She was silent for a moment, but then her face turned serious, her eyes thinned and she was suddenly alert, like the booze had disappeared from her body with the breeze. “The Walkers are... They know everyone. They’re important. Once you know their secrets, you won’t ever be able to leave.”

Then she leaned back and hiccupped, giggling at the sound like what she had just said was already a memory she wouldn’t have tomorrow.

I knew the Walkers had secrets. So do I. That’s the point.

“Thanks for gracing us with your presence,” Graham says to the two of them as they sit across from us, their salads dressed and getting soggier each moment they aren’t eating them.

“Oh, chill out,” Reed says.

“Are you going to be late to the ceremony too?” Graham asks. “Make me stand up there by myself for a half hour?”

Graham likes being told to chill as much as a woman likes being told to calm down. There is something about that word that’s inherently offensive.

“You waited fifteen minutes. You survived.”

“I don’t—” Graham keeps glancing at Doug, waiting for him to be as ticked with Reed as he was with us. If Doug is paying attention, he doesn’t show it.

“That’s enough. Just eat,” Cheryl commands, shaking her head. She looks between Veronica and me, like she is still trying to keep up appearances, as if we both hadn’t experienced worse from our chosen men. “Boys will be boys.” She laughs.

Yours sure will.

After dinner, Graham suggests a walk. He says it inconspicuously, with a sly smile only I would catch. It was the weekend of arbitrary traditions so why not pile another one on top of the stack?

I’d spent the last hour eating grilled chicken and sautéed vegetables and talking about nothing. The Walkers are good at that—talking about nothing. Skimming the surface without actually saying anything of importance. The appearance of care was there, knowing just enough to have a response should Doug’s coworker ask about the wedding or Cheryl’s Pilates instructor ask what Henry got for his birthday, but it was absent of any interest. Like they were afraid to divulge too much to one another. Like saying the wrong word would be held over their heads for the rest of their lives.

I’d witnessed cracks in this indifferent foundation twice, which led me to believe that there was a time before me when they actually cared. And seeing the presence of that love, however fleeting, made me think about what must have happened to break it.