Thoughtful.
Easy.
Before every family event, she sent little texts.
"Dinner's at six, Mom."
"Dad's coming too."
"Sophie, please be nice."
I'd always thought it was Emma being Emma.
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At 25, she could walk into a room containing both her divorced parents and somehow make everyone behave.
What I hadn't asked myself was why she'd become so good at it.
The toasts began after dinner.
Michael's father spoke.
Then the best man.
Then Sophie.
I spent her entire speech waiting for trouble.
It never came.
Sophie talked about sharing a bedroom with Emma.
Stealing her sweaters.
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Calling her from college whenever she was homesick.
She made us laugh.
She made Emma cry.
Then she sat down.
I actually exhaled.
Maybe she'd listened to me.
Maybe we'd get through the night after all.
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I was wrong.
The cake was cut.
Emma and Michael had their first dance.
For a while, I started to believe the worst was behind us.
