92 Days Before Our Wedding, My Best Friend Won... novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Thanksgiving Without Him

Ansley tells her parents and a kitchen full of relatives; Devin calls the table and is told to face her father on Monday. Then she sees his mother's heart on Lila's balcony photo.

I pulled into my parents' driveway at ten the next morning with two gas station coffees in me and no sleep.

My mother opened the front door before I turned the engine off.

She looked at the empty passenger seat, and then at me.

"Where's Devin?"

"Nashville."

"Nashville," she said.

"With Lila."

She stood still on the step with a dish towel in her hands.

"Come inside," she said. "Your father's in the kitchen."

My father was peeling potatoes at the sink, and he turned around with the peeler still in his hand.

I told them at the kitchen table, in the order I had rehearsed on the interstate.

I told them about the number, the suite and the canceled ticket.

I told them about the champagne photo and the caption.

My father put the peeler down and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"He canceled your plane ticket," he said. "Three days before."

"Yes."

"And sat next to you and asked about the pie."

"Yes, Dad."

He stood up. "I'm going to call him."

"Sit down." My mother didn't raise her voice. "Let her finish."

There wasn't more to finish.

I put the engagement ring on the table, and nobody touched it.

"I took it off last night," I said. "I haven't decided what comes after that."

My mother reached across and put her hand over mine.

"You don't have to decide before dinner," she said. "You only have to eat it."

At noon my aunt's car pulled up, and then my cousin's.

By one o'clock the kitchen held nine people peeling, stirring and whispering, and every one of them had a phone.

My cousin was the first to look at me straight.

"Ansley," she said. "Is it true? Lila posted a story last night."

She turned her screen around.

It was the airport bar again, the two champagne glasses and TEN WAS WORTH IT.

There was a second one under it, posted that morning.

A hotel bed with a white duvet, two coffee cups on the nightstand, and a view of the Nashville skyline.

The caption read: Best Thanksgiving ever.

Nobody in the kitchen said a word.

My aunt took the phone out of my cousin's hand and put it face down on the counter.

"Nobody looks at that again today," she said.

It was a nice gesture, and it didn't help.

By four, the story had been viewed by half my wedding list.

My coworker texted me twice, and so did two of the three other bridesmaids.

I answered none of them.

I helped my mother set the table instead, because the plates needed to be carried and I needed something to carry.

She had put out twelve places.

I looked them over twice.

"Mom, there's one too many."

"I know."

"Why did you set Devin's place?"

"Because he's going to call," she said, "and when he does, he's going to sit at this table in front of all of us."

At six o'clock we sat down to eat.

The empty chair next to mine had a card in front of it with his name in my mother's handwriting.

My father said grace and, for the first time in my life, kept it short.

My phone rang before the turkey had gone around.

DEVIN.

My mother held out her hand. "Put it on speaker and set it in his place."

I did.

"Hey, Ansley." His voice came through bright and careful. "I wanted to call and say happy Thanksgiving to your family. Is your mom there?"

"We're all here," my mother said.

"Mrs. Hennessey. Happy Thanksgiving." He cleared his throat. "I know this looks bad. I want to explain."

"Please do," my father said.

"It's a game that some friends and I have played for years. It's harmless. Ansley got upset because I should have told her sooner, and that's on me."

"A game," my uncle said.

"Yes, sir."

"Is Lila playing it in your room?"

Nobody at the table spoke.

"Lila's in her own room," Devin said, a little too fast.

"The suite you booked has one bed," my cousin said. "She posted it."

"There's a separate living area."

"Do you want to hear what I think?" my father asked.

"Sir, I'd rather talk to Ansley alone."

"I'm sure you would."

My father leaned toward the phone.

"You'll tell me to my face when you get back, young man. Monday. In front of her."

"I'll be there Monday," Devin said. "Ansley, please don't do anything until I'm home."

I hadn't said a word.

I picked up the phone and ended the call.

My mother passed me the potatoes, and the table started to move again.

My cousin put her phone down beside her plate, and then she picked it up again.

"Ansley," she said quietly. "Look at this."

It was the picture Lila had posted that afternoon, two people on a hotel balcony with their backs to the camera.

Under it, in the comments, there was one heart.

I tapped the name next to it.

It was Devin's mother.

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