by Portia Moore
“So, honey, Michael was talking to me about the polls the other day,” Martin segues into some political mumbo-jumbo, steering the conversation away from a sore that he doesn’t even know exists.
I don’t understand why Gia didn’t mention the proposal.
“Would you all excuse me a minute?” William says as he rises from the table.
My mom and Martin exchange confused looks.
“What was that about?” my mom whispers to Martin once William leaves the room. “I didn’t think the question of the future would throw him off so much. Any boy with my daughter should be considering the future. Gia’s a senior. She makes plans, so her future husband needs to as well. Don’t you think they would look great together?”
“I don’t know. You know kids these days,” Martin says, finishing the rest of whatever Marta made.
“May I be excused?” I ask awkwardly.
My mother eyes me suspiciously. “Is there something you’d like to share with us, Gwendolyn?”
“I-I don’t know. I just need to go to the bathroom,” I say with a shrug.
My mother sighs. “Fine.”
I feel her eyes follow me as I leave the room. I head through the kitchen and see the door to the patio cracked. William’s sitting next to the pool, hunched over and resting his arms on his knees. He seems deep in thought, so I don’t say anything. I just sit next to him. He doesn’t say anything but keeps his blue eyes on the water.
“I feel like Cinderella’s fairy godmother in this dress,” I joke.
“Your mom and Gia are close. That’s what I gathered from her. Why wouldn’t she tell her I proposed?”
“Maybe she didn’t want to tell her until she’d said yes,” I say, trying to keep my tone upbeat and scrambling for something to say that will make his situation better.
“Or she didn’t tell her because she’s not going to say yes,” he says, sounding exasperated.
“Let’s not jump the gun . . . my mom, she’s the type to take something and run with it. There are so many reasons she wouldn’t tell my mom. She didn’t want to tell her until you’d met her. Or she didn’t want my mom to go off into this wedding tangent thing she’ll most likely do, or she’s smart and wants to elope with you and she’ll just spring it on them.”
He frowns at me. Okay, maybe the last reason isn’t very Gia-like, but the rest makes sense.
“Gia loves you. I know it,” I tell him, squeezing his knee. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
He gives me a hint of a smile as he loosens his tie, and his stiff posture relaxes. Just like that, he’s back to Will.
“You’re in there. It didn’t seem like that to me,” I say, feeling more comfortable around him again like before the whole Ferris wheel thing.
He smirks and shrugs. “I can turn the charm on when I need to.”
I want to tell him he’s charming without trying, but that wouldn’t be appropriate, and tonight is all about being appropriate. “While you were in there, I could definitely see you being Gia’s husband.”
His wide smile diminishes a bit. “Yeah.”
“Not that Gia doesn’t like you when you’re not like that. I’m sure she likes you for who you are,” I say quickly. Whoever that is.
“And who do you think I am, Gwen Dwyer?” His voice is low and husky, soulful and rhythmic, like he’s playing an instrument.
He’s turned toward me, so his eyes meet mine, and I feel that pull from earlier. The way he says my name makes my heart speed up.
“A guy who’s really good at carnival games,” I say quietly.
He grins and turns back to the glowing water in our pool. I turn around and see Marta peeping through the cracked door. I wave at her enthusiastically, and she goes back into the house.
“It’s so weird having someone do the things we used to do.” I sigh.
Will chuckles. “At least there’s only one of her.”
I look at him questioningly. “You grew up with a housekeeper?”
“Several, not including the gardener, nanny, tutor, chef, and butler,” he says with a sigh.
My eyebrows shoot up. I’d forgotten Gia said his family is loaded. “Wow!”
“It’s something you get used to,” he says with a shrug.
I imagine Gia as the lady of the house, directing several servants scurrying around and wearing those cute little black-and-white outfits, saying, “Welcome to my home.” Will—no, William—is by her side, and he’s wearing a nice blue suit like Martin’s.
“Would you want to live like that?” he asks as if the answer isn’t obvious.
I scrunch up my face. “No.”
He looks surprised.
“I mean, it would be pretty cool to be waited on. Marta doesn’t wait on me here. My mom still makes me clean my room and do my own laundry.” I laugh, and he grins. “But one day when I’m really old and I have a family, I wouldn’t want strangers in my house. I’d want to be really cozy, a house full kids. I’d cook every day and help them with their homework and read to them at bedtime. I’d teach my daughter how to sew, and my husband would teach my son how to change a tire, and we’d be really old school. And happy. And we can come over to your and Gia’s house when we want to live it up with the rich people.” I elbow him playfully.
“Teachers aren’t notoriously rich,” he says.
“Gia will be rich. Don’t worry about that. She’s going to be the best damn trial lawyer you’ve ever heard of. Whatever Gia does, she’s the best at it,” I say, playing with a loose thread on the hem of my dress.
“How many nieces or nephews am I going to have?” he asks.
I close my eyes and squint. “Seven maybe?”
He lets out a glorious laugh, one I want to put in my pocket and keep for later.
“Just kidding. Maybe three or four. Ideally two boys and two girls,” I say with a shrug.
“You are a puzzle,” he says, looking at me as if he’s confused but amused.
“What?”
“I thought you were going to say you wanted to be a dancer and travel the world and never get married or something,” he says with a chuckle.
I shake my head and say sarcastically, “Well, who wouldn’t want to be Madonna’s backup dancer and go on a world tour with her?” I add, “But besides that, I just want what my mom and dad had. They were happy. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, contrary to what you may have heard.”
“You think Gia would live on a farm?” he asks.
It’s my turn to laugh, so hard I feel my body shaking. “Um . . . you mean like with cows and pigs and stuff?” I try to catch my breath, and he nods. “I don’t see Gia being a farmer’s wife.” I notice the seriousness on his face. “What made you ask that?”
“No reason.”
“There you two are.”
We turn around to see my mother approaching.
“Come in. Marta’s bringing out the main course,” she says urgently.
THE REMAINDER OF the dinner goes smoothly, and the topics of marriage and his and Gia’s plans don’t come up. They mostly ask about his family and work. They are very impressed with him being a Crestfield apparently. Martin fills up the rest of the conversation with how his political campaign is going.
Will tells us he’s decided to drive back tonight instead of staying the night. Mom and Martin encourage him to stay, but he says that he prefers to drive at night and he’s pretty rested up. He obliges them by agreeing to take a short nap before hitting the road, but he says there’s no need to wait up for him since he’ll leave after his nap.
We all say our good nights. I sort of wish I could say good night to him without the audience. My mom is in a good mood after dinner and a few glasses of wine. She seems pleased with my behavior at dinner and tells me we’ll talk tomorrow while giving me a quick hug. She and Martin disappear into their bedroom.
I don’t get much sleep. I toss and turn, thinking of everything that’s happened today and over the past few days. My gaze fa
lls on the horrid blue dress my mom picked out then moves to the leather boots she hates, and I hear a knock at my door. I step out of bed, wearing my oversized black T-shirt, and open the door to find Will—messy hair, jeans, and denim jacket. I can’t help but beam.
“I’m about to head out,” he says.
I suddenly feel a tinge of sadness. “I’ll walk you out.”
We walk silently down the stairs and through the front door.
“You’re sure you’re going to be okay making the drive back?” I ask him when we’re on the porch.
“Yeah, I’ve stayed up longer grading papers,” he says with a laugh.
“Thank you for driving me back. It was much better than sitting next to some stranger with body odor who talks too much,” I say.
He chuckles. “Not a problem. I’ll be seeing you soon.” He walks to the truck and throws his bag inside. He starts to get in but stops halfway in. “Oh wait, I forgot.”
He reaches in the back and pulls out the little stuffed bee he won earlier.
“This is for you,” he says, handing it to me, and I can’t help but smile.
“I thought you got this for Gia,” I ask skeptically before taking it.
“No, she hates stuffed animals. I saw you staring at it the whole time I played that game,” he says.
I take it from him and give it a little squeeze. “Thank you.”
He nods before giving me a buddy-pat on the arm, and it agitates me for some reason, but I manage a smile. He gets in the truck, turns it on, and starts to back out.
“Will?” I say before he backs all the way out, praying he can hear me.
He stops and rolls the window all the way down.
“She’s going to say yes,” I tell him, and he looks at me skeptically.
“How do you know?”
“Because she’d be crazy if she didn’t.”
We stare at each other for what seems like forever but is only a second, and I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking about, all the what ifs: what if he lived here, what if I’d met him first, what if I could act on what I felt earlier if it was anything at all. He breaks away from our stare down first, and a moment later, he’s blasting Madonna, and I can’t help but laugh. He honks the horn, giving me a boyish grin before pulling off, and I think if anything, maybe I’ve made a friend.
“IT WAS THE most magical night of my life,” Amanda gushes before throwing herself back-first onto my bed as she finishes her story about what happened between her and Chris. She showed up holding lattes and wearing a super cheesy smile.
“So let me get this straight,” I say, trying to not sound condescending or doubtful. What she’s saying is just so weird—the stuff about Chris, that is. “So you guys were talking, and you talked for an hour?”
She nods.
“And after that, you guys had some beers,” I say, and she sits up.
“Yeah, like I said, he became so much more easygoing after that. He told me about his music and how he’s going to try out for a band next week, and I asked him if I could come, and he was like, ‘That’d be cool,’” she says.
I feel a tightness in my chest. Amanda gets to watch him try out, but Aidan and I can’t? He gave me the impression last night that the thing with Amanda wasn’t anything.
“And he told me how his dad had been weird lately, and I told him how my dad was acting the same way, this midlife crisis sort of thing, and how my dad cheated on my mom, and he said his dad would never do anything like that. I told him that he was so cute¸ being naïve and all.” She chuckles.
I’m in complete disbelief that Chris would talk to someone who’s practically a stranger—well, she’s not a stranger, but they aren’t close. They’re acquaintances, and she’s definitely not his best friend. And Amanda has always been private about her family issues. Her parents believe in keeping up appearances—the perfect family.
“I can’t believe you told him about your parents,” I say in disbelief.
“He was really easy to talk to. There’s something about him that makes you trust him,” she says, reflecting on his words. “One thing led to another, and I think it was, you know, us being so honest and open with each other that made it so erotic.”
I cringe at the word. “Don’t say that, Amanda. You guys just made out. It’s not like you had sex.”
She pouts. “We might have if you hadn’t barged in like someone’s parent.”
“That wasn’t going to happen even if I hadn’t. Chris is a virgin.” The instant the words leave my mouth, I want to kick myself.
“He’s what?” she says, her eyes growing big.
“Just forget I said it.”
“No. Oh my God. Are you sure? That super-hot guy with a body like David Beckham is a virgin?” she says in disbelief, her excitement growing with each word.
“You can’t tell anyone!”
“Tell anyone? Are you crazy? So that I could have even more competition? Hell no! That is so hot. If he wasn’t hot, it’d be kind of weird, but oh my God. No one forgets their first, even if it was sucky and hurt like hell in the back of a Jeep.”
I remember how bad she said her first time was with Jeremy Wiley, her second serious boyfriend when she went through her rebel stage.
“Okay, can we get off my best friends’ sexual resumes? Both of them,” I say, feeling queasy.
She scoots to the edge of the bed. “Are you sure he’s a virgin? I mean I know you guys are best friends and all, but he is a dude. Why would he tell you if he hasn’t broken anyone’s seal yet?”
I look at her, offended. “Because he’s my best friend.”
“I’m your best friend, and there’re things about me you don’t know,” she says, and I roll my eyes.
“Like what?”
She thinks for a moment. “Like I want to be your other best friend’s first. Eeek!” She squeals, and I make the universal signal for vomiting. “Won’t it be great? Your best friends dating—you’ll get to be with both of us all the time. You can help us by gifts for each other, help us when we argue . . .”
I wonder if she trying to make me feel better about this or worse. “Maybe you should slow down a little bit. You guys talked and made out. Did Chris say anything about you dating?”
“No, but why wouldn’t we? We’re both single, we’re the same age, go to the same school, equal on the looks scale, and our chemistry was off the charts,” she says enthusiastically, bouncing down next to me. “And of course you’ll let him know what a great girlfriend I’d make and give him the little push he needs.”
I look down guiltily, thinking of the little push I already gave him, which has turned out to be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.
“Are you going to see him today?” she asks, ignoring my complete hesitancy with all of this.
“I should. His dad is tutoring me after work today.” I sip what’s left of the latte she brought me.
“You know what? You should call Chris right now!” she says, searching the room for my phone.
“Ugh, no!” I laugh even though I’d had every intention of calling him when I woke up—before she showed up at my door to get the 4–1-1.
“Please, please, please,” she begs.
“No, but I promise as soon as I talk to him, I’ll let you know what he said.”
She pouts but accepts my answer. “Do you want to go get breakfast before work? My treat!”
That goes without saying. Amanda always treats. Even though she can be a little kooky sometimes, she’s a really great friend. I’ve never been anywhere near as rich as her parents are, but she stayed my friend even after I fell to the low end of the totem pole when my stepdad kicked us out. That didn’t change the way she looks at me one bit, and that’s something I can’t say about a lot of people.
“Okay. Let me shower, and we can go,” I say, grabbing some clothes and heading out the room. Before I do, she stops me.
“And if I turn out to be right and Chris is totally into me, you’ll be cool
with it?” she asks.
I shut the door and turn around to face her. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugs. “I know you’ve always maintained that you, Chris, and Aidan are best friends, but you know how that can go sometimes.”
“There are a lot of reasons I would rather you found another boyfriend, but Chris and I being into each other is not one of them,” I tell her honestly, and she smiles.
AMANDA AND I have breakfast at IHOP a couple of blocks from my job so that she can drop me off at work afterward. I tell Amanda about Brett and how handsome, sweet, and mature he was. She says he gets extra points just for being in college and if she wasn’t so into Chris, she’d ask if he had a friend. I try not to roll my eyes at that.
She apologizes again for Deanna being a bitch. I tell her I’m used to it and assure her it won’t, as it never has, affect our friendship. She says she’s going to find out exactly whose friend Brett is and get his number. When Amanda puts her mind to something, nothing can stop her. Still, I tell her I don’t want to seem desperate. Brett didn’t give me butterflies or the tingling feeling from my toes to every other part of my body, but it was one of the best first conversations I’ve ever had with anyone. I can see the possibility of butterflies developing, and just the prospect of that makes it worth it.
Amanda and I manage to make it through the rest of our meal without her fawning over Chris, and I catch her up on Evie’s recent forays into love and how she wasn’t even home when I got back after the party, which was better for everyone. Amanda reminds me that I only have one more year left with Evie before I get into my dream school. I cross my fingers that she’s right.
The rest of my morning goes well. When I get to work, the coffee shop isn’t bustling as much as it normally is on a Saturday morning, so I’m able to get some studying in, glancing at the notes my boss lets me keep taped up by the register. So it’s not surprising when Tara, the supervisor on staff, emerges from the back room with a grim look.
“Hey, Lisa, it’s pretty slow today. You can head out,” she says dryly.
Tara says everything dryly. It’s only four o’clock. My mom won’t be home from work until six, and it’s pretty nice out—sweater-with-no-jacket weather—so I decide to make the trek home. I’m scanning through my CD player when a honk startles me. I turn to see a silver, newer-looking truck pull up next to me. I don’t recognize it, so I keep walking. I’m startled when I hear my name called out. I stop and look back to see Brett Stelson, the blue-eyed dream boy, getting out of the truck and heading my way. Wow, Amanda works fast. I take off my headphones and try to suppress my grin.