“Ben?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“I actually need a date to my sister’s wedding,” I say, cracking my knuckles under the table nervously. “And, I was wondering if—if you’re not busy on the twenty-second—if you would want to go?”
Without hesitation Ben says, “That would be great! It’s been so long since I’ve been to a wedding.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling like I must be dreaming.
“Yeah, Mia, I’d really like that.”
* * *
After dinner, Ben walks me to my car. I take him in, dressed in his usual jeans and button-down. He has on a gray bomber jacket that matches the silver moon. We don’t kiss good-bye; I just tell him that I’ll give him more wedding info in school. Alone inside my car, I feel excited about the idea of us being in school and talking about something other than math team. He’s more than just my captain; he’s my date!
My cloud-nine feeling dwindles only a little when I check my phone and see a total of eleven missed calls from Mom, with six voice mails, and eight texts from Dad in our family group chat. I am surprised that Sam hasn’t reached out. She’s probably been rushing around, though I can imagine her stepping into the kitchen with Mom every five seconds to see if I replied. I know they’ll be mad at first, but Sam should stick up for me when I tell her I was able to find a date to her wedding.
I text our group chat that I’m on my way home and peel out of the diner parking lot with urgency. I figure I shouldn’t prolong my reckoning. The best way to deal with it is like a Band-Aid, tear off the comfort of tonight for the ugly scab that is what I left behind at home.
When my phone starts ringing, my inclination is to ignore it, but when I glance down, I see Grace’s name.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Your mom called to ask where you were.”
“And?”
“I told her you were here, but she asked to speak to you and I said you were in the bathroom, but then she said she’d wait for you to get out.”
“Crap,” I say. “Thanks for trying at least.”
“Where are you anyways?” I hear the sound of her bed creaking. I can imagine her rolling onto her back and lying upside down.
“I just left November Always. I’m headed home.”
“Why were you at the diner?” she asks. Her voice sounds like it’s coming through her teeth. She’s probably chewing on a Twizzler.
“I had a date with someone.”
Nothing.
“Hello?”
“You had a date?” she asks, her bed creaking, probably as she rolls back onto her stomach.
“I did,” I say. “And whoever it was stood me up, and then Ben Vasquez appeared, and it turned into a DATE WITH BEN VASQUEZ!” I say, feeling my heart race as I relive the moment when Ben took off his jacket and decided to stay for dinner with me.
“What! WHAT! Oh my gosh! MIA. This is—I can’t. Wait, who was the date originally with?” she asks as I pull up near my house. I have to park in front of the neighbor’s house because there are a few guests parked outside mine.
“I can tell you about it in study hall. It’s a long story,” I say, turning off my car and leaning across the passenger seat to peer over at my house.
“A name isn’t a long story.”
“Darth Vader,” I say, sorry that the lights are still on in the living room.
“What?”
“I have to go. Thanks for trying to cover for me; I appreciate it,” I say, spotting Sam’s shadow moving around in her room.
“Okay, I expect a ten-page written report on this date,” she says, laughing a little.
“In your dreams,” I say, mainly because there’s a chance Mom or Dad might kill me and I won’t even make it to study hall.
I listen to the sound of the dead grass crunching under my feet as I cross the lawn, and I pause at the front door to look back at the moon. It’s the same moon that was in the sky when Ben agreed to go to my sister’s wedding with me. The same moon that was outside when I fell off the roof thinking I was finally taking control of the meet-cute project and meeting Darth Vader. Hopefully, by the time that moon gives way to the sun, everything I’m dreading will have ended too.
I twist the knob on the front door as slowly as I can, trying not to let the metal of the latch and doorjamb scrape together. I slide the door open, tiptoe into the house, and close the door as slowly and gently as I can behind me. When I turn around and don’t see anyone waiting in the kitchen doorway or standing at the edge of the den, a glimmer of hope enters my heart. As nice as it would be to tiptoe up to my room, I know that it’s nearly impossible and it might make things even worse if I come home and avoid the bridal shower altogether.
After taking a few deep breaths, I cross the entryway and head toward the kitchen. Mom and my Aunt Frances are standing at the kitchen island over a half-eaten cake.
“Mia, my darling,” Aunt Frances sings when she notices me in the doorway. She crosses the room like she’s floating on air, and closes the space between us with a bear hug.
“Hello, Auntie,” I say, my face squished against her chest.
She stands back and holds me at arm’s length. “Tsk, tsk, darling. You missed a party.”
She stares into my eyes, and I can see in her pupils that she can see right through me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “How was it? Where is Sam?”
“Sam went upstairs a while ago, after she handed out the gift bags,” Mom says, reminding me of her presence.
“And I’m on my way out,” says Aunt Frances. “I think your father was just showing your uncle James his fish.”
Aunt Frances gives me one more smile and a kiss on the forehead before moving past me toward the den. I listen as she finds my dad and uncle James. When I hear a few other voices, I realize my dad must have taken it upon himself to entertain after Sam went upstairs while Mom started cleaning.
I start gathering paper plates from the dining room and bring them to the trash can in the kitchen. It isn’t until I hear Dad say good-bye and the front door closes that the air settles in the house and leaves me alone with my parents and the unavoidable truth.
“Where were you?” Mom asks when Dad joins us in the kitchen.
“At the November Always diner. I went out to dinner,” I say.
“Why? When? I didn’t even see you on your way out,” Mom says.
“I left around six,” I say, resisting the urge to sit down. I know that any sign of me relaxing when I’m supposed to be in trouble might upset her.
“I don’t understand. Why would you go out to dinner when your sister’s bridal shower was tonight?” she asks.
“I had something I had to do,” I say, biting my lip.
“At a diner?” Dad asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Tell them what you were doing,” Sam says, startling me from the kitchen doorway. She has on her robe and slippers, and she looks like a cloud with its arms crossed. I can tell she re-oiled her hair, because it glistens under the lights. She takes a few steps into the kitchen and leans against the counter.
“I was having dinner at a diner,” I say, wishing she would just go home.
“With who?” Sam snaps.
“What do you mean, with who?”
“I mean exactly what I asked. Who did you have dinner with? Because I have my guesses.”
“What?” Mom asks, looking between us.
“With a friend,” I say, glaring at Sam.
“What’s his name,” she asks.
“You went out with a boy?” Dad asks. “You snuck out to meet up with a boy? Without asking?”
“I had a date! Is that so hard to believe?”
“What boy, Mia!” Sam raises her voice.
“A friend of mine that you don’t know,” I say, trying to keep my composure.
“It’s a friend that you don’t know either, isn’t it?”
“I was trying to find a date to your wedding, Sam, like you asked
me to.”
“I didn’t ask you to lie to Mom and Dad and go to a party and meet some random guy you don’t even know,” she says, her voice strangely calm.
A weird feeling settles over me. She doesn’t have her usual fire, the way she sometimes enters conversations, ready to argue. Instead, I see something else in her eyes. Sadness. Disappointment, maybe.
“Mia?” Dad asks, pulling my attention back to him and Mom.
“We didn’t go to Halloween dinner this year,” I say, hoping Sam won’t blow the rest of my lie. “We went to a party, and I met someone and we were supposed to go on a date tonight. It was before Sam’s bridal shower started, and it was only supposed to overlap a little. I miscalculated, okay? And, I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you just tell us?” Mom asks. “I mean, you can talk to us. We wouldn’t have said you couldn’t go—”
“Seriously?” Sam laughs incredulously. “You would’ve still let her go? On the night of my bridal shower?”
“Well, maybe if we let her go, we could’ve set boundaries. We could’ve said, Be back by this time or you can’t go,” Mom explains.
“Yeah, or you could’ve said, No. Tonight is about your sister. Reschedule the date with a complete stranger,” Sam quips.
When her voice breaks, both of my parents’ heads snap to her.
“Honey,” Dad says, moving toward her.
“Don’t come near me,” she whispers, wiping tears away before they can fall. “If this were me, I’d be grounded for a month or something. But with her you guys barely do anything. It’s, Oh, Mia, don’t do that again or Oh, Peach, be your own person. Well, to hell with that.”
“Sam,” Mom gasps.
“No, Mom. It’s like after you both retired, you and Dad got lazy and you barely try with her. She gets away with anything. I mean, she snuck out tonight—”
“And we—her parents—will deal with it,” Dad says before turning to me and saying, “Go upstairs.”
“No,” Sam says. “You don’t just get to—”
“Sam,” Dad cuts her off, holding up his hand. She looks at him like she’s shocked he would silence her. “I think you should go home to Geoffrey.”
Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth as if to say something more, but then closes it.
Sam turns and leaves the room. I wait until I hear her door close quietly before grabbing my purse off the counter and following. The hurt on Sam’s face when she said I should’ve chosen her over the date fills my mind. Part of me thought I was doing her a favor, but at the same time there’s another part of me that knew it wasn’t completely true. I also wanted this for myself.
I can hear Sam on the other side of our wall shuffling around. I picture her angrily grabbing clothes out of her closet and snatching her toiletries off the dresser and throwing them into the overnight bag she’s been carting back and forth. The noise, thinking about tonight, feeling my guilt, begins to drive me crazy, so I go take a shower.
After clearing my head under the steady stream of water, I realize that the events of tonight still aren’t over when I can hear voices in my parents’ room.
“You can’t seriously let her get away with this,” I hear Sam hiss.
“She won’t get away with anything, but you don’t get to decide how these things are handled. You’re her sister, her equal when it comes to us. And sometimes it seems like you forget that,” Mom says sternly.
“She put herself in danger; she should be grounded. She should have rules and structure,” Sam presses.
“Why?” Mom cuts in, laughing, but it sounds fake, incredulous. “Mia is a great daughter, Sam. You know this too.”
“She’s acting out. She’s exhibiting all the signs of a child acting out.”
“By what, not helping you with your wedding? It wasn’t right for her to have missed your bridal shower, but this is the first instance when Mia’s done something like this,” Dad says, his voice surprising me. I didn’t think Sam would go back into this conversation with both of them.
“It’s not like her to just… to—to abandon me,” she says, her voice deflating.
“I’m sure she’s not abandoning you. If anything, you’re in a stage of your life when you’re leaving her,” Mom says, her voice gentle. “But I don’t think anyone is abandoning anybody, if I’m being honest.”
“Of course you would say that. Of course neither of you would see that something is wrong,” Sam says, the edge coming back to her tone.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad asks.
“That she runs around doing whatever she wants. You barely pay any attention to her, which isn’t how I remember you guys to be. You woke me up in the morning, made me eat breakfast, took me to school, checked my homework, made sure I cleaned my uniform for field hockey, made sure I returned my books to the library. And with her? She just goes out. She snuck out tonight! On your watch!”
“Sam, that’s not fair—” Mom starts to say.
“I read parenting blogs so that I can do what—for some reason—you guys no longer do. For her! So that she can be better, so that she can stand on her own two feet and not be left to fall flat.”
“That’s enough,” Dad says calmly, but sternly. I feel on edge for Sam. I wonder how she’s feeling right now, if she’s mad or—more likely—if her confidence is waning. I wonder if she feels like a sixteen-year-old again.
“You will not disrespect us in our own house,” Dad continues. “You will not tell us that we are failing as parents, especially considering all the work and effort and love that we have put in to see you this far. You and Mia aren’t the same person. I can’t even believe—” He stops himself. The air stills again, and for a moment I’m unable to picture them standing or sitting in my parents’ room, all facing each other. Without the sound, the tension, it’s hard to ground anything. But then Dad says, “I think that’s enough for tonight,” and when I hear the floor creak as someone turns to leave their room, I close the bathroom door.
When I hear Sam’s door close, I hurry up and tiptoe back to my room. I press my ear against the wall behind my bed, and I think I can hear her crying. When her feet pound past my door, I wait, and after the final sound of the front door slamming behind her—Mom’s Christmas bells jangling violently for a moment—I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Without her in the house, the air stills, the same way it did when we took Sam to college. I remember that on that first night, the quiet sounded quieter, the stillness felt stiller. In the absence of Sam, of her liveliness and her energy, there is a true emptiness that has become foreign to me over the past few months. It’s hard to fall asleep to the feeling.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Eventually Dad came to my room, and even though I pretended to be asleep, he could tell that I was awake. He didn’t ask me to sit up or anything, just said, “You’re grounded until I say otherwise.” He’s happy that I found a date, because he knows how much I don’t like Jasper, even though no one else talks about it. But he said there can’t be any more funny business. His words, not mine. He described Sam’s wedding as a tightly coiled thread that is starting to come undone from one end. Not the wedding itself, but things around the wedding. Like, one of Geoffrey’s cousins had a baby, and Sam forgot about the date they set to go meet her at the hospital. And Toby, the Davenports’ goldendoodle, had to have surgery because the vet found a tumor. And the senior Mr. Davenport has been bent out of shape about a great-aunt on the guest list. Dad says it’s all been adding pressure to Sam’s life, and now our family is beginning to feel a side effect of that pressure.
So I’m grounded as a precaution. No more “acting out,” as Sam called it. The parameters until he says otherwise are that I can go to school, I can go to math club and swim practice, and then I have to come home. I can volunteer on Fridays and swim weekend mornings at the community pool. I can help Sam with the wedding if I should suddenly choose to do so, but other than that I am confined to the house.
<
br /> Which will make it really hard, arguably impossible, to spend time with Ben. I try to sort my thoughts and explain everything on Monday in study hall.
“I think there’s still a way to make this work,” Abby says, twirling a piece of hair around her mechanical pencil.
“I’m still stuck on who Darth Vader is. Like, maybe I can ask Nandy if she knew of anyone coming to her party who was going to dress like him. I mean, there are plenty of people we know who like Star Wars, but I’m pretty sure the only people I can think of were dressed as something else at the party.” Sloane taps her mechanical pencil against her brow, the wheels turning in her brain.
“At this point I don’t even care about Darth Vader anymore,” I say, leaning forward and resting my head on my forearms. “Ben and I need to be spending more time together, not less. Especially if there’s any hope of us talking about topics outside of math team and the wedding.”
“I still can’t believe you did all this without telling any of us,” Grace cuts in.
“It just happened,” I tell her, dropping my pencil into the center of my open calculus textbook.
“It did not ‘just’ happen,” she says, laughing a little incredulously. “You met this guy last week! You’ve been talking to him and planning a date and hid it from us, and I want to know why.”
Neither Sloane nor Abby jumps to my defense. Instead they wait for an answer.
“I didn’t tell you guys because I wanted to try to do this on my own. What we had been doing before wasn’t working—”
“What we had been doing?” Grace asks, raising her eyebrows. “You mean we,” she corrects, gesturing to herself, Sloane, and Abby. “We have been trying our best to help you, and in return you cut us out of the plan that we came up with together and put yourself in possible danger—Like, I’m really mad because you could’ve gotten hurt.”
“Grace, come on—”
“No, don’t ‘come on,’ ” she hisses. “You don’t know this guy; none of us know this guy.”
The Meet-Cute Project Page 17