Chapter 17 Like One of His Rookies #2
That’s a bigger response than I’d bargained for, and I wonder if I’m supposed to apologize, too. But nah. “Maybe start by clueing us in on what you might want as a wedding gift. No idea too weird.”
“Um, a wheelbarrow.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“Really. The landscaping is going to be a job. And we sank all our cash into the renovation, so we’re going to have to DIY it.”
I try and fail to picture my brother doing manual labor in his own yard. Then again, I couldn’t picture him swing dancing, either. “I’m pretty sure we could make that happen, especially if you text me the address.”
“Thank you,” he says quickly. “That’d be amazing.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And—seriously—great news about your EKG. Tell Dad. He’ll want to know.”
“I’ll do that.”
“… But not Tessa,” he adds. “Dad isn’t telling her until after the wedding.”
“I heard.” I roll my eyes.
“You know how she gets.”
“Yeah, but…” This is what makes us a weird family. “When did we decide to spend our whole lives dancing around Tessa’s feelings? She doesn’t dance around ours.”
“No kidding,” he mutters. “But I don’t need her drama at my wedding. Maribel doesn’t deserve that. Doesn’t feel like the right time to teach her a lesson.”
“True.” Except there’s never a right time. I don’t voice this aloud because this is the nicest phone call I’ve ever had with Theo.
Or maybe the only one.
Instead, I do the kind thing—I tell my brother how much I enjoyed meeting Maribel, and how much I’m looking forward to his wedding. Some of that is even true. And we sign off pleasantly.
Next, I do a little research. I call a nice garden center in Massachusetts to scope out the right gift. Then I text Eric.
Darcy: Found the perfect wedding present. You’ll never guess what it is.
Eric: A crystal fruit bowl? One of those 2K napkin sets?
Darcy: Even better. Picture this: The Porsche Taycan of wheelbarrows.
Eric:… what
Darcy: Commercial grade. Dual-wheel action. Reinforced steel frame. Zero to fully loaded in 3.2 seconds.
Eric: Are you okay?
Darcy: Custom powder coating. Ergonomic handles. This baby can hold so many perennials.
Eric: I’m so confused right now. They asked for a wheelbarrow?
Darcy: Theo did! Apparently, they blew their renovation budget and need to do their own landscaping. I found one that’s basically the supercar of lawn equipment.
Eric: Only you could make a wheelbarrow sound sexy. Does it come with leather seats?
Darcy: Sadly no. But it DOES come in midnight blue. Very on-brand for you.
Eric: Thank god. My reputation would suffer if we gave them a yellow one.
Darcy: We’re also getting them a gift card for plants. You know, like adding the sport package.
Eric: You’re ridiculous. I love it. Send me the damage, and I’ll Venmo you.
Darcy: Will do. Also my EKG is normal.
Eric: FUCK YES!!! Why didn’t you lead with that?
He follows up the text with a champagne emoji and that…
thing with the streamers coming out of it.
Darcy: Because shopping. And why do the emojis for celebration just suck? What is that thing. A bullhorn?
My phone rings, and it’s Eric. When I answer, he says, “I thought it was a party hat. Or a party cornucopia.” He’s panting for some reason.
“That’s not a thing.”
“Just realizing that now. But maybe it should be.”
“Why are you out of breath?”
“Treadmill. Ten miles. I’ve got to ask a favor, but you don’t have to say yes.”
I listen to his heavy breathing for a moment, and it’s honestly distracting. “Okay, hit me.”
“Well…” I hear the glug of his water bottle. “My parents convinced me to stay with them during the wedding. But I was careful to say that my date was staying at the hotel for the wedding. You know, because it’s your family, and you want to be near them.”
I snort. “Plausible unless you know us.”
“Right, and so clever of me. Or so I thought. My mother just asked me if we wouldn’t like to come up the evening before, and you could stay one night in Marblehead.”
“At your house? Where you grew up?”
“That’s right.” Another gulp of water. “But before you answer, I should warn you that my childhood bedroom has bunk beds.”
“Bunk beds?” This keeps getting better. “Please tell me there are Star Wars sheets?”
“Hockey sheets. Duh. And you can have the top bunk if you want. Unless you’re scared of heights.”
“Such a gentleman.” I’m grinning now. “But seriously—you want to play it up to your grieving parents? That seems like crossing a line from fake dating into… I don’t know. White-collar crime?”
“I know it’s asking a lot.” His breathing is finally evening out. “I also told my parents our thing is sort of new.”
I giggle.
“Mom says she understands. But she still wants to host us. I think it’s her ideal distraction. I couldn’t get off the phone before she started planning her menu. Dinner and then breakfast.”
“Your mother wants to cook me breakfast.” I let that sink in. “That’s… intense.”
“It’s just eggs. Maybe pancakes. Nothing fancy.”
“With your fake girlfriend.”
“Who’s staying in the top bunk,” he reminds me. “Very proper. My mother will approve.”
I shouldn’t say yes. This is already complicated enough. But… “Are there embarrassing childhood photos? Because that might seal the deal.”
He groans. “So many. All over the walls. My mother will be happy to point out my awkward phase.”
“You had an awkward phase?” Oh. My. God. The decision just became simple. “This I have to see.”