What exactly did you expect him to do?" I said I hadn't meant it, and Tessa shook her head. "You meant for him to hear it. You just didn't expect him to believe you." I asked if she had come to help or judge me. She said she hoped to do both if that was what it took to make me understand.
She hadn't been in the videos' comment sections, she told me, but she had received messages from parents at the school. She ignored them. She had also called Maren to make sure the original recording was down and told our mother to stop making excuses about how Julian had "stirred up old feelings." "Mom thinks if she finds the right explanation, no one has to be accountable," Tessa said. "I love her, but don't let her do that for you." Her wedding was planned for the following spring. When I realized she might have to explain to her future in-laws what had happened at our parents' cookout, I cried for the first time without performing it for anyone.
Tessa stayed with me while I ate a piece of toast. She asked whether Julian had been in touch, and I lied automatically, saying no. She looked at my phone on the table. Julian had sent three messages that morning, each visible in a preview: Are you okay? This is insane. Call me when the drama dies down. Tessa didn't reach for the phone. She simply raised her eyebrows, and I could feel my face heat. "Brielle," she said, "you can't fix anything while you're still hiding the thing that broke it."
That evening I met Julian in a nearly empty coffee shop near the highway. I told myself I was going because we needed to discuss what had happened, but I dressed carefully and checked my reflection in the car mirror before going inside. He stood when he saw me and pulled out a chair, just as he had when we were teenagers trying to look older than we were. He said the recording was ridiculous and complained that people had tagged his professional account. For several minutes we talked about how unfair the attention felt. Then I said Nolan had moved out, and Julian's expression changed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That's rough." I waited for something more. He stirred his coffee and asked whether Nolan was the jealous type. The question landed strangely. I reminded him that Nolan had seen his wife kiss another man in front of her family. "Sure," Julian said, "but everybody knows you and I have history. It wasn't some random guy." He meant it as comfort. I heard it as proof that my husband had been made to stand in the shadow of a story he hadn't chosen.