Page 25

Twenty-Five

I was on crutches when I returned to school, so every day, one of my field hockey teammates was assigned to help me to class.

“Out of the way!” my co-captain shamelessly shouted in the congested hallways.

“Mads is on the move!”

It would’ve been nice if the building’s elevator wasn’t in an entirely different wing, and it was harder than I thought it’d be watching my games from the sidelines.

“Stop bouncing your knee,” Da instructed.

My right knee, which was part of my right leg, which was attached to my right ankle—my bad ankle.

“Keep still.”

“I want to be out there,” I whispered.

“You will be out there,” he whispered back, knowing we were actually talking about Penn next year.

He leaned over to kiss the top of my head.

“It’s just going to take time, patience, and physical therapy.”

My orthopedic surgeon inspected my ankle two weeks post-op.

“Very nice,” Dr. Lambert said, impressed enough to promote me from my splint to a boot.

I still wasn’t allowed to put any weight on my ankle, so Da ordered a scooter off Amazon.

It looked like a tricycle, complete with handlebars and brakes, but instead of me sitting on the padded seat, my knee rested on it.

Austin jokingly bought me a kid’s purple bike helmet with gold stars, while Marco gifted me an old-fashioned bell, the same one his mom had for her beach cruiser.

“For you to ring in the hallways,” he explained.

“You don’t want to run anyone over on your way to calculus.”

“What if they deserve it?” I’d quipped.

“Then you’ll wipe out half the school,” he’d quipped back.

My parents had another Intimidating Dads conversation with Marco after I’d announced that he, the dark horse, was now the last suitor standing.

It started with We thought this might happen , and ended with You will be answering to us if you break her heart .

“I understand.” Marco nodded solemnly.

“And if it helps, I’m highly confident that if it comes to that, Mads will break my heart.”

Dad clapped him on the shoulder.

“No wonder you’re a Princeton man!”

Because I wasn’t very mobile, and for a million other reasons, Marco and I agreed to take things slow.

He came home from school a couple nights a week to study and watch Rangers games even though he knew nothing about hockey.

And Connor, who for once was enjoying the single life, lost it after game three.

“For the love of god, álvarez, if you’re going to watch a hockey game, at least learn your hockey…”

Once I mastered my scooter, we ventured into town.

Marco drove and then insisted on walking on the street side of the sidewalk.

“You’re the only guy I know who does that,” I remarked after he soundlessly ducked to the left.

“Even before my ankle, you always made sure I was nowhere near the road.”

I remembered our first walk in Princeton; whenever I got too close to the curb, Marco smoothly nudged me toward the storefronts.

Marco smiled. “It’s a tale as old as time,” he said.

“Men would stroll street-side so passing carriages wouldn’t ruin women’s dresses by splashing mud or water on them.” He paused.

“Horse shit, too. Horse shit was everywhere.”

I laughed, and in response, Marco took my hand and threaded our fingers together.

Smiling, I squeezed as he knocked on Fable’s discreet front door.

The hostess opened the top left mahogany pane, exchanged a nod with Marco, and then opened the door and led us to a secluded, smoky-mirrored nook in the back.

Marco helped me into the cushy velvet banquette and carefully propped my boot up on the chair across from us before joining me.

We ordered almost every appetizer and drink off the mocktail list. It was then that I discovered that Marco was adorably affectionate by nature, and that I was, too.

We only let go of each other’s hands to eat, and every so often, I leaned over to drop a kiss on his warm shoulder.

By the time Fable’s famous butterscotch pudding arrived, Marco had wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we were kissing.

Silently, slowly, dreamily kissing.

“Marco álvarez, what would your mother say?” our server asked.

“Something encouraging,” Marco replied as I blushed.

“She’s wanted this”—he gestured between us—“to happen for a while.”

In mid-November, Marco invited me to Stone Harbor for the night.

My parents asked me to close up the house for the winter , he texted me, and I’d like some company.

Company sounds spectacular!

I’d said, pulse twisting and turning with pleasure.

But I don’t know if my parents will be cool with it.

I’ll ask them , he texted.

I had no idea what Marco ended up saying to my dads, but amazingly, they gave us the green light.

I suspected they knew Marco wasn’t going to try anything; my boot-and-scooter combo was an effective chaperone.

Marco knew how to drive stick, so after some begging and pleading on his part, I let him drive the Defender to the shore.

I liked the way he drove, with one hand on the wheel and the other on my knee between gear shifts.

He looked completely at ease, and I kept not-so-sneakily snapping photos of him.

“They’re for my own personal consumption,” I said.

I hadn’t told the bridesmaids about Marco and me yet.

Katie knew, but I didn’t want her friends to act like Marco had won a contest. I mean, I’d joked that he had, and his grin said he knew it, but this was different.

I wanted it to be just the two of us for a little while.

It felt good to see the álvarez cottage again with its light green shingles, pebbled yard, and picket fence.

Marco helped me inside—my scooter wasn’t meant for such rocky terrain, so I’d packed my crutches—and he brought our stuff in after I sank into the den’s deep couch.

We watched an episode of that creepy stalker show You , but while curled into Marco’s side, his body as warm and cozy as a crackling fire, my eyelids fluttered shut.

I must’ve slept for an hour, maybe longer.

The TV was off when I woke up, and Marco gone.

I found him in the kitchen, humming as he stirred something on the stove.

We’d picked up groceries on the way here.

“Hello…” I said, my delivery perfectly Penn Badgley.

“ YOU .”

Marco jumped and spun to face me.

“Never do that again,” he said, dead serious.

“Please.”

I smirked.

“Dinner smells incredible.”

“Paella,” he said, which was like a Spanish stir-fry with rice, saffron, vegetables, chicken, and shrimp.

“It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I leaned my crutches against the wall and then hopped over to hug him from behind.

He laughed when I nuzzled the back of his neck.

Later, we waited for our food comas to subside by watching a movie, and afterward I took a shower and changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants.

“Hey, sweet tart!” I heard Marco shout as I carefully strapped up my boot.

“Guess what?”

“What?” I shouted back.

“It’s snowing!” he said from outside his sister’s door.

“Come on, I have your coat.”

Marco gave me a piggyback ride to the beach, his breath visible in the night air.

I could feel my wet hair starting to freeze.

Both of us had beach towels around our necks and I held a lantern to light our way.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I whispered once we’d settled on our towels.

We’d duct-taped a garbage bag over my boot so no sand would get in it.

“Snow on the beach.” I turned to Marco, white flakes soundlessly falling around us and calming waves washing ashore.

“I feel like I’m in a dream.”

He nodded before breaking into a wide grin, one that suggested his soul shined brightly within him.

When I looked at Marco, the rest of the world blurred.

“But it’s not,” he pointed out, then smiled and murmured, “I’ve never been so happy to be awake.”

His words sent a shimmer through me, one that rippled deep into my core and swirled into a long ache.

“Yes.” I smiled and snuggled into his side.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

***

I thought of that night a couple weeks later, at the dining room table on Thanksgiving.

Marco and I’d walked back to his house around midnight, and after he helped me into Carina’s bed, I’d convinced him to climb in so we could sleep together.

The next morning, the snow had vanished—it hadn’t been cold enough to stick—and after French toast for breakfast, I cleaned up, and Marco shut off the water and did whatever other chores needed to be done to winterize the cottage.

We’d hit the road around noon.

Most Novembers, my family drove up to Rhode Island to spend the holiday with Da’s side of the family.

But this year, those relatives had decided to celebrate Thanksgiving on a Disney cruise.

“No,” Dad said before the rest of our family got any ideas.

“I am not having Mickey Mouse carve my turkey. No, thank you.”

“Trust me, Harry,” Da said.

“We are in total alignment.”

This year’s group was small.

Nana brought her Man Friend, and because she and Austin were less than a month away from getting married, Katie came, too.

She and Austin had never spent Thanksgiving together before; it was the one holiday they refused to sacrifice.

I wouldn’t mind being in Boca right about now…

I thought, glancing at the downpour outside.

Rain, rain, freaking nonstop rain.

From the trying-not-to-pout-but-totally-pouting pout on Katie’s face, you could tell she was missing her grandparents’ house.

Austin’s fiancée was miserable .

“The mashed potatoes are really good, Katie,” I said, to break the silence.

Our dinner table conversation topics had all led to dead ends so far.

“Where did you get them?”

“I didn’t get them anywhere,” she replied evenly.

“I made them.”

“Oh.” I flushed.

It wasn’t that I thought Katie couldn’t cook, but these potatoes looked and tasted like the product of a professional caterer.

They were whipped to perfection.

“It’s her mom’s recipe,” Austin said quickly, “but Katie took over making them when she was sixteen.”

“Lucky us,” Dad said.

“Lee knows everything about turkey and stuffing, but his potatoes have never been this good.”

“They’re better than yours, Harry,” Da countered.

The table laughed, but Katie smiled blandly before taking a sip of water.

My heart wound into a knot.

What’s wrong? I wanted to ask, because now that I knew Katie cared so hard, I cared so hard.

If you miss your family, tell us you miss your family!

We’ll understand!

Nana’s Man Friend brought up the wedding while the pumpkin pie was being sliced.

“Are you having a band or DJ?”

“Band,” Katie replied.

“We’re having a twelve-piece band.”

“It’s going to be fabulous,” Nana said.

“Austin’s played me samples from their website.”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded.

“They’re great…”

Nana’s Man Friend smiled.

“What’s your song, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s called ‘Garden,’” Austin said, smiling.

“It’s by this indie-folk band we love.”

“The band’s rendition is astronomically different than the original song,” Katie said.

“But that’s how it is, so…” She trailed off into the distance.

“It’s still going to be incredible, Kates,” Austin said, then grinned like a lovestruck idiot.

“We practice dancing in our kitchen every night. Neither of us is a good dancer, so we don’t want to completely embarrass ourselves.”

“Ah, yes…” Dad mused as I dove into my slice of pumpkin paradise.

“You never did have a natural rhythm.”

I caught Katie roll her eyes.

And that, combined with the fact that she hadn’t touched her slice of Nana’s delightful pie, was the final straw.

“What’s bothering you?!” I blurted, and my family went silent.

I took another bite of pie for a boost of confidence.

“Seriously, Katie,” I said after swallowing.

“What’s your deal?”

“ Mads ,” Austin hissed.

I shook my head. “I want to know, Austin. She’s been sulking since you guys got here, and anytime anyone brings up the wedding, it’s like she couldn’t care less or would rather walk Captain Hook’s plank than go through with it.” I looked at Katie.

Her eyes were glassy.

“You are my brother’s favorite person , Catherine, but these days, I’m having a tough time believing he’s yours.” I brandished my fork like a sword.

“I mean, call it off if that’s what you want!”

Everyone sat there.

Austin was glaring at me while our parents exchanged a look that screamed: Didn’t we raise our daughter to have manners?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nana diplomatically rise from her chair, pick up her plate of pie, and gesture for her Man Friend to follow her out of the room.

“No,” Katie said, expression accusatory.

“But that’s exactly what you want, Madeline, don’t you?” She looked at my dads.

“That’s what all of you want, right? For me to call off the wedding?”

None of us got the chance to answer; Katie was too quick to detonate.

“I know none of you like me!” Her voice went up several octaves.

“You’ve always been polite, but I know for a fact that you don’t like me or think I’m good enough for Austin!”

“Well, we don’t see you!” I shouted at the same time Dad said, “Excuse me? You know for a fact ?”

Katie opened her mouth, but no words came out.

She didn’t know which question to answer first.

I overpowered my dad.

“Katie, you are physically present,” I continued, “but we don’t see you. You don’t show us who you are, or even part of who you are. It’s been years and I still can’t name any of your interests beyond reading, watching hockey, and writing detailed Yelp reviews for brunch places.” I swallowed.

“Your mom told me you played field hockey in high school—why haven’t you ever told me that? Is it now a taboo subject or something?” I laughed.

“Who cares if you didn’t play in college?” I held up my hands.

“And music, it seems like you’re into music? I love music.”

“Mads, lay off,” Austin said when the last part came out a bit sarcastic.

“Stop grilling her. She’s…”

“Shy,” Katie filled in the blank.

“I’m shy, I’m an introvert, so you have no idea how intimidating it is to meet and connect with such an extroverted family. Especially one who loves each other as much as you guys do, who enjoys talking and genuinely being with each other as much as you do. It has been five years, yet I still feel like an outsider. I try, I really do, but I don’t even feel like myself when I’m here sometimes. And whatever version of me that is?” She shook her head.

“She’s tired of trying to prove herself.”

Da kept his voice calm.

“Katie, you don’t need to prove yourself—”

“Yes, I fucking do!” she exclaimed.

“Or I was supposed to and failed miserably!” She wiped her eyes.

“You tolerate me because Austin loves me, but you don’t approve.”

“What makes you say that?” Dad asked.

“I’m not Samira!”

Something grew thick in my throat.

Katie—oh, Katie.

I’m not Samira.

“I know you all wish Austin was with her,” she continued.

“I heard you say it.” She looked at my parents and me.

“The first time I came to your Memorial Day cookout, I overheard you guys say how I was nothing like Samira, and how much you missed Samira, and then Mads said it didn’t matter if you didn’t like me because you all knew that they’d be together in the end.”

I gulped.

My parents and I had said that.

Memorial Day four years ago had been the first occasion we’d ever spent any real time with Katie, and we’d been so excited—maybe too excited.

Because while we’d met Katie before, she was pretty quiet, and we were hoping a party would unleash the fun and loving person Austin wouldn’t shut up about.

I remembered how my dads and I’d powwowed at the horse pasture when that hadn’t been the case.

“Katie, all of that is true,” Da said gently.

“And on behalf of everyone”—he glanced at Dad and me—“I’m sorry.” He sighed.

“We just weren’t sure what to expect, since the only girl Austin had ever seriously dated was Samira. We were presumptuous in thinking he might have”—he rolled his eyes—“a type. It turned out we didn’t know his type yet, because his type was you .”

“And when we said we missed Samira,” Dad added, “we meant that we missed her that evening . She was studying abroad that semester, so it’d been several months since we’d seen her. We missed her as a dear friend.” He turned to me.

“I meant what I said,” I admitted, blood thumping in my ears.

“I missed Samira in our lives, and I wanted her to stay in our lives, and I wasn’t sure if that was possible if she and Austin weren’t a couple. And you’re right, I didn’t give you a fair chance because of it.” I closed my eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Katie.”

Katie nodded, but she didn’t say it was okay; instead, she held up her left hand.

The gleaming ice cube looked heavy on her finger.

“This is a gorgeous ring,” she said.

“But it’s not the ruby. Austin has told me so many stories about his grandmother, including how much she loved that ring. My heart dropped when he proposed because the ruby wasn’t in the box.” She shook her head.

“You didn’t give it to him. Maybe you accepted that I’m not Samira, but I must still not be special enough.”

“Austin, why don’t you take this one?” Dad suggested.

“Katie, they have nothing to do with the ruby,” Austin said.

“The ruby is mine.” He scratched the back of his head a little sheepishly.

“Grandma left it to me to give to the woman I wanted to marry—and that has always been you.” He paused.

“But you never asked to see it, and it’s a little out there, so I was worried you’d hate it. Your ring”—he pointed to the diamond—“was something I knew you’d love.”

“And I do love it, Austin,” Katie said.

“Because it’s from you .” Her voice cracked.

“But I suppose I wanted a piece of it to be from your family, too.”

We failed her , I thought, stomach sinking.

We absolutely failed her.

“Catherine Marie Gallant,” I said, “the only person you need to be ‘special enough’ for is Austin, but you’re special to me, too. You did try to open yourself up to us, but I didn’t try to see you—or I didn’t try my best. Even when you asked me to be one of your bridesmaids. When we played truth or dare at our sleepover, and I heard about the midnight Wawa Icees, I thought that was the coolest thing ever, and I should’ve told you that.” I took a breath.

“You also care so much about the people in your life. Thank you for picking up the phone at four a.m. and taking me to the hospital—you yelling at that nurse for ice will go down in history as one of the greatest moments in my life.” I smiled when she laughed a little.

“And I know you meant well when you asked Marco to be my shadow. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that you just wanted to protect me.”

Katie reached up to wipe her eyes.

“Katie, you give me a novel every year for Christmas,” Dad said.

“I have grown to adore your insightful and pithy annotations in the margins—they feel like secrets between us.” He smiled.

“I also told every single client of mine that my future daughter-in-law graduated from UChicago with her MBA.”

“And I have always had a soft spot for you,” Da said.

“You remind me of my mother. Pearl was a colorful character.” He nodded out the window.

“She would take polar plunges in the pond whenever she thought autumn had officially turned to winter.” He smiled.

“But she was also reserved and quietly remarkable with her innate kindness and cleverness.” He reached to squeeze Katie’s hands.

“You are more than special enough, Katie. You are family .”

Katie dissolved into tears.

“I want to marry Austin,” she said, choked up.

“I want to marry Austin more than anything, but I hate this wedding. That’s why I’ve been so upset about it, and horrible to you, Austin. It isn’t me at all.”

“Then who is it?” I asked.

“My parents,” Katie answered.

“Mostly my mom. She and I used to pretend-plan my dream wedding when I was little, and she refuses to accept that what I wanted then—Christmas at the country club with a million guests—is not what I want now. Even my dress…”

Uh-oh, I worried.

Looks like a pastry?

“What would you like now?” Austin asked, as if the Gallants hadn’t already spent like a hundred thousand dollars on this blessed event.

“What is your dream wedding today?”

Katie smiled sadly.

“You know.”

My brother smiled back, nodding.

“The invitations.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, then looked at my parents and me.

“I commissioned and helped design the wedding invitations behind my parents’ backs—”

“Wait, that was you?” I asked.

“Tally-Ho in her tartan blanket, the Christmas tree barn, and the frozen pond watercolor? I thought Austin gave the artist the vision for the invitations.”

“Nope,” my brother said proudly.

“That was all Katie.”

“I love your home,” she said.

“Connecting with you was challenging, but I immediately felt wrapped into this magical, timeless place. It always feels like a warm hug every time I pull up the driveway.” She sighed.

“I really wanted the wedding to be that way, too.”

“I think it still can be,” I said, excitedly sitting up in my chair.

“Or, at least, a piece of it can.” I turned to my parents.

“Is it too late to get the deposit back on the rehearsal dinner venue?”

“Yes,” Dad said, then waved his hand.

“But by all means, speak now.”

I grinned and did.