tonight.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tomorrow matters to her.”
I laughed once, bitterly.
“This is ridiculous.”
Nadine looked directly at me.
“Then humor me. Be there at six.”
“I have a deadline.”
“Marla.”
Something in her voice made me stop.
“Be there this time.”
This time.
Two words.
And somehow they found every place in me I had been avoiding for years.
I thought of the winter concert I had watched through Nadine’s phone because I’d arrived after the last song.
The science fair where I showed up while teachers were folding tables.
The parent breakfast Eric attended alone because I had a meeting.
I hated that she was right enough to hurt me.
“Don’t make this about my job.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m making it about tomorrow night.”
I turned toward my car.
Behind me, Nadine said, “When you understand why she cut it, you’re going to wish you
