Chapter 4
The sliding door hissed shut behind my aunt and the kids and the quiet that fell afterward was worse than the shouting. Outside, the barbecue kept smoking. I could hear the grill lid clank and someone coughing, trying to pretend we hadn't just shattered a bowl in the middle of my kitchen. No one came back inside. That was the point. Daniel had planted himself between Ethan and the island and the room went still enough I could hear the ice melting in the cooler by the door.
Ethan hadn't left. He stood by the far cabinets with his arms crossed, staring at the floor like if he didn't look at us he wouldn't have to be there. He didn't speak. Daniel didn't tell him to go. That was the first thing I didn't understand.
I looked down. The potato salad was spread across the rug and the tile, white and yellow with flecks of green, the wooden spoon half-buried in it. Glass glittered in the grout. Mayonnaise had already started to warm and turn glossy in the heat coming through the glass doors. No one moved to clean it. I waited for Daniel to grab paper towels, to say sorry to my mom, to do anything normal, but he just stood with his hands flat on the marble.
I stepped closer to him and that's when I saw it.
His voice had been steady when he told Ethan to say it again slowly. Steady when he told the rest of them to give us a minute. But his hands weren't. His fingers trembled against the stone, a fine shake that traveled up to his wrists. His wedding ring tapped lightly against the marble. He noticed me looking and curled his hands into fists.
"You okay?" I said.
He nodded once. Didn't look at me. "Yeah."
We were alone in the kitchen if you didn't count Ethan in the corner and my cousin hovering just outside the glass with her phone still recording. I could feel the heat from the deck coming in. My heels stuck a little where dressing had seeped under the rug.
Daniel let out a breath. "He texted me this morning," he said.
I stared at him. "Who?"
"Ethan." His jaw worked. He kept his eyes on the shattered bowl. "Seven forty-two. Said he had something to tell you in person and I should check your location history from last night if I didn't believe him."
The air in the kitchen felt too cold after the backyard heat. The AC vent over the island hummed.
"You checked my location?" I said.
He finally looked at me then. His eyes were tired, not angry the way they'd been when he held up the phone. "I didn't know what he meant. I thought—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I pulled the video from the garage camera at nine. After you left for the store."
I remembered that morning. I'd been in my light blue dress already, trying to decide if I should change before people came over. Daniel had been quiet at the coffee maker, scrolling his phone, not saying much. I'd thought he was nervous about hosting. I'd touched his tattooed forearm and he'd smiled but his arm had been tense.
"You went through my location without telling me," I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. The dress felt suddenly too thin, too bright in that kitchen with salad on the floor.
"I know," he said. "I know I should have asked."
Behind us Ethan shifted his weight and the floor creaked. Neither of us looked at him.
"Why didn't you just ask me where I was?" I asked. It came out sharp, a whisper-sharp. I could hear my own breathing.
"Because if he was lying," Daniel said, and his hands shook again, "I didn't want to make you feel like I was interrogating you. And if he wasn't—" He didn't finish. He looked down at his hands like they belonged to someone else and pressed them harder into the marble until the shaking stopped. "I didn't want to start a fight before I knew."
I thought about last night. I thought about where I'd actually been, the church parking lot at ten, the diner on Route 31, the gas station with the broken pump where I'd sat for twenty minutes because I didn't want to come home and explain why I'd been crying. He hadn't asked. He'd checked.
The potato salad smell was getting stronger, sour and warm. A fly had found its way in through the open door and hovered over the spill.
"You filmed me?" I said.
"No. Garage cam records automatic. I just looked." He said it quickly, like that made it different. "I wouldn't have shown it if he hadn't—" He jerked his chin toward Ethan without looking at him. "He put his hands on you in our kitchen. In front of our family."
I nodded, but it wasn't agreement. My chest felt tight. For three minutes everyone had been watching Ethan. Now I couldn't look away from Daniel's hands and the way he'd kept that video ready in his pocket all afternoon while he flipped burgers and smiled at my dad.
May you like
Outside, my mom called for someone to bring out more ice. No one moved. Ethan was still there, still inside our house, because Daniel hadn't told him to leave yet.
I didn't forgive him. I didn't reach for him. I just stood there with salad on my shoes and realized the fight had stopped being about what Ethan said and started being about what Daniel had done before any of us walked into that kitchen.
