"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, flipping the photo over. Someone has scrawled a brief note:
Hope you can make it! Would love for you to see how happy we all are! -M & Pack
The manufactured perfection of it all makes me want to scream. Or vomit. Or both. That would be a mess, but oddly satisfying.
How did he even get this address? I haven't even forwarded all my mail yet.
Unless...
I grab my phone and call my sister, but I know there's a fifty-fifty chance she's busy wrangling kids.
"Please tell me you didn't give Mark my address," I say the moment she picks up.
"Hello to you too," Jessica sighs. "And no, of course I didn't. What happened?"
I sigh, feeling like an idiot. This is making me paranoid. "I just got an invitation to his mating ceremony. With a pack photo. The dog is wearing a sweater, Jess. A coordinating sweater."
"Oh no." Her tone shifts from annoyed to sympathetic in an instant. "That's...wow. That's a special kind of cruel, even for that douchebag."
"How did he even get my address? I was careful."
"Maybe from the lawyer? When you finalized the apartment lease transfer?" she offers. "Or, uh… Jake might have given it to him if he asked. You know he always liked him."
I groan, slumping against the kitchen counter. Our oblivious older brother. Of course. Either option is plausible, and neither matters now. The damage is done.
"Are you okay?" Jessica asks softly.
"I'm..." I stare at the invitation on my counter, at the smiling faces in the photo. "I don't know what I am. Angry? But also... I don't even know. It's like he's rubbing it in my face."
"Because he is," Jessica says flatly. "He's a passive-aggressive jackass who can't just let you move on with your life. Though I'm surprised his omega would let him pull this stunt."
"Maybe she doesn't know. Or maybe she's just as awful as he is." I run a hand through my hair, loosening strands from my messy bun. "What am I supposed to do with this? If I go alone, I look pathetic. If I don't go, they'll think I'm bitter and couldn't handle seeing them together."
"Screw what they think. You don't owe any of them your presence."
"I know that.Rationally, I know that." I push away from the counter, pacing the small confines of my kitchen. "But it still feels like he's won somehow. Like all of them have won."
The line goes quiet for a moment. "You need wine," Jessica says finally. "And I would come over with a bottle, but Luke's out of town and the kids are already in their pajamas."
"I have wine. And I'll be fine. I just needed to vent." I eye the bottle of cabernet on my counter. Not my first choice for drowning sorrows, but it'll do in a pinch.
"Are you sure? I could call the babysitter?—"
"No, seriously. I'm okay." I force a lightness into my voice that I don't feel. "You're right. It's just a stupid invitation. I'll throw it away and forget about it."
Jessica doesn't sound convinced, but she lets it go. We chat for a few more minutes before she has to deal with what sounds like a toddler uprising in the background. After we hang up, I stare at the invitation again, an ugly feeling twisting in my gut.
It's not the fact that Mark has moved on. I've known that for months. It's the deliberate way he's shoving his happiness in my face. The careful orchestration of it all.
I snatch the bottle of wine and a glass from the cabinet, not bothering with the usual ritual of letting it breathe. The first sip burns going down, too tannic and too warm, but I welcome the bite of it.
Mark knows exactly what he's doing. This is his way of saying "See what you're missing? See how perfect we all are without you?" As if I was the problem all along. As if I somehow drove him to cheat, to lie, to secretly visit pack houses behind my back for months.
I take another, larger sip and carry my glass to the couch, sinking into the cushions. My laptop sits on the coffee table, still open to my inventory spreadsheet. I should finish reconciling those numbers. Instead, I find myself opening a browser and navigating to Beyond Bonds.
It's just curiosity, I tell myself. Just a distraction from Mark's bullshit. Nothing more.
The site remembers my login info, and suddenly I'm staring at my profile. Jessica's creation, with those flattering photos that look like someone else's life. Someone who goes to theaters and wears purple gowns and doesn't eat entire pies alone in cafés.
