Page 35 of The Wedding Confession

And I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe I want to be honest with her after this bizarre conversation.

Me:Actually, I named her Sasha.

Ensley:For my mother?

Me:Yes.

Ensley:That’s so sweet.

Me:There’s something about her that’s like your mom.

Ensley:I barely remember her.

Me:She’s very clear in my mind.

Ensley:So weird to think you remember her better than I do.

Me:I was older. And very sorry when she died.

Ensley:We all were. Life never seemed to make sense after that.

Me:It got hard.

Ensley:It did.

My gut churns, and it isn’t the curry. This conversation doesn’t seem right over text. It’s too personal. Too sad.

Me:You home?

Ensley:Yeah. Tillie and I were watching TV, but she’s gone to bed.

So she’s alone, and I’ve jerked her around plenty this evening, between my lusty email and my reminder of her mother.

My thumb hovers over her phone number.

Then it lands.

It rings.

“Drew?” Her voice is timid, like maybe she should fear me.

“I don’t like texting about hard things.” My voice is gruffer than I’d like.

“But you don’t enjoy talking.”

I grunt.

She laughs. “Now there’s the Drew I know so well.”

It’s tough to swallow over the lump in my throat. “I really am sorry. I don’t know what came over me when I wrote that email.”

Her voice is mischievous. “I have an idea ofexactlywhat came over you.”

I laugh. It feels strange. I don’t laugh often. “Well, I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about the shed.”

“Me, too. Obviously. Since I wrote you about it.”

I laugh again. What is this witchery? “I got your number from the group text.”

---