2. Philip
Philip
Eight weeks later
I pull out my phone to reread the texts from my family as the other graduates mill around me on the lawn.
Mum: I’m so proud of you, Philip! I can’t believe my baby boy is so grown now.
The series of crying face and heart emoji following her message is four rows deep, making me chuckle.
Dad : Well done, son. You finally put your mind to something and saw it through. Now the opportunities that await you are endless. How are the job prospects? Need me to put in a word for you with someone?
I push down my annoyance at Dad’s not-so-subtle reference to my younger days. I’m not going to let him get under my skin today.
My brother’s message is a video of him, his wife, and my two nephews holding up a banner with the words “Congratulations, Uncle Flippy” in crooked letters, the finger-painted artwork surrounding it the obvious contribution of my nephews, given the paint covering their hands and cheeks. Volume off, I let the video loop a few times until their genuine excitement for me soothes the pinprick wounds left from my dad’s message.
“Phil!” Cassie’s fiancé, TJ, wanders over, clapping me on the back hard enough that I stumble forward a step. Wincing at the hated nickname and the blow, I shift out of reach, turning to face him just as Cassie comes bounding over.
“We did it!” She giggles and snuggles into his side. “Can you believe it?” Like mine, her black gown is unzipped, a white dress visible beneath. Her cap is in her hand, the tassel swinging as she moves.
“Wasn’t sure I was going to make it at the end there. Those finance finals were a bitch.” They wouldn’t have been so stressful if I had studied like I intended to, but every time I sat down to study, I’d catch myself scrolling through photos of Ophelia and myself, wondering why she was avoiding me.
When she suggested we get married in Vegas, I assumed she and I were on the same page—that defending her thesis was the turning point, and she was ready to take us off the back burner. Was it a bit bananas to go from best friends to married, skipping the steps between? Maybe. But I’ve done stupider things with far less thought. And I figured we’d been basically dating for the last two years anyway, so why not?
Apparently, we may have been reading from the same book, but we were definitely not on the same page. Maybe not even the same chapter.
Cassie laughs, the sound more carefree than I’ve heard from any of our friend group in weeks. Eight, to be exact. Since we all stumbled home from Vegas, hungover and full of bad decisions.
“Where’s your better half?” TJ looks around as he asks. Cringing when Cassie elbows him in the gut. “What?”
“I promised Ophie we wouldn’t tease them today. Be nice.”
She promised Ophie? “Why’s that?” My curiosity gets the better of me, and I need to know the story behind that statement.
Cassie looks around, checking to see who’s nearby. “Because her whole family is here, and she didn’t want them getting ideas. You’ve met her mom, right? I guess ever since Maggie and Kel got engaged, her mom’s been talking nonstop about Ophie being the only single one left. Her dad is convinced she needs to move back to Seattle with them if there’s nothing keeping her here.” She arches an eyebrow at me, but I’m ready for it—I always am when Cassie is around—and don’t react.
Black gown flaring, she turns to gaze up at TJ with a soft smile. Not an expression I see often on her mischievous face. “Besides, today is our day.”
“Your day?”
TJ grins at her, then looks up. “We’re headed to the courthouse after this to make everything official. I told her I would wait until graduation to make her my wife and not one hour more. Got the license a week ago.”
My wife is wandering around here somewhere too. Maybe if she hadn’t scuttled away after the ceremony, I’d know where. I glance around but don’t see her brunette mane anywhere.
“Congratulations, that’s awesome.” My words taste bitter with jealousy. To cover up my half-hearted well-wishes, I add some other pleasantries while Cassie studies me. Twirling her hair around his finger, TJ drones on about all the benefits he can finally take advantage of once they say “I do.”
“You know, if you wanted to stay in the States, you and Ophelia could just get married so you can get a green card.”
I stutter over the words that stick in my throat at Cassie’s too-casual suggestion. Denial is second nature. Outrage is cliché. Confusion stopped being funny a year ago. My feelings might be legitimate, but our friends stopped wanting to hear it ages ago— no matter how many times I declared I wanted to earn the right to stay here on my own.
Especially now that it’s all a lie.
I’m still trying to string together a fully formed thought when a familiar warm hand comes to rest against my back.
“Are you okay?” Ophie’s whiskey-brown eyes come into view, the concern in them only making it worse. She steps close, wrapping her arm around my waist, one hand making slow circles across my back.
“Yup. Fine. Never better,” I gasp.
Cassie laughs. “I was just telling Philip he should make you Mrs. van der Merwe so he doesn’t have to go back to South Africa.”
I know she’s just being her usual romantic-slash-diabolical self, but seeing Ophie’s cheeks turn bright pink at being called “Mrs.” does funny things to my stomach. At the same time, my mind grasps for something to say to distract Cassie from her line of thought. Better not to protest too much, or she’ll be suspicious.
“Cassie, you promised,” Ophie whispers, looking around as if someone might hear her. She moves like a little bird, head darting to and fro, hands opening and closing the embossed leather folio we received on stage with the same nervous energy she clicks her pen when she’s past the point of productive studying.
“What did she promise? Not to call you Mrs. van der Merwe?” I tease. Pulling her folio away before she breaks it, I stack it with my own, then give in to the urge to rile her up. It’s so easy, I can’t help myself. Self-control has never been my strong suit, and when it comes to Ophie, I have almost none.
I glance around but don’t see her family anywhere, so I wink at Cassie and TJ before throwing my arm over her shoulder.
The movement knocks her unzipped robe off one shoulder. With a squeak, she grabs at it, but that only sends it sliding farther off her silky skin. I move back to give her space while she wrestles to get the bulky fabric back in place. Her hood keeps tangling with her elbow, and Ophie’s grunts of frustration get louder and funnier with each attempt.
“ That . You know.” Even as she fights with her hood, she doesn’t quit arguing with me. Naturally, I have to argue back. Especially with an audience eating up our playful banter, their eyes big as saucers.
“I know what?”
“Philip, come on.”
“Come on what?” I snicker at my own joke, and Ophie goes a shade pinker. TJ reaches out, and I high-five him as Cassie digs an elbow into his side.
“Gross.” Gown straightened, she takes a deep breath but still doesn’t meet my eyes. “Don’t call me that .” My girl glares at me, obviously annoyed that I’m playing into Cassie’s suggestion, who has no idea that Ophie and I beat her to the altar. The double meaning behind every word of our argument just makes the whole thing more fun.
I haven’t had this much fun in weeks .
I lean close, tugging Ophie’s hood straight over her unzipped gown. The blue dress she’s wearing underneath does amazing things to her tits. Not that I’m looking. I swear.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Ophie van der Merwe.” I dance back a few steps to avoid getting a swat, her hand whipping past my stomach with enough force that I’m grateful my reflexes are as fast as they are. Her dark hair swings with the movement, the scent of her shampoo wafting back into my nose.
I’ve been breathing it in for two years, the slightly floral scent drawing me in like a bee to a flower.
The flower in question is glaring at me more like a Venus flytrap than a rose. She stomps the two steps to close the distance between us, lifting up on her toes and jabbing a finger into my chest. “I am not, and I never will be, Mrs. van der Merwe.” Her American tongue struggles to roll the r properly, but her “Fun der Mer-ve” is as close as most non-Afrikaners can get.
Something playful and wicked breaks free inside my chest at Ophie’s vehement denial. So instead of responding, I drop to one knee in front of her.
Gasps fill the air around us.
Cassie squeals, and in my peripheral vision, the milling crowd forms a loose circle around us. Girls I don’t know whisper excitedly, tugging on the people beside them.
“Ophelia Moore…” I drag out my words, staring at the hem of her black robe that’s now close to eye level. As I look up at her from this angle, her blue dress dancing in the breeze and pink lips parted, the carefully walled off bit of my heart that’s kept my love for her designated as strictly platonic slips, and something a little more intense floods in. The strength of the emotion takes me by surprise, and my voice cracks as I speak, ruining the playful tone I was going for. “Will you—”
I’m cut off by an ear-piercing cry of “Ophelia!”
Shit .
Now I’ve done it.
I grab the zipper pull at the hem of her gown. “—let me zip you up?”
Clearing the unexpected thickness in my throat, I hook the bottom of the zipper together and zip up Ophelia’s robe as quickly as I can, pushing up to my feet as I do. Her mom comes barreling toward us, her excited noises getting louder as she approaches.
“Ophie, darling, who’s this? You didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend.”
Making sure of my smile, I turn and wave. “Hi, Jenny.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Moore stops short, recognition dawning on her face. “Hi, Philip. I didn’t recognize you from the back.” She waves a hand at the slowly thinning crowd. “All the robes make everyone look the same.”
Heat floods the back of my neck at Jenny’s dismissal. “No worries. It’s nice to see you again.” I relax my stance, giving Ophie some space.
“Still playing jokes, I see.” Mark steps up beside her, a hand resting on her shoulder.
I shrug. “The opportunity presented itself, and I went for it.” Looking around at the dissipating crowd, I catch more than one girl shaking her head in my direction. Ophie’s cheeks are still pink, although that could be from the sun. “You knew it was just jokes, right?”
Ophie glares at me, stepping closer to her mom. “Yes. But it was a bad joke, Philip.”
“It was, you’re right.” I shrug. “How are you all? Are you staying for the whole weekend?”
“No, unfortunately, we’ve got to drive back tonight. I have an important client coming from out of town tomorrow.” Dave, Ophie’s brother-in-law, joins the group. “Daisy is making her famous lasagna, with pasta from scratch and everything.”
“Yes, and it takes all day to cook, so I need to get back early.” The eldest Moore sister, Daisy, steps into view, towing her two kids behind her. The preteen boy is glued to the handheld video game console in his grip, while the girl is walking backward, chatting to Kel’s daughter, Olive. Kel and Maggie follow, her hands looped over his arm as she navigates the grassy field, the smallest hint of a baby bump outlined by her clothes.
Leaning down, I quickly whisper in Ophie’s ear, “God, I forgot how much family you have, liefling.”
“And they’re all nosy as fuck, so quit being a brat,” she whispers back before straightening with a smile.
“Well, Ophie is very lucky to have you all here today. I would have loved to have my family here to celebrate with me. Maybe then my father would believe I actually graduated.” I try not to let the bitterness that’s been stewing in my gut leak out with my words, but Jenny casts a sideways glance at me, and I know I haven’t quite managed it.