“Yeah. That thing.”
“I didn’t know we were invited.”
“We aren’t anymore.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“It got moved.”
“Moved where?”
He gave a small irritated laugh.
“Not moved geographically, Brooke. Postponed.”
“Why?”
“Grant’s dealing with some zoning mess. Nobody wants a bunch of employees drinking at his house while the company is under pressure.”
It sounded reasonable.
Almost.
“Jenna said it was Saturday.”
“She probably hasn’t seen the updated email.”
“Should I tell her?”
Evan looked up immediately.
“No.”
The word came too quickly.
Then he softened his voice.
“I mean, don’t worry about it. Accounting gets information late sometimes. They’ll figure it out.”
Sophie returned to the table, and the conversation ended.
But something had shifted inside me.
That night, Evan showered and went downstairs to answer “one last email.”
I remained in bed staring at the ceiling.
At 11:47, I picked up my phone and typed a message to Jenna.
Hey, random question. Did the summer party get postponed? Evan mentioned something about that.
She replied less than a minute later.
Nope. Still Saturday. Grant sent parking instructions this morning. Why?
I felt a strange coldness spread from my chest down into my stomach.
I typed:
He must have misunderstood. Don’t mention I asked. I might surprise him.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
Cute idea. Want the address?
I stared at the screen.
My husband had not forgotten to invite me.
He had invented a cancellation.
And whatever reason he had for doing it, he was comfortable lying directly to my face.
I sent one word.
Yes.
Thursday evening, Evan handed me the second lie before I even had to ask.
He came home carrying his laptop bag and looked exhausted.
Or maybe he was performing exhausted.
At that point, I didn’t know anymore.
“Saturday’s going to be brutal,” he said while opening the refrigerator.
“Oh?”
