Page 10

Ten

On April twenty-something, it was time to go bridesmaid dress shopping.

Bridesmaids assemble!

Amanda had texted, even though the wedding wasn’t until freaking Christmas.

Katie had chosen a store in Philly to start the search, and everyone except Meredith—still living on St. Croix—was coming into town for the festivities.

Mrs. Gallant and Amanda had offered to pick me up on their way into the city.

Samira had surprised me with a visit, and we were hanging out on the front porch when a silver Audi pulled up my driveway.

Samira waved to Amanda and Mrs. Gallant before hugging me and disappearing into the house.

I guess she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“Have fun,” she whispered as a goodbye.

“Was that Samira?” Mrs. Gallant asked once I’d buckled my seat belt.

“What’s she doing here?”

“Visiting,” I said.

“She got here late last night.”

“That’s nice,” Katie’s mom said lightly, but I caught Amanda purse her lips and take her phone out of the car’s cupholder.

Part of me worried she was about to text her sister, since Austin had come home for dinner last night.

Katie had a work event.

But Luke Bryan soon sang through the Audi’s speakers, so she must’ve been on Spotify.

After the second song, Mrs. Gallant turned down the music and brought up Katie and Austin’s save-the-dates.

They’d just been mailed, and I remembered last month: Dad had compiled a comprehensive list of family and friends from the groom’s camp and we’d sat at the kitchen table long after we finished dinner, going through it together.

It had started out easy and fun with Nana, Austin’s godparents, and the McCallisters, but then we’d hit Dad’s clients.

“Harry, I don’t know why some of these people are even on the list,” Da said.

“You haven’t seen Ron and Lisa Bierman in at least five years…”

I’m not shooting the messenger , Austin had texted after I’d emailed him our finalists, but you guys need to seriously cut this down .

We DID cut it down , I said.

Twice!

Third time’s the charm?

he joked, and when I relayed the request to our parents, they sighed but nodded.

The Gallants must’ve had a tally as long as Santa’s naughty-or-nice list, and apparently, the bride’s side had the upper hand on invites.

“I know they aren’t your style, Mom,” Amanda said as Mrs. Gallant merged onto the highway.

We’d moved on to formal invitations.

“But the standard white card stock with a navy-blue border and typeface isn’t really fashionable anymore.”

Mrs. Gallant shook her head.

“I disagree, darling. Those are classic.” She flipped her blinker to shift into the left lane.

“Traditional.”

“Okay, sure,” Amanda conceded.

“But Katie doesn’t want traditional.”

Huh?

I thought. Katie, who is forcing my brother to have a black-tie country club wedding, doesn’t want traditional?

Maybe Amanda was too tactful to say boring .

Because that’s exactly what vibe white card stock gave off to me.

“I’ll show you the artist’s Instagram later,” Amanda told her mother.

“Lily’s work is on trend but tasteful. You’ll like—”

“What’s so interesting back there?” she cut her daughter off, shifting her focus to me.

I’d been listening to their conversation, but also scrolling through several field hockey commitments on my phone.

My club team and I’d congratulated a teammate at practice the other night; she’d pledged her allegiance to Boston College.

While I had an unofficial visit scheduled with Princeton next weekend—“Nothing to take for granted,” Coach Webber had told me—I still hadn’t heard from Penn.

“Just field hockey stuff,” I told Mrs. Gallant, even though field hockey was never “just” anything for me.

She laughed as I locked my phone.

“Oh, field hockey… I think we still have Katie’s old stick somewhere.”

I almost laughed, thinking she was kidding.

Because Katie playing field hockey?

There was no way. Beyond cheering for the Devils, she was probably the least sporty person I knew.

“Amanda was our natural athlete,” Mrs. Gallant continued, and I nodded, knowing Amanda had played basketball in college.

“But Katie worked so hard, always practicing in the backyard. I remember she was crushed when her high school coach told her she wasn’t good enough to play in college.”

“That guy was such a dick,” Amanda said, but I barely heard her.

My mind was whirring.

Katie had really played field hockey when she was my age?

Why had she never mentioned it to me?

Did Austin even know?

He would’ve told me.

I sat quiet and confused in the car for the rest of the ride.

For the last five years, it had felt like I’d barely gotten to know Katie.

She kept herself and most of her life closed off from my family, like she didn’t want us peeking in on it.

For the millionth time, I wondered why.

Did she truly not like us?

***

Katie looked livid when her mother, maid of honor, and I pushed through the doors of Petal I was missing practice for this!

A receptionist led our group through an archway into a spacious room lined with racks of gowns.

Svelte mannequins modeled various colors and styles, and mirrors sparkled in the bright light.

We were officially in bridesmaid heaven (or hell), no wedding dresses in sight.

Katie hadn’t mentioned if she’d already said yes to her dress.

“Please relax and feel free to enjoy some complimentary champagne,” the receptionist said, gesturing to a white chesterfield couch.

A bottle of bubbly and empty flutes sat on the nearby glass coffee table.

“Viv, our stylist, will be out shortly to assist you.”

“Pop it, Katie!” Meredith shouted several minutes later, over FaceTime on Yasmin’s phone.

We cheered after the cork flew through the air, and Katie grinned as her mom took over to pour glasses for everyone.

“No, thank you,” I said when Mrs. Gallant offered me a fizzy flute.

“I’ll stick with water.” I pointed to the Poland Spring bottles.

She smiled. “You are so responsible, just like your brother.”

“Not to mention, I’m very underage,” I quipped, though I was glad she respected Austin’s sobriety.

Special occasions only!

I’ll be honest: I lost interest in dress shopping almost as soon as it began.

My preferred shopping style was online from the comfort of my bed, and it turned out others felt that way, too.

Three bridesmaids were elected to model the gowns while the rest of us squeezed together on the cushy couch, happy to assess like we were at New York Fashion Week.

Reese, tall and slender, stood on the runway with petite Yasmin, along with Courtney, who winked at us and said, “In your dreams do you have my curves!”

The trio modeled off-the-shoulder sage green chiffon gowns, as well as some type of violet stretch fabric (whose high slit Mrs. Gallant immediately deemed too sexy), and a red wine–colored velvet dress with a deep V neckline and fluttery cap sleeves.

“This is stunning,” Courtney said about the latter.

She laughed. “But my boobs are totally in your face…”

“We can of course make alterations as needed,” stylist Viv said.

“Velvet dresses are best suited for autumn or winter weddings. You’re having a December wedding, correct?”

“No offense, Katie,” Reese said from the runway, “but have you chosen your colors yet? These are a little all over the place.”

My thoughts exactly , I agreed.

Maybe Katie did have a color in mind, but we were searching for a style first?

Katie looked uncomfortable, shifting in her seat.

I caught her eyes flitting to her mom before they locked with Amanda to have what looked like a silent sister sidebar.

After a few beats, Amanda rose from her spot on the couch.

“Mom, Katie and I are going to take another loop.” She turned to the stylist. “We could use your expertise, Viv. The velvet is gorgeous, but I think Katie is looking for something a little more unique style-wise.”

Mrs. Gallant’s brow crinkled.

“Unique?”

Stylist Viv sensed the tension brewing.

“Have you found your mother-of-the-bride dress yet, Stacy?” she asked.

“Because if not, we have a lovely selection in the other room…”

Reese, Yasmin, and Courtney—still in their dresses—joined us on the couch after Mrs. Gallant and her glass of champagne wandered away with another stylist to browse.

“Paige, put your tablet away!” Courtney nudged her cousin.

“Did you see Katie’s face earlier?”

“But I have a deadline,” Paige protested.

“This YA cover is a trainwreck…” Then she added under her breath, “And you’re one to talk. You were on the phone .”

Courtney straightened up in her seat.

“It was an emergency.”

Reese changed the subject.

“So, Mads, why didn’t you tell us about last weekend?”

“Last weekend?” I asked, not really paying attention.

Ever since Katie and Amanda had been swallowed up by the sea of dress racks, I’d been refreshing my Gmail account—hoping, wishing, praying that a new email would magically pop up from Penn’s coach.

Austin said I’d been obsessing, and obviously he was right, but I was nervous about visiting Princeton next weekend without a sign from their rival.

Because unofficial visits…

they usually ended with an offer to commit.

I didn’t want to commit to Princeton if Penn was still considering me.

“Yes, last weekend…” Reese said coyly.

“Specifically,” Paige picked up, tablet now tucked in her tote bag.

“Your junior prom.”

Oh , I realized.

“Who was that guy in your Instagram post?” Yasmin asked.

“He was hot!”

“It was the lax bro from Katie and Austin’s engagement party,” Reese answered before I could, that encounter apparently living in her head rent-free.

“The one Mads insisted she didn’t have feelings for…” She raised a brow at me.

“Because it’s true .” I felt myself flush.

Why did we have to talk about this again?

It was embarrassing.

“I don’t have feelings for Connor.”

“That picture totally says otherwise,” Paige said.

“His hand on your waist while you’re smoothing down his hair, him smiling and you laughing…” She sighed.

“Gah! If there weren’t a pool with a fake grotto and waterslide in the background, it would make an amazing book cover.” She Face-IDed into her phone.

“Actually, I’m going to take a screenshot for inspiration.”

“We were just goofing around,” I mumbled, the bridal salon’s lights suddenly seeming ten times brighter.

Reese shook her head.

“It looked pretty candid to me.”

I rolled my eyes.

Ever since I’d debriefed the bridesmaids on the Davis disaster, they’d been on a quest for my next suitor.

Reese, surprisingly, had taken me ditching her cousin in stride.

It sounds like you handled it with major badassery , she said.

You go, girl.

“I think Connor should be your next date,” Yasmin declared.

“I know you say you don’t feel that way—”

“But friends-to-lovers…” Paige said.

“It’s a fan-favorite book trope for a reason!”

I sighed as Courtney also sighed, but for entirely different reasons.

“I’ve always preferred enemies-to-lovers,” she said.

“The bicker, the banter, the bicker, the banter…the sexual tension almost sizzles on the page.”

“You know, I’m not a big reader,” I said casually, then rose from my seat.

I was finished with this conversation.

Or maybe I wanted to continue it with someone else.

“Hey, what’s up?” Samira answered on the second ring, after I’d locked myself in the bathroom.

“I’m walking Arthur and Francine on the canal.”

“The bridesmaids think I should go out with Connor!” I blurted.

“How absurd is that?”

The line was silent, so silent that I felt my cheeks warm.

“I don’t know…” Samira eventually said.

“ Absurd wouldn’t be the word I’d use.”

Me either , I thought.

But it would’ve happened by now if we were fated , right?

I swallowed. “Samira, Connor is my best friend.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“It could be nice to be with your best friend. The person you never stop laughing with, the person who always has your back, the person who knows you inside and out.” She paused, then said: “Isn’t he your favorite person?”

Goose bumps bloomed on my arms. Favorite person was the Austin Fisher-Michaels equivalent of soulmate .

He liked to say he had his people , but only one of us was his favorite.

What happened? I suddenly wanted to ask Samira.

Why is Katie his favorite and not you?

“Mads?” Her voice was now breathy.

It sounded like the dogs were now taking her for a walk.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, but I should go,” I whispered.

“We still have more dresses to try.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I’ll see you at home.”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“See you at home.”

***

Connor and Mads, I thought once Samira and I hung up.

Mads and Connor.

I admit, there had always been a part of me that wondered what it’d be like if Connor and I were more than friends—and it was growing harder to ignore.

Sometimes, when we watched movies in the McCallisters’ basement, sprawled out together and sharing a blanket, I would think, Kiss me.

And I don’t think it was because he was right there and I wanted to cross my first kiss off my list. If I wanted to get it over and done with, I suspected it was because he was right there and he was Connor .

Ugh.

I walked aimlessly along dress racks, stuck in my head until hushed voices stopped me in my tracks.

A conversation was happening just around the corner, in a smaller room (how big was this bridal place?).

“I know Mom wants them to be uniform,” I heard Katie say.

“No mix and matching. Same color, same style, stuck in the same century as those invitations she suggested.”

“Don’t worry about Mom,” Amanda told her.

“I’ll have her obsessed with Lily Hopper’s portfolio by dinnertime.”

“Oh, you work wonders, Ms. Gallant,” a third voice said, one that sounded a lot like Meredith.

I peeked around the corner to see that the Gallant sisters were indeed huddled together and holding up Katie’s phone.

“Because those mockups your mom sent you were an absolute snoozefest.”

Amanda snorted.

“Go ahead, Meredith. Tell us how you really feel.”

“Reese asked if Austin and I’ve even chosen a color scheme,” Katie rambled, like she was nervous.

“I feel like everyone secretly thinks I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Well of course you have no clue what you’re doing,” Meredith said.

“It’s a wedding, Katie, and as far as I know, you have no prior experience in planning one.”

The sisters laughed.

“Neither do you,” Katie quipped.

“You eloped.”

“Yes, but I still had to pick a time, place, and a white dress,” she protested.

“That has to count for something!”

The three of them giggled for a few seconds before Katie brought things back to the bridesmaid dresses.

“Would it be terrible if we left today without making a decision?”

“No,” Meredith said.

“Because you already made your decision by sending Amanda and me all those links to various Anthropologie gowns.”

“I agree,” Amanda said when Katie was quiet.

“I mean, you literally assigned one to each person.”

I did my best to translate Katie’s mumble.

“I know, but they’re just so…”

“Unique,” Meredith said.

“They’re fun , Katie. Just like you.”

Katie?

I thought. Fun?

My interest was piqued about these dresses, though.

“Let’s pack up our stuff and grab lunch,” Amanda said with maid-of-honor confidence.

“I’ll email everyone their dress tonight and run any aftermath interference with Mom.”

I watched Katie give her older sister a side hug, and suddenly felt a pang of something in my chest. What was it?

It was a type of bittersweetness, but before I could dig deeper, my phone pinged in my pocket.

It was an email from Lizzy Hart.

My hand shook. Lizzy Hart was Penn’s head field hockey coach.

And her email’s subject line read: Visit to campus .

***

I texted Marco before bed that night.

Penn invited me to visit!

I wrote, unsurprised when he didn’t respond.

It was a Saturday night.

He was probably at a party or, as Austin had once upon a time, used a fake ID to get into Princeton’s bars.

My parents and Samira had been so happy when I’d gotten home from the bridal salon.

On the one hand, it was only a visit, but on the other, you had to work so fucking hard for a visit.

“My girl!” Da had swept me into a hug and spun me around before Dad squeezed me so tightly that my back cracked.

Then, the McCallisters came over for an impromptu cookout.

Connor brought me a six-pack of bottled Cokes, the perfect congratulatory gift.

Although, I wasn’t sure how “impromptu” it was because Austin arrived just as the hot dogs and burgers hit the grill, equipped with a trunk full of s’more supplies.

“Where’s Katie?” Connor asked, to which my brother responded, “Probably falling asleep to a true crime documentary. She’s wiped from the day.” He turned to me.

“But she says congrats again, Mads.”

“Thanks,” I said.

All the bridesmaids, along with Mrs. Gallant, had cheered when I announced the news at lunch…

but not Katie. She simply smiled and said, “That’s amazing!”

In, like, a totally fake voice.

You loved field hockey once!

I’d wanted to shake her.

Why can’t you actually celebrate?

!

Ironically, I was scrolling through Netflix when Marco did respond.

Congrats! he’d written.

But nevertheless: puck Fenn.

Brows furrowing, I sent him a question mark.

Puck Fenn , he said.

Campus store even sells bumper stickers!

“Okay,” I said aloud, “but what does that—”

It clicked.

Puck Fenn translated to Fuck Penn .

Because Penn and Princeton?

Bitter rivals.

Puck Frinceton , I wrote.

Eh, doesn’t have the same ring to it , Marco wrote back.

I smirked, shook my head, and typed: How are you?

Good , he said, and that was it.

I stared at my phone screen until my eyes watered, desperate to blink.

He’s busy , I told myself, so I gave the message a thumbs-up and then refocused on Netflix.

A new text popped onto my screen five minutes later, when I’d finally settled on a show.

How are you?

I hesitated, extremely tempted to type G-O-O-D and hit send, but instead I recapped the day’s unsuccessful bridesmaid dress search.

Also , I said, they want to set me up with Connor!

!!

Again, Marco didn’t respond until I was halfway through an episode of New Girl .

Well, the point of this scheme is to make a successful match, isn’t it?

My fingers flew across my phone screen, keeping pace with my heart.

Um…you think Connor and I’d be good together?

It doesn’t matter what I think , Marco said, dodging the question and thus eliciting an eye roll.

What matters is what YOU think.

You’re super wise , I joked.

Anyone ever tell you that?

All the time , he said.

Yesterday, actually.

My philosophy professor.

I snorted, then bit my tongue as I wrote.

Sometimes I do think about Connor that way…

I worry that I won’t know about anyone else until I know about Connor and me.

I inhaled as three typing dots appeared.

But before Marco actually responded, a bridesmaid chat message from Amanda announced itself at the top of my screen.

I tapped on it.

Davis who?

she’d written. Mads, do I have someone for YOU.