He Erased Me From The Photo I Erased Him From My Life Chapter 02
In the end, I let go of the menu.
A few days later, Owen hosted a barbecue at our house.
He said it was a chance for everyone to get to know me better.
But when I walked into the backyard, Sloane was already playing the hostess, directing everyone.
“Owen sits by the grill. He has to watch the fire.”
She patted the seat of honor, then pulled out the chair right next to it.
“I’ll sit here so I can hand him the seasonings.”
Lucy claimed the seat on Owen’s other side. More friends drifted in and filled the remaining chairs. By the time I came back out with the salad, the only spot left was at the far end of the long table.
With a keg, trays of meat, and a half-dozen people between us, I could barely see Owen’s face.
No one seemed to find the seating arrangement odd.
Every so often, Sloane would pass Owen the tongs or the salt shaker with a practiced ease that suggested they’d done this a thousand times.
Owen took a bite of a grilled rib, a smear of barbecue sauce landing at the corner of his mouth.
Sloane pulled a napkin from the dispenser and leaned in to wipe it away for him.
Her fingers nearly brushed his lips.
Owen didn’t pull back. He just smiled and said, “I’ve got it.”
“It’s done.”
Sloane withdrew her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Someone at the table whistled.
“You two can’t tone it down, even in front of Natalie? Aren’t you worried she’ll get jealous?”
Everyone turned to look at me.
Sloane laughed first.
“Nat’s not that petty. She knows we’re family.”
She didn’t ask me. She answered for me.
My grip tightened on my fork, but I forced a smile. “Of course.”
Owen glanced my way, a look of something like relief on his face.
Not long after, he brought a platter of grilled steaks to the table.
Sloane hadn’t said a word, but he had already cut the most tender piece from the center of a steak and placed it on her plate.
“Your stomach’s sensitive,” he said. “Don’t eat the charred parts.”
“You remember.”
Sloane smiled at him, then turned to the others.
“Back in high school, Owen, Cal, and I used to skip class and go barbecue by the river. Cal handled the fire, Owen did the grilling, and I just ate.”
“And every single time, the three of us would come back smelling like smoke and get busted by our teachers immediately.”
The table erupted in laughter.
Owen laughed, too.
He had never told me any of those stories.
Across the table, Sloane’s eyes found mine.
“Back then,” she said, her voice softening, “we thought it would always be the three of us.”
The laughter died for a moment.
Then, in the next second, she reached out to smooth Owen’s collar.
“Hold still. It’s folded under.”
She straightened it for him, her fingertips sliding slowly along his neck, brushing against his throat.
Owen held perfectly still.
He even tipped his chin up slightly, making it easier for her.
Around us, people kept drinking and talking as if this were completely normal.
As if I were the only one who could see that her hand had no business being there.
Sloane withdrew it and stood to get a drink.
As she passed my chair, her elbow knocked the glass bowl on the table.
An entire bowl of barbecue sauce tipped over, right onto my lap.
The dark brown liquid soaked through my white linen pants almost instantly, a sticky river running from my knees to my ankles.
I shot to my feet.
Owen rushed over.
But he went right past me and caught Sloane by the shoulders.
“Did you burn yourself?”
He grabbed her hand and turned it over, checking it again and again.
Sloane shook her head. “No. It just startled me.”
Only after confirming she was unharmed did Owen let her go.
From beginning to end, he never once glanced at my ruined pants.
Only then did Sloane turn to me. She said she was sorry, but there wasn’t a trace of panic in her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to.”
Her gaze swept over my stained legs, and a small, light laugh escaped her lips.
“Those look expensive. I’ll buy you a new pair.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I pressed a wad of napkins against the stain.
The sauce had already set. The more I dabbed, the larger the stain spread.
Owen frowned. “Just go inside and wash it off. It should come out.”
He said it as if it were nothing more than a trivial spill.
I turned and went inside.
The bathroom was just off the kitchen. I scrubbed at the fabric again and again with cold water, but a wide, ugly brown mark remained on the white cloth.
When I came back out, Sloane’s voice drifted from behind the half-closed kitchen door.
“Owen, is Natalie upset?”
Her tone was hushed and worried.
“Did I make her angry?”
Owen’s voice was gentle. “No, she’s not like that. Don’t overthink it.”
Sloane gave a soft, relieved laugh.
“That’s good.”
She paused, then added, “I was just so afraid you’d stop caring about old friends like us because of her.”
A fresh round of laughter broke out from inside the kitchen.
No one contradicted her.
Including my fiancé.
I stood in the hallway, staring at the stain that wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard I rubbed, and a cold clarity washed over me.
No matter how understanding I was, no matter how much ground I ceded, I would never belong in their world.
They were a family.
And I would always be the one left outside the door.