Page 63 of Ladybirds

Her friend’s fingers tap against her purse as they stand in line, fast and without rhythm. Sara assumes it’s just wedding jitters—they’re only a week away now—and doesn’t push it. Jen is nothing if not open, and Sara knows she’ll share if the weight is too heavy.

They sit at the corner table, up against the window so they can watch the snow as they sip from their styrofoam mugs. The warmth of their bodies, so close, fogs up the glass.

“Look,” Jen says, twisting her fingers in her lap, looking about as nervous as the time she fessed up to accidentally cracking Sara’s camera lens three semesters ago. “There’s something I need to tell you. And, I don’t know, you’re probably going to be mad, or upset, or—”

Sara stops her with a look. “Jen, you’re my best friend. Whatever it is, I’ll deal.”

Jen visibly swallows, nodding. “Um, well. You know how we sent the Mclintock’s an invitation to the wedding?”

Her fingers twitch, but Sara manages to keep from flinching at the surname. It’s nothing she wasn’t aware of. Even if the invite wasn’t sent before David had his accident, Jen’s father was close friends with David’s, so it’s hardly a surprise. When she speaks, her voice is still steady. “Yeah, why? Are you having second thoughts? Because I told you, I’m totally fine with his parents coming to—”

“David’s coming too,” she blurts.

Sara pales, heart hammering in her chest and stomach flipping violently. She’s suddenly very glad she skipped breakfast, because there’s a very real chance it would be coming back up if she hadn’t. “Oh,” she breathes, the single syllable is all her anxious mind can manage.

Jen’s hands grasp her own over the table, face eager. “I didn’t know until last night, I swear. And if it’s going to be too hard on you, I will totally ask him not to come.”

Sara shakes her head. “No. It’s... it’s ok. I’m just, uh, surprised. That’s all.” The way Jen stares at her—a frightening mixture of pity and understanding—makes her feel stripped bare. She knows it’s supposed to be supportive, knows the hands covering her own are trying to offer comfort, but right now all Sara feels is trapped.

There’s no doubt in her mind that Jen would ask David to stay away for her sake, but she would hate every second of that phone call. Jen has always been the last person to risk hurting someone’s feelings. Right now, her empathy feels like both a blessing and a curse, because Sara wants nothing to do with this decision.

If she asks Jen to disinvite him, it’ll be at her friend’s expense. David—God, as much as she wants to believe him to be the same, he just isn’t. He’s changed. The man that tore her down in the hospital room, that pounded on her door after midnight... how would he react if Jen told him not to come?

Sara licks her lips, gathers her courage, and offers the most convincing smile she can muster. “I’ll be fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal,” Seth snaps. “Call her, this instant.”

Sara doesn’t look up, her voice muffled by the pillow she’s burrowed her face in. She hasn’t decided if she’s done screaming. “She has enough on her plate.”

“Yes, and she’ll likely have more if she lets this happen. Call her.”

She pulls away from the pillow, glaring. “And say what?” she groans. “That the thought of my ex being in the same room for an evening makes me a little uncomfortable?” She runs a hand through her hair, wincing when her fingers snag on a tangle.

“A little uncomfortable,” he echoes, disbelief making his voice dip low. “In what world would one describe ‘fear for my safety’ as ‘a little uncomfortable’?”

Sara lowers her eyes, fingers fiddling with the hem of her pajama sleeve. She can feel the weight of his stare on her cheek, can pinpoint the exact moment he figures it out.

He stills; a looming shadow of disbelief. “You never told her.”

She flinches, but hugs the pillow closer to her chest instead of denying it. “I didn’t want her to worry.”

“She should worry!” he seethes.

“It was only the one time—”

“It wasn’t,” he growls.

Sara stares, stomach dropping. “What are you talking about?”

Pacing, his steps are so violent she should hear the soles of his shoes slap against the floor, but each foot falls as painfully silent as the last. “I only have suspicions. I don’t have any—”

“Seth.” She stands, the pillow falling from her lap and onto the floor. “What are you talking about?”

He flinches, body stilling. “I saw him—just before Christmas. I believe he has been around far more than either of us realize. The odd calls, your car—”

“What about my car?”

He still won’t look at her. “I suspect he may have poured water in your fuel tank.”

---