The Meet-Cute Project

by Rhiannon Richardson

  “You might want to clean up a little before you call her, so that if she says she’s ready to come back today, she won’t have to walk into this,” I tell him, standing up.

  “Right,” Geoffrey agrees, looking more stressed, but happier every second.

  He walks me to the door and I give him a hug, trying not to breathe too deep, once I realize there’s a good chance he hasn’t showered either. In my car I check my phone to see that Dad tried texting and both my parents called. I don’t want to tell them yet. I want Sam to be the first person to hear from Geoffrey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I close the front door behind me as quietly as I can, looking to the den and in the direction of the kitchen. I was expecting Mom or Dad to be waiting by the door, phone in hand, reviewing their texts and missed calls as evidence of my suspect behavior. But I don’t even hear anyone talking or moving around.

  I take my chances and start walking upstairs, trying to avoid the steps that I know will creak under my weight. As I ascend farther into the house, I hear the dull sound of the shower in the hallway bathroom. I peek through the banister beams and stop before reaching the top few steps, taking advantage of my still-hidden position.

  So, someone is showering and my parents are nowhere to be—

  “Yes, keep everything as is.” Mom’s voice scares me so much, I nearly fall back down the stairs. She comes out of her room with her phone pressed to her ear and a huge smile on her face. “Don’t cancel a thing. I mean, you shouldn’t have cancelled anything in the first place because I said it was only a slight possibility—”

  Mom stops at the top of the stairs, and her face contorts. She doesn’t know whether to start disciplining me or to share her happiness with me because the wedding is happening for sure.

  “Oh, no, I’m still here,” she says, waving me the rest of the way upstairs before turning around and pacing to the end of the hallway. “Yes, we will be there next Saturday for the rehearsal, and Sunday will be the wedding.”

  I go into my room and take off my coat and shoes, then pause when I hear the shower stop and shuffling in the bathroom.

  “Mom,” Sam says, sounding like her usual authoritative self. “Mom, make sure they know to set up by noon.”

  Sam stops in my doorway. Her head snaps to the side and she stares at me, bent over trying to wrestle my left boot off.

  “Mia,” she says, though the word comes out like a deep breath. “Mia, what did you do?” She smiles at me and runs up to me and pulls me to her. “What did you say, how did you do it?”

  “Do what?” I ask into the fuzzy shoulder of her robe.

  “Geoffrey said you came by and you said some stuff that put things into perspective,” Sam explains, leaning away from me so that she can see my face.

  I take her in, skin glistening with coconut oil, hair wrapped in a silk bonnet smelling of argan oil and eucalyptus. Her eyebrows are brushed, each hair falling in that weirdly perfect way that makes her face look so put together. Her eyes aren’t puffy and her lips aren’t dry and her nose is no longer red.

  “I feel like if he wanted you to know, he would’ve told you,” I say, laughing a little.

  She stares at me for a moment, probably battling inside about whether or not she should push me to talk. “I don’t even care,” she says. “I mean, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Mia,” Mom says, walking into the room and shoving her phone into her back pocket.

  “I’m sorry for sneaking off and ignoring your texts,” I say.

  I feel Sam’s grip on me tighten. “Mom, please don’t be mad at her for this. She saved my relationship, my wedding.”

  Mom just smiles, looking between us. “I’m not mad that you went to Geoffrey’s. You shouldn’t have been sneaky about it, but I’m glad you were able to smooth things over.”

  “Where’s Dad?” Sam asks.

  “Geoffrey called him and asked him to come over and help him with something.”

  I decide to test my luck and ask, “Since I saved the wedding, does that mean I’m un-grounded?”

  “Oh yeah,” Sam says. “Wait, Mom. Please un-ground her. I feel bad. She wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for me.”

  “Yes, she would,” Mom says, frowning a little for having to be the bad guy. “Mia chose to sneak out, and she has to take responsibility for that… until your father says otherwise.”

  “You guys wouldn’t have even reacted so dramatically if I hadn’t made such a big deal out of it,” Sam says defensively.

  “Still, Samantha, that doesn’t change the fact that it happened. It doesn’t change the fact that Mia put herself in a dangerous situation. You keep saying she needs to grow up and be more adult. Part of that is owning up to the wrongs she’s committed, and accepting the consequences of her actions.” Mom’s stern tone lets me know she’s serious.

  “Do you know when it might be over, though?” I ask before Sam can try to rally for me anymore.

  “I can talk to your father,” Mom says, sighing. “Just keep up your good behavior.… I mean, honestly, he might not even remember you’re still grounded.…” Mom’s phone vibrates, and she pulls it out of her pocket. “Now this is the baker. I have to take this.”

  When Mom leaves the room, Sam picks up my hands and squeezes them gently.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Like she said, you didn’t make me sneak out. I was mad at you… for putting me in a position to find a date when I felt like you didn’t even think I would be able to. I felt like you were bossing me around with these impossible expectations, and sometimes I felt like you were amused, and I just wanted a break. I wanted to pick something for me instead of feeding into this—this game—”

  “Mia,” Sam says, but her voice comes out in a whisper. The way she cuts me off reminds me of how Gavin is definitely right about me being a nervous rambler. “Mia, that’s not at all how I felt, how I feel. I mean, I believe in you so much. I didn’t think it was funny. I wanted you to step out of your comfort zone, and I really did hope you would find someone you might actually like posing in pictures with, and sitting next to at the head table for most of the night.”

  She looks down at her hands before mumbling, “But I guess, at times, I did get bitter, too. Sometimes I feel like no one pushes you, and I want you to always be moving forward.”

  “And I am,” I say, surprising myself. “I don’t think Mom and Dad have to push me. Growing up, I don’t think they necessarily had to push you as hard as they did. I think you would’ve turned out just fine. But you don’t have to worry about me like that. You don’t have to try so hard to do things for me. You’re my big sister, but I’m not as little as I used to be.”

  She smiles, a lopsided, bashful but real smile. Not her picture-perfect smile but the Sam smile that used to come out when she got a milkshake brain freeze or when Mom would hand her fresh watermelon at a picnic. The Sam Hubbard smile, not the Davenport ArchiTech Wedding Planner smile.

  “I really am sorry that you’re grounded, and that I can’t fix it. I mean, all the times I snuck out in high school and we ran into each other on the stairs in the middle of the night, you could’ve told on me. But you didn’t.”

  “I guess we handle things differently,” I tell her. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry too. I know you always act a little odd when something is bothering you, and I’ve been ignoring all your signals and I’m sorry. I want you to be able to come to me and talk about stuff, especially when you can’t talk to Geoffrey.”

  “I love you,” she says, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

  I picture her with these same tears in her eyes in just over a week. It feels impossible, how close the wedding is. I feel like it snuck up on us. I imagine Sam with happy tears, only she’ll be staring into Geoffrey’s eyes. I’ll be standing right behind her holding her bouquet and watching as they vow to accept all the crazy and all the love between them.

  Which reminds me…
“Sam, I have to tell you something.” She raises her eyebrows, bracing for another potential wedding disaster. “I don’t have a date to your wedding after all.”

  “Wait, what happened to the math guy?”

  “He was playing me, made me feel like a complete idiot,” I admit, moving over to sit down on my bed. I ended up finally texting Ben my decision on my way home from Geoffrey and Sam’s apartment. He just responded with K.

  “Mia, you’re not an idiot.”

  “I know, which is why I don’t want to spend one of the happiest days of our lives being with someone who thinks that I am.”

  Sam’s shoulders sag. She looks down at her freshly painted toenails, spreading them out in thought.

  “If it really does help, I can walk down the aisle with Jasper.”

  “I’m not going to make you do that,” she says, a sly smile spreading across her lips. “I mean, you would rather walk down the aisle with Darth Vader, and that says something.”

  We both laugh.

  “But really, I’ll find a way to make it work. I want you to be happy too, Mia. I hope you know that.”

  “I do,” I tell her, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders.

  * * *

  I decide to try my best to be Sam’s maid of honor like she originally wanted me to be. I update all the bridesmaids to let them know that the situation from the bachelorette party has blown over, that Sam is tremendously sorry they all had to see her in such a state, but that the wedding is still on. I tell them what time to show up at the venue for the rehearsal dinner, and confirm that Brooke has a date for the wedding. She tells me that it’s no longer Josh but a man named Jordan. I tell her I don’t care, she just has to make sure he confirms what meal he wants for dinner.

  Sam and I review every tabbed page in her wedding binder. She shows me photographs of the final floral arrangements for every table. She brings me home a sample of the final cake she decided on. Unfortunately, it’s not the red velvet, but the devil’s food chocolate flavor she decided to go with is equally as good.

  Tuesday night is the best night because we finally sit in front of the Christmas tree and reminisce about the ornaments. When we get to our spray-painted macaroni picture frames, we call Mom downstairs to take a look. Dad comes into the den to feed his fish, and he ends up sitting with us too. When we finish, Mom and Dad go upstairs and Sam and I heat up apple cider on the stove. We pour it into mugs with whole cinnamon sticks and return to the den to settle in on the couch for a movie.

  “Maybe I can see if they’ll let your friends come over for a movie night,” Sam offers as I click through the different movies on Netflix.

  “Yeah, I feel so bad. We haven’t been able to have a movie night in weeks,” I say. But I know it’s my own fault.

  Sam takes a sip of her apple cider, and I stop at a movie called One Day. Anne Hathaway is one of my favorite actresses.

  “Have you seen this one before?” I ask, clicking play after I finish reading the description.

  “No,” she says, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch. We each use one end to cover our legs, and I sink into the corner cushions of the couch, resting my head to the side.

  The movie follows two friends from the day that they meet, and on that same day every year after. We see how through their struggles, growth, and life changes, they stay together. How they return to each other as friends with an undeniable love. At different moments in their lives they contemplate romantic love with each other, but they never seem to be thinking about it—wanting it—at the same time.

  I like the movie because it’s not funny; it’s real. They spend all these years building a foundation of friendship so that when they do finally come together romantically, they’re ready. They’re better versions of themselves, the best versions, and that makes for a better love. All the work that they put into their friendship, all the patience, makes the end so painful. But, at the same time, that end is true of all great loves. Whether someone dies abruptly or at the end of a long life, every relationship is broken up when one person is no longer alive to be in it.

  By the end, Sam’s apple cider is cold and unfinished, and her head is tilted back with her mouth wide open. I’m left to watch the credits roll and think about how friendship is such an important foundation to love. I try to think about what guy friends I have that I could possibly build something like this with, and only one face comes to mind. A face with a full beard, dark brown eyes, and an easy smile. The face of someone who already has a girlfriend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  After I pull the blanket tighter around Sam, I head upstairs and I FaceTime my friends to make a proposition.

  “One final go…,” Sloane says, chewing her lip.

  Her and Abby’s faces are pixelated on my phone. Grace’s is coming through clearer in her little FaceTime box.

  “And you’re sure this is a good idea, given that he’s already proven to be… questionable?” Grace asks, applying rose-hip oil to her face, since she just showered.

  “I don’t know. After nearly running him over, I think he deserves a second chance,” I say, laughing a little.

  “She has a point there,” Sloane acknowledges.

  “So, how do we make this work while you’re still grounded?” Abby asks, which is the reason why I called this emergency meet-cute meeting so late at night.

  “That’s what we have to figure out,” I say. I get up from my bed and go over to my desk, where the lighting is better.

  “Maybe if your parents won’t let you go out, he could come to you?” Grace proposes.

  “But how could she have a date at her house?” Sloane asks.

  Abby begins to suggest, “Well, maybe it shouldn’t be a ‘date.’ More like—”

  “I could invite him over to study?” I figure it makes sense, since finals start tomorrow. Plus, the only way my parents would actually let me hang out with someone is if it’s something school related. And this way I have an actual reason to invite Ritchie over, other than, Oh, I just want to see if I like you enough to invite you to a wedding at the last minute.

  “But your parents won’t let any of us come over to study,” Abby points out.

  “So, tell them he’s your partner for a class project. Make it seem like you can’t study without him there,” Sloane says.

  Grace and Abby nod in agreement, and Sloane leans back, feeling proud.

  So I text Ritchie to ask if he might want to come over to help me study for my history exam. I tell him that since I’m still grounded, I’d have to tell my parents we’re working on a project together or something.

  I’m in, he says.

  * * *

  After school on Wednesday, I feel a little nervous but not nearly as much as I did a couple of months ago. My parents agreed that Ritchie could come over right after school for a little while and that we could sit in the dining room to do work. I told Sam about my plan, and she promised to keep Dad busy and told Mom she would come to the house after work, so that Mom could go to the garden and finish up one of her projects before it gets too cold.

  So when Ritchie comes into the kitchen after setting out his textbooks, and opens the fridge, making himself at home, I feel excited and a little self-conscious. He told me that he’s never tried a matcha latte, so I put ice into two glasses and start brewing some hot water from the Keurig to make the matcha paste.

  “Are these apples up for grabs?” he asks, reaching for a bottle of water.

  “Definitely. Almost anything in there is free game,” I say. “Just don’t eat Sam’s super salad. She’s very territorial over that.”

  “Noted.”

  I pour some milk over the ice and feel Ritchie watching as I pour the matcha. The way the green descends over the white, mixing in slowly, is kind of mesmerizing.

  “That looks cool,” he says when I hand him his glass. He takes a sip and adds, “Thank you.”

  We go back into the dining room, and I sit down in front of my compute
r with my digital study guide, open textbook beside me, ready to focus. Ritchie starts crunching on his apple, and I realize how quiet the house is. I know Sam is up in her room, and after Dad said hi to Ritchie, he went into the den to check on his fish. Even so, it feels like we are completely alone.

  Before, it was so easy to talk to him about—well—anything. Now that I have something specific that I want to say, I don’t know how to start a conversation. I can’t just jump in and ask him to the wedding, at least not without context. Then again, he already knows about the meet-cute stuff and that I’m not going with Ben anymore.

  I sneak glances at him, hoping he doesn’t notice. He’s wearing jeans and a blue-and-green flannel. He got a haircut, so now it’s almost a buzz. It makes him look older. The more I picture him walking me down the aisle, the more my brain keeps switching up the image with Gavin. Ritchie is taller than Gavin, so I’d have to tilt my head really far back if we slow-dance. Gavin is also more attractive, with his full lips and his curly beard. But Ritchie is single and Gavin has a girlfriend. So I need to get Gavin out of my head and focus.

  “Ritchie,” I say, but it comes out at the same time that he says my name.

  I blush, wondering if it’s at all possible that he was reading my mind just then.

  “What’s up?” I ask, pulling my latte closer to take a long sip.

  “There’s something that I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” he admits. He looks down at his book and starts fidgeting with his pencil. His nerves begin to make me nervous.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I know that when we first met, there was something there. And since then I feel like we’ve become more like friends.”

  He pauses, watching for my reaction.

  “Yeah?” I say, agreeing. “Yeah, I feel like we are better as friends.”