by Noir, Roxie
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly. I flex my fingers experimentally, to see if it’s a fluke and the ring is actually going to fly off so it can be eaten by a magpie, but it stays on.
It stays on and… I like it. It looks good on my hand — not too big, not gaudy, not small. Just right, even with my calloused fingers, lightly scarred knuckles and short nails.
Daniel’s still got his hand under mine, and he runs his thumb up my ring finger, over the ring, along the back of my hand, and sparks scurry up my arm.
Then I swallow hard and look up at him.
“We should go back in,” I say. “I don’t want to make them wait for us.”
* * *
Daniel opens the door for me, his hand lightly touching my back.
“Congratulations!” several people shout at once, all out of sync.
Then a kazoo blows.
I start laughing.
There’s a banner. Seth and Levi are waving little flags. Eli and Violet are wearing party hats, and Caleb is cranking a noise maker next to Rusty, who’s playing the kazoo. Clara’s just standing there, beaming in the middle of it all.
Then I look back at Daniel and see the look on his face, and it tells me that even though he was just in here, they’ve somehow managed to surprise him as well.
I laugh harder. I can’t help it. This is ridiculous, and also, there’s a kazoo. And flags. I don’t know why they’re waving flags, but it’s hilarious.
“Thank you,” Daniel manages to say after a moment, sounding somewhat bewildered. “Thank you for this. Were you hiding it somewhere?”
“It doesn’t take too long to pin up a banner,” Violet volunteers, straightening her hat. “Besides, we thought we ought to do something special for your surprise engagement announcement.”
I try to make myself stop laughing, and snort quietly instead.
“It’s beautiful,” I finally say.
“We won’t even make you pick a best man right now,” says Eli, a smirk hovering around his mouth. “We’ll let you wait until after dinner.”
“I should set up some kind of competition,” Daniel says, deadpan. “Make you guys fight for the honor.”
All four other brothers look at each other, like they’re considering who’d win.
“Certainly not,” says Clara. “I’ve had enough of you fighting to last me three lifetimes. Daniel will choose his best man however he likes and there will be a minimum of complaining from the rest of you.”
“It’s just work, you know,” Seth chimes in. “You have to plan a bachelor party, help with the wedding, keep track of the rings.”
“So you don’t want it?” Caleb asks.
“I’d plan a great bachelor party,” Seth says, grinning.
“No,” says Daniel, glancing quickly at Rusty.
She’s frowning slightly, hanging onto every single word that comes out of Seth’s mouth.
“We’d go out, get steak, have a good time,” Seth goes on, leaning forward, a grin on his face that means he’s needling Daniel. “We could even stay up past midnight.”
“That’s crazy,” says Daniel.
“You could have two drinks,” adds in Eli. “Maybe three!”
“Wow,” deadpans Daniel.
“You’re gonna have fun, whether you like it or not,” finishes Seth.
“Mandatory fun, the best kind!” says Caleb, grinning.
They keep harassing Daniel about his bachelor party, and even though he’s acting annoyed, I can tell he’s secretly enjoying it. Besides, if this were one of them, he’d be right there alongside the others, dishing it out.
We sit. The boys keep talking. Clara tries to keep the peace, but she doesn’t try that hard. At one point, Daniel drapes his arm over my shoulders, and no one says a word about it. They act like it’s normal, expected, routine. I lean back into his warmth, laughing along with them.
And I think: It’s too bad they’re not really going to be my family.
Chapter Six
Daniel
Eli made spaghetti and meatballs, along with garlic bread, roasted brussels sprouts with goat cheese, and a salad with fennel, asparagus, sesame seeds, edamame, and some citrus fruit. I think it’s grapefruit, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were something crazy I’ve never even heard of before.
Whatever it is, it’s delicious.
“Have you given any thought to a fall wedding?” Violet is saying, taking some more salad with the tongs. A piece of asparagus falls onto the table, and she picks it up and pops it into her mouth. “It’s a beautiful time of year here and venues tend to be a little less booked, though of course whether or not the trees will be in full color is kind of a crapshoot.”
“We’re considering it,” Charlie says. It’s the most neutral answer possible. “We haven’t really had a chance to actually plan much yet.”
Violet licks some goat cheese off of one thumb.
“Right, sorry,” she says. “Force of habit to quiz brides-to-be about all the details.”
Until last year, Violet was an event coordinator at a high-end wedding venue outside town, so she knows weddings backwards, forwards, and upside down.
If we were actually getting married, she’d probably be very helpful.
Charlie just laughs lightly, winding spaghetti around her fork.
“Right, of course,” she says, and my eyes flick to the ring on her finger. It’s easily the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen Charlie wear.
To put it lightly, Charlie isn’t girly. I could count the number of times I’ve seen her in a dress on one hand — she looked nice, it was memorable — and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear jewelry.
She wears a lot of coveralls, mostly for work. She wears a lot of jeans and t-shirts, a lot of sneakers, a lot of cutoff shorts in the summer and men’s button-down shirts in the winter. When we were kids, we ran around the woods together, always getting dirty, covered in sticks and twigs and mud. I used to help her pick the leaves out of her wild hair.
But the ring looks good on Charlie, makes her hands look delicate without taking anything away from her.
I already feel bad that we’re going to have to give it back.
“Have you picked out a dress?” asks Seth.
Everyone looks at him.
“I can’t ask about wedding dresses?” he says, fork halfway to his mouth.
“You can ask about wedding dresses and we can be surprised that the question occurred to you,” Levi says.
“Don’t be sexist,” Seth says, laughing.
“Yesterday you referred to a necktie as a head noose,” I point out. “I’m a little surprised you know the word dress.”
“I had a brain fart and forgot what they were called,” he says. “You’re all jerks. Charlie, take me dress shopping. I’m an expert.”
“No!” I say, more forcefully than I mean to.
Great, now they’re all looking at me, but I can’t handle the thought of Seth being anywhere near Charlie while she’s in a state of undress, and isn’t that what dress shopping is? Getting naked repeatedly and then putting on dresses?
Charlie raises both eyebrows, making a so you’re going to try and tell me what do to face. I regret my outburst instantly, even as the thought of Charlie getting naked again and again to try on dresses is… a nice thought.
“You wanted to go with Betsy, right?” I ask, naming her older sister.
“It was a joke,” Seth says, eyeing me.
“I hadn’t given much thought to my dress shopping support team yet,” Charlie says, staying remarkably cool. “But I’ll probably take Betsy and my mom. And I assume it’ll be… a wedding dress?”
She clearly hasn’t thought about this, because why would she?
“That is typically what women get married in, yes,” Seth deadpans.
“You’re the expert,” Levi adds, and Seth just sighs.
“When you’re ready, I have spreadsheets and lists of everything,” Violet says, ignoring the boys. “I don�
��t want to overwhelm you, so just say the word. I can even walk you through them.”
“But there’s no rush, right?” Eli says, giving me a look. It’s a very annoying look, and I give it right back. “Enjoy your engagement. It’s such a special time in your life.”
Seth and Caleb both look at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Levi continues methodically winding spaghetti around his fork. I think Violet’s trying not to roll her eyes. Rusty’s picking the soft, butter-soaked part out of the middle of her garlic bread and eating it, totally ignoring the adults.
“Thank you, Eli,” I say, as sincerely as I possibly can. “It’s a lot to do, but we’re excited.”
Suddenly there’s warm denim beneath my palm.
Half a second later I realize I’ve got my hand on Charlie’s thigh, her muscles tense under my hand. I didn’t mean to. I swear my hand just moved of its own volition, but now it’s there, I can’t go back, and I definitely can’t pull it away and apologize in front of my entire family, half of whom think we’re really going to get married.
Instead, I just give her a quick squeeze. After a moment, she relaxes.
I keep my hand there.
The subject finally turns away from our not-actually-impending nuptials to some tree problem that Levi is having, and I stop listening for a moment, eating with my right hand while my left is still touching Charlie.
I’ve never touched her like this before, not in the almost twenty years we’ve been friends. Not this intentionally. Not for this long, or in this place, or with no other reason for touching her than just to touch her.
I’ve never touched her like we’re lovers.
For all that, it feels oddly right. My hand feels like it fits to her, like it’s supposed to be there, her warmth melding into my fingers.
After a moment, while one of my brothers is going on about something, she gives me a quick, questioning glance.
I give her a slight shrug, and she goes back to the conversation. After a while I pull my hand back, already missing her warmth.
* * *
After dinner, I try to help with the dishes, but Caleb chases me out of the kitchen, and I let him.
When I find Charlie, she’s in the front hall, hands in her pockets, looking at the wall, hung with pictures. I step up behind her, and she glances back, acknowledging me. Neither of us says anything.
The pictures are mostly my brothers and me. High school graduation photos, a few kids’ sports pictures, a few where we’re in boy scout uniforms. Levi, Seth, and Caleb all have their college graduation pictures up there, too, and there’s one of all five of us plus Rusty, who looks about four, taken at a waterfall.
Further up on the wall, just above eye level, are the pictures of my father. They’re older. Slightly faded, and Charlie’s head tilts up slightly as she looks at them.
There’s one of him in his police uniform, looking solemn in front of an American flag. One of him and my mom, somewhere sunny, in t-shirts and jeans, laughing. There’s their wedding photo, which is pure eighties — her dress has both a train and poofy sleeves, and Dad looks like he’s rocking a slight mullet — but they look so happy.
I never look at these pictures. I walk by them a couple times a day at least, but I never stop and look. Here’s one with all five of us and Dad, piled into the back of a pickup truck, grinning away.
I’m in that gangly, awkward phase in the photo. Caleb’s still a kid. Levi looks close to how he does now, so he must be sixteen, seventeen.
That can’t have been taken long before the accident, I think.
I put one hand one Charlie’s shoulder, and she puts her hand on top of it.
“I forget how much Eli and Seth look like him,” she says, still looking at the wall.
“They really do,” I murmur.
“Those two are the spitting image of their father,” my mom’s voice says behind us.
There’s a moment of silence.
“It’s a little eerie sometimes,” she admits. “Last year when Eli was staying here, I walked into the kitchen one night and nearly had a heart attack, because for a moment I thought your father was standing there, raiding the fridge. Had me believing in ghosts.”
I wonder what it means that I think the opposite. That every so often, I walk by these photos and wonder why Eli’s wearing a police uniform, only to remember the truth half a second later.
“Seth sounds exactly like him, too,” I say. “It really weirds me out sometimes. I’m always afraid he’s about to get the belt.”
My mom sighs.
“That only happened once,” she admonishes me. “He felt so bad about it afterward that he burned the thing and never laid a hand on any of you again.”
“What did you do?” Charlie asks.
We’re all quiet for another moment.
“Daniel,” my mom says pointedly.
“I sneaked into the school and put glue in all the classroom locks,” I say. “No one could open their doors. They had to cancel school that day.”
“Eight years old,” my mom says. “It’s a wonder I survived the five of you all the way to adulthood.”
“Sounds like more of a wonder that we survived,” I say, and my mom laughs.
“I had my moments,” she admits. “But now you’re all grown and I’m free to drink whiskey, travel the world, and spoil my granddaughter.”
She holds out one hand to Charlie.
“Can I see the ring?” she asks.
“Of course,” Charlie says, and starts to tug it off.
“No, no, keep it on, it’s yours,” my mom says, taking Charlie’s hand gently. “I wanted to see how it looked on you. Did Daniel tell you that my grandfather had it made for my grandmother?”
Charlie flicks me a glance.
“He did?” she asks.
“He sure did,” my mom says. “My granddad Lowell gave it to my grandmother when they got engaged in 1930. I don’t know where he got the stone, but he had it made by a jewelry maker in Richmond.”
She twists it slightly on Charlie’s finger, the garnet still fiery.
“He went all that way on horseback,” she goes on. “He owned a car, but it was apparently in the Sheriff’s possession at the time. Took him a week to get there, a week to get it made, and a week to get back. She wore it every single day for the rest of her life. After she died his father—" she nods at me, “proposed to me with it, and now it’s your turn. I always thought it might look nice on you.”
Charlie’s eyes go wide, and she glances at me again, past my mom’s head, bent slightly over the ring.
“Thank you,” she says softly, after a beat. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m just glad someone’s wearing it,” my mom says. “It wasn’t doing anybody any good sitting in my jewelry box for all those years. Welcome to the family, Charlie. Officially, anyway.”
She pulls Charlie in for a hug, and a moment later, I get one too. Then my mom reaches up and tousles my hair.
“I’m going to go see what’s going on in the kitchen,” she says. “Apparently there’s been some to-do about ice cream.”
With that, my mom leaves us alone together with the pictures and each other.
* * *
The to-do about ice cream is that Levi made some from the wild black raspberries he found growing along a creek, not far from his cabin. Eli tries to tell him that they’re just blackberries, not black raspberries, but he picked an argument with the wrong person because Levi shuts it down almost instantly.
My mom apologizes that she didn’t have time to make some pies, since this was on such short notice — she throws me a look when she says that and I ignore it — but promises that she’ll do celebratory baking soon.
There’s a final round of congratulations. I tell Rusty to go brush her teeth and put on pajamas while I walk Charlie to her car. Charlie waves as she steps outside, beaming, the ring on her left hand and her right weighed down with leftovers for lunch tomorrow.
And the
n, suddenly, it’s quiet. The house isn’t exactly in the middle of nowhere, but it’s surrounded by the thick Virginia forest, and there are no other buildings in sight. There are no other visible lights, so even though we’re only fifteen minutes from town, it feels like we could drive for hours and never see civilization.
“I shouldn’t have taken the ring,” Charlie says, our feet crunching along the gravel. “I already feel awful.”
She holds up her left hand. The garnet flares, even in the pale moonlight. Without thinking, I alight my hand on her lower back. Charlie looks up at me.
“I don’t think anyone’s watching right now,” she says, her voice low and melodic. I swear her eyes reflect the stars above.
“You never know,” I say. “They’re a bunch of nosy assholes.”
The ring catches the light again as she fiddles with it, worrying it with her thumb, spinning it around her finger.
“It’s gonna be bad when we break up,” she says as we reach her car. She puts her leftovers on top of it and turns to me.
“Don’t leave those there, you’ll forget them when you drive off,” I say.
Charlie rolls her eyes at me, but she opens her door, sticks the leftovers on the passenger seat. Since I’ve watched her break at least three coffee mugs by driving off with them on the roof of her car, I feel justified.
“I’m serious,” she says, shutting her passenger door and moving her hair out of her face.
“I know.”
“Your mom just gave me her grandmother’s ring and told me she’d always hoped I would wear it,” she says, her voice lowering even further. She takes a step closer. “What happens when I give it back? We didn’t think this through very well.”
Her freckles look like stars, scattered across her cheeks, and I’m struck by the urge to take her face in my hands and run a thumb across them, see if they contain the same fire.
I settle for shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,” I say. “It’s months from now. Maybe something will happen that makes it all easier.”