by Nan Lowe
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “I wanted you and Van to meet her before Monday. She’s into math stuff, too, and I figured they may have some of the same classes.”
“She knows he’s not…” A few different words tumbled through my mind, but none of them worked.
“Available?” Oliver offered with a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, she does. I hope it’s okay I told her. She’s not the gossipy type, and she’s not available, either. Her boyfriend, Sonny, is working today, or he would’ve come with us.”
“I don’t know how Van will feel about you telling her, or even about me telling you, now that I know you’ll be going to school with us.”
“Look,” he said, taking a small step forward. “Troya’s cool, or I wouldn’t have told her. I didn’t mention the part about your ex or the fight. She’s not going to announce he’s gay to the student body, and neither am I. If Van wants people to know, he can tell them.”
It was too late for me to undo the information dump, so my only choice was to trust him.
Oliver paid for my lemonade and also bought drinks for Troya, Van, and himself. The roll of twenties in his hand dwindled as the day continued, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. When the sun began to set, Van pulled out his cell to call our mom. I stood by while he asked if we could stay longer. After witnessing weeks of a lost, sullen boy, his enthusiasm was intoxicating.
We rode every ride at least twice, ate crappy park burgers for dinner, and stayed until the gates closed. The scent of cotton candy and popcorn lingered on us in the parking lot. Troya and I took the back seat again, and after a few tokes of a fresh joint, I worked up the nerve to ask about her hair. There was no way the rainbow of reds was natural. The colors varied too much, from dark red to orange to almost yellow in places.
“It’s henna,” she said. “My mom won’t let me use regular dye because of all the toxins.” She took a long toke, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled with a laugh. “I’ll have to bathe in coconut lotion before I get home to cover the smell of this shit. She’d kill me for smoking.”
Oliver’s phone rang a few blocks away from our house, and he glanced at the screen before flipping it open. “I know,” he said as a greeting. “I’ll have the car there in thirty. I swear.” It was quiet for a few seconds, but Van, Troya, and I were preoccupied watching the street signs go by. “Yeah. I’m going to need three Washingtons and a Roosevelt.” Another long pause stretched until the car slowed to a stop in front of my house. “School starts next week. I have a feeling we’ll be talking about Franklins by Monday night. If you want your car back, I’ve got to go. I’m dropping her off now, and then Troya and I will be there. Damn.” He snapped the phone closed and glanced at us. “Sorry. My brother’s being a dick. He wants his ride.”
We opened our car doors, and Troya walked around to take Van’s vacated seat while Oliver walked over to stand next to me. “I’ll be right back,” he said to her.
She nodded. “I’ll see you guys Monday.”
Van beat a path to the front door, but Oliver and I took our time. “Did you have fun?” he asked.
“I did.”
“See?” We stepped onto the porch together as the door closed behind my brother. “It’s not so bad in the land of the living. I’m glad you let me talk you out of that cemetery for a little while.”
He may have only meant that day, but really, he’d given me so much more than one afternoon of rides and laughter. He’d given me days of sun and coffee, conversation, and a reason to look forward to leaving the house every day. He’d been a friend when I’d needed one most.
“So am I.”
For a moment, I thought he might step forward and kiss me, but his phone rang again, causing him to roll his eyes. “Mitchell isn’t going to stop until I put the keys in his hand. He has a date with an aquarium worker tonight.” He walked backward until he reached the top step. “I’ll see you Monday, okay?”
“Sure.”
He waved, turned on his heel, and hurried down the steps to the station wagon. Van was already out of sight when I stepped into the house. Miss Verity was sitting in the parlor, knitting a baby blanket with pastel green and yellow yarn.
“Van was smiling when he came in,” she said without looking up. “That was nice of your friends to invite him.”
“We had fun. We saw Elijah, though.” Her hands stilled as she leveled me with her eyes. “Oliver handled it. I handled it.”
She nodded and resumed her task. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” I said. “I’m excited about Monday. It’s a fresh start, and I have a good feeling about it.”
There was no mistaking the worry in her eyes when she glanced up at me again. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Seven
Savannah welcomes us with a bright blue sky and a warm breeze. Wade’s parents’ house looks small from the outside, but it’s only because of the landscaping. There are still a few beautiful blooms in the bushes that hug the front of the house.
Wade kills the engine in the driveway, but instead of reaching for the door handle, he leans back in his seat and runs a hand through his hair. “Is the rest of her family invited to the reception?” he asks, turning his head to gaze at the porch. “Should I expect all of the Bergerons?”
“No,” I answer, despite the lump in my throat. “Only Troya and her husband, Dylan.” The rest of the Bergerons want nothing to do with my family. For all I know, Troya might feel that way about me now, too. Avoiding each other won’t be an option. We both love Van, so we’ll have to leave the past in the past for a few hours for his sake.
Wade nods, turns to give me a small grin, and reaches down to squeeze my hand. “I can handle an old friend. No problem.”
“If you get to come…”
He shifts in his seat, raises his other hand to push a few strands of hair behind my ear, and rests his thumb on my cheek. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Let’s just try to relax and have a good time this weekend.”
“That’s an excellent plan.”
His mom opens the front door and steps out onto the porch, grinning from ear to ear, as he lifts our hands to his lips and kisses the back of mine softly. “We’d better go before she combusts.”
“Mama’s boy.”
He grins. “You know it.”
I hang back after we exit the car. The way he takes the steps two at a time makes the smile on Patricia’s face grow. He wraps her in a hug, lifting her off her feet, and their laughter lifts my heart and squeezes it painfully at the same time. Wade’s her world, and anyone who’s ever met her knows it.
In an effort to give them a few extra moments, I move to retrieve my suitcase.
“Violet!” she calls. “Honey, let Wade take care of the luggage. You come up here and hug my neck, girl.”
She loves me, too. At first, I thought it was by extension, but she quickly proved how open her heart truly is. I feel loved and accepted here. There’s no disappointment, nothing to muddy her affection. She breathes happiness and life into everyone around her.
I’m not one to argue, so I comply, leaving the bags inside it. “Yes, ma’am,” I say.
Wade releases her, and we pass on the steps, pausing for a quick kiss. “I’ll be right behind you,” he says.
Patricia holds her arms out, and I gladly fall into them. She smells like chocolate and cinnamon-tinged leaves, a sure sign we’ll be eating well tonight. “Merry Christmas,” she says. “I’m so tickled y’all are finally here.”
“I’m sorry we’re late. We went to the ballet last night, and Wade hit the snooze button fifteen million times this morning.”
“Don’t say another word.” She steps back but leaves one arm casually draped over my shoulder. “Imagine trying to get him up for school as a teenager. That boy spent more time in detention for being tardy than I care to admit.” The smile hasn’t disappeared, and she glances over her shoulder at him before ushering me into the house.
The Christmas tree is nestl
ed in a corner of the family room, with bright-colored lights blinking sporadically in greeting. There are presents waiting for us that are stacked under and all around it.
Patricia’s tree is my favorite part of the holidays. The ornaments adorning it aren’t perfectly matched or handpicked from a department store. Most of them are relics from Wade’s childhood: a plaster handprint from his pre-school days that was painted red and green by a tiny version of my boyfriend, a Styrofoam bell with a picture of a kindergarten Wade in the center, an aged candy cane with glued-on googly eyes and antlers made of twisted brown pipe cleaners. Every keepsake is on display for the world to see.
The rest of the ornaments are a mixture of sports teams, Star Trek characters, and brightly colored orbs in every imaginable shape and size. There’s no chimney in their home, but four stockings hang nearby on removable white plastic hooks. One of those stockings, hand embroidered by Patricia, has my name on it at the top. They’re all stuffed full, stirring an excitement that rivals Christmases from my childhood, when Santa was still real and everything was a surprise.
“How are your mom, dad, and Miss Verity?” she asks before stopping in her tracks. “Oh! Wade told me about Van and Corey! How exciting. I imagine Evelyn’s a busy mess right about now as she gets ready for the reception.”
Instead of admitting I’ve been dodging my mom’s calls by letting them all go straight to voicemail, I nod and agree. “It’s wonderful. I’m so happy for Van.” That much is true.
Wade’s dad, Jeff, steps into the room with his arms spread wide. “Merry Christmas,” he says, giving me a quick hug. “Where’s your partner in crime?”
“I’m here,” Wade says as he gives the screen door a small kick. “They ditched me with the luggage.”
Jeff laughs and walks across the room to push the door open for him. “Women,” he teases, taking Wade’s duffle from him.
Wade laughs. “Right? Someone could’ve held the door. I’m the one carrying all the gifts.”
I take the gift bags from him, and he makes a stop at the couch to take a few wrapped presents from my suitcase before he and Jeff take our stuff upstairs. Wade leaves my boots on the couch. “Uh-huh,” he says over his shoulder on his way up.
“Your mom invited us to the reception, but we can’t leave Jeff’s parents alone for that long, especially at Christmas.” Patricia steers me toward the couch and takes a seat next to me. “I have a little something for Van and Corey, if you don’t mind taking it for me.”
“Of course I will. You didn’t have to do that, but I’m sure they’ll appreciate whatever it is.”
The guys come downstairs but veer toward the kitchen. “The candy’s in there. Would you like some fudge?”
“I’ve got it covered, Mom.” Wade walks in carrying a shiny blue tin. He walks around to stand in front of me and leans forward to display the contents: dark chocolate squares with crushed peppermint on top, milk chocolate-covered peanut butter balls, and Patricia’s fudge, my favorite.
“How am I supposed to pick?” I ask Wade.
He grins. “Easy. Take one of each.”
We sit with his parents for most of the afternoon and catch up on each other’s news since Thanksgiving. Jeff and I swap stories about student anxiety during exams. We’re both English teachers, but he went the high school route and has been doing it much longer than I have. He also coaches the boys’ basketball team. Wade played for him when he was in high school, and it landed him a scholarship to Emory.
Talk of Emory leads Wade to tell them about his upcoming interview. Patricia leans back in her seat and rests her hands on her thighs. “You’ll nail it,” she says with absolute confidence.
“I hope so,” Wade replies, threading his fingers through mine and resting both of our hands on his thigh. “It’s a great opportunity.” He can’t stand the attention, so he changes the subject as soon as possible. “How are things at the hospital?”
Patricia’s ER stories have long been a source of entertainment for us, and today’s no different. If anything, the holidays bring out the worst in people. Three family quarrels this past week have ended in the emergency room. The prize for the week, however, goes to the girl who handcuffed her boyfriend to the bed in the heat of passion and then accidently swallowed the key.
Because of Patricia, I’m convinced that hospital nurses get more confession action than most priests. She saves the really dirty ones to share when Wade and Jeff aren’t around. She tells those when her best friend and next-door neighbor, Ari, is visiting. Ari is Hillary’s mom, so the potential for awkwardness is always an elephant in the room when I’m in town. Her kindness and general hilarity have always won in the end. To date, she’s been nothing but nice to me, and for that, I’m grateful.
Sure enough, a short while later, the screech of the screen door opening is a precursor to a series of hard knocks. Then the doorknob turns, and Ari steps into the room. “Knock knock,” she says. “We just got home from shopping and saw Wade’s car in the driveway.”
Hillary follows her into the house and stands a few feet away with her hands behind her back. She lets her mother ramble, and her eyes sweep over Wade as he sits next to me. “Merry Christmas, Wade.” Her eyes cut left to give me a critical glance. “Violet.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say.
Wade nods. “You, too, Hill.”
The nickname always stings when it falls from his lips. I have to remind myself that they’ve been friends since they were small children, long before they were ever lovers. Familiarity doesn’t die just because relationships do.
“Tell them your news, honey,” Ari says, shifting from foot to foot, obviously on edge over whatever is going on with Hillary.
“Mom.” Hillary sighs and shakes her head. “Way to ruin it for me.”
“What?” With an interested grin, Patricia leans forward in her seat.
Hillary whips her left hand out to show off a gigantic rock on her ring finger. “I’m engaged!” She and Ari smile at each other and practically vibrate with excitement.
“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Patricia stands, walks across the room, and wraps Hillary in a bone-crushing hug.
Wade’s fingers relax against mine, and my grip loosens so he can stand and congratulate his childhood sweetheart. I’m frozen in place, watching from the couch as he walks over to her. Happy tears are trailing down her cheeks, and my teeth grit painfully together when he brushes a few of them away with the soft pads of his fingertips.
“You’re messing up your makeup,” he says, following it with a softer, “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Their hug is short and sweet, the way I’d hug Van or either of my brothers-in-law, but that doesn’t make it any easier or more pleasant from my view from the couch. Wade doesn’t linger. Instead, he turns away from her and walks directly back to me. My stomach turns at the blank look on his face. I’d expected an eye roll or a mocking grin, but there’s nothing there. He won’t even meet my gaze.
“This calls for a toast,” Patricia says, already walking toward the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll help you,” I say. I stand, and my arm brushes against Wade’s when I pass him on my way out of the room.
He glances down at my face and grins. It’s fake, and something’s brewing in his eyes. It makes me uneasy and worsens the dread already pooling in my chest.
Patricia pulls wine glasses from a cabinet in the dining room and fetches a bottle of wine from a local vineyard. She pops the cork in the kitchen before we rejoin the others. For the first time, I feel like a visitor here, a girl holding a tray of goblets at an impromptu celebration.
In my head, I know these people have always been and will always be a part of Wade’s family’s life, but my heart missed the memo about being okay with it. Jeff pours, Patricia toasts, and Hillary smiles from ear to ear. I stand next to Wade while he makes small talk, asks polite questions, and listens to plans for a summer wedding in the courtyard of
the church he attended as a child.
As soon as politeness dictates an acceptable escape, I make one to the kitchen. They’ll only be here a few more minutes, and my company isn’t exactly what they’re here for. I rinse my empty glass and leave it in the sink.
Hillary’s never been one to let me escape without comment, and it seems today’s no exception. “There you are,” she says as she sashays into the room in true Southern belle fashion. “I didn’t get a chance to ask how you’ve been.”
Like she cares.
“I’m good,” I lie. “The semester just ended, so things have been a little crazy, but it’s all starting to settle down again. I’ve got a nice vacation to look forward to.” With Wade. Even though my feelings may be a little hurt at the moment, I leave that part out. The fact remains that he’ll be leaving with me, and we both know it.
“That’s right,” she says. “I always forget you’re a teacher.”
“A professor.” Technically, a doctor, but I don’t need her fucking approval.
“Right.” She crosses the room, turns on the tap, and washes her wine glass. “You and Wade have been together for a while now.” She turns off the faucet, leaves her glass next to mine in the sink, and takes her time drying her hands with paper towels.
“Yes.”
“Logan and I met this time last year. When you know, you just know, I guess.” She follows with a fake laugh and shakes her head. “I half-expected you to be sharing the same news with me today. Patricia told my mother she offered her mother’s engagement ring to Wade when the two of you were here for Thanksgiving, but he declined and said he didn’t need her assistance.” Hillary smiles and moves to the kitchen door. “I guess what he really meant was that he didn’t want it.”
And by extension, he doesn’t want me, not with rings and vows. That’s what she’s saying.
“We’re…” I fumble, searching for the right words. “Shut the fuck up” won’t work, “mind your own fucking business” would probably be considered snippy, and “fuck off” is rude. No bones about it.
