Chương 2 - Một Tuần Trước Lễ Cưới

“Your best friend just name next to yours 249 times.”

“She’s an idiot.”

“ you still won’t reprint them.”

“Because it’s irrational.”

I laughed.

“Irrational.”

“Yes.”

He picked the programs desk.

He turned it over my father’s handwriting.

he softened voice.

“Daniel trusted me.”

I felt something cold move through my chest.

“Don’t.”

“He did.”

“Do not use my father right now.”

“I’m not using .”

“You are.”

“He asked me to take care you.”

My father been sick almost year before he died.

Toward the end, he spent more time worrying about me than himself.

Once, while visiting the hospital, Dad took ’s hand told I terrible asking help.

He , “She’ll tell you she’s fine long after she stops being fine. Pay attention.”

cried day.

So did I.

Now he stood our office with another woman’s name printed above my father’s words , “If Daniel were here, he would not want you destroying your marriage over this.”

I opened the office door.

back.

course she .

She sitting on the living room floor with two ’s groomsmen on FaceTime.

the programs held against chest.

“Look,” she to the phone. “I’m typo away marrying .”

Someone laughed through the speaker.

Another voice , “ runs, you’re .”

threw head back laughing.

I walked over ended the call.

She me.

“ the hell?”

I took the program hand.

I ripped it half.

Linda gasped.

came out the office.

“.”

I tore another .

another.

jumped to feet.

“Are you insane?”

“These aren’t being used.”

grabbed my wrist.

“Enough.”

I pulled free.

“No. I’m done.”

He stared the torn paper on the floor.

me.

voice got very quiet.

“You’re going to show next Saturday.”

“You really believe ?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you care too much about humiliating me front three hundred people.”

I stopped moving.

He it like he knew me better than I knew myself.

Like my love weakness he already calculated.

stopped smiling.

Even Linda uncomfortable.

I , “You think I’ll let you humiliate me because I’m too considerate to return the favor.”

“ isn’t I .”

“It is exactly you .”

I picked my purse.

stepped front the door.

“Where are you going?”

“My dad’s shop.”

“ ?”

“To get the things still belong to me.”

face tightened.

“.”

I walked around .

He let me.

My father’s old shop been closed since he died.

He owned the narrow brick storefront outright, so I never sold it.

I kept telling myself I would reopen it day.

Mostly, I used it as place to store presses, paper samples, old commissions letters.

When I rolled the metal shutter the next morning, the smell hit me immediately.

Paper.

Wood.

Oil.

Dust.

Home.

I sat Dad’s old worktable almost an hour before I did anything.

I found the wooden printing block he carved me when I turned eighteen.

It small enough to fit my palm.

monogram.

C.B.

He used it to stamp the first set stationery he ever made me.

I planned to it beside photograph the wedding.

I wrapping it tissue when I heard the front door open.

walked .

behind .

I actually laughed.

“ is she doing here?”

held both hands.

“I came to apologize.”

“No.”

, “.”

“No. She leaves.”

’s face hardened.

“I drove forty minutes because he you were upset.”

“I am upset.”

“ let me fix it.”

“You can’t.”

She around the shop.

“So this is where your dad worked?”

I turned back to the table.

“Don’t touch anything.”

She ignored me.

She picked metal type block.

“This place is cool.”

“.”

“I’m just looking.”

“ it down.”

She it down dramatically.

“There.”

she saw the carved plate Dad made handwriting last print runs.

She reached toward it.

I stepped between the table.

“Don’t.”

She gave me an irritated look.

“I I’m trying to help.”

“You can help by leaving.”

sighed behind us.

“Can we all just stop acting like children?”

the ink station.

me.

“Fine. I’ll prove I can actually use this stuff without destroying your life.”

She grabbed brayer.

I , “ down.”

She rolled it through tray red ink left over some test prints I done weeks earlier.

“.”

“Oh my God, . Relax.”

She rolled it scrap paper.

she reached Dad’s carved plate.

I grabbed wrist.

“Stop.”

She jerked away.

The brayer flew sideways.

Red ink splattered the worktable.

stack old envelopes.

three my father’s letters.

My brain went blank.