Page 18

Eighteen

Everyone had a nice buzz going by the time our bus dropped us off, five wineries and a wine slushie stand later, at 5:00.

Well, everyone but me.

Reese’s wine had been the only time alcohol had touched my lips today.

During our formal wine tasting at the gorgeous chateau Domaine LeSeurre— Dad would love this place , I kept thinking—I’d stood with the group, but was not served anything but sparkling water.

Katie had left with an extremely expensive case of Riesling.

“Mom’s sixtieth is coming up, remember?” she’d told her sister.

Amanda sent a mostly sobered-up Katie upstairs to take a leisurely bath while the rest of us were given fifteen minutes to change into our assigned animal-print pajamas.

Ironically, my PJs were tiger striped.

“Fucking Princeton,” I muttered before snapping a selfie.

I’d texted Connor a couple pictures throughout the day, but all he’d done was heart them; I felt a pang in my chest, knowing he was busy with Lauren.

I sent the tiger pajama selfie of myself to the Princetonians, and Simon, Zach, and Timothy Hobson-Kirby IV all liked the photo.

Marco didn’t acknowledge it.

Savage! Zach wrote. Who picked those for you?

Truthfully, I didn’t know.

Downstairs, everyone had been put to work.

The family room had been decorated when Katie and I’d arrived yesterday: gold, silver, and white streamers artfully arranged with signs that said things like SHE FOUND HER LOVER (KATIE’S VERSION) and I CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW, I’M DOING BACHELORETTE SHIT and POP THE BUBBLY, SHE’S GETTING A HUBBY!

(The last one mystified me; I’d read it so many times yet still didn’t understand how it even remotely rhymed.)

Paige was sprucing up the family room with embarrassing-bordering-on-blackmail photos of Katie asleep through the years while Reese and Yasmin strung up a clothesline to hang up our personality panties.

In the end, I’d gone a sardonic route with pink boy shorts featuring a “Little Miss” meme: LITTLE MISS CRIES OVER SOMEONE SHE NEVER DATED.

Even I had to admit it was on point.

In the kitchen, Meredith was prepping dinner in a sleep set covered in foxes and a zebra-print Courtney was pouring predinner cocktails.

“Would you like something?” she asked after handing Meredith an Aperol spritz.

“Yes, please,” I said, because to be honest, I’d really felt the FOMO today.

I couldn’t do anything about only being seventeen (nearly eighteen!), but now we were back at the house.

No one was going to card me, and my parents said I could indulge.

Everything would be fine.

“Pick your poison,” Courtney said.

“I bartended in grad school.”

“Whiskey sour,” I said.

It was one of Dad’s favorites.

Courtney nodded. “Coming right up!”

I waited, excited, and grinned when Courtney garnished the cocktail with an orange wheel and cherry.

The first sip of the caramel-colored drink was glorious, refreshing and punch-packing.

It tasted like the last sunset of summer: wonderfully bittersweet.

Meredith’s dinner was freaking delicious.

Not only was the London broil marinated and grilled to perfection, but she’d also tossed a green salad and made a huge tomato and mozzarella platter with basil and balsamic dressing drizzled on top.

And then, there was her corn salad with sliced radishes and jalapenos—simple, but incredible .

“I wish I could marry you, Meredith,” Paige said.

“Do you cook for Wit like this every night?”

Meredith smirked, eyes shining.

“Cooking is one of my love languages.”

The rest of us groaned, partly because we were in food comas and partly because we were super jealous of Meredith’s husband.

We’d switched to red wine for dinner, but cocktails and rosé from our seemingly endless supply returned for the festivities.

I still felt totally with it, but an unfamiliar sense of warmth had spread through my entire body.

“Okay, ladies!” Amanda said once we’d all gathered in the living room.

Meredith had set up a cute dessert spread on the coffee table.

“Tonight, we are going to start with a game from Katie’s past!”

“Yes, I will jump into the lake naked,” I said through a cupcake.

Amanda laughed. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mads, but this isn’t truth or dare.” She turned to her sister, dressed in a swan-print nightgown with white feather boa and sleeping mask.

“Katie, do you remember Kiss-Marry-Kill?”

Katie took a sip of Whispering Angel.

“I always wanted to marry Nick Jonas.”

“Can we change it to Fuck -Marry-Kill?” Reese asked.

“We’re adults now.”

The maid of honor had us vote.

Surprisingly, Kiss-Marry-Kill won.

“Katie, you’re up first.” Amanda smiled mischievously, then waved to the girls.

“Three names.”

“Austin,” Yasmin said.

Katie beamed.

“Nick Jonas,” Paige added.

Everyone laughed as Katie blushed.

“And Charlie Carmichael,” Reese said.

“Well, the last one is easy,” Katie said.

“I would kill Charlie Carmichael.”

Amanda and Meredith groaned.

“Here we go…” Amanda muttered before taking a long sip of her gin-and-tonic.

“Who’s Charlie Carmichael?” I asked.

“One of my friends from boarding school,” Reese answered.

“Katie met him at a party our junior year. He’s that lethal combination of charismatic flirt meets excellent listener. He asked for Katie’s number then ghosted her.”

Rude!

I thought.

“Kiss?” Courtney prompted.

Katie hesitated, caught between her future husband and her celebrity crush.

“Kiss Nick,” she eventually said.

“And marry Austin.”

We toasted her.

“Okay, Mer, you’re up,” Amanda said.

Meredith went bang, bang, bang once we threw three names at her.

Kiss? Timothée Chalamet.

Marry? Seth Meyers. Kill?

Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court.

Then it was my turn.

“Girls, I’ve got this.” Reese put up a hand before turning to me.

“The kid who drooled all over you, the boy next door, and the hot guy washing dishes at the engagement party.”

“Marco,” Katie translated.

My stomach swished. “Where’s my celebrity option?”

Reese shook her head.

“Not a requirement.”

“Umm,” I said.

“I’d kill Jacob, but no hard feelings.”

The group nodded in agreement, and Yasmin quickly pressed for my one-time kiss.

A name flashed in front of my eyes…

but it wasn’t Connor McCallister’s.

Blood thumped through my ears, so intensely that I could barely hear myself think.

Marco , my mind murmured.

Marco, Marco, Marco.

Holy shit.

Did I like Marco álvarez?

As more than a friend?

Or, like, whatever we were?

Friend suddenly sounded wrong.

The bridesmaids squealed after I said I’d marry Connor.

“We’ll help you!” Amanda exclaimed.

I noticed her speaking voice grew louder and more enthusiastic with every drink.

“Oh my god, we can totally make this happen—”

Katie cleared her throat.

“Paige, your turn,” she said before draining her drink and gesturing at her empty glass.

Yasmin dutifully poured her more rosé.

I had selective listening for the rest of the game, and by selective listening , I meant I did no listening whatsoever.

Instead, I stared at the stone fireplace and replayed this summer in my head.

Marco and me, both slick with sweat as we played field hockey on my front lawn—the way he’d tossed me over his shoulder and how fast my heart had raced as I clung to him, the way my body had buzzed.

Marco and me, sitting on the porch—him working on his cryptic novel while I read This Side of Paradise .

Marco and me in Stone Harbor, the two of us waking up before the stars stopped twinkling so we could watch the sunrise on the beach.

And all the hours we had spent together in the Garden.

More writing, more reading, but so much talking and laughing.

I closed my eyes to imagine what things would be like if our relationship was different.

Marco slipping through the garden gate, but instead of just zapping my waist hello before settling in his usual chair, I’d stick out my foot so he’d trip over and I could catch him for a kiss.

You’re cruel , I imagined him whispering before taking my face in his hands and kissing me back.

The daydream made me ache.

“Hey, are you okay?” Someone waved their hand in front of my face.

“Mads?”

I blinked to see Meredith.

“Yes,” I blurted. “Yes, I’m fine!”

“Good, because it’s time for Prosecco Pong,” Reese said.

“Are you in or out?”

“Totally in,” I said.

“I’m just gonna run to the bathroom…”

Is Marco alive?

! I texted the Princetonians after locking the powder room door behind me.

Yes, alive and thriving , Marco replied, and I felt like a moron for forgetting that he himself was in this chat.

What’s up?

What’s up?

I thought. WHAT’S UP?

!

“You’ve been ignoring me all day,” I muttered as Timothy Hobson-Kirby IV texted: Can we get a play-by-play of the panty game?

Sorry, Marco told us , Zach said.

Simon: But he was under duress.

Their words blurred together a little, so I had to really focus when typing back: We’re about to play beer pong, but with champers.

Any and all tips appreciated…

Marco privately texted me as the Princetonians poured pointers into our chat: You okay?

I didn’t respond; I didn’t know what to say.

A few minutes later, he tried again: How is it?

Miserable , I told him, then changed my mind.

Magical.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to throw up.

But most of all, I wanted to hear his voice.

***

Never had I ever imagined Amanda Gallant and I would have a signature handshake, but we made one up about a half hour into Prosecco Pong (it ended with our fists exploding into fireworks).

We trounced Yasmin and Meredith, and now were pretty much decimating Katie and Reese.

“Drink!” Amanda shouted after I elegantly landed a hot pink Ping-Pong ball into a plastic champagne glass.

Reese gave us the middle finger while steadying the bride so Katie could down the prosecco.

I’d noticed she was starting to sway.

“New partners!” Courtney said in a crisp British accent after Amanda and I had bested everyone.

(Apparently, she adopted a different nationality every time she got drunk.)

And like the ultracompetitive jock I was, I shouted Paige’s name, but giggly Yasmin grabbed my arm before Katie’s cousin and I could make confirmative eye contact.

That’s when I tasted revenge.

“Do you have any hand-eye coordination?” I asked Yasmin.

“Nope, none.” She smiled.

“My law firm’s softball team cut me!”

We fell into a fit of laughter; I soon felt tears pricking the corner of my eyes.

Across the pong table, Katie snickered.

She and Paige were beating us so badly that she’d taken to drinking a non-gameplay glass of rosé.

It was her move. “It ends here,” she said.

“Right here, right now .”

She sunk the ball at center court.

I picked up the plastic glass and let the bubbles burn down my throat, then fizzle in my stomach.

Yasmin hugged me for my service.

Katie made eye contact with me.

“Next round?”

“Totally.” I nodded, then pointed at Paige.

“Partners?”

The Bride folded her arms over her chest, but didn’t say anything.

Once Amanda had been crowned Prosecco Pong Champion of the Lake, it was time for Katie to guess whose panties were whose.

“Hey.” Meredith lightly touched my arm as the others moved toward the clothesline.

“How are you?”

“Thriving,” I told her.

“Why?”

She gave me a look.

“I know I’m not Harry or Lee,” she said quietly, “and I know I’m not Austin.” She paused.

“But I am looking out for you, Mads, and I think you should call it a night.”

I stared at her, incredulous.

“Call it a night? Like, go to bed?”

“No, I mean with the drinking.” She gestured to the frozen daiquiri Reese had handed me.

Courtney had the blender going in the kitchen.

“You’ve had a lot to drink.”

“Yeah, so has everyone,” I said, the back of my neck warming.

“Katie’s drunk like ten times her weight in Whispering Angel and Summer Water and Bouquet of Roses and whatever other rosé we have.”

“I know,” Meredith said calmly.

“But you’re—”

“God, what is the problem?” someone asked, and I turned to see Katie behind us.

Her face was bright pink and her lips pursed; she looked pissed.

“Mads and I were just talking, Katie,” Meredith answered smoothly.

“There’s no problem.”

“Yes, there is,” she said, but was looking at me instead of Meredith.

Or glaring at me, more like.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me?” My eyebrows knitted together.

Maybe Meredith was right; maybe it was time to tap out, because I had no idea what Katie was referencing.

Had I been too intense during Prosecco Pong?

“This is my bachelorette,” Katie said, a catch in her voice.

“And you are talking to literally everyone except me.”

Oh my god , I thought.

She’s jealous I’m stealing her spotlight?

I knew the right thing to do was apologize.

“Okay, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was being an attention whore.”

“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head, and her expression twisted like she couldn’t articulate what she meant.

I glanced at Meredith, but not only had she backed away; she’d also shuttled the other bridesmaids into the kitchen, knowing they didn’t belong in whatever this “conversation” was.

“These are my friends,” Katie said.

“And you’re bonding with them.”

“I’m trying my best, yeah,” I told her.

“Being a high schooler in a group of twentysomethings isn’t my natural environment, but I’m trying, Katie.”

“Well, you’re not trying hard enough!” Katie screeched, and it felt like she’d slapped me in the fucking face.

So I bit back; in fact, I might’ve even sunken my teeth into her.

“I could say the same about you,” I said, trying to keep my voice somewhat level.

“You don’t make me feel welcome or included at all—you barely spoke to me on the drive up here, you spoke to me even less today—even though you asked me to be your freaking bridesmaid!”

Tears swam in Katie’s eyes, but her lips didn’t quiver.

They curled into a sneer.

“I don’t regret asking you to be a bridesmaid,” she said.

“You’re Austin’s sister.”

“And I don’t regret accepting,” I said, even though I totally did right now.

“It was the right thing to do, but I never should’ve let myself sink so deep to please you.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I agreed to Ready-Set-Date because I naively thought that even if no guy grew to like me, the bride would.” I forced myself to laugh.

“My mistake.”

“And mine,” Katie said, her face as white as her nightdress.

“Because I thought asking Marco to keep an eye on you would have a happier ending.”

Wait, what?

I froze. Did Katie ask Marco to chaperone me this summer?

She’d seemed shocked yesterday when I’d told her about his guest appearances in my dating life.

But it was too late to clarify; in the span of five seconds, Katie had dry-heaved before spinning around and fleeing for the bathroom.

Heart suddenly hammering and alcohol twisting and twirling through my veins, I needed to get out of the house.

No one chased after me, too busy crowded outside the bathroom, where Meredith was probably holding Katie’s long hair back as she purged her soul of all her sins.

My guess was it would be a while.

We’d been having too much fun to notice the downpour happening outside, but I let myself get soaked as I unlatched the Defender’s trunk and climbed into the back of the car.

Heavy raindrops pounded against the soft roof, and I was woozy after heaving myself over the back seat.

You are drunk , I thought.

Soooooo drunk.

Hands shaking, I pulled my phone from my pocket and fumbled to unlock it.

I had several messages from Marco, but he’d accidentally switched to his Spanish keyboard.

Spanish wasn’t my top subject, and I didn’t have enough control over my fingers to tap a text back, so I called him.

“Hello?” he picked up on the fourth ring, voice breathless like he’d raced to catch me.

“Mads?”

I opened my mouth; not even a hiccup came out.

“Mads, are you there?” he asked, and when I didn’t respond, he said, “I don’t know if you’ve seen my texts or been on Instagram tonight, but—”

“It’s you!” I shouted over the rain.

“Marco, it’s you !”

And…

nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

The line was silent long enough for salty tears to spill from my eyes.

“It’s me?” Marco eventually whispered, and I could hear the wince in his voice—a wince that told me he understood.

I had a crush on him, one so massive it amazingly hadn’t hit me until now.

“Yes,” I said, then tried swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, wishing I could take the words back.

Because my confession had sealed our fate.