“We were about to be.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“So this is how little I matter?”
Daniel almost could not believe the question.
Ava began shaking again.
He put one hand on her shoulder.
Lauren saw and became angrier.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Run to her.”
“She is eight.”
“She knows exactly how to get between us.”
Daniel stared.
There it was.
Not completely new.
But clearer than ever.
He had heard variations before.
Ava needs too much reassurance.
Ava interrupts us.
Ava doesn’t give us space.
Ava knows you’ll always take her side.
Daniel had interpreted those comments as adjustment difficulties.
Blended-family growing pains.
He had told himself Lauren was learning.
He had asked Ava to be patient.
That realization hit him harder than the haircut.
How many warnings had he translated into something easier?
Ava tugged his sleeve.
“Can we go home?”
“Yes.”
Lauren’s face twisted.
“You are really going to humiliate me in front of everyone?”
Daniel looked at her.
“I am taking my daughter home.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“The fact that you think those are the same thing is why we’re leaving.”
Lauren’s mother appeared in the doorway.
Elaine Prescott was sixty, elegant, impeccably dressed in dark green silk.
“What is going on?”
Lauren turned.
“He’s canceling.”
Elaine stared at Daniel.
“Canceling what?”
“The wedding.”
Elaine laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because her brain rejected it.
“Daniel.”
He did not answer.
She looked at Ava’s hair.
Then the scissors.
Her expression hardened.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
Daniel slowly turned toward her.
Elaine continued.
“Children cry during haircuts.”
Ava pressed closer to him.
Daniel said:
“She did not agree to one.”
Elaine waved a hand.
“Lauren was trying to make her presentable for photographs.”
Ava looked down.
Daniel felt rage rise.
Not explosive rage.
Cold rage.
“Presentable.”
Elaine apparently realized too late that she had chosen the wrong word.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“Daniel, don’t be absurd.”
He moved toward the door with Ava.
Elaine blocked part of it.
“People are downstairs waiting for you.”
“Move.”
“Not until you calm down.”
Daniel looked at her.
Michael returned behind Elaine carrying Daniel’s phone and Ava’s pink overnight bag.
He heard the last sentence.
“Mrs. Prescott.”
Elaine turned.
Michael’s face was hard.
“Move.”
She stared at him.
Michael was forty-three, six foot three, and normally the most easygoing person Daniel knew.
Something about his voice convinced her.
She stepped aside.
Daniel took Ava’s bag.
Lauren followed him into the hallway.
“Daniel.”
He kept walking.
“Daniel!”
Guests had started gathering at the bottom of the grand staircase because ceremony time approached.
Some looked upward.
Daniel stopped near the stair landing.
Lauren stood behind him.
Her wedding dress filled the hall.
For one surreal moment they resembled a wedding photograph.
Groom.
Bride.
Child.
Except the child was crying.
The groom held an overnight bag.
And the bride looked furious.
Lauren whispered:
“If you walk down those stairs, don’t come back.”
Daniel turned.
Her own sentence surprised her.
She seemed to regret it immediately.
Daniel did not.