Chapter 23 - WHERE SHE GETS TO SIT.
Emily did not write a speech.
She wrote six words on a page of drawing paper: I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THERE.
Then she drew the flower basket beneath them, with a green lace tied to the handle instead of a white ribbon. She placed the page on the kitchen table and asked Andrew whether it sounded mean.
“No,” he said. “It sounds clear.”
“Could I put it in my room?”
“It's your room.”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean with tape. On the wall.”
“Yes.”
She chose the wall that caught the tree shadow. Andrew helped hold the top corners while she smoothed the tape down.
The first strip went crooked. Emily started peeling it off and tore a small corner of the paper. She stopped, staring at the damage.
“We can use another page,” Andrew said.
“I want this one.”
“Then let's fix this one.”
They put a small piece of tape behind the tear and tried again. The corner remained slightly uneven, but the words were legible. Emily stepped back and decided it was good enough.
Andrew had nearly offered to make a cleaner copy on the computer. He was glad he hadn't. The handwriting, the crossed-out first attempt at basket, and the repaired corner all belonged to the page she had made. She wanted her own statement, not a professional-looking version of it produced by her father. He put the unused paper away and let her choose where the drawing should sit beneath the words. He had expected her wish to say something to mean a public declaration. She had wanted words where she could see them.
That was enough.
The next morning, he began returning the wedding gifts assigned to his side of the list. Some guests had sent household things, some checks, some cards with no gift at all. Vanessa handled the gifts from her own contacts. They had agreed how to divide the work, and for once the plan stayed a plan.
Andrew wrote brief notes thanking people and confirming that the wedding had not taken place. He didn't explain Emily's experience in each envelope. Nobody needed a child's private account attached to the return of a serving dish.
One guest replied that he should keep the money for Emily. Andrew thanked her and returned it anyway, explaining that he wanted the wedding gifts settled cleanly. He could accept ordinary help later if he needed it. This money had been given for a marriage that hadn't happened.
The choice cost him a moment of regret when he checked the account. He let himself feel it without turning it into resentment.
On Saturday, he and Emily made the overdue picnic plan. She chose the park near the apartment because it had a table under a tree and bathrooms she knew. Andrew checked the forecast. Emily checked whether they had enough sandwich bags.
She put the basket on the counter and lined it with a clean towel.
“Not lint,” she said.
“Excellent compliance.”
“Normal words, Dad.”
“Good job.”
They packed sandwiches, apple slices, chips, and napkins. Emily wanted cookies too. Andrew said they could buy a small package on the way rather than turn the trip into a full grocery run.
She accepted that without watching his face for disappointment. He noticed, then deliberately looked back at the shopping list. Not every improvement needed to become a moment in which she was being observed.
Before they left, a message arrived from Martin confirming the final agreed venue payment and the staffing adjustments. The balance was now zero. Andrew saved the receipt and closed the folder.
He had expected to feel triumphant. Mostly he felt glad not to receive another invoice.
At the park, they found the shaded table occupied. Emily stopped with the basket in both hands. Andrew prepared to suggest another spot, then waited.
“We could sit on the grass,” she said.
“We could.”
“But I want a table.”
“Then let's look for one.”
They walked a little farther and found an empty table near the playground. The sun was stronger there. Andrew offered to move again if she preferred.
“This is fine,” she said, then corrected herself. “This is good.”
She chose a seat facing the swings. He sat opposite her. She unpacked the basket, put the chips in the middle, and handed him a sandwich.
“You can start.”
“So can you.”
“I know.”
She took a bite.
He had imagined a symbolic return to the basket as something he might arrange for her. Instead it was lunch, and she had arranged it herself. The ordinary use stripped the object of some of its power without requiring her to pretend the other day had never happened.
Halfway through the meal, a gust lifted a napkin. Emily lunged for it and knocked her cup over. Water ran across the table and into Andrew's lap.
She froze.
He looked down at his wet pants. “Well. That's refreshing.”
A second passed. Then another.
Emily reached for more napkins. “Sorry.”
“Accident. Help me stop it getting the chips.”
She moved the bag. They mopped up the water with the towel from the basket. Andrew stood to shake out one pant leg and made the situation worse by dripping onto his shoe.
Emily laughed.
This was not a cure. He knew she might freeze at another spill next week. But the cup had fallen, and nothing terrible followed. She had one real experience to put beside the old fear.
They stayed until the sun shifted and the table became shaded. Emily went to the swings while Andrew watched from a bench. Every few passes she looked over. He was still there.
On the way home, she asked if they could invite Rosa and Claire to a picnic sometime, as a thank-you. Andrew said he could ask whether they would enjoy it, without making it a wedding discussion.
“And Daniel?” she asked.
“If you'd like.”
She considered. “Maybe.”
He left the maybe alone.
At the apartment, they emptied the basket and hung the wet towel to dry. Andrew reached into his tote for the park receipt and found the event packet he had forgotten to put fully away.
May you like
The guestbook slid onto the table.
Emily looked at its cream cover and said, “That's the book from outside the room.”
