by Tawna Fenske
“Confession number one,” he said, not letting go of her hand. “I felt bad giving your cookbook away to my client, but I knew I’d never give that second copy to my parents because they’d just get pissed. I wasn’t planning to tell you about it.”
“You’re forgiven.”
Kyle smiled, glad to see she didn’t seem hurt. “Confession number two: In addition to being completely ignorant about TV and movies, I don’t understand anything about publishing. Doesn’t it usually take a long time for a book to become a bestseller?”
“Usually, yes. But this is a fluke thing. I guess it happens sometimes with celebrity endorsements. Pippa Middleton wears a new scarf or J. Lo buys a certain brand of quinoa and suddenly everyone has to have it.”
“I have no idea who Pippa Middleton, J. Lo, and Quinoa are, but the rest of that sounds good.”
Meg laughed and Kyle ached to lean closer and capture those beautiful lips with his. “Confession number three,” he said. “I know we agreed to forget the kiss didn’t happen—”
“Almost happen.”
“And I know we agreed it would have been a bad idea—”
“A terrible idea.”
“But I drove three hours to Bend and three hours home last Friday and I’m pretty sure I spent the entire time imagining what that kiss would have been like.”
Meg stopped laughing, and he watched her fingers tighten around the beer bottle. “How was it?”
“Pretty amazing.”
She licked her lips. “I’m happy our imaginary kiss was everything you hoped it would be.”
“All the more reason it can never happen,” he said. “It’s been built up too much.”
“Probably true. Kind of a shame we’ll never get to find out.”
“Agreed,” Kyle said, wishing that weren’t true. “But if kissing your brother’s fiancée—ex or otherwise—is off-limits, kissing your dead brother’s fiancée ranks somewhere between pedophilia and eating the last donut on the list of moral crimes.”
“Sounds like a pretty broad range.” Meg sighed. “You’re right, though. Obviously, it can never happen.”
“Right,” Kyle said, working like hell to project indifference instead of the grim disappointment that threatened to grab him by the throat. “So what was your thing? What were you thinking when you tugged your ear?”
She looked down at her lap and he watched her pick at the edge of the label on her beer bottle. “I was thinking I wish Matt had gotten to see the cookbook take off.”
Kyle nodded, wishing he’d never brought up the kissing thing in the first place. For crying out loud, the primary link between him and Meg was his own brother. The least he could do was refrain from ogling her.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Kyle said. “Why wouldn’t you want to say it out loud that you wish he’d gotten to see it?”
Meg shrugged, still looking at the bottle. “Because I didn’t think it for the right reasons. I wanted him to see it so he’d know I could be a success and that I was right and he was wrong. And it’s pretty shitty to want to one-up a dead guy.”
Kyle shook his head. “He would have been happy for you.”
“I doubt that.”
“It’s true. We didn’t talk about you much. Not after—” he cleared his throat. “Not after the wedding. And yeah, he had a rough go of it at first.”
“He was pretty pissed?”
“Yes,” Kyle said cautiously, not willing to break his brother’s trust and admit Matt’s emotional state had gone well beyond pissed. “He got over it, though,” Kyle added. “I think he’d moved on.”
“You think he’d forgiven me?”
“I like to think so.”
“Me, too.” She looked up, and he felt relieved to see there were no tears in her eyes. Unfortunately, what he was about to say might change that.
Kyle cleared his throat. “Speaking of Matt, that’s part of the reason I stopped by tonight.”
Meg blinked. “Oh. I never thought to ask. I just started blathering about my cookbook and never gave you the chance to get a word in edgewise. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to tell you about Matt’s memorial service.”
He watched the color drain from her face, and he hurried to fill the silence that followed. “You don’t have to go. No one’s expecting you to, and under the circumstances—”
“Do your parents know you’re inviting me?”
“Yes.”
“Are they okay with it?”
He nodded, and watched a flicker of relief in her eyes. “We were going through old photos last weekend and my mom pointed out how many of the shots had you in them. ‘She was part of his life for a long time.’ That’s what she said.”
“That’s sweet.”
“When I told her yesterday I’d like to invite you to the service, she said, ‘I think that’s a nice gesture. I have some things for her.’ Probably some of the pictures. Anyway, she’d like to see you there. We all would.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed, and he noticed her eyes had gone glittery. “I figured I’d already missed the funeral. It’s been almost two weeks, so I just assumed it already happened.”
Kyle shook his head. “My mom wanted to wait. Give more family members a chance to fly in. It’s more of a memorial service than a funeral.”
“Oh.” She nodded and plucked at a loose thread on one of the throw pillows. “When is it?”
“Saturday afternoon. It’s at the Presbyterian church in Tigard at two p.m. We’ll have a short service and then walk across the street to Salvador’s Brewhouse where we’ve reserved this huge reception area—” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “God, I’m describing it like it’s a social event.”
“That’s how he would have wanted it.” Meg offered a small smile, and Kyle realized it was true.
“You’re right. Matt would have wanted it to be the event of the season.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“Will you come?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Yes. So do you think you will?
She seemed to hesitate, then nodded. Her eyes locked with his and then she said the two words Kyle had spent her whole engagement guiltily hoping she wouldn’t utter.
“I do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jess squeezed Meg’s hand so hard she thought she heard the bones crack. The pain was oddly comforting, and Meg squeezed back as the final notes of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” echoed through the church.
Meg looked around, wondering if the song was from the CD Matt bought when they vacationed in Hawaii seven years ago. She remembered him buying a ukulele in a gift shop and pretending to serenade her on the balcony of their hotel. He’d hammed it up wearing boxer shorts and a lei made of plastic flowers, making Meg laugh until she snorted mai tai out her nose.
“It’s almost over, hon,” Jess whispered, handing Meg another tissue. “You’ve got this.”
Meg nodded and wiped her nose, her gaze drifting to the front row of seats. Kyle sat holding his mother’s hand, his head bowed low. She couldn’t see his face, and she wondered if he’d mustered up the tears he’d been so worried about.
Next to Kyle sat his father. Robert’s shoulders were rigid and his navy suit jacket looked like the same one she remembered him wearing at his fortieth anniversary party with Sylvia. A fresh wave of memories hit her, and Meg tore her gaze off the family.
“Thank you for coming with me,” she whispered to Jess.
“No problem,” Jess whispered back as their fellow mourners began to rise. “You came with me for my first Brazilian wax. It’s a similar level of discomfort, with the bonus of not getting stuck to the seat afterward.”
“Ew,” Meg whispered back, trying not to smile. The last thing she needed was to be caught grinning like an idiot at her ex’s funeral.
The other mourners were shuffling toward the door now, so Meg stood up. Her legs were shaky like she’d just do
ne a barre class, and she stuffed her crumpled tissue in her purse. Kyle and his family were making their way up the aisle, shaking hands and thanking people for attending. Meg watched, heart frozen in her chest, as he drew closer.
“Meg,” he said softly, his hand enveloping hers as his gaze settled on her face. His eyes were clear and bright, but not tear-filled. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” she murmured as he released her hand. She turned to Sylvia, who gave her a stiff nod of acknowledgement.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” Meg whispered.
Sylvia nodded again and grabbed Robert’s arm. “Thank you.”
They moved past her, Sylvia’s platinum-blond hair glowing orange and blue in the sunlight that streamed through the stained-glass window. A pretty brunette with shoulder-length curls hustled forward and fell into step beside Sylvia, touching her arm, and Meg tried to remember if she was a cousin or one of Matt’s college friends. Maybe she was someone Matt dated after her, the woman whose voice Meg had heard at the hospital that day.
More people drifted past, their faces blending into a blurry sea. Jess grabbed Meg’s elbow. “You still up for the reception?”
Meg nodded. “Yes. At least it’s in a bar. Matt would have liked that.”
“Somewhere out there he’s already lifting a pint.”
They slipped into the ocean of bodies and Meg bobbed along murmuring words she hoped sounded comforting to family members she barely remembered meeting. When they finally reached the door, Meg stepped outside and gulped a huge lungful of air, grateful to be free from the press of bodies and the threat of contagious tears.
The afternoon light was thick and eerie, filtered through clouds that couldn’t decide whether to be yellow or gray. It had been drizzling when they first arrived, but the rain had stopped and now puddles lurked everywhere like muddy landmines. She started across the street, tiptoeing around one puddle, then the next. She dodged sideways and felt herself starting to topple, but Jess grabbed her.
“Damn high heels,” Meg muttered.
“Hon, you’d trip barefoot on a gymnasium floor.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Seventh grade gymnastics?”
“And the sock hop dance our freshman year. And that basketball game in college when we all rushed the floor and I lost my flip-flops under the bleachers.”
“You’re hopeless,” Jess said as she pushed open the door to the reception hall. “Please, dear God, let there be readily available alcohol.”
“It’s a bar. I’m guessing there’s alcohol.”
“Right, but I need to be able to obtain some in under five minutes.”
They both surveyed the room, Jess looking for the bar and Meg looking for—not Kyle. She ordered herself not to think of him as she let her gaze travel from face to face, giving nods of acknowledgment to people she wasn’t certain she’d met before.
“Bingo,” Jess said, and Meg turned to see her pointing toward a bar in the far corner.
“I don’t need anything,” Meg said, but Jess was already trotting off in that direction, probably with vodka cranberry on the brain. Just as well. Meg needed something to do with her hands, and holding a glass seemed marginally better than shredding snotty tissues.
She smoothed her palms down the gray and black pinstriped dress she’d chosen that morning after staring into her closet for an hour wondering what the hell Matt would have liked her to wear to his funeral.
Then she’d felt idiotic for dressing to impress a guy she hadn’t seen for two years, whom she’d never see again ever, and the thought had made her want to say “to hell with it all” and dress in the orange tie-dyed sundress he’d always hated. Luckily, Jess had talked her down. And accompanied her to the event. And driven her here like she was some kind of helpless, elderly aunt.
“Pardon me,” someone murmured as he brushed past en route to the bar, and Meg realized she was standing in the way. She turned left and headed into another room, one that seemed blessedly less packed with people. As she approached a card table lined with framed photos of Matt, she realized she recognized most of the shots.
Matt on the edge of the Grand Canyon, a photo Meg had taken five years ago on a two-week road trip. They’d munched Doritos and laughed themselves silly at the goofy names of brothels lining remote stretches of Nevada highway.
Matt on a mountain bike in a grove of trees. She hadn’t taken that photo, but the shirt he wore was one she’d bought him for his thirtieth birthday.
Matt and Kyle with their arms looped around each other’s shoulders, looking a little drunk at a family barbecue four years ago.
Meg picked up the frame and stared down at the faces. Her heart twisted a little as she saw how happy they looked, so vivacious and healthy. Those matching gray-green eyes, Matt’s square, chiseled jaw and Kyle’s stubbled one. She thought about the soft scritch-scritch sound as he’d rubbed his hand over it the other night, his face close to hers, his lips right there as she shifted on his lap and—
“What a great-looking man.”
Meg whirled to see the brunette who’d been walking next to Sylvia at the church. She had curly hair and bright green eyes that made Meg think of a lime Popsicle.
“Y—yes,” Meg stammered, setting the picture frame back on the table. “Very handsome.”
“I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Gone?” She’s talking about Matt, not Kyle. “Right.” Meg swallowed, wondering who sucked all the air from the room. “Much too soon. And so unexpected.”
“I’m Chloe,” the woman said, shifting an etched water goblet from one hand to the other. Something about the glass looked familiar, but Meg forced herself to pay attention to Chloe’s words. “I’m Matt’s fiancée.”
Meg blinked, pretty sure she hadn’t heard right. “Matt’s fiancée?”
“We were planning our wedding for June. Now?” She shrugged and looked sadly at the photo, and Meg wished she knew what to say.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my deposit back from Sunridge Vineyards,” Chloe said. “That’s where the wedding was going to be held. At their new event pavilion?”
Meg nodded, really unsure what to say this time. She settled for offering her hand. “I’m M—”
“Meg, I know. Come on. You should probably meet the others.”
“Others?”
Chloe turned, and Meg followed numbly, allowing Chloe to lead her to the next room, which was smaller and more airless than this one. She let her gaze drop to the water goblet in Chloe’s hand again, and she realized why it looked familiar. The etched initials MM twinkled back at her from the rim, and Meg stumbled with the recognition.
Our wedding glasses, she thought, regaining her balance as she hurried to catch up with Chloe. The ones we ordered with our monogram. Meg and Matt, MM.
Chloe turned and caught her staring at the glass. She halted midstride and held it up to give Meg a better view. “It’s a nice touch, isn’t it? All the glasses have his initials. Matt Midland. We found them in the garage, and it seemed like he was sending us a message.”
“Right,” Meg breathed, not sure what that message might be. “They’re nice.”
Satisfied, Chloe turned away again and marched up to a trio of women chatting in the corner. None of them looked familiar, but they all had curly hair and wore dark sheath dresses that accentuated curvy figures.
A brunette turned and gave Meg a once-over with silver-flecked brown eyes that nearly matched the pair Meg saw looking back at her each morning in the bathroom mirror.
Beside her was a blonde with longer, looser curls pinned on top of her head. She turned, too, studying Meg with an interest that seemed oddly familiar.
The brunette shifted her monogrammed glass to her left hand and extended her right to Meg. “Cathy with a C. I was after you, but before Chloe.”
“Oh,” Meg said, wishing she could come up with another syllable or two to utter. “It’s
lovely to meet you.” She shook hands with Cathy-with-a-C, admiring the silver bracelet that looked like something Matt tried to give her one Christmas before she told him she had an allergy to nickel.
“Kathy with a K,” the blonde offered, not extending a handshake. “I was before you, but after Brittney. Is Brit here?”
Chloe shook her head and took a sip from her glass. “She was invited, but she couldn’t make it. Opening night at her new restaurant.”
“I can’t wait to try it,” said a second brunette with curls tumbling to the middle of her back. She nodded at Meg. “I’m Marti. Matt and I had a short little thing right before you, but I worked with him for a few years after that, so I knew all about you.”
Meg swallowed, trying to process what was happening. She’d known Matt had other girlfriends before her, of course, and she’d assumed there were others after. He’d been five years older, so his life and love experiences had dwarfed hers when they’d met at her twenty-second birthday party.
Studying Kathy-with-a-K, Meg realized why she looked familiar. The girl Matt dated for three years before her, the one whose smiling face taunted Meg from Sylvia’s collection of family photos on the mantle, the one Matt had once described as “not that interested in sex” in a misguided effort to soothe Meg’s jealousy.
At the time, it made Meg feel smug and superior. Now, she just felt sad.
“Brittney sent her regards,” Chloe said to Cathy-with-a-C. “She wanted to meet you.”
“Brittney Fox?” Meg asked, trying to place the name.
“Before both of us,” supplied Kathy-with-a-K. “Though I found out later he was still hooking up with her the whole first year we were together.”
“There’s a shocker,” muttered Cathy-with-a-C, shaking her head. “A leopard doesn’t change its stripes.”
“Spots,” Marti corrected. “A leopard doesn’t change its spots.”
Cathy-with-a-C rolled her eyes. “A zebra, then—”
“And anyway, he had changed,” Chloe insisted. “He was faithful to me from day one, and he’d made all kinds of changes in his life like trying yoga and giving up red meat and working with a therapist and—”
