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Forty-Three

The Whitakers’ huge backyard looks like something out of a fairytale.

Twinkle lights, silk flowers blooming, paper lanterns hanging from the sky—actually from wires tied from tree to tree, but they look as if they’re just floating there.

It’s magical. Yes, there was a work crew and all of the Whitakers working, but the plan was all Kristina’s.

She is brilliant.

I’m in a simple pink sundress that I borrowed from Kailey and my own brown strappy sandals—and it works. Kristina’s floral print dress flows around her legs and arms. Her long hair is down, and she looks beautiful. As does everyone else in her family.

Callum’s in a tie, but no jacket. His dress shirt fits snug over his chest and athletic shoulders. Something about him in a tie is making my insides implode with fireworks. It’s a weird sensation. I can’t think of a time when my insides became a lit firework stand.

One hour into this party, I hold to my plate of stuffed mushrooms, fruit skewers, and fresh veggies, watching Callum on the crowded grounds as he chats with an older couple and his mother. He knew I was hungry and sent me off for food. Bless him.

“You must be Callum’s girlfriend,” a woman in a big lavender hat says.

“Girlfriend?” I say past the cauliflower I just stuck in my mouth. I choke the half-chewed veggie down and shake my head.

“Yes,” the older woman next to her says. Her brow wrinkles. “What was her name again? Serenity?”

“Simone, Mother,” the lavender hat says.

“Oh, snap.” I swallow again and find my voice. “I’m here with Callum, but I am not Simone.”

“Not Simone?”

“I’m Fran.” I hold out a hand, and for three seconds, the older woman just looks at my palm. Then, pinching the tips of my fingers, she gives them a little shake.

“I haven’t heard of a Fran,” the woman says. “But you’re with Callum?”

“I am. And you are?”

“I’m Martha Walker, and this is my daughter, Daphanie.”

This time, I know better; I don’t hold a hand out to Daphanie.

“How do you know the Whitakers?” I ask.

“Brady started working for my Eric twenty-five years ago. He’s been with the company ever since.”

I don’t know which company—I never got around to asking Brady what he does. But I smile and nod as if I know. I’m not Simone, but I’m not a nobody. Didn’t Kristina tell me that just this morning?

I am enough. Just me .

“And you?” Martha asks.

“Callum and I are friends.”

“The kind of friends you bring home to meet the parents?” Martha says, eyeing her daughter.

“Yes.” I’m here after all, so I suppose we are those kind of friends.

“We’re pretty proud of our Callum,” Daphanie says. I might be jealous, except that Martha’s daughter is closer to Kristina’s age than mine, and she’s wearing a ring.

“I’m sure. He’s accomplished a lot.”

I’m so busy keeping an eye on Martha—who may frighten me just a little—that I don’t notice Callum rush up behind me until he’s speaking.

“Hey, there,” he says, almost out of breath—doesn’t the man run miles in every single soccer game? He whips one arm around my shoulders and meets Martha head-on. “Hello, Mrs. Walker.”

Martha grins. “Callum. You remember Daphanie?”

“Of course. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Forbush.”

“We were just talking to your… friend .”

“That’s kind of you. Thank you for keeping her company for me, as I had to abandon her for just a moment.” Turning his head, he peers at me. “I’m back now. Can I steal you away?”

“Yes, please,” I say, clutching my plate with one hand. Callum offers me his arm, and I loop mine through his. “Nice to meet you,” I say to Martha and Daphanie.

Callum walks me over to the fountain in the middle of the yard. The one Kristina had specially brought in for this event. “Are you surviving?”

“Why are women in hats so scary?” I squeeze my arm around Callum’s, thankful for his easiness. “She looked at me so accusatory, and then she called me Simone, and then?—”

His brows furrow. “She called you Simone?”

“She thought I was your ex. She assumed we were dating, and I was her, and?—”

Callum’s jaw clenches. “I’m sorry about that, Fran.”

“It’s fine. I set her straight. I told her who I was and that we were friends. Do you think your parents’ friends have seen our YouTube video?” The one I’ve still yet to see.

His cheeks puff. “I’d guess a few have.”

“You can call me what you want while we’re here,” I say, peering up at him. “I don’t want that video or me being here to mess up your reputation.”

“I’m not worried about that. You can say whatever makes you comfortable. You are my friend. We are dating.” He dips his head in a nod, peering down at me.

“Callum,” Kailey says, walking up beside us. Her tone is brash and breathy. “I’m sorry, I thought she’d been deleted from the master list, and even if she hadn’t been, I never thought she’d come. I?—”

“K. Settle. And breathe.” Callum sets a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Do you want to try again? This time with context so I can follow?”

His sister folds her lips in on one another.

The persistent wrinkle formed between her eyes screams guilty.

“Mom had me make the guest list for the party months ago. It was easy. I have a master list saved on my laptop. She has me add two or three names every year.” Kailey swallows.

“I added to the list months ago, forgetting that I had names to take away. It—it was a complete accident. Please believe me. I would have?—”

“Kailey,” he says with a shake of his head. Neither of us is following his sister’s rambles .

“Simone is here,” she blurts in one single breath.

Simone is here?

Here .

At the Whitakers’ party.

While I’m still figuring out what to call myself—Callum’s friend, Callum’s date, Callum’s romcom remake.

Then, I spot Simone.

Fan-freaking-tastic.