“Were you aware that your father arranged for a wedding invitation to be sent to your mother?” she asks.
The mention of her is a sucking absence of oxygen, a sharp, jarring yank in my soul.
With everything else going on, I hadn’t thought of her being invited. This whole wedding was such a farcical thing to begin with. I didn’t stop to think aboutanyoneI’d actually want at my wedding because it’s neverbeenmy wedding, it’s alie.
But she wouldn’t come anyway. She’d rathernotcome and use it as an excuse to complain about how no one wants her to come to things, but—
It really wouldn’t have occurred to me that she’d be involved in any of this.
Next to me, Kris is motionless. Barely even breathing. I glance at him, blink, and that sharp, jarring soul-yank sends a new crack up my heart.
“Kris. God, tell me you didn’t know she was invited.”
He whirls on me. “I haven’t talked to her since that Merry Christmas text, I swear to god, Coal.” There’s a rawness in his tone that isn’t there when he’s lying, and he exhales a hurt whimper as something dawns on him. “She texted me yesterday, though.”
My widening eyes are all the shocked horror I get out before he shakes his head.
“I haven’t opened it. Fuck, this is what it was about though, wasn’t it?” He looks at Wren, unease mangling with hope. “Is she coming?”
Wren waves her hand. “No, I’m sorry—the emphasis should have been that your fatherarrangedfor an invitation to be sent to her. Given the intensity of this wedding being planned covertly alongside the Christmas season, many things have slipped through the cracks and, sadly, her invitation was lost in transit.”
Yeah, Wren doesn’t let thingsslip through the cracks,so the saccharine apology in her voice makesher invitation was lost in transitsound more likeI personally shoved it into one of Renee’s food processors.
A winded laugh huffs out of me. “You’re a bit maniacal, Wren.”
I… don’t know how I should feel about all this.
I should have foreseen that Mom would hear about this wedding and harass Kris over it, but he didn’t mention anything, and hedidignore her himself. Has she texted me? I have all her messages muted and only think to check every few weeks.
I reach out and squeeze Kris’s arm. His lips flicker in a forced smile but he doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look at Wren, just stares at the carpet in sullen thought.
“If she did text you about the wedding,” Wren says, “it was only because she saw news of its announcement in the past few days. But no, she is not coming. Again, I am sorry to not have led with that. My point is that it is incredibly difficult, in a job that requires intense focus on joy, to make room for grief. But grief demands to be felt even when it is buried, and I have watched”—her eyes go to his closed office door—“your father become less and less of the leader we knew him to be as grief manifested into his need for control. I believe, on some level, he is under the impression that if he makes this Holiday fit a certain ideal, he can get her to come back.”
I frown at Wren, something tight and unnamable in my stomach. “He… he’s doing all this because of her?”
I knew he’d changed in reaction to her leaving—but I thought he just got bitter and angry, not that he’s intentionally doing these things in the hope that his actions will make her comeback.
My skin goes cold. It’s such an impossibility. If she hasn’t come back already, she won’t.
Dad doesn’t believe that?
Wren shrugs, letting that be confirmation.
“And you knowwhathe’s been doing?” I ask. I have to clear my throat. “To the other winter Holidays?”
“Of course. It’s my job to know.”
I blanch. “You never tried to talk him out of it?”
“It isnotmy job to have much influence over the reigning Santa beyond frequent insistencies that he redirect his efforts. Which, always, went unheeded. But,” she straightens, “hypothetically, if someone in my position did have an opinion, it would be that this Holiday, any Holiday, has no business inflicting harm, and that what the reigning Santa might hope for has never been a vision shared by the people.” She gives us a kind smile. “Now get some rest. Tomorrow will be a rather large day, for all of us.”
She leaves, her finger pattering on her tablet.
Kris’s chest caves so he hunches over and watches until she rounds a corner. “Should we be mad that Wren excluded Mom without asking us?”
“No.Fuckno,” I say. “I’d be more pissed if Wren had listened to Dad and gotten her here.” A pause. My stomach cramps. “I can’t believe he wants her back.”
Kris makes a noncommittal grunt.
