“Happy holidays, honey.”
It warms my heart to hear his voice. “Happy holidays! Is everything okay?”
“Well, that’s what I was calling to ask you, Maddie. I just got off the phone with a recruiter. She was confirming that she could use my recommendation letter for you. Don’t tell me you’re leaving Declan already.”
I clear my throat and try to sound as chipper as possible. “Just needed something new for the New Year,” I say totally unconvincingly.
He sighs. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll support you, no matter what.” We’re both silent for a long beat before he continues. “I just wanted to tell you something. Something that I had forgotten until recently. Since you won’t be working for him anymore…”
I blow out a laugh. “You finally going to warn me about Declan Cannavale’s moods? You’re a little late.”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about that,” he says jovially. “You remember that time I had lunch with him? When you were still working for me, and he was still at the law firm? He’d asked me to consult on something, and I forgot to bring some papers with me. You swung by the restaurant to drop them off.”
“I do remember that.” That was back when Declan and I used to chat on the phone whenever he’d call for Artie, and I thought it was odd that he’d started making those calls himself.
“I met you outside, but I guess Declan could see you from inside the restaurant. He was always telling me over the phone that I was lucky to have an assistant who was so on the ball. But when I went back inside and sat down, he told me to let him know as soon as I was planning to retire because he wanted to hire you. This would have been a year before you ended up working for him.”
“Oh” is all I can say as I stroke the petals of an orchid bloom and stare at the empty desk through the glass wall opposite me.
“I think he was living with someone back then. But he seemed a little distracted for the rest of lunch. I think he’s had a thing for you for quite some time.”
I snort-laugh at that. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I don’t know the story, but speaking as a former boss who had a crush on his assistant…”
I cringe for a terrible second.
“Not you, honey—my wife! Did I not tell you that she was my assistant before we married? Things were a little less complicated back then, of course. But it’s never easy to navigate that kind of situation. I’m not saying you should keep working for him. Maybe it’s best if you don’t. It’s none of my business, but you’ve always been like a daughter to me. I’m just saying, in case things got complicated between the two of you… Maybe see what it’s like when you aren’t working together. After all those other boyfriends I’ve seen you with over the years—you deserve a guy like him.”
“Wow. He seems to have developed himself quite a fanbase outside of his former assistants.”
“I’m saying this because I’m a fan of you, Maddie. I know we lawyers aren’t the easiest people to work with or live with. But some people are better suited to working and living with us than others.” He chuckles. I always loved it when he’d chuckle like that. Like Santa Claus. “Like it or not, you’re one of the people who can actually handle us. Doesn’t mean you have to deal with a lawyer personally and professionally. But if you are looking for something new for next year, maybe you and Declan can both start over with a clean slate… Said my piece. And as I told the recruiter, I’ll sing your praises to whoever will listen.”
I thank Artie, tell him to say “hi” to the missus for me, and hang up. When I look at the texts that Declan had sent earlier, I try re-reading them with a slightly less cynical perspective. And all of a sudden, I can fill in the blanks and rearrange all of the sentences that matter: I love you. I miss you already. Please give me another chance. I’ll do anything. Please don’t be mad at me. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I fucked up. I wish you were here. I need you.
I have no idea what the nail polish emoji was all about, but I think I know what Declan Cannavale is all about now.
And I never fell like thish around anyone before either.
I hope we haven’t ducked things up completely.
Thirty-Five
Piper
THE BUTTSMACKER
December 30th
Dear Diary,
Today Mom, Aunt Maddie and I basically acted out the climax of every romantic comedy I have ever seen, and one that I plan to write one day when my parents finally give me the screenwriting software I’ve been asking for since I was twelve.
Let’s just say that if there is such a thing as romantic karma, then my boobs are going to get really big, and my first boyfriend will have the best butt in school (although not necessarily my school because my New Year’s resolution is to expand my horizons and also crush on boys from other schools).
Anyway. Aunt Maddie wasn’t sure if she should go to Cleveland to be with Declan since he wasn’t answering his phone and hadn’t responded to her text messages. Mom and I were like—OMG you have to go! How can you not go?! You have to go to him and tell him you love him and HEA with him because #Maclan! Like what is she even thinking? He has the best butt in all the land. Well, I mean it’s tied with his brother Eddie’s although I’ve never seen his IRL. They may use a stunt butt on the show IDK.
So Dad watched the baby and Mom and I drove over to Maddie’s. While my mom was still driving around trying to find parking and my aunt was busy finding a flight, I packed a suitcase for her. I packed up all the outfits that I would wear for Declan if I could. She’ll thank me later. Or more like Declan will!
She got a ticket for a flight that was leaving in two and a half hours, so we had to book it!
We rushed to the airport and Mom’s driving wasn’t nearly as slow and annoying as usual since the baby wasn’t in the car with us. Aunt Maddie was more nervous than I’ve ever seen her, so Mom gave her a tiny bottle of something called Bailey’s that she said her Aunt Mel put in her purse “to help get her through the holidays.” And then she put on that Cranberries song “Dreams,” and we all sang it at the top of our lungs.
When we pulled up to drop Maddie off, my mom said the best thing she’s ever said, and I’m so proud of her.
She said: “I know I’m the older sister, but you’ve always been the big sis in this family. You’re always the one to help get everyone else’s shit together, including mine. Declan might be drunk off his ass right now, and he might need you, but probably not in the way that it seemed when you were his assistant. No guy would show up at a family dinner on Staten Island unless he needed the woman he was showing up for in his life all the time. But some guys need a big old smack on the butt to get them to realize it’s time for them to man up. Now it’s time for you to let that man know you’re his woman. Smack that butt, girl. And bring that butt home for all of us because OMG it’s perfect.”
Okay, I may have rewritten your little monologue a tiny bit, but that was basically what you said. That’s right, Mom. I know you read my diary and I don’t mind you knowing this: it was really cool that you said that. It was super exciting to be a part of #Maclan’s HEA and it was basically the most fun we’ve had together all year. I guess I’ve missed hanging out with you.
Hopefully Aunt Maddie will get there in time for the rehearsal dinner.
But seriously—you have to stop reading my diary.
Thirty-Six
Declan
TRY HARD. TRY HARDER. TRY HARD WITH A VENGEANCE.
Everything is terrible, and I’m an idiot.
When I wake up, I am fully dressed in the bathtub of my hotel suite.
That’s the good news—that I wake up and that I’m in my hotel suite in Cleveland.
The other news is I’m wearing Nolan’s clothes, which are a couple of sizes too big for me, and a bachelorette party novelty trucker hat. I carefully remove it from my head and see that it says Shot Queen. Which makes sense. My brain has been replaced with a pulsating le
ad boulder, I’m pretty sure I got run over by an SUV at some point, and it feels like somebody put a cigar out on my tongue. Ghosts are trying to pull my hair follicles out one by one, and I think I see those twin girls from The Shining over by the toilet.
My Irish ancestors clearly hate me.
Everything hurts, including my heart, and the first thought that emerges from the quicksand of my mind is, “Maddie. I have to call Maddie.”
The desire to see Maddie and hear her voice again is the only thing stronger than my desire to sleep for another week or two. As long as she doesn’t yell at me. And as long as I don’t have to keep my eyelids open for more than a second at a time. Or lift my head up.
I promise myself that if I am, in fact, alive—and I’m not entirely sure that I am yet—that I will live each day of the rest of my god-forsaken life doing whatever it takes to make things up to Maddie.
I will be the best man that anyone could be for her.
Or I will try to be the best man that I can be for her, anyway.
I will try really hard.
As soon as the nausea passes.
I feel around for my phone and find it in one of the pockets of Nolan’s leather jacket, along with a bunch of condom packets and paper napkins with women’s names and numbers on them. I am confident that Nolan was the one who was wearing this jacket and collecting phone numbers for most of the night, and I want to murder him because he must have had my phone on him for most of last night too.
At least I hope it was last night that we went out. It had better still be December 30th.
My phone is dead, of course. So I crawl out of the bathtub in search of my charger and the nearest outlet that is as close to the ground as possible. Because I will be staying as close to the ground as possible for as long as possible.
The clock by the bed tells me it’s 2:47 pm, but it doesn’t tell me what day it is because it’s an asshole.
Nolan is passed out on the floor right beside the bed, with a hat that says Designated Drunk. Surprisingly, he is not wearing my clothes. He is wearing my cousin Billy’s clothes. Billy is sprawled out on the bed. It looks like he had fallen asleep while he was in the middle of either putting my clothes on or taking them off. His trucker hat says Dancing Diva, and to my understated delight, someone has drawn a penis on his forehead in black ink. I hope it was me.
I pull the hotel phone down off the desk, randomly press a button, and ask whoever answers to send all the coffee to my room immediately. I also ask them to call Maddie for me, but they don’t know her number, and neither do I. I ask them to call my ma, and they fail me again. That’s why I have to rip the phone cord from the wall and close my eyes for just a few minutes.
When I open my eyes again, the clock says 4:01 pm. We’re supposed to be at the church for the rehearsal at five. That is, if it’s still today.
I reach for a nearby shoe and hurl it at Nolan. It hits him in the face, but he doesn’t even twitch. I find another shoe, toss it in Billy’s general direction. It hits the wall and drops onto his head. He sniffles, mumbles “nuh-uh,” and covers his head with a pillow.
My phone has been charged and hallefuckinglujah, it’s still December 30th. And there are a couple of texts from Maddie. One from last night, and one from this morning.
MADDIE: Good evening, sunshine. I got your messages earlier. Just wanted to let you know that. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and I wanted you to know that too. There’s a lot that I want you to know. It’s not the kind of thing I want to say in a text, though. At least not when I’m sober. So if you still want me to come to Cleveland, let me know. I know you’re busy with your family, so I won’t get a ticket until I hear from you. I hope you ate something. I hope your heart still goes on.
MADDIE: Morning, sunshine. I know you’re busy. I just wanted you to know that I’m still here. Still in New York, I mean. But I’m still here for you too. Which is probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said out loud, but there are a lot of cheesy things I want to say to you. Let me know if you want me to come say them in person. And don’t forget to hydrate.
Oh, Maddie Cooper. I will eat. I will hydrate. I will say all the cheesy things out loud to you, but not until I let you say whatever you need to say to me and listen closely and never forget a word.
There are a couple of missed call notifications from her too, but no voice mails. I call her back, but it goes straight to voice mail. I start to leave a message, but a shoe hits me in the head, and both of my cousins are suddenly awake and yelling at me to get ready to go like they’ve been waiting for me to wake up for hours. Assholes.
I text Maddie two words: Yes. Come. And then I get ready to go.
I wasn’t able to spend much time looking at myself in the mirror, but I feel like I look like that alien from the Sigourney Weaver movie. If anyone cuts me, my acid blood will burn through the floor. I don’t remember ever eating anything last night, but I also don’t want to eat or smell any food for a few more days. Or hear music or move or talk to people. Which is unfortunate because now we’re at the rehearsal dinner in a private dining room at a supper club by the river, and I am surrounded by food and music and talking people. Some of them are children. Loud children. The loudest children in the world. I know that I usually love all of these people a lot, but they all need to shut up and sit still and leave me alone so I can curl up under this table and cry while I wait to hear back from Maddie.
I stare at the empty chair at this table, pouting like a big fucking baby. I’ve called her six times, and it keeps going straight to voice mail. She hasn’t replied to any of my texts. She may well be mad at me for not getting back to her sooner. I have no idea. I saw the texts that I had sent her last night. I was a fucking idiot. I’m lucky she was even willing to come to Cleveland after she read that mess. I suppose I should be grateful to Nolan for taking my phone away from me when he did.
Granny and Grandad O’Sullivan are sitting next to me. Granny’s wearing one of those wrap dresses, and it reminds me of the one Maddie was wearing that night at the hotel in Youngstown. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong that I’m thinking about all the things Maddie and I did to each other that night while my granny is telling me about my grandad’s foot problems. At the same time that she’s talking, Grandad is telling me about the shenanigans at his bachelor party sixty-some years ago. Or rather, the stag night. Or rather, your basic night out for a bunch of Irish guys. He’s told me the story ten times, so I know exactly what to say, even though I’m picturing Maddie naked right now.
“Did you get to the church on time, Grandad?” I ask when he pauses to take a breath.
“Aye. I got me to the church on time! Banjaxed, still totally langers, and I made a right bags of the wedding! Didn’t I, dear wife?”
“Ohhhh, didn’t you, dear husband? Made a right bags of every day of our life together since.” She waves him off while simultaneously making eyes at him as he grabs her knee under the table.
“Shall I try to do better, then?” My Grandad nudges her, grinning.
“I’d like to see you try, old man. I’d like to see you try.”
So, I’m not the first and I won’t be the last lad in this family to screw up and then beg forgiveness from his lady love. I’m not even half as charming as my grandad—I can only hope that Maddie is twice as forgiving as my granny is.
I look across the table and see that the skin on Billy Boston’s forehead is pink and raw from when he was vigorously rubbing off the penis earlier. That sounds all kinds of wrong, but absolutely nothing is right today. Like for instance, Eddie looks like he spent yesterday at the spa with the ladies instead of drinking with us—but he was definitely drinking with us. Fucking twentysomething asshole.
Actually, something is right. Brady is over there staring at Hannah like she’s the queen of the universe, and even I feel a little more alive seeing the two of them together. He looks tired but happy.
According to the fifty or so new picture
s I found on my phone, he spent most of the night with a big dopey grin on his face and a “pecker veil” on his head. It looks like I spent a lot of time at the brewery having a deep discussion with a waitress. According to her nametag, her name was Bernice, and according to her white hair and wrinkles, she must have been about a hundred and twenty. I’m sure she told me some really wise things about love and life, but I have forgotten all of it. It looks like I was very happy while playing the slot machines at the casino and then got very sad and angry at the craps table.
Apparently I got my aggressions out by playing the drums on stage at some music venue around town. There is also a picture of me in the drive-thru window of a Rally’s, having what looks to be a very serious conversation with a guy in a truck. I was probably giving him legal advice or something. Guess I’ll never know.
One thing’s for certain—despite everything, I’m glad I came. It may not be thanks to me that Brady survived the night, but he survived it. I’m here for him. We’re all here for him and Hannah. People have been getting up to toast them ever since dessert was served, and Eddie is wrapping up his adorable speech, so it’s probably time for me to get up on the little stage and say something too.
I take another big gulp of coffee, another big gulp of water, slowly stand up, and saunter over to the stage, clapping for Eddie and for Brady and Hannah. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m going to say, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I’ll just sing the Chumbawamba song and then drop the mic. Or maybe I’ll actually say what I’m feeling when I’m feeling it instead of playing verbal chess for once in my adult life.
I pick up the microphone, and as soon as I lock eyes with Brady, I have a flashback to last night.
A VERY BOSSY CHRISTMAS Page 19