Page 5

Five

Katie drove me home late the next morning.

As promised by Mrs. Gallant, our slumber party had woken up to a breakfast spread of French toast, bacon, fruit salad, yogurt, and bagels with various spreads.

The coffee smelled delicious, and two big carafes of fresh orange juice sat on the kitchen table.

Katie’s dad was even running an omelet bar at the eight-burner stove.

Again, the place was like a boutique hotel.

After breakfast, the bridesmaids hit the road.

Amanda, who lived in Princeton, drove the rest of the group to the train station.

Reese would return to New York with Courtney and Paige while Yasmin trained down to DC.

Meredith and Wit were airport bound.

“What do they do?” I asked Katie as we crossed the bridge over into Pennsylvania.

She turned down the music.

We hadn’t been talking; the only sound in the car up until now had been Spotify.

Katie was a country fan.

“Who does what?” she said.

“Meredith and Wit,” I clarified.

“What do they do that allows them to travel and live wherever?”

“They’re computer nerds,” Katie said, not unkindly.

“Mer does something for Netflix; Wit does something for Apple.” She smiled a bit, like she knew what I was going to ask next.

“They got married three years ago but have been together for as long as I’ve known them.”

“Did you go to their wedding?”

Katie nodded.

“They eloped like a week after we graduated college. Only their best friends and families were there.”

“That’s cool,” I said, and Katie mm-hmm -ed before turning the music back up to Carrie Underwood midchorus.

I turned and looked out the window.

Country was not my favorite.

Arthur and Francine were the first to greet us when we got back to the farmhouse.

“Just knee him down,” I said when Arthur jumped up on Katie.

She always said No! or Stop!

but never in a firm enough voice.

I guess it was hard when you hadn’t grown up with dogs.

Arthur finally let up when Da whistled sharply from the porch.

“How was the slumber party?” he called, Arthur bounding toward him.

He scratched the Newfoundland’s head before descending the porch steps and walking over to meet us on the driveway.

“Lots of fun,” Katie replied as I said, “An experience.”

Katie wordlessly folded her arms over her chest, and my father gave me a familiar raise of the eyebrow.

I didn’t mean to be sarcastic, I wanted to say.

It had been an experience!

“Katie’s mom hosts the sleepover of all sleepovers,” I backtracked, trying to share a smile with Katie.

But she didn’t look at me; instead, she gave a calm Francine a few pets before asking where Austin and Samira were.

“Sam caught an early train back to Baltimore this morning,” Da said, then gestured out past the barn to the far fields.

“Austin went out an hour ago with Harry.”

“Surprise, surprise!” Katie laughed, cheerfully enough that Da and I exchanged a look.

She seemed relieved Samira was gone.

I certainly wasn’t; I was confused.

Last night, Samira had mentioned coming to watch my practice today.

It had been a while since she’d seen me play.

Katie set off for the fields, knowing Austin was skeet shooting.

I wished I could join him; skeet shooting was our thing.

My brother and I loved obnoxiously sporting muddied Wellington boots with green wool hunting coats and matching caps, cosplaying The Crown or Downton Abbey .

Dad always manned the machine that released the circular bright orange clay targets at lightning speed while Austin and I stood ready with our shotguns.

Da touched my shoulder, a reminder that we needed to leave for practice.

“You want to get your stuff together?”

I nodded and headed toward the house, only to discover that my bedroom was messier than I’d left it last night; the covers on my bed were twisted and tangled like someone had slept restlessly with my pillows at the foot instead of the head.

I also noticed couch cushions from our upstairs den’s sectional arranged on my rug with another pillow and Austin’s familiar pinstriped comforter.

He slept in here , I realized.

My brother and Sam had probably stayed up all night talking.

They hadn’t seen each other for six months, at least.

I deduced they’d also been drinking when I noticed a collection of empty bottles on my desk.

Next to the stash was a piece of loose-leaf paper covered in Samira’s hurried handwriting.

It was so good to see you, Mads, the note said.

Sorry to leave so early, but something came up!

Thank you for letting me crash here!

Austin insisted he’d clean up, so if your room’s still a raging dumpster fire when you read this, BLAME HIM.

XO, Sam

Hmm , I thought, then texted Samira a photo of my disastrous room.

He’s the worst! she responded while I was changing for field hockey.

I’ll punch him next time I’m back.

Which will be…? I asked.

Soon , she replied. Now go kick ass at practice!

I smiled and sent her a stream of pink hearts.

Part of me wanted to fill her in on last night’s slumber party, but there wasn’t time.

***

“So, how was your experience last night?” Da asked on the way to practice.

He was almost always my chauffeur, having retired when I started playing club field hockey in seventh grade.

Driving me all over the place for games and tournaments appealed to him more than scrubbing up in the OR.

Winter was spent playing indoors, but the National Indoor Tournament earlier this month had brought that season to a close.

After the championship game, I’d met and caught up with a few college coaches.

All conversations had ended with me getting their cards.

I couldn’t wait until spring sprung so we could start training outdoors.

Indoor field hockey got tedious; outdoors allowed you to stretch your legs and get creative.

“Mads?” Da prompted.

“Last night?”

I swallowed hard, struggling with how much to tell Da, who would tell Dad.

They would then talk, and depending on that talk, we all would have a talk.

I loved being so close to my parents—I couldn’t imagine us operating any other way—but did I seriously want to explain why I was about to start going on all these silly dates?

“Ready-Set-Date” Katie had nicknamed my quest, because I wouldn’t really be like the Bachelorette, dressing up in evening gowns and flirting with multiple men at once.

“I had some rosé,” I admitted.

“I hope that’s okay.”

I was very open with my dads about alcohol, because Austin had been…

well, out of control when he was in high school.

They knew what he was doing, of course, because he went to parties every weekend and even dared to throw one or two.

He took his groundings nobly, but the last straw had been when he literally woke up face down on our front lawn the morning after his senior prom.

He’d blacked out and couldn’t remember where he’d gone after the dance, how he’d gotten home, or whose puke was all over his tux.

Instead of spending one last summer in Pennsylvania before college, our parents had sent him on an Outward Bound trip in the Rocky Mountains.

It was how he’d fallen in love with the outdoors.

And cleaned up his act.

The beer bottles littering my desk?

They were all empty root beers.

Austin rarely drank now, not even socially.

He called himself a “celebration drinker.”

I only drank with my parents’ permission under my own roof.

Some might say I needed to loosen up, that I was a goody-goody, but I didn’t want to betray their trust.

“That’s fine,” Da said.

“It’s against the law, but that’s fine. What vintage?”

“ Whispering Angel …” I stage-whispered.

He chuckled. “I expect Katie’s mother had plenty of snacks on hand?”

“Oh, you have no idea!” I laughed too, then told him about truth or dare.

Or I told him we’d played truth or dare.

No specifics.

He didn’t ask for them, but he did ask if it had been fun to spend more time with Katie.

“Sure,” I said, a hitch in my throat at the thought of Katie asking me if I’d ever been kissed or gone on a date with anyone.

Her voice had been slow and so sweet.

It was like she knew she was on the cusp of epically embarrassing me.

But I’d handled it, and thanks to Ready-Set-Date, she was excited and we were going to bond!

“She was with her friends, Da,” I added nonchalantly.

“She was happy.”

“Good.” He nodded.

“Dad and I are glad you went.”

“Yes, you’re welcome,” I deadpanned; then I asked how things had gone at home.

He started telling me about Nana and Dad arguing over when she was going to retire (the salon could survive without her!), but my mind began to drift after my phone buzzed on my lap.

Already?! I thought, because Amanda had created a bridal party group chat during breakfast this morning.

“Who has the goddamn Android?” she’d said, the Whispering Angel no longer so angelic.

“I can’t name the chat because we’re not all iPhones.”

Yasmin held up her phone.

“It’s a Samsung Galaxy, not an Android!”

My notification turned out to be an email, though.

It wasn’t even a good email, either.

Just a promotion from Athleta.

Disappointed, I found myself wishing for a text from the bridesmaids.

I was curious how long it would take them to brainstorm my first suitor, if it would be as easy as they thought.

“What’s your type?” Amanda had asked last night, and when I said I didn’t think I had one, the question was broken down into so many subquestions.

Brunette or blond? Blue eyes or brown?

Built or skinny? Extrovert or introvert?

More Tom Holland or more Timothée Chalamet?

It had gone on…and…on…

and on . Lawyer Yasmin had recorded a voice memo of the entire interrogation to reference later.

Once Da parked our Ford Explorer outside the bubble, we left each other in the dust. He was just as excited to join the parents—they were pretty much a cult—as I was to join my teammates.

“Mads!” they called, and I grinned and hustled over to the sideline, where everyone was tugging on their shin guards before tying their turf shoes.

They all wanted to know how the party had gone.

“This discussion ends the second we start warm-ups!” Coach Webber warned.

“Was it terrible?” our captain asked when I mentioned Katie’s sleepover.

“Or are the other bridesmaids cool?”

“One definitely is,” I said.

“Her name’s Mer—”

Coach Webber blew her whistle, and then like the snap of a finger, practice began.

We started with ladder drills to work on our quick feet, partner passing, and then three-on-three mini games.

It wasn’t until we were dripping with sweat, and our breathing became all over the place that we got a water break.

Thank god I’m back where I belong , I thought.

Here I was confident and on fire, not constantly wondering if I said the wrong thing or was somehow being judged.

Up in the stands, Da gave me a thumbs-up while my teammate’s mom called out that Amy needed to stop telegraphing her passes.

After chugging some water, I unzipped my backpack and rooted around for my prewrap and some tape.

My left ankle was bothering me, so I needed to call in reinforcements.

I’d have Da look at it later.

My phone slipped out while I dug around for my tape, and as if it were fate, my screen lit up to show a missed text from the unnamed bridesmaid chat.

It was from Reese.

Don’t , part of me thought.

You’re at practice.

Do , the other part said.

You don’t need to respond right now.

“Hustle, ladies!” Coach Webber called as the back of my neck sizzled from the temptation to read the text.

I took a deep breath and bit back a smile before quickly unlocking my phone.

I didn’t want to wonder for the rest of practice.

For some reason, I had to know.

But of course, Reese’s message only sparked more wonder, reading:

So I just heard my cousin needs a date for his junior prom…