ring the bell?”
“I didn’t think I should just walk into the arena unannounced. The lions should know I’m coming.”
He patted my shoulder and gestured for me to come in. “It’s not as bad as all that. Your mother—well—you know how she gets. Everything is the end of the world. Until the next big crisis, at which point that’s the end of the world. Hopefully the florist screws up something for Amy’s wedding and she’ll forget all about this.”
My eyes welled up in gratitude. He patted me again awkwardly. “I’m sorry you had to see all that though,” I said. “I never would have said as much if I thought people would know it was me—it wasn’t all true, you know.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t read a word. I’m just going off what your mother told me.”
“But she said you read it all.”
“Good God, no. Sweetheart, I didn’t survive having two teenage daughters by going snooping through your private thoughts. If I found a diary, and I did from time to time, I kept it closed.”
I looked at him in wonder. I didn’t understand how two such polar opposites as he and my mom could be so content after thirty-five years of marriage, yet here they were. Somehow they worked.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’ll make it right. I believe in you.”
I let out a choked sound. “And if they fire me tomorrow, can I come home?”
“Absolutely not. I barely survived you and your mother living under the same roof the first time around. If something happens, we’ll figure out how to help you get by.”
I came as close as I had to smiling since before Alex kissed me, and I wrapped my arms around his waist in a tight hug. He hugged me back, then peeled my arms off. “Enough of that,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to get in trouble for fraternizing with the enemy. The lions might eat me, too, and then where would we be?”
“Eddie?” my mother’s voice called down from upstairs. “Who was at the door?”
He nudged me forward and retreated into his study.
“It’s me, Mom.”
She appeared at the top of the stairs. “Well. You’ve got some nerve—”
“Actually, I need to talk to Jake and Madison first.” She looked at me, taken aback. “I’m making amends in the order of who I offended most to least, and they outrank you.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut again and crossed her arms. Then she tilted her head and nodded a single time.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Jake’s voice rang out.
I looked back up at my mother. “Don’t worry, you’re next on my list.” She huffed and went back to her room.
I went past the stairs and into the kitchen. Jake and Madison were at the table. Madison had her hands wrapped around a cup of tea and Jake had a beer, even though it was still pretty early in the day. Madison’s eyes were red and puffy.
“Hey,” I said. “Can I talk to you guys?”
Jake raised an eyebrow. Madison didn’t look at me, but she nodded. I pulled out a seat at the table.
“I want to apologize to both of you, but especially to Madison.”
“Hey—” Jake started to say.
I turned to him. “You and I both know you couldn’t care less what I wrote in a blog unless it hurt her feelings.”
He leaned back in his seat. “Continue.”
“Madison, I’m really sorry. You were the most blameless of any of the five brides, and if I’d had a decent bone in my body, I would have left you out of the whole thing and just said I was in four weddings.”
“That’s not better,” Jake said.
“I know. The blog shouldn’t have existed in the first place.”
“No, you idiot, it shouldn’t have. But you should have taken the time to get to know Mads if you were going to post about her.”
I looked from him to Madison. “I’m sorry, I’m lost here.”
“She’s not upset that you included her—she’s upset that you had absolutely nothing to say about her because you never made any effort at all to get to know her.”
I threw my hands up, exasperated. “Maybe if you ever let her speak for herself, that wouldn’t have been a problem!”
Madison’s eyes scrunched up like she was in pain, but she put a hand over Jake’s, stopping him from responding.
“You’re—a little scary,” she said haltingly. “And I’m shy. But you . . .” She trailed off.
“I’m—scary?”
“Not scary, exactly. But intimidating, I guess.”
“Me?”
She nodded. “The first time Jake brought me here to meet all of you, the whole dynamic changed the second you walked into the house.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I do,” Jake said. “Am I allowed to talk yet?”
“Have I ever been able to stop you before?”
“Lily, you take up all of the oxygen in the room.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, as soon as you walk in, it’s the Lily show. ‘Lily is so successful.’ ‘Why isn’t Lily married yet?’ ‘Lily was interviewed in the New York Times again.’ ‘Lily was on the news last week.’ At the risk of sounding like Jan Brady, well—you get it.”
“I’m the PR face of the foundation, that’s the only reason newspapers ever quote me. It’s not because I did anything. And I was on TV literally once.”
“Twice. And Mom still hasn’t shut up about it.”
“How is that my fault?”
“It’s not. But you flip your hair and bask in it, and that doesn’t leave room for anyone else to exist.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Look,” Jake said. “You’re my sister. And I love you, even though you’re a totally self-absorbed asshole. But you haven’t once tried to have a real conversation with Mads. Literally not once.”
I began to object, then stopped myself and turned to Madison. Even if I didn’t agree with everything Jake said, he wasn’t wrong about that. “I’m sorry. I’d like to try again. If I can.”
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Maybe—” I dug for an idea. “Maybe email would be a good start? It might be a little less daunting?” I looked to Jake. “And there’s no oxygen to use up in an email.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be hearing about that one for the next fifty years, aren’t I?”
“Probably.” I turned back to Madison. “Would that work? I’d offer to take you to lunch, but you live kind of far away and all.”
“Email sounds good.” She started to say something else, then stopped herself.
“Please just say it,” I said. “I promise I don’t bite, no matter what Jake tells you.”
He held up a wrist, which, admittedly, did have a bite scar from me. Madison smiled finally, apparently knowing the story.
“I liked the blog.” I shook my head, but she continued. “The part about our wedding—about your grandmother—maybe it was because I know her, but I laughed so hard.”
“As much as I hate to give you credit for anything right now, it’s true,” Jake said. “I came running in to see what she was laughing about because she had been so upset when the whole thing broke.”
“I have a feeling she’s going to kill me over that.”
“If she runs you over with her car, it’s fifty-fifty whether it was intentional or not. Did you see the mailbox?”