“Oh, but you are.” I stood. “It’s what you do. You probably have already conveyed my feelings in return. However, you forgot to ask me what they are. Tell me, am I willing to listen to his apology for sleeping with my best friend?” Before she could respond, I went on, “My thoughts regarding Beth’s pregnancy state is that regardless of her current status or” —I turned toward Skylar— “the accuracy of the text message I read, it doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” Mom said. “It doesn’t. You have a life in Chicago, not here in this godforsaken wilderness.”

I suppressed a smile, thinking of the cabin. Van’s home wasn’t a godforsaken wilderness. If only my mother could see the cabin. My attention stayed on my mother. “No,” I said matter-of-factly. “What doesn’t matter is Beth’s pregnancy status or what it was. It matters that she claimed Skylar was the father and he didn’t deny the possibility.” I turned to my ex-fiancé. “If returning the engagement ring and our subsequent conversation at the hotel didn’t make it clear enough for you, I don’t accept your apology. We can’t work this out.”

“You don’t know the truth about him,” Skylar said, his chin pointing toward Van.

Shaking my head at his pathetic attempt to attribute blame, I looked at Mom. “You said there’s more to marriage than love. You’re right. There’s trust and fidelity. I won’t walk into a marriage without those fundamental elements.”

“And yet,” Mother replied, “you agreed to marry Mr. Sherman.”

Van was sitting back, with his ankle resting on one knee. His eyes moved from Mother to me and back as if he were watching a tennis match, waiting for the game-winning point to be scored.

“Yes, I did.”

“When?” Dad asked.

“We haven’t set a date.”

“So you plan to live here in sin?” Mother asked.

Red sin.

I didn’t try to hide my smile. “I have my own suite.”

“If you expect us to believe...” Skylar spoke from near the windows.

“I don’t give a shit what you believe,” I said, my volume rising. “It’s none of your business. You lost all rights as far as I am concerned when you screwed my friend.” I took a breath. “But I won’t lie to any of you.”

Van lowered his leg, sitting forward.

“I’m more content with Van than I ever imagined I could be, ever. In the short time we’ve been together, he’s shown me that I have a voice.” I turned to Mom. “One you’ve successfully stifled over the years.”

“You’re only twenty-four years old,” she said.

“I’m legally an adult. I can make my own decisions and I have.”

Dad motioned for me to sit. “You’re right.”

“I am?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a question.