Brielle doesn’t know this, but I checked her phone. She had been acting so scared and awkward that I had to find out what else was wrong. I was expecting to see more emails from her mom. But what I found instead made my heart sink.

Two more emails from that guy Ryan McPhee. Two more emails!

Each email had an apology for what had happened. What?

Each email asked Brielle for a chance to see her again. To apologize in person, presumingly, but this wasn’t stated explicitly.

And the worst thing: each email ended with the same “Love Always, Ryan.”

What does this mean? Who is this Ryan McPhee? And why does the mere mention of him make Brielle so uncomfortable? I try to put myself in her shoes. I have ex-girlfriends, too. Some I like more than others. There might be one or two of them who would freak me out if they ever contacted me and wanted to make amends, but I doubt that I would ever react like she has. Like she is reacting. What is her reaction exactly? A shutdown. But not a quick, shutdown with a one swoop motion. Instead, it’s a slow shutting down like the way people die after a long illness. One organ shuts down at a time.

The only thing I could think to do is to look him up on the internet. I googled him last night and came up with a list of 18 pages long of Ryan McPhees, who all live in California. Of course, I don’t even know if he does live in California. That’s just an assumption and one that can easily be wrong. What it seems like from the emails is that he doesn’t live anywhere near her mom’s place, but that’s about as narrow as I can get it. And, that too, is also an assumption.

---

O is now as big as a house. I can’t tell her this without fearing for my life. She walks briskly, but all of her movements are so exaggerated I sometimes think that she resembles a clown in a fat suit. I’m not really this immature, of course, I know enough not to mention any of this. It’s just that I’ve never seen a pregnant woman before. Not so up close and personal.

Today, she enters the kitchen with both arms full of groceries and fresh flowers.

“Please take these now, NOW!” She yells. I run over and grab everything from her just in time. The groceries are from the farmer’s market. So they are all packaged in bulky, eco-friendly, recyclable paper bags, which are bulky and awkward to carry.

“You think you got enough groceries?” I ask. O has become obsessed with eating cleanly. No frozen dinners. Nothing with MSG, whatever that is. Nothing processed. She even started to make her own hummus!

“I’m going to make a quiche for dinner tonight,” she announces with a wide smile. I stare at her. I’m still not used to this new and vastly improved version of O. She cooks and cleans and nests as if there’s no tomorrow.

We have yet to talk about her ex. The father of her unborn child. But she has been so friendly, upbeat and happy ever since Brielle came home from the hospital that I didn’t want to break the spell by bringing him up. Clearly, she wasn’t in the mood to discuss him or she would’ve brought him up herself, I reason. O was never one to shy away from an uncomfortable topic of conversation.

“A quiche, really?” I ask furrowing my brows. That sounds complicated.

“Yes, really,” she rolls her eyes. I’m sure she knows why I’m surprised. How can I not be? I’ve never seen my sister bake a thing in her life. Up until a few months ago, I doubted that she even knew what an oven was or how to turn it on.

“You’ve really come a long way, O,” I say. I hope that I sound encouraging rather than sarcastic.

“How so?”

“Well, remember how I got you that ‘Microwaving for One’ cookbook for your birthday a few years back? And you told me that you tried making something from it and it was too complicated.”

O bursts into a laugh. Strong and powerful and unashamed. I’m suddenly reminded of my old sister, the one who was never afraid to laugh too loud or dance as if no one was watching.

“I have come a long way since then, didn’t I?”

I nod. “I like this version, though. It’s a good version.”

She smiles and winks. “Me too.”

“Can I ask you something?” I ask when she starts to lay out all the ingredients for the quiche. I figure it’s as good of a time as any.

“Sure, shoot.”

“Brielle got these emails from some guy named Ryan.”

“What kind of emails?”

I tell her everything. She listens carefully as she chops the spinach. She thinks about it for a moment while whipping the eggs.

“No, I don’t believe it’s anything, Wyatt. That girl loves you. I see it in the way she acts around you.”

I think about that for a second. She’s right. Of course, she’s right. And yet, something in the back of my mind gives me pause.

“I know,” I finally say. “I know. But I’m just not so sure. What if I’m wrong?”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Okay,” I take a deep breath. I didn’t want it to come to this, but I need a second opinion. “Well, that’s why I sent them to myself.”

“You did what?” O’s eyes grow wide.

“She just acted so weirdly. I didn’t think anything at first. But then, I wasn’t so sure. So I sent them to myself when she was in the shower.”

O shakes her head.

“I know, I know. It was a really shitty thing to do, wasn’t it?”

“Kind of. You know, if this turns out to be nothing, then she’ll really feel like you violated her trust.”

“I know,” I hang my head. I feel my shoulders sloping down and taking the whole world with them.

I get my phone out and show her the emails. O reads them carefully. I wait, trying to guess her reaction.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “This guy, Ryan, sounds desperate, in love maybe. But I still don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

I try to figure out what’s worrying me. I just don’t know.

“The thing is that it’s not even really him or what he says. It’s her reaction. She looked…I don’t know, uncertain? Scared? In some instances, petrified even. She was trembling when she got the first one.”

“Trembling?”

I try to convey exactly what I saw, experienced, but whatever words I find are not enough. There was a lostness to her. A kind of sorrow.

“Maybe she’s just afraid of your reaction to them. Seeing you two together these past few weeks,” O smiles. “You two are getting along so well. You’re so happy. I just don’t think this is anything for you to get jealous over.”

O is trying to be reassuring, but I’m not convinced. On one hand, I know she’s right, of course. But on the other, I’m not so sure. There are other factors in play. Facts that I’m not aware of. And that makes me worried. We are happy. It’s not an act. But the emails, they have to mean something, right? Why else would she react that way?

“How about this?” O puts her hand around my neck. “Why don’t you just ask her?’

“Just ask her?”

“Yeah, what’s the worse that can happen?”

The following day, Brielle is still acting strangely. I’ve tried to bring the emails up a few times, but the problem is that I’m not supposed to know about the emails. Plural. I’m only supposed to know about one. And I can’t very well accuse her of keeping the others away from me without incriminating myself.

But there’s something else on my mind as well. Brielle and I haven’t had sex since she got Ryan’s first email. She’s trying to act normal, but it doesn’t feel natural. It’s like she’s forcing herself to be friendly. Or maybe it’s just my own feelings being mirrored back to me?

“Want to go horseback riding, today?” I ask Brielle, popping into her room after breakfast. I’m not expecting a yes, by any means. I’ve gone horseback riding multiple times without her, and she has avoided going with me for weeks for a variety of reasons. For one, she’s afraid of horses. She can’t even let one smell her hand without recoiling. This isn’t really a good sign, not according to most horse experts. According to lore, only people who are inauthentic are afraid of horses, because horses can spot a fake from a mile away.

Another reason is that she’s angry at Sebastian for breaking my legs. They’re not all like Sebastian, of course. For one thing, they’re not all young stallions. I’ve reassured her about this multiple times, but she still won’t step foot into his part of the barn.

“Sure, that will be great,” Brielle says. I look at her, unsure if I heard her correctly.

“What?” I ask. I’ve forgotten the question.

“Let’s go horseback riding,” she smiles. I’m not sure if I believe her.

“Really? Why the sudden change of mind?” I ask her when we are already on our way over to the barn.

“Just looks fun,” Brielle says. There’s a slight hesitation in her voice as if she’s trying to cover something up. But I’m not going to let her back out.

“Hey! Hey!” I hear someone yell behind us. I turn around and see O wobbling toward us. It’s supposed to be a run, but at this point she’s so pregnant that it’s not really a run anymore.

“Hey! Wait up!” she yells when we are already standing still near the barn. When she finally reaches us, her beet-red face sparkles in the sun. She grins from ear to ear.

“Are you okay?” Brielle asks. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing,” O says catching her breath. “Really good news. Just give me a moment.”

We wait in anticipation for her to get a handle on her breathing. She seems to be taking her sweet time.

“I just talked to your mom,” she finally manages. “She’s getting married. Do you know that?”

Brielle’s face falls. She looks at the ground. There’s a mixture of anger and disappointment building behind her eyes.

Finally, she nods. O doesn’t seem to notice a thing. Excitement flows out of her and she loses her breath again.

“I just talked to her and she’s really into doing a very small wedding. She was actually thinking of eloping, but then she thought about you and how much she wants you to be there.”

“Oh thanks,” Brielle says sarcastically. “I’m glad that she gave her only daughter at least that much thought.”

“Anyway,” O rolls her eyes. “Danielle and I talked about what she wanted, and she was thinking of going to a courthouse and doing some small dinner in LA. And then I said, why doesn’t she just come to our house?”

“Our house?” The prospect of a wedding at our house scared the hell out of me. “No, no, no, O. Don’t you remember the disaster that was Mom and Dad’s vow renewal ceremony? It took like a year to plan and occupied the house for nearly a month!”

“Hear me out, Wyatt!” O put her hand up.

“What the hell are you doing?” I can’t help but laugh. “Sticking your hand in my face? What is this the 90’s?”

“Okay, sorry! I just need you to hear me out. Brielle! Where are you going?”

I turn around and see that Brielle is already halfway back to the house. I run after her calling her name. O follows slowly behind me.

“Brielle! Wait up!” I grab her arm and spin her around.

“Leave me alone.” Brielle’s crying. Large, round tears are slowly rolling down her face. Her lips are puffy and the lipgloss that had only a minute ago glistened on them has disappeared.

“Where are you going?”

“What does it matter? Leave me alone!”

“Brielle, please,” I try again. But I feel like I’m losing her.

“Leave me alone, Wyatt! Let go. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

I let her go. O finally catches up.

“Brielle, please. Wait. I didn’t tell you everything,” O says. Brielle turns on her heel to walk away but then stops.

“And what is it that you left out? How you’re going to have this glamorous wedding for my mother and her wealthy fiancé here at the house? And how much fun you two will have planning all the details? And picking out the dress?

“No,” O shakes her head. Brielle doesn’t understand. “No, not at all. That’s the thing. Your mom doesn’t want a big wedding. It’s going to be hardly a wedding at all. More like a special occasion dinner. They’re just going to say their vows, and then we’ll all have dinner. No one’s coming besides you and us. And the only reason I think Wyatt and I are even invited is because we live at this house.”

Brielle hesitates. I feel her processing all the information.

“She doesn’t want a wedding?” she finally asks.

O shakes her head. “No, not at all.”

“Not at all?” I ask. A wave of relief covers me from head to toe.

“I knew you’d be ecstatic about this too,” O says pointing to me. “He’s not one for lavish parties.”