“Next!” Ana barked, breaking up their good-natured spat and holding up another dress. This one was green velvet, with long bell sleeves and ribbons on the bodice. “What about this one?”
Bonnie bit her lip.
Sadie eyed the dress. “It’s weird, but it’s pretty,” she said, “like you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Bonnie took the dress from Ana and ran a hand over one soft, forest-green sleeve. She’d worn this dress two Christmases ago. The night Gabe had proposed. Tears burned in the back of her throat, and she slumped on the edge of the bed, the dress still in her hands.
“Uh-oh.” Ana dropped the hanger she was holding and hurried over.
Sadie glanced up from sorting sweaters. “You’re not that weird, okay?” She hopped up on the bed and settled in next to Bonnie, legs dangling off the edge. At a hair under five foot four, Bonnie was shorter than average, but at barely five feet, Sadie was a little pixie of a thing. She’d always reminded Bonnie of Tinkerbell, or Titania, the fairy queen, tiny and delicate, but with a will of iron and a temper to rival the biggest Shakespeare villain.
“It’s not that.” Bonnie sniffled. “This was my proposal dress.” Did she really have to start crying again? She swiped her knuckles across her cheeks, rubbing away tears she should not be shedding. Gabe didn’t deserve her tears. Bonnie took a shuddering breath. “I was wearing this when Gabe asked me to marry him.”
“Oh. Can we burn it, then?” Sadie asked, dead serious.
A puff of laughter escaped Bonnie. She hiccupped. “Tempting.”
“You could donate it to your school’s theatre department,” Ana suggested. “It would make a great costume piece.”
It was true. Bonnie gravitated toward clothes that looked like something from an Austen novel. “That’s a great idea.” She stood and tossed the dress in the donate box. It was time to stop being so sentimental. Instead of being Marianne, she needed to be Elinor. More sense and less sensibility.
“Thanks, Ana.” Bonnie turned and glanced back at the bed. Sadie had sprawled across it and was now lying on the quilt. “Um … you might not want to lie on that.”
“What?” Sadie stretched lazily. “Why?”
Bonnie explained.
Sadie scurried off the bed. When she was done gagging, she announced, “Okay, now that, we’re burning.”
“What’s your obsession with burning stuff today?” Ana wondered. “I had no idea you were such a little pyro.”
“Besides, we can’t burn that,” Bonnie added. “My grandma made that quilt.”
Sadie’s mouth twisted. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Dry clean it half a dozen times.” Bonnie shrugged. “Box it up and store it with the rest of the things I’m taking back to my parents’ house.”
“I’d make it a dozen,” Sadie said, eyeing the quilt like it was a snake waiting to bite her. “And maybe don’t tell your parents about what happened on it.”
“I haven’t told my parents about any of this yet,” Bonnie admitted, closing the lid on the storage container.
“What?” Sadie and Ana asked in unison.
“My mom is going to freak when she hears the engagement is off.”
“Yeah, she is,” Ana agreed.
“Not helping.” Bonnie groaned and collapsed onto the top of the container. “I’ll lose it if I think about it right now! I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
Sadie chortled with laughter.
“Glad you find this amusing,” Bonnie snapped, feeling more than a little sorry for herself. It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long weekend.
“Sorry,” Sadie said, still chuckling. “It’s just, you’re acting exactly like Scarlett O’Hara.”
“Please.” Bonnie snorted. “I know I can be a bit dramatic, but—”
“I’ll think about that tomorrow.” Sadie cut her off with a saucy Southern drawl. Wrist pressed dramatically to her forehead, Sadie continued, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”
Despite herself, a smile tugged at Bonnie’s mouth. “That’s a pretty good impression, but I’ve always thought Ana looked more like Scarlett. Or, what was that actress’s name?”
“Vivien Leigh,” Sadie replied instantly. A classic movie buff, Sadie knew as much about the Golden Age of Hollywood as Bonnie did about Shakespeare.
Ana turned her attention to Bonnie, green eyes glittering, one raven eyebrow arched in a very haughty Scarlett O’Hara manner. “Stop changing the subject. We were talking about you and your procrastination. Tell your mom. Get it over with. The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”
“God, you sound just like Theo,” Bonnie grumbled, pushing the container through the bedroom door.
“You talked to Theo about this?” Sadie asked, trailing behind Bonnie.
“I hope she did, considering our earlier conversation,” Ana added, bringing up the rear.
“Ha. Yes, Theo knows about the breakup. He was giving me grief about not telling Cassie.” Bonnie reached the living room and paused, catching her breath. How could a plastic container of clothes be so heavy?
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ana dropped the cardboard box onto the couch. “You haven’t told Cassie about this yet?”
“Chill. I told her!” Bonnie kicked the container farther into the room. “But I told Theo first.”
Sadie shook her head, short blond waves bobbing. “Doesn’t that break the bro code?”
“What are you talking about?” Bonnie grumbled.
“You know what I mean,” Sadie said, hands on hips. “You and Cassie are best friends. If something major like that happened with Ana, I’d want to be the first to know.” She glanced past Bonnie to stare at Ana. “I better be the first to know.”
“Calm down, small fry, I tell you everything first.” Ana dug her keys out of her purse. “And Bonnie said she already told Cassie, right?” Ana glanced at Bonnie.
“Right,” Bonnie agreed.
“Great. That’s settled.” Ana jangled her keys in the air. “Now, are you ready to go?”
Bonnie took one last look around the apartment. Most of the furniture was secondhand, and she didn’t care about any of it except for the bed. As much as she loved this little apartment in Printer’s Row, with the water fountain in the brick courtyard out front, the cafés, and the short walk to both the library and her job, she’d never planned for this to be her permanent home. Just the place she and Gabe would share until they got married.
Taking a deep breath, Bonnie nodded. “Ready.” An unexpected thrill zinged through her. Moving out had been the right idea. It was time for a change. “If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad,” she quoted, closing and locking the apartment door.
“What?” Ana huffed, pausing at the top of the hallway stairs.
“She’s spouting Shakespeare. Keep moving,” Sadie ordered, holding the other end of the box Ana carried.
“That’s not Shakespeare,” Bonnie corrected, following her friends down the stairs, “it’s Austen.” Reaching the bottom, she glanced back up. It wasn’t the last time she’d be here, but still, it felt like goodbye. It was definitely the end of something.
With a final look, Bonnie realized by closing the book on her life with Gabe, embarking on a new beginning wasn’t the start of a new chapter, but a whole new story.
CHAPTER 15
BONNIE SHIFTED THE duffel bag on her lap and looked out the window of the train car. She’d made it through the week without any more issues, showing up early to all her classes and powering through each lesson on autopilot.
As she watched the dreary spring landscape speed by, she wished there was a way she could avoid thinking about her personal life as neatly as she’d avoided talking about it. Not wanting to overstay her welcome at the hotel, at first she’d considered moving back in with her parents for a bit, but Ana had offered to let her have the spare room in her town house. It was only for a few months. Then she’d be off to England. After
that … who knew.
Four more weeks until Memorial Day weekend. By then, finals would be over and she’d be done with the semester. It couldn’t come soon enough. She hadn’t planned to visit her parents until the holiday weekend, but Ana and Sadie were right—she needed to tell them about the breakup. That didn’t mean she was looking forward to it.
It was Friday night, and she’d be spending the next thirty-six hours or so at her parents’ house. The only promising thing about the weekend ahead was her plan to meet up with Delaney for dinner and drinks tomorrow. The fifth member of their merry little band of friends, Delaney had grown up in the same small suburban town as Bonnie and Cassie and ended up enrolling at the same Chicago university.
While Bonnie and Cassie had found work in the city after graduation, Delaney went back home and got a job teaching at the fancy-pants preschool that opened a few years ago in their town’s most elite neighborhood. Honestly, Bonnie was pretty sure Delaney made more money showing four-year-olds how to create papier-mâché farm animals using organic non-GMO gluten-free paste than Bonnie did teaching nineteen-year-olds the three-act story structure.
Still, she loved hearing about Delaney’s adventures in the classroom and couldn’t wait to catch up. However, duty called, and Bonnie needed to spend her first night home with her folks. Besides, better to drop the engagement bomb right away than leave it hanging over her head, ticking away all weekend.
Rain started to splatter outside her train car window as the tightly spaced brick buildings of the city gave way to the mansions of the North Shore. By the time the scenery shifted to long stretches of muddy fields and early-budding trees, a full downpour was in progress. Torrents of rain streamed past. The soggy, gray scene made her think of London. And of course, thinking of London made her think of Theo.
She wondered what he was doing now. And was reminded again she had no idea what the man did for a living. They hadn’t spoken since her abrupt departure from his hotel room Monday morning. Had it been only a week since she’d run into him at the Shakespeare event? A week since she’d gone home to find Gabe …
Squeezing her hands into fists, she resisted the urge to adjust a ring that wasn’t there. She had to stop replaying that scene. More and more, though, she found herself replaying other moments from that weekend. Moments that had nothing to do with Gabe and everything to do with Theo.
Bonnie pressed her cheek against the damp, cold glass. What had happened with Theo was a one-time thing. A perfect storm of timing and emotion. As if on cue, lightning flashed. Bonnie closed her eyes, waiting for the crack of thunder to follow, counting seconds out of habit. It came almost immediately, loud enough to be heard above the rumble of the train. Her eyes snapped open. This was turning into a pretty serious storm.
But despite the uncanny metaphor unfolding, there was nothing serious between her and Theo. He’d walked back into her life at the exact right time. She thought of the scene in Julius Caesar when Marc Antony learns Caesar’s nephew Octavius has arrived in Rome.
“He comes upon a wish.” Bonnie recited Antony’s line under her breath, finger tracing a pattern in the condensation on her window. “Fortune is merry, and in this mood will give us anything.”
Had she subconsciously wished for Theo? He’d certainly been willing to give her anything she’d wanted that night in the hotel—even if it ended up being a pair of strong arms to hold her while she slept.
But what did she want now? How would she feel when she saw him again? He was Logan’s best man, and she was Cassie’s maid of honor. Sooner or later, they would be seeing each other again this summer.
She just didn’t know which she wanted.
Sooner … or later?
* * *
The train rolled to a stop and Bonnie gathered her things. Hopping onto the platform, she held her jacket over her head and squinted through the raindrops, searching for her father’s car among those waiting in the pick-up lot.
A pair of headlights shone on her, and a moment later, her dad pulled up alongside the curb. She scurried across the slick pavement and got in before he could get out to open her door.
She pulled the car door shut. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Glad to do it.” Her dad pulled into the line of cars waiting to exit. “You should have let me help you with your bags.”
“I didn’t bring much,” she said, biting back a smile. Like Theo, her father could be old-fashioned about certain things. “Besides,” she added, tugging her jacket off her head and reaching across the seat to hug her father, “no need for both of us to get wet.”
“A bit late for that,” he grumbled, swiping at the droplets she’d left behind.
“Oops.” She laughed and turned up the heater. “What’s for dinner?”
“Your mother is making fish.”
Bonnie wrinkled her nose. Fish Friday, right.
“Dessert?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course.” He glanced over at her, corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Gingerbread.”
“Yesss.” Bonnie dropped back against the headrest, sighing. Her mother’s gingerbread was heaven on a plate.
Sure enough, after her dad pulled into the garage, ignoring her protests and shouldering her bag as he led the way into the house, Bonnie was inundated with the smells of home. The less pleasant aroma of frying fish, most likely cod, mixed with the warm earthy scents of ginger and nutmeg and the sharp sweet tang of molasses.
She stepped into the kitchen, and it was like stepping back in time. Nothing had changed in this room in the nearly three decades Bonnie had been alive. Even the wooden high chair that had been hers as a baby was still tucked in one corner, pulled into service whenever members of the extensive Blythe clan popped in for a visit.
A fruitful brood, Bonnie was the only one in her extended family not to have any siblings. She was also the only female grandchild and the only one to inherit Grandma Mary’s red hair. In short, she was the magical unicorn of the family.
“Bon-Bon!” Her mother wiped her hands on her apron and hurried across the kitchen to envelop Bonnie in a fragrant hug. Bonnie had long ago given up struggling against the ridiculous nickname. Though—after years of adolescent angst—she’d never admit to growing fond of it, but only from her mother. She let her besties get away with calling her “Bon,” but no one else was allowed to call her Bon-Bon—ever. A lesson her cousin Ian had learned the hard way. To this day, Ian still sported a small scar on his chin after Bonnie threw a fork at him across the Thanksgiving dinner table one year when he’d asked “Bon-Bon” to pass the peas. Jerkface didn’t even like peas.
Speaking of peas, she spied a pot of them bubbling on the stove. Fried fish and mashed peas. Mom was going full out with the traditional Friday night meal. Bonnie kissed her mom’s cheek and stepped back, poking her head into the pantry to see if there was any soda bread. Jackpot. She pulled out a round loaf and was headed to the fridge for the butter when her mother stopped her with a click of her tongue. “Don’t spoil your supper.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go wash up, then set the table.”
Bonnie set the loaf of bread on the counter and stalked toward the bathroom, passing her father, who was seated in his usual spot in the den, stockinged feet propped on a faded ottoman, watching a soccer match on TV. It was a pattern as old as the peeling ivy wallpaper lining the bathroom walls.
Maybe she didn’t want the married life after all, Bonnie thought as she dried her hands. Would that be what she had to look forward to? She and Gabe had fallen into a comfortable routine, but Bonnie never pictured her life quite so … provincial. To be fair, her parents weren’t that bad. Yes, Dad had his little quirks, and Bonnie doubted her mother had ever changed a tire or fixed anything around the house, but her mom did have a job.
It had been her mother who made most of the travel arrangements for the dream vacation Bonnie and her best friends had taken last summer. And hitting five European countries in six we
eks took a lot of planning. As did a honeymoon. Ever since her engagement to Gabe, Mom had been working on plans for their trip. Now Bonnie was going to have to tell her mother all that time and research had been wasted. There would be no honeymoon.
Well, there was nothing for it. What is past hope should be past care, right?
Easier said than done. Bonnie decided to wait to tell her parents until after dinner.
Unfortunately, dinner was over all too soon. As the gingerbread cooled on the counter and the tea kettle heated up, Bonnie stood at the sink, drying dishes while her mother washed. “How’s Gabe?” Mom asked, and Bonnie almost dropped the plate she was drying.
She caught it, gathering her courage as she set it on top of the stack in the cabinet. “We broke up.”
There. Rip the bandage off.
“What?” her mother yelled over the rush of running water, glancing up from the pan she was rinsing.
Deciding this conversation would be tense enough without adding shouting to the mix, Bonnie reached over and turned off the faucet. “We broke up. Gabe and I. We’re done.”
Her mother stared at her, blue eyes wide. Looking in those eyes was like looking in the mirror. Aside from her pert ski-slope nose, Bonnie’s eyes were the only trait she’d inherited from her mother. Everything else was a carbon copy of Grandma Mary.
Bonnie set the dish towel aside and held up her left hand, waggling her bare ring finger.
Understanding dawned in her mother’s eyes. The pale blue of her irises deepened to a cobalt. Dad always joked that their eyes were mood rings, color shifting depending on what they were feeling. It wasn’t so much a joke, as an astute observation. Their eyes did change color depending on mood. The problem was, Bonnie thought, unable to break away from her mom’s stare, she couldn’t decide if the darkening hue was due to anger or something else.
“What happened?” Mom finally asked.
The kettle whistled, and Bonnie turned away, grateful for the interruption. She busied herself making the tea while Mom bustled behind her, slicing the gingerbread.
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