by Becky Monson
“I don’t even know,” she says, starting up the blubbering again.
“Is there a list or something? What needs to be done?”
She sniffs. “Can we find another caterer to do the beef sandwiches?”
“Probably not,” I say.
I see the moment when she resigns herself to it. She does a full-body slouch in my black faux-leather office chair.
She sniffs again. “Maybe I should go to bed.”
“I think so,” I say.
“Wait—I need to mark where the cars will park tomorrow.”
“I can do that,” I say.
“But—”
“I’ve got this, Chels.”
She has a detailed map of where everything will go, so I’m pretty sure I can figure it all out.
“Okay,” she says so quietly I barely hear her.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” She reaches up and wipes her eyes. “I’ll go home.”
After a few minutes of arguing over whether she’s actually capable of driving home, I pile Chelsea into her car and send her home with the strict rule that she go straight to bed, and then I text Mark for backup. I also text Chase and tell him why I haven’t written him back.
With no response from him, I go to the back of the shop in search of the black tape to mark the parking lot with.
As I open the door, I see that there’s a spotlight directed at a Mustang getting a full bright-red matte wrap. Dawson is at the front of the car, working on the hood, a belt around the waist of his coveralls with all his tools in it.
“Hi,” I say, giving him a little wave when he looks my way. It’s strange to see him in here by himself. Usually the room is bustling with people, lots of chatter and laughter as they work. It’s quiet in here, except for the faint sounds of music coming from a portable speaker near where Dawson is working.
He gives me one of those irresistible smiles of his, and my heart does this little pitter-patter thing. He’s taken, Maggie. You utter fool.
“What are you still doing here?” he asks.
“Just doing some last-minute stuff. Gotta mark where the cars on display are parking tomorrow.”
“Gotcha.”
“Is the tape—” I cut off, pointing over to the shelves on the left side of the shop where we keep most of the supplies.
“Yeah,” he says, then joins me over by the wall, showing me where it is.
I grab a roll and hold it in my hands. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
“I’ll just,” I say, pointing to the door, indicating where I plan to exit. Like a moron.
Then I realize we’re alone. In the shop. Probably in the entire building.
“Why are you still working on that car?” I ask.
He looks at the Mustang and then back at me. “Chad,” he says.
I nod. “Right,” I say. “We probably should consider letting him go.”
“I’d have to agree,” he says, reaching up and running a hand through his thick dark-blond hair.
If we get rid of Chad, will we have anything to talk about?
“Ready for the party tomorrow?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says, giving me a small smile. “I’ll be there.”
“Great,” I say. “Are you bringing Robin with you?”
Did I really just ask that? It’s like my mouth didn’t even communicate with my brain.
Dawson tilts his head to the side, the corners of his eyes doing a sort of crinkling thing.
“Uh … no,” he says. “I’ll see her there, I’m assuming.”
“Oh … right … I just thought …”
“We’re just friends.”
My mouth goes dry and I swallow. They’re friends? Really? How did I get that so wrong?
“Right. Gotcha. Good … to know.”
He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Now’s your chance, Maggie. Say something flirty. Be bold. Be brave.
“I’ll be there,” I say. Then I wave at him, with the tape (why? Why? WHY?), and walk out of the shop.
Way to chicken out, Maggie.
Chapter 14
To keep up with my chicken theme, I’ve also put all my eggs in one basket.
“I’m so sorry, babe,” Hannah says.
We’re on the phone, Hannah is at work, and I’m in the apartment with curls pinned up on my head, my makeup half-done.
“But … Dawson is single. I need you,” I whine. “How can you ditch me at a time like this?”
I wasn’t going to tell her; I was just going to let her find out at the party so I didn’t have to listen to her go on and on about how right she was and how wrong I was. But she didn’t even get a chance to gloat. She’s been so busy at work.
“I’m not ditching you—I just don’t know when I can get there. This case is taking all my time, and my boss is a real witch.”
“She’s your mom.”
“Exactly,” she says.
I breathe out my nose. “Fine. I’ll try and not make a fool of myself.”
I can try all I want, but a fool I will be. Look at my track record.
I don’t know why I want Hannah there so badly—it’s not like she’s going to give me some superpower and I’ll be magically less of a coward. But I just want her there. By my side. Making me laugh and telling me to get over myself.
I feel like a moron, going by myself now. I guess I’ll have to hang out with Devon and try to keep his paws off all the single ladies. Or I could hang out with my dad and June. I do a very hard swallow at that thought.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll hurry, I promise,” she says. It sounds as if she’s walking quickly somewhere. “I have to go—the boss just caught me on the phone.”
“She’s your mom,” I say again.
“Exactly,” she says again and hangs up.
I go back to the bathroom to finish my makeup. I chose to go only a little extra with my look, but not too extra.
While pulling the pins out of my hair my phone beeps, and I look down to where it’s sitting on the laminate counter of my bathroom and see I have a text from Chase.
Chase: You ready to party?
Maggie: Not really
Chase: Why?
Maggie: I have no wingwoman.
Chase: Wingwoman?
Maggie: Hannah
Chase: What do you need a wingwoman for? Isn’t this a work party?
Maggie: Yes. But as it turns out, Dawson is single. Got the story wrong. And now my wingwoman has ditched me.
Chase: Ah … the plot thickens.
Maggie: Yes
I send him a crying emoji.
Chase: You know what? You don’t need a wingman. You’ve got this.
Maggie: I feel like I need a wingman.
Chase: What about Devon?
I send him a laughing emoji. The one with the tears coming out of its eyes. I’m not really laughing, but that comment was ridiculous.
Maggie: Devon would be the worst wingman ever.
Chase: I’m assuming Chelsea is out too.
Maggie: Yep. No help at all.
There’s also the issue that I’ve never said anything to them about it.
I take a breath and look in the mirror. I need to give myself a pep talk. I can be my own wingman. I will just walk myself over to Dawson, look him in the eye, and … what? What will I do? I’ll probably choke, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll walk up to him, look him in the eye, and say something about Chad. Because that’s what we do.
Chase: Your dad?
Maggie: And June?
Chase: Who’s June?
I send him off a text about June and how we think that there’s something going on between them and that she’s coming to the party.
Chase: That’s … wow.
Maggie: Yep
Chase: I don’t think my dad will ever date anyone.
Maggie: That’s what mine said.
Chase: My dad was pretty serious about it.
Maggie: So was min
e
Chase: I don’t like this conversation.
Maggie: I don’t like it either.
Chase: Back to the party. I’ve got nothing going on tonight. I’ll be your wingman.
I look down at my phone. Chase … my wingman? Is he saying he’d come to the party with me? I’d meet Chase … in person?
I have no idea how I feel about this. So many thoughts going through my head at once. I’m not so sure I want to meet him in person. I’ve never thought of this going beyond what it already is. I’ve never once pictured in my mind seeing Chase in real life. It was never on my radar.
I look around my bathroom, all the thoughts coming at me in rapid succession. Me … and Chase … meeting. Would that be a bad thing?
My phone beeps, and I look down at it.
Chase: I mean on the phone. I’m not inviting myself to your work party. I just meant I’ll be on hand to help.
My heart slows down when I see this. I hadn’t even realized it had picked up. I also feel a range of emotions. From relief to … something like disappointment, maybe? Like for a few seconds, I’d started to entertain the thought of having Chase at the party, meeting him in person. Seeing that smile of his in real life.
My phone beeps again.
Chase: Did I scare you off?
I stare at my phone, chewing on my bottom lip. I’m not scared … just contemplative. Okay, I was initially a little freaked out, I’ll admit. But now the thought has entered my head and feels like it’s on replay. Like a skipping record. Meeting Chase. Meeting Chase. Meeting Chase.
Do I want to see Chase for real? We haven’t even talked on the phone. I don’t even know what his voice sounds like. It seems like there are a lot of steps to take before meeting in person. But nowadays people meet online all the time. On some sites you meet someone in the morning and are hooking up by the evening. I’ve never been interested in anything like that. That’s also not what Chase and I have. We have more than that. A shared bond.
I look at myself in the mirror. Taking in my green eyes and my brown hair in big wavy curls over my shoulders. I can see my chest rising and falling in my reflection.
I nod at myself in the mirror. And then pick up my phone.
Maggie: Do you have a suit?
Chase: ??
Maggie: You know, a suit. Like one you’d wear to church.
Chase: I know what a suit is. Yes, I have a few of those.
Maggie: Want to put one on and meet me at a party?
I watch as the three dots appear and then disappear and then appear again. Was this a dumb idea? I feel like I may have acted on an impulse and now I’m second-guessing myself. I threw it out there without thinking that Chase might have the same thoughts I was having. Maybe he never wanted to meet me in person.
After a few eternal seconds and the persistent thought that I should figure out a way to take it back, to rewind my words, my phone beeps.
Chase: Do I get to sit in the Lambo?
I laugh. One of those nervous ones. Breathy and not all that joyful sounding. I text back.
Maggie: Of course
I watch as the three dots do their thing again. On and off. On and off.
Chase: I’m in. Send me the address.
Before I can take it back, before my mind convinces me I should do otherwise, I send him a text with the address to the shop and then I let out a squeal. It’s a nervous one, and I feel almost like I’ve dived out of a plane as I realize what I’ve just done.
My phone beeps and I look down at it.
Chase: Does this seem as weird to you as it does to me?
Maggie: Super weird.
Chase: Glad we’re on the same page.
Maggie: I mean, don’t come unless you want to.
I throw that out there for him—a lifeline. It gives him an excuse. He’s got a good one. He’s still in the heaviest part of the grieving process. He could easily say that, on second thought, he’s not sure he’s up for it, and I would fully understand. It’s a good excuse.
Chase: Are you trying to uninvite me?
Maggie: No! I just don’t want you to feel obligated or something.
Chase: I’m up for it. I’m an excellent wingman, by the way.
I expel a big breath, slowly, through my lips.
Maggie: See you at 7.
I look in the mirror again, my eyes wide this time. I then set down my phone, pick up my blow dryer, put the setting on cool, and use it to dry my armpits.
Chapter 15
I’m a bundle of nerves. Jittery, like I just drank a bunch of caffeine.
I’m currently trying to tape a sign to the shop front door that says: “Restrooms Inside.” But my fingers are fumbling, and the tape keeps getting stuck together before I can apply it. I’ve said a lot of cusswords under my breath.
Behind me, the catering company is moving around the tent getting everything into place, like busy worker bees. The DJ is setting up to the left, a wood dance floor laid out in front of him, taking over that entire corner of the tent.
There are high-top tables by the bar, and larger lower tables covered with tablecloths surrounded by chairs in matching fabric covers. Twinkle lights hang from the top of the tent, giving the space an ethereal feeling.
Chelsea is back to being Chelsea. No more freaking out, just calm and cool and making everything happen. She’s in her element now, directing everyone in her pale-pink dress with a tulle skirt and beaded bodice. Gone is the Chelsea from yesterday with the red eyes and the look of panic on her face. It’s amazing what a night of sleep can do.
I take in a breath after finally taping the sign to the door. So much anxiety moving through me right now. I also feel a bit first-day-of-school uncomfortable, like there’s so much to anticipate, so many unknowns, and did I even pick the right outfit? I look down at my black cocktail dress. It’s strapless and fitted, landing just above my knees. I have a jacket to put over it if I get cold, since we’re still in the season when it’s not over one hundred degrees for twenty-four hours of the day. According to the forecast, it could get down to the low sixties tonight, which is cold for Arizonans. Chelsea has placed tall patio heaters around the tent, just in case.
I don’t think I’ll need the jacket, with my body reacting the way it is. All antsy, with sweaty palms and pits.
“I don’t have time for you to freak out,” Chelsea says as she walks up to me where I'm still standing by the door I was assigned to put a sign on. Chelsea looks at the sign, eyeing it from different angles. She ends up taking it off and then putting it back on how she wants it. This is the story of my life. I’m surprised she didn’t redo the spots I marked for the cars on display tonight. She may have while I wasn’t here. I wouldn’t know; I’m not as meticulous as she is.
“I’m not freaking out,” I say, reaching up and running my fingers over the k pendant hanging from the chain around my neck.
“You look like you are,” she says. She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let June overwhelm you.”
I wrinkle my nose. I’d completely forgotten June was going to be here. Inviting Chase and him agreeing to come superseded anything else I was worried about tonight. I don’t want to tell her any of this, though. It’s too long of a conversation, and Chelsea would probably worry that somehow Chase would ruin her perfectly put together party. She probably won’t even notice he’s here once everything gets started. That’s why I texted him back and told him to come at seven thirty—so he’d show up a little after everything was in swing. That way his arrival will be more inconspicuous.
“You’re right,” I say, blaming June. Poor June. I’ve used her twice now. She doesn’t deserve this.
“Remember, we aren’t supposed to know that she’s here as anything but a friend to Dad.”
“I know,” I say.
“Just pretend,” Chelsea says, stepping back and looking me over, taking in my outfit. She reaches up and moves some of my hair around. Then she gives me a nod of approval and walks away.
Pretending is actually good life advice for me right now. I’m going to pretend that I invited my long-lost friend Chase out tonight, and not a stranger I met because he has my mom’s phone number.
Forty-five minutes later, the party is just getting started. A lot of people are here—all of the Cooper’s employees and many of our clients. I’ve been walking around talking to some of our regulars. One of my favorite clients, Andy Lawrence, is here with his wife, Nicki. She looks stunning in a plum-colored dress, her red hair half–pulled back. They are couple goals as I watch the way he looks at her while we’re talking. Like she’s the only person in the room. The only person his eyes want to see.
No one is dancing yet—the music is more background at this point. I suspect it will take more drinking to get people onto the dance floor. I’ll definitely need some liquid courage myself. I worry that some of our employees might get a little carried away tonight. Okay, it’s Chad. I’m mostly worried about Chad. I’ve already told Devon he has to keep an eye on him.
Dawson approached me when he first got here, telling me how pretty I looked tonight. I told him he looked pretty too. Those were my actual words: “You look pretty too, Dawson.” It wasn’t a lie. He’s more than pretty in his charcoal-gray suit. He’s straight off a modeling runway, with that light-blue shirt underneath the jacket, making his crystal-blue eyes pop. The collar is unbuttoned and no tie. It’s sexy, is what it is.
There are so many adjectives I could have used. Handsome, gorgeous … I could have kicked off this night of flirting I’d planned with the word attractive, even. Instead, I said pretty. Then I asked him something about Chad.
Yes. I sure did. I’m so predictable.
I blame Chase. His coming tonight has upped my anxiety game by a million. What was I thinking when I asked him? What’s done is done. I should probably stay away from Dawson until Chase gets here. Until I’ve gotten my nerves in order. If that’s possible.
I work my way around the party, saying hello to everyone. I see my dad and June standing by the bar, so I walk over to them. Might as well get this over with.
“Hi, Dad,” I say as I approach.
“Magpie,” he says, extra brightly. He gives me a hug and kisses me on the cheek. Then he holds on to my hands and takes a step back so we’re at arm’s length. “Well, don’t you look fantastic tonight.”