by Leigh, Tara
It is a hot day, especially by New England’s usually mild spring standards, and the polyester fabric of my gown isn’t helping things. The risers arranged around us are packed with friends and families holding battery-operated fans in one hand and taking photos with their other.
Ahead of me, I can see the back of Tucker’s neck, and the glint of Wren’s shiny blond hair. I wonder about the other people who might be in these rows. Sully, Tucker’s lacrosse buddy who poured me my first tequila shots. The girls from the basement of the fraternity house who’d so generously filled my cup with Everclear lemonade. Everyone that had gathered outside Tucker’s room in Crawford Hall, who watched as two EMTs treated my unconscious body.
And I consider who might be up on stage or in the crowd surrounding me. The men and women of the Judicial Administration board, who were so righteous in their judgment. Johanna Gregory, the graduate student from the counseling service who pretended not to see the lies inside my eyes. Dean Johnson, who pushed Tucker and I into working with TeenCharter, and is the reason we’re together now. Maybe even Michael, the RA who drove me home from the hospital, graciously pretending not to notice the stench of vomit rising from me like a mushroom cloud.
I’m eager to be moving on from Worthington University. I will definitely miss the TeenCharter kids though, especially Jenny who isn’t such a kid anymore. In a few months, she’ll be eighteen, which means officially aging out of the foster care system. But I’ve made her promise to keep in touch.
I listen with half an ear to our commencement speaker. She talks about the world being both a bigger and smaller place than it had been when she graduated from WU twenty-five years ago. Safer and scarier. More interconnected while less intimate.
The world is full of dichotomies.
My years at Worthington have been both more and less than I’d expected. I’m hopeful about my future, and terrified of screwing it up. Excited to head into the real world, and yet uneasy about my place in it. Weighing on me the most heavily, though, is my relationship with Tucker. I am indebted to him, but sometimes slightly resentful of how much he’s done for me. Grateful, and yet a little ashamed of the person I’ve allowed myself to become.
It’s a strange way to feel about the guy I will be living with in less than a week.
We’re moving into the gorgeous Tribeca loft that was his graduation gift from his parents. Tucker noticed me looking though Craigslist for crappy apartment shares I somehow hoped to afford on my relatively meager entry-level corporate marketing salary, and he’d looked at me as if I’d grown a horn in the middle of my forehead. Don’t waste your time, he said. We’re moving in together.
And that was that.
This morning I told my mother that I would be living with Tucker, expecting her to say it was a bad idea and spout a theory involving milk and cows. Instead, she’d simply smiled and congratulated me, handing me a Hallmark card and a Dr. Seuss book, Oh, the Places You’ll Go.
I’m still not sure if the congratulations was for graduating… or landing a guy like Tucker. I’ve never explicitly told her that he was responsible for her prison reprieve and months-long stay in rehab… but she’s never asked, either.
Sometimes I wonder what Tucker sees in me. He has the world at his feet. I have thousands of dollars in school loans and credit card debt, accumulated despite my financial aid and scholarships. Although, that doesn’t include the ambulance bill from freshman year. When I mailed my first installment check of the payment plan I worked out with them, it had been returned, along with a copy of a check made out for the full amount, signed by Tucker. Of all the gifts Tucker has given me over the years, this is the only one I haven’t said thank you for.
The speech wraps up and, row by row, we walk to the stage to shake hands with the Chancellor and receive our diploma. And once we are all back in our seats, we throw our caps into the air.
A thousand navy squares, looking almost like a flock of birds, silhouetted against a clear blue, cloudless sky.
Back in Sackett, there was always a day in late fall when it seemed as if every bird in the forest heeded some signal known only to them, fleeing their wooded sanctuary to migrate south together. A few minutes when the sky was a chaotic canvas of outstretched wings. This moment reminded me of that.
Until one of the squares crashes into my face, sending my sunglasses flying and jabbing me in the eye.
I yelp, but with thousands of people yelling and cheering, no one notices. Somehow I manage to find my mom and sister, one hand cupped over my stinging eye, the other one leaking with tears of sympathy for its injured twin.
“What the hell happened to you?” Sadie asks, noticing me lurching their way.
“I didn’t look away fast enough, I guess.”
My sister shakes her head. “Seriously, Poppy, only you could get injured at your own graduation.”
“Here, let me take a look.” I let my mom pry my hand away from my face, hear her quick intake of breath.
“Is it bad?”
“No, no. But why don’t we swing by the campus medical office, okay?”
My mother hates doctors, so I know it can’t look good.
Less than an hour later, a wad of gauze smeared with anti-bacterial medicine is taped over my eye socket. Catching my image in the mirror, I look like a sickly pirate. My good eye wells up again, and I reach for my phone.
“Who are you calling?” Sadie asks.
“There’s no way I can show up looking like this tonight. I have to cancel.” Tucker and Wren’s families have planned a celebratory, post-graduation dinner, and we’ve been invited to join them.
Sadie snatches the phone out of my hand. “No way. I want to see how the other half lives for a night.”
I fix my one-eyed gaze on her. “I thought you came to see me graduate.”
“Half a day under the hot sun, just to see you handed a piece of paper? Yeah, that’s exactly why I came.”
“Sadie, come on. You expect me to hang out with Tucker, Wren, and their parents looking like this?”
Her voice turns into a whine. “Please, take pity on me. The last restaurant I went to was Red Robin.”
“How about I take you out in Manhattan—any place you want?”
Sadie crosses her arms over her chest and pulls her trump card. “Mom’s been looking forward to this, too. Do you really want to disappoint her?”
Damn it. Sadie knows I would never purposely do anything to upset our mom. Since her return from rehab, she’s been working hard to stay sober and build relationships with us, while we try to avoid anything that might set her off. If we lose her a third time, we might never get her back.
My brows knit together over the bridge of my nose, pulling at the tape holding the gauze to my eye. “Sometimes I really wish I’d been an only child,” I grumble, not meaning a word of it.
“But most of the time you feel blessed to have such an incredibly fabulous sister, right?”
I shake my head even as a begrudging grin twitches at my lips. Because inside, I’m nodding. The relationship Sadie and I have is another dichotomy. Nearly identical on the outside yet complete opposites in almost every other way. She drives me nuts, but I love her. We are sisters, for better or worse.
Chapter 30
Worthington University
Graduation Day
Sadie forces me to lie down with a cold compress pressed to my good eye for twenty minutes, then she outlines it with liquid liner and mascara, blending half a dozen shades of shadow so that it appears twice as big and green as it usually does.
“You look great,” she insists.
Great is definitely not the word I would use. I try to smile but my lips, encased in a thick layer of lipstick and gloss, refuse to cooperate. “Thanks, sis. This is… wow.”
She beams. “Finish getting dressed, I’m going to check on mom.”
Once Sadie is out of sight, I attack my face with half a box of tissues before changing into my dress, a gift from Tucker. It is a
soft pink, fitted at the waist and falling in a straight line to just above my knee. The high neckline is adorned with pearls, making it look as if I’m wearing a beautiful necklace. I tuck the gold P he gave me beneath it, out of sight.
I wish I could push thoughts of Gavin out of my head as easily. He sent me a congratulatory message this morning and I feel guilty that he’s still keeping in touch with me after all this time. Guilty for not responding to it. Guilty that I want to, even though I’m about to move in with Tucker. And guilty that I haven’t told Tucker about any of Gavin’s messages.
In the back of my mind, I think I’d convinced myself that if Gavin kept in touch with me until after I’d left Worthington, even with no encouragement from me, it would be proof of a commitment that was lacking when he disappeared from Sackett and I didn’t hear from him for nearly two years. Commitment I needed to even consider trusting him again. If there was a chance that we could be an us again.
Of course, I’d also assumed that Tucker and I would have broken up by now. But we’re still going strong. I’m happy, damn it. Tucker makes me happy. Which is why I shouldn’t be thinking about Gavin at all.
Sadie’s eyebrows lift when she sees me come out of my room. She says nothing about my muted makeup, but I notice her tugging at the hem of her own dress that is shorter and tighter than mine, more appropriate for a bar-crawl than an elegant dinner.
My mother is wearing a nervous smile and a classic black sheath dress that emphasizes the fragility of her frame. “My girls,” she says softly, drawing us into a hug. “It feels like just yesterday that you were two little cuties in pigtails and tutus.”
Sadie and I look at each other over her head. Tutus? We never had tutus because we couldn’t afford dance class. And my mother wasn’t the type to sign us up for activities. But we don’t disagree. I understand only too well the temptation, the need, to rewrite your own history. And if doing so keeps my mother in recovery, I’m all for it.
Dinner is at one of the oldest restaurants in New England. Originally a tavern, it was routinely patronized by Paul Revere, George Washington, and several other founding fathers, including two that have a place on Tucker’s family tree.
Wren’s family sports three.
Currently led by a three-star Michelin rated chef, it is harder to get a table here than at the finest restaurants in Manhattan. Unless, of course, your last name is Stockton or Knowles.
Pulling up behind a Mercedes Maybach, my mother leaves her ten-year-old Hyundai hatchback with a teenaged valet who looks just as reluctant to slide behind the wheel as she is to give him the keys. “I hate handing my car over to a stranger,” she stage-whispers as we walk in the door. “How do I know he won’t drive off in it?”
Sadie laughs. “The competition’s pretty stiff here, Mom. I don’t think you have to worry about it.”
Tucker appears before the hostess can address us. “Wow. You three are almost too beautiful to handle,” he says, then winks. “But I love a challenge.”
His perfect smile and honeyed, over-the-top words have my mother eating out of his palm, as always. She blushes, batting her lashes and giggling like Scarlett O’Hara in the opening scene of Gone with the Wind.
“Sadie, it’s a good thing you chose not to come to Worth U, you’d probably start a war on Fraternity Row.”
I cringe inwardly, both at the mention of Fraternity Row, and at the reminder that Sadie didn’t get into WU. It is still a sore point for my sister, although she doesn’t take offense tonight. “It wouldn’t have been fair,” she agrees.
Finally, Tucker turns to me, frowning at my bandaged eye. “My broken doll,” he murmurs, lifting my chin and giving me a chaste kiss. “You okay?”
“I am now,” I say as he wraps his arms around my waist, glad Sadie hadn’t let me cancel.
“Well, once we get to New York, I’ll have our family doctor look at it.”
“No, it’s fine, really.”
Tucker stiffens, the hands that had been casually draped around my waist becoming a set of pincers. He hates being contradicted, especially in public. Stupid, I chide myself. “Actually, you’re right. I’d really appreciate that, Tucker. Thank you.”
He relaxes, dropping another kiss on my forehead. “No one will ever take care of you like I will, Poppy.”
My mother sighs in pleasure. “Don’t ever let this one go, honey. He’s a keeper.”
I push my lips into a smile, but before I can answer, Tucker says, “You don’t have to worry about that. I wouldn’t let her even if she tried.”
Tucker slips my mother’s arm through his elbow, then manages to gather both Sadie and me against his other side. He leads us to a large round table seated in front of a bay window with beautiful water views, making introductions all around.
Wren stands up to greet me, pulling me into an unexpected and completely uncharacteristic hug. But I understand why when her harsh whisper hits my ears. “Enjoy your meal, Poppy. It’s only a matter of time before Tucker realizes he’s just been slumming with you. Remember what I said—he’s only yours on loan.”
Her eyes are glittering when she releases me and I find my chair somewhat shakily, sitting between my mother and Tucker, with my sister on Tucker’s other side. Tucker casually rests his hand over my chair, his thumb sweeping across the back of my neck.
It’s not his touch that makes my hair stand on end. It’s the fear that Wren is right. Tucker has become such a huge part of my life, I don’t even know what I would do without him anymore. Am I just a temporary placeholder until he commits to a life with Wren? I can’t deny that she looks a hell of a lot more like pictures I ripped from magazines. Sleek hair, waifishly thin, always so poised, even when she’s pulling the rug out from beneath me. And the truce we came to years ago, our handshake agreement, it doesn’t matter anymore. I wouldn’t say anything to smear Tucker’s name, and even if I did—who would believe me?
“What happened to your eye, dear?” Wren’s mother asks, interrupting my frantic thoughts. I remember her from freshman move-in day, and she still looks only a few years older than her daughter.
Her father barely glances up from his phone as I recount the cap-throwing incident. Everyone murmurs sympathetically except Wren. “You almost got your eye poked out by your graduation cap… seriously?”
My sister laughs. “I know, right?” I don’t enjoy being the butt of their joke, but it does break the ice.
Tucker’s father asks to speak with the sommelier and they spend a few minutes discussing various regions and wineries in France, selecting a red and a white older than anyone at our table. I’ve met Tucker’s parents before. Like now, they are polite but aloof.
The waiter hands out menus and I can feel the shock waves rolling off my mother as she peruses it. Even excluding alcohol, our bill will easily come to more than she earns in a week. Tucker has already told me that his and Wren’s father will probably argue over who gets to pay the check, and neither expect my mother to pay any portion of it.
I lean toward her discreetly, knowing she will order a garden salad and a cup of soup if I don’t say anything. “Mom, don’t worry about it, it’s taken care of,” I whisper.
She looks at me, confused. “What?”
I jerk my chin at the menu. “Order what you want, Tucker said it’s their treat tonight.”
She stiffens. “We’re not a charity case, Poppy.”
I almost want to point out that charity is exactly why I’m here tonight, celebrating my graduation. It’s also why she’s not in jail. Heat rushes up my chest to deposit pink patches on my cheeks. “Let’s not make this a—”
Wren notices our exchange, nudging her mother. Mrs. Knowles speaks up. “Is everything all right?” she asks.
My throat swells with mortification as the waiter fills my mother’s wineglass. She doesn’t stop him. Shit. Technically, my mom went to rehab for drugs, but I’d foolishly hoped she would give up drinking, too.
My mother looks at me and then back a
t the menu before taking a fortifying sip of wine. Then another, this one bigger. “I didn’t bring my girls here tonight for a free dinner. I’d like to pay our share.”
Tucker’s dad responds first. “Our kids are going to be living together, we’re practically family.”
Unaccustomed to standing up for herself, she blinks wetly, like a chipmunk facing down a fox. I expect her to concede, but to my surprise, she clears her throat and then says in a small voice, “Well, until we actually are, I’d like to—”
“Actually, I think that’s a great idea.” Tucker pushes back his chair. My stomach clenches as I watch him drop down to one knee.
No. I’m not ready for this. Not even close.
Apparently, neither is anyone else at our table. I hear gasps from my mom and sister, choking sounds from Wren, her mother, and Mrs. Stockton, and a sharply delivered, “Tucker, now is not the time,” from his father.
“This is the perfect time,” Tucker says, in that arrogant, unflappable way of his. Then he looks at Wren. “You will always be in my life, but—”
Wren swallows, her skin so translucent it’s like fine china. Fine china that’s cracking before my eyes. “But not as your wife.”
“Tucker, honey,” his mom pleads, her manicured nails curving over his shoulder. “You’re so young. There’s no rush.”
“Aren’t you and Dad the ones who told me I should settle down after college, grow up and focus on the business?”
As Mrs. Stockton looks from her son to me to Wren, it’s clear that she’s torn. Pleased to hear that Tucker is following their advice, but alarmed at the woman he’s chosen to settle down with. “Yes, but—”
“I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve listened to a damn word we’ve said, son,” Mr. Stockton grumbles. “If you’re trying to make a point here, it’s completely unnecessary. Unless…” My flush deepens when he looks pointedly at my stomach.
Tucker regards his father seriously, then says stiffly, “That’s not what this is. I love Poppy, and if you want to be a part of our lives, then you’ll respect our choices.”
