When I filtered out the WordPress notifications, there were two from Buzzfeed writers, one from someone at AOL News （which I didn’t know was still a thing）， and one from a Washington Post reporter trying to confirm my identity as the author of the blog. That last one scared me. A lot. If Buzzfeed figured out who I was because I posted from work, this could have negative splash-back there. Could I get fired? I was supposed to represent the public image of the foundation, and my own public image had just gone viral for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t imagine that going over well. And while yes, I had contemplated quitting over Caryn, I hadn’t been serious. How would I pay my rent? I put my head in my hands again and tried to get my breathing under control.
What had I done?
The worst of the voicemails was my mother’s. “I don’t even know what to say to you. How could you do this to your brother and sister and to me? Your grandmother saw what you wrote about her. And about that—man—who you—your father read that. Is this who I raised? What am I supposed to tell people? Amy is saying she doesn’t want you in her wedding and how will we explain that? I don’t know what to say.”
There’s something about a mother’s disappointment that cuts you to the bone, no matter how old you are. That’s not to say I wasn’t used to disappointing her, but I wanted to crawl into a hole to live out the rest of my days among the grubworms when she told me my father had read the post about Justin. And when she mentioned my grandmother, I realized I had to start an actual list of people I had wronged. Because she hadn’t even crossed my mind. Granted, if I lost my job, I was about to have nothing but time to make it up to them and would probably wind up moving in with my grandma because there was no way my mother would take me now. Grandma, well, she would probably get over it.
Jake’s voicemail was concise, at least. “Madison has been crying for an hour. Why can’t you just be a normal sister and make her feel welcome? I can’t believe how selfish you are.”
I grabbed a notepad and started my apology list. Caryn had probably gotten the worst of it in the blog and I was sure her friends were giving her holy hell, so she belonged at the top. Then I wrote Amy’s name above hers. I had forgotten to check if I had called her out about that Luke guy before hitting “Delete,” but if I had, that was actually the worst. Sharon was next, then Jake and Madison. Megan came fifth. She would forgive me no matter what, in the end. Then, after I had made amends with all of the brides, next up were my mother, my grandmother, and my father. I didn’t even write Alex’s name on the list. I was beyond salvation there.
It was one o’clock, and I had a lot of work ahead of me.
I tried Amy’s cell phone. She let it ring twice and then sent it to voicemail. I pressed the call button again. Same result. She picked up the third time, however. “What, Lily?”
“Don’t hang up,” I said quickly. “Amy, I’m so, so sorry.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “Is that all?”
“No. I didn’t have any right to—”
“No, you didn’t have any right! If you hated me that much, you didn’t have to be in my wedding at all!”
I hesitated. “I don’t hate you, Ames. If anything, I think I’m jealous. Everything always comes so easy to you.”
“Nothing comes easy to me! I’m working a part-time job and lived at home until two weeks ago! I took five years to graduate college and can’t find an actual career. You walked out of college into a job, you never had to move back home, and all anyone does is talk about how successful you are. But me? No one has ever said anything like that about me. I’m the screw-up baby sister. And God forbid one good thing happens—I find a great guy—and you try to ruin that just because I was talking to someone I knew in college?”
“I didn’t try to ruin—”
“Then why would you say that on the internet, Lily? Do you know how hard that was to explain to Tyler?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I can talk to Tyler and explain it wasn’t like that.”
“I already talked to Tyler. He loves me, and he trusts me. Which is way more than I can say for you.”
“I—” I took a deep breath. “I’m not going to make any excuses. I was wrong. What can I do to make this right?”
“I don’t know,” Amy said. “It’s not my job to tell you how to fix it when you mess up. You have to figure that out.”