“I’ll get the couch made up for you as soon as I get these groceries put away,” Hallie tells me, unloading the paper sacks.
“Oh, Saylor should take the guest bedroom,” Matt’s mother says.
“No, it’s fine,” I say, because what else can I say? Actually yes, I’d love to have four walls enclosing my sleeping space that aren’t part of a communal area. Hallie would kill me. “I’m going to go for a run.”
Hallie eyes me. “I thought you went for one this morning.”
“I did, but I’m missing practice today,” I reply.
“Mind if I join you?” Jackson asks, rising from the table and shooting me a grin. “I need to get in shape for lacrosse.”
“I’m not sure if that’s the best idea,” Hallie says.
“How come?” Jackson asks.
“Don’t you run far?” Hallie asks me.
I shrug. Truthfully, I know what she’s getting at. Jackson has a skinny, lithe frame, but it’s absent of muscle. I’d be shocked if he’s in shape enough to jog more than a couple miles. I can’t recall the last time I ran less than five, but I’ve been inside this house for about ten minutes, and he’s spent eight of them leering at my legs. Shredding male egos is my favorite hobby. If it keeps him from bothering me the rest of the weekend, that’s just a cherry on top.
Hallie sighs. “Have fun.”
I’m already wearing my standard athletic apparel and sneakers. “Ready?” I ask Jackson, pulling my hair up in a bun.
“Yeah, sure,” he replies with overdone casualness.
We head outside. The air’s warmed even further. I suck in deep breaths as I stretch my calves on Hallie’s front lawn.
Then I start running.
Jackson attempts to make small talk for the first block but runs out of breath a couple later. We’ve barely made it to the park—less than a mile from Hallie and Matt’s house—when he collapses on the grass. “Holy shit. How far was that?”
“Not far,” I respond, standing over him. “Want me to come back for you?”
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” He waves an arm and then lets it drop. “I’ll catch up.”
I highly doubt that but don’t bother disputing. I continue running through my hometown, opting to stay away from the downtown section and instead weaving through the residential neighborhoods stretching out on the fringes. I’d guess about a half hour has passed by the time I return to the park. Jackson is still there.
“Wasn’t sure if you were coming back.” He chuckles.
“Just had to get in five,” I reply.
“Five? You just ran five miles?” He gapes at me.
“Uh-huh.” I start running back toward Hallie’s. Jackson trails after me. Calling his pace a jog would be a compliment, but he makes it.
We emerge in the kitchen to find the scene virtually unchanged from when we left. Matt’s seated at the kitchen table with his parents, Matthew is asleep in his crib, and Hallie’s making sandwiches. With the exception of the baby, they all look at us as we enter.
“You good, little bro?” Matt asks Jackson.
“Great,” he wheezes, dropping down in the open chair. Hallie gives me a look.
I head to the fridge, grabbing a couple bottles of water. I hand one to Jackson and then drain most of the other one. I’m soaked with sweat, but I feel better.
“How far did you guys go?” Matt questions.
I wait for Jackson to answer. “I only made it to the park. Saylor ran five miles after.”
Everyone gapes at me. “It’s less than I would have run at practice,” I say with a shrug.
“My goodness.” Matt’s father chuckles. “Guess you won’t be able to complain about lacrosse any longer, Jackson.”
It’s impossible to tell because his face is already so red, but I’m pretty sure Jackson is blushing.
“I’m going to shower,” I announce.
“Towels are in the closet,” Hallie informs me as she spreads mayonnaise on bread.
“Great.” I grab my duffle bag and head upstairs.
This is going to be a long weekend.
“There wasn’t anyone you wanted to invite to the wedding, Saylor?” Sandra asks. She showed up an hour ago to pick up her wedding dress from the closet where Hallie has apparently been storing it for her, took Hallie up on her offer of a glass of wine, and has stayed for three. Glasses, not hours.
“Nope.”
Hallie jumps in. “These cookies are fantastic, Sandra.”
I look at the clock: ten PM. A reasonable time to announce I’m headed to bed, right?
“Thank you, Hallie,” Sandra replies, beaming.
“They are good,” I admit, taking another bite. They’re fudgy and peanut butter-y. Cressida would probably love the recipe, but then I’d have to explain how I got it.
“How are your classes going, Saylor?” Sandra asks, chugging right along on the try-to-get-to-know-you train. We’ve already covered favorite foods, movies, and books.
“Not sure,” I reply. “I’ve only been to one the last couple weeks.”
“One?!” Sandra replies, looking startled. “Were you sick? Marcus didn’t mention…”
“No, I just had soccer,” I respond matter-of-factly.
Sandra looks to Hallie for backup, but Hallie just sighs and shrugs. We’ve had this argument many times before. Hallie doesn’t get it. Her athletic career ended in middle school.
“I’m sure your professors—your advisors—they must know how important your classes are. More important than a game.”
My shoulders tense. I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I’ve heard that before. “It’s not just a game, it’s my life,” I reply briskly. “And my professors and advisors would rather I win another national championship than attend Principles of Marketing. I’m at Lancaster on a full athletic scholarship. I’m there to play soccer.”
“But surely they don’t expect every student who’s on an athletic team to give up every other aspect of their college experience.”
“Nope. I’m sure the guys on the golf team make it to every class, but I happen to be the captain of Lancaster’s most successful team. You don’t get ranked number one in the country by not giving it your all.” I stand. “I’m headed to bed. Good night.”
I’m already wearing my pajamas, so I just duck into the half bath to brush my teeth before climbing under the covers on the couch. I close my eyes and inhale the unfamiliar scent of whatever laundry detergent Hallie uses.
Low voices converse in the kitchen, and then I hear steps head down the hallway. The front door opens and closes.
More footsteps sound. Closer. “Saylor?” Hallie whispers.
I don’t answer.
There’s a sigh. “Good night.”
I lie there for a while before I finally fall asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
This is only the second wedding I’ve ever been to. The few friends I have who are in relationships are still light-years away from what’s meant to be a lifetime commitment.
My mother is an only child, and the few hazy memories I have of her side of the family turned to wisps of smoke around the same time she disappeared. They didn’t keep in touch, much less invite us to celebratory events. Or non-celebratory, for that matter.
And rather than relying on his family after becoming a single father, my dad retreated from his. Maybe we do share some DNA after all.
I’m surprised to realize that rift seems to have been restored when I enter the old white church where my father is getting married today.
There are still a couple hours left before the start of the ceremony, but Hallie was resistant to my suggestion we show up a half hour early like normal wedding guests. Since she’s my mode of transportation here, I didn’t really have a choice.
Now that we’re inside the church’s lobby, which is bustling with extended family I haven’t seen in years, I get that it might have been a bit awkward for us to show up an hour and a half from now. But not as un
comfortable as having to interact with virtual strangers who share my last name.
“Hallie!” A stout, plump woman sweeps my sister up in a hug, crushing the bag containing Hallie’s bridesmaid dress between them. I watch Hallie surreptitiously shake it as soon as she’s released. “Where’s Matthew? Both of them!”
“They’re at the park with Matt’s family. They’ll all be here soon. Saylor and I wanted to arrive early so we could help out.” Big of her to include me in that offer. And Hallie’s also drawn our grandmother’s attention to me.
“Saylor!” She moves forward slightly, then shifts back, and the uncertain motion is worse than a bone-jarring hug. My own grandmother is apprehensive about showing me affection. Maybe I really am a cold-hearted bitch.
“Hi, Grandma. I like your dress,” I lie. It’s a horrid shade of periwinkle, accented with what I think is meant to be a fascinator but looks more like a bird nested in her hair that left a few feathers behind. Even so, I doubt critiquing her outfit is going to dissipate any of the tension hovering in the air.
“Why, thank you, dear. I got it on sale!” Her thick southern accent emphasizes each syllable.
“Really?” There’s a hint of sarcasm in the word that my grandmother doesn’t catch. Hallie does.
“I hear you’re quite the soccer star, Saylor,” my grandmother says. “If I had your looks, I would just sit around and wait for some handsome fella to sweep me off my feet.”
“How progressive of you,” I reply sweetly.
“We should really go check on… things.” Hallie smiles. “We’ll see you later, Grandma.” She grips my bicep and pulls me away. “Really, Saylor?”
“I’m not going to apologize for being a feminist.” I sniff.
“Grandma went to debutante balls, and maybe our father’s wedding isn’t the best time to lecture on feminism—even if it’s the only time you’re home to talk about anything.”
“Am I supposed to apologize for going to college? For pursuing a professional soccer career?” I snap.
“Plenty of people seem to manage that and also keep in touch with their family.”
“Less than you’d think,” I mutter. It’s true. Giving your all—absolutely everything—requires just that: everything. Not worrying about others’ feelings. Not coming home for holidays. Sequestering every ounce of energy and bit of brainpower. “And I’m not interested in being ‘plenty of people.’ I want to be the best.”
Hallie doesn’t say anything. No matter our shared experiences—growing up motherless, our father’s virtual abandonment, and a small town that loves to gossip—we’ve got a lot less in common than what distinguishes us from each other. I’m willing to look past it all in my quest for something else.
Soccer is my escape.
Hallie wants to fix it all, make peace with our past. She married the perfect guy to be a father. She’s the perfect mother. She showed our hometown a Scott woman can be reliable and genuine. She talks to our father and extended family.
I fled as far and fast as I could.
We enter the aisle of the church, and it’s majestic. Ethereal. I didn’t grow up devout. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve been in a building with any sort of religious connotation, but the varnished wood, stained glass, and symmetrical pews conjure a presence even the most agnostic can’t ignore.
The scents of incense and fresh flowers mingle in the air, swirling around our strides toward the altar. Garlands of daisies, peonies, and ranunculus hang along the end of each pew we pass.
“Looks like we missed the decorating,” I state. “Bummer.”
“I’m sure there’s still work to be done,” Hallie informs me. “Let’s go hang up our dresses.”
I heave out a sigh but follow her out of the aisle toward the back of the church. We run into our father on the trip down the hallway.
“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure what time you girls were going to arrive.” He gives me a nervous glance that seems to be my only greeting.
“I told you we’d be here by one, Dad,” Hallie replies.
“Well, something always seems to go wrong at weddings, and nothing has yet.” My father frets, glancing around like he’s expecting the roof to cave in at any moment.
“That’s a good thing,” she says soothingly.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” my father admits. “There was a time I swore to myself I never would again.”
“It’s good that you’re doing it,” Hallie assures him. “No one wants to be alone forever.” I know she doesn’t mean them to be, but it feels like the words are a jab at me. “And Sandra is wonderful.”
“Plus, she seems like a low flight risk,” I add.
Hallie glares at me for that comment, but my father chuckles. Actually makes a sound of amusement. I can’t recall the last time that happened. Probably because we barely speak.
“I know I put you girls through hell back then. If I could go back and do things differently, I would, but I hope this can be a new chapter. A fresh start for our family.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is thicker. “You two mean the world to me.”
The words are meant more for me, but Hallie is the one who responds. “Oh, Dad.” She hugs him, and I watch them share a moment I’m meant to be included in.
She forgave our father a long time ago. All three of us know that. I’m the one entrenched in the past.
Holding grudges.
Forcing friction.
Because I believe people should be held accountable for their actions. Because actions have consequences. Because I’ve prioritized scoring goals over being daughter or sister or granddaughter or aunt of the year, and this trip has thrown that into glaring clarity.
My father releases Hallie and then takes a hesitant step toward me. Then another. And another. He wraps his arms around me and gives me a small squeeze. I lift my own arms to touch his back, but don’t contract them. Still, it’s the most physical contact we’ve had in years.
It’s barely a hug, but it’s something.
I recall his words. My family doesn’t mean more to me than anything in the world. I love Hallie. I know I love my father, even if it’s wrapped in layers of abandonment and awkwardness any family therapist would have a field day with, but I shifted my world to encompass nothing but soccer a long time ago.
It was something I could completely control.
My mess of a father and missing mother weren’t.
“Marcus! There you are!” A harried-looking woman wearing a pantsuit appears at the end of the hallway. I’m assuming she’s the wedding planner, and it’s confirmed by her next words. “We need to go over some reception logistics.”
“Go handle that, Dad. We’ve got to get ready for photos,” Hallie instructs. Then she starts striding down the hallway.
“See you later, Dad,” I say, and then I literally have to sprint after Hallie since I have no idea where exactly we’re headed.
“Sheesh! Are you training for a speed-walking competition?”
Hallie snorts. “Says the girl who runs five miles a day.”
“I thought we got here ridiculously early to avoid having to rush. What’s the sudden hurry?”
“Well, we have to make sure Sandra’s not gassing up a getaway car.”
I sigh. “Hallie, it was a joke! I’m not allowed to have a sense of humor?”
“We’re in a church, not a comedy club.”
I fake gasp. “Is that why there are crosses every two feet?”
Hallie slants me an I’m-not-amused glance as she stops outside a boring brown door. “I hope you got the sarcasm out of your system. Sandra will take anything you say seriously, and I’m sure she still feels badly about last night.”
“Fine,” I mutter as we head inside a room that finally makes me feel like we’re in the current century. The walls are comprised of the same dark wood paneling as the hallway and pews, but there’s a sectional couch in the corner upholstered with blue cotton. Sunshine streams in t
hrough the windows, beaming directly onto the folding table that’s been set up in the center of the space. Only brief glimpses of the scratched plastic surface are visible. Most of it’s covered with bobby pins, hair ties, tissues, water bottles, Band-Aids, and a variety of other miscellaneous items. A couple room dividers are set up, screening off parts of the space from immediate view.
“You’re here!” My attention is drawn from taking in the mess to the figure in a pink robe barreling toward us. Sandra stops just a couple of feet away. “Thank goodness.”
“Didn’t I say one?” Hallie asks, looking a bit bemused.
“Yes, you did,” Sandra confirms. “Everyone’s been asking when Hallie and Saylor would arrive, though!” She lets out a nervous laugh. “I guess we know who the real stars of the show are!”
I’m not surprised Hallie’s absence was missed. I am surprised mine was, but I’m guessing there’s a fair amount of intrigue about my presence. I haven’t been back home since graduating high school, except for Hallie’s wedding.
“This is the famous Saylor?” Another woman appears at Sandra’s side, one who looks enough like her, I’m certain they are related. “My goodness, you’re gorgeous dear.”
“Uh, thank you,” I respond. I’m sporting oversized sweats and a bun so messy it seems an insult to the hairstyle to even call it one. I figured I’d have plenty of time to get ready on Hallie’s early bird timetable.
“I’m Sandra’s sister, Sally,” the woman explains.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply with a polite smile.
“It feels like we’ve already met. I’ve heard so much about you from Marcus.”
That’s a surprise to me, but I keep my face neutral. Luckily, an interruption saves me from having to respond. The door reopens, and a middle-aged woman sticks her head in the room. “Photos in half an hour,” she announces, holding up the camera strapped around her chest.
Sally jumps into action. “Come on, Sandra! I’ve got to finish your hair!” Sally heads back to the corner of the room, where I can see they’ve set up a temporary vanity covered with an array of beauty products. Sandra settles into a director-style folding chair, and Sally continues winding Sandra’s shoulder-length brown hair around the barrel of the curling iron.
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