4. four
four
Nora
September
“You’re not wearing that to the game, are you?”
My younger free-spirited sister, Sydney, grimaces as she takes in my old, faded Stormbreakers t-shirt and leggings. I’d even put on my favorite yellow Converse sneakers and had gone through the trouble of re-tying my laces into neat little knots. She’s clearly unappreciative of this immense effort.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“Well…” she says, stepping inside my house and closing the door behind her. “There’s nothing wrong with it, necessarily. It just feels a little…” she does a little swooshing motion with her hands, “...casual.”
“Nobody told me there was a dress code.”
“Leggings, Nor?”
“They’re comfortable, okay?”
“Right, and comfort is key. Just not tonight.”
“Why is that, Sydney?” I ask, my suspicions raised. A family trip to the ballpark in Seattle to celebrate my dad’s birthday didn’t strike me as an opportunity to strut my stuff. Not that there’s much stuff to strut, anyways. Every part of me has been stretched out and softened after having a baby.
She places her hands on my shoulders and steers me toward my bedroom. “Now, I know you’ve got to have something sexy hidden in the depths of that closet of yours.”
“Sexy? We’re going to a baseball game. Not the club.” I stiffen when we reach the doorway of my bedroom. “You didn’t lie to me, did you? Is this some ploy to get me out on the town?”
Sydney laughs. “We ain’t clubbin’ girl. Now get those leggings off so I don’t have to peel them off you myself.”
I sigh and comply, knowing that if I put up a fight, I’m going to make us late for the game. We’ve got a two-hour drive ahead of us to Seattle, and the last thing I want to do is be an inconvenience to the rest of my family. I’m already feeling super uneasy about watching the Stormbreakers play, harboring the knowledge that even after I’d bravely decided to text Brooks back, he never replied. It’s been a month since we saw each other at the diner, and even that amount of time hasn’t lessened my embarrassment around the fact that I really believed that he wanted to reconnect with me, his high school girlfriend from a past life.
But the joke was on me because he’d never responded. That’s what I get for taking a leap of faith. And now I’m going to have to watch him play while knowing that he probably hasn’t given me a second thought since our run-in. I’d sit tonight’s game out if I could, but my dad bought my ticket, and I didn’t have an excuse to give him that wouldn’t require me spelling out all of the embarrassing details. So here I am. Allowing Sydney to dress me and keeping the truth to myself.
Within a miraculous few minutes, Sydney’s scrounged up a fitted white tee and some cut-off shorts I haven’t dared to wear since before I was pregnant.
“Nope. There’s no way I can zip those shorts up!”
“What do you think I’m here for? Have a little faith in me, sister!”
She’s true to her word. The shorts pinch my waist a little, but even I’ve got to admit that they’re flattering. I’m not really sure why I haven’t even attempted to wear them until now. I guess when your body changes so much after carrying and birthing a real-life human being, it can be a little like Russian roulette trying on your old clothes from your pre-mom life. You never know what’s going to fit and what’s going to suddenly feel like it was made for Polly Pocket.
Sydney scrutinizes me from head to toe. “Do you have any other shoes?”
“Sydney!”
“Okay, fine. You can wear the Chucks. But can we do something about your mouth?”
“You know I’m working on the swearing thing, especially now that Ollie understands–”
“Where’s your makeup?” Sydney cuts me off, darting into my bathroom.
When she emerges with a tube of poppy-red lipstick and a bottle of perfume, I back away from her with both my hands raised defensively in the air.
“Sydney,” I say slowly. “Put the weapons down.”
“Come on!” Sydney pleads. “This lipstick will brighten up your face so much. You used to wear this all the time!”
She pops the lid off the perfume, yanks my wrist towards her, and then sprays it on my pulse points. I realize she’s about to try to apply the lipstick to my face herself and snatch the tube from her hand.
“I can do that,” I say testily. She follows me at a very Ollie-like distance into the bathroom and hovers over my shoulder as I carefully swipe the tube over my lips.
“There,” I say impatiently. “Do I look acceptable now?”
A slow smile lifts her face as she meets my eyes in the mirror. “You look gorgeous, Nora.”
My eyes dart to my own reflection, and I’m shocked to see a bright-eyed, red-lipped, dark-haired beauty looking back. I blink a few times. Where’s the exhausted mom with purple smudges under her eyes, unidentifiable stains on her clothes, and a rat’s nest for hair that I’m used to greeting in the mirror? Even though I’m still pretty casually dressed, I have to admit that I look more put-together thanks to my sister.
“What’s this all about?” I say, pulling the bottom of my shirt down over the waistband of my shorts again as I face my sister. It’s way tighter than anything I’d normally reach for.
She gives me a very suspicious, wide-eyed shrug. “Come on. Trent’s waiting for us in the truck.”
Sydney’s husband Trent nods at me in the rearview mirror as I slide into the back seat of his truck.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say, buckling my seatbelt and feeling very much like I’m forgetting something. Ollie is at his dad’s this weekend, but I feel a constant pull towards him even when he’s gone. His absence is definitely contributing to my heightened anxiety. I’m missing my other half.
“You look nice,” Trent says with a rare half-grin. “What’s the occasion?”
“You tell me. Would you like to explain why your wife decided to play fairy godmother this evening?”
“Because,” Sydney says. “Cinderella’s going to the ball!”
“Tell me, once and for all, are we going clubbing? Because if so, I’m going to actually throw up.”
“With this guy as our third wheel?” Sydney juts a thumb toward Trent. “I think not.”
Trent’s left eye twitches ever so slightly, and I know he’s close to confessing.
“Trent,” I say slowly. “What’s going on? You know something, don’t you?”
Trent shifts his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes glued to the road like his life depends on it. His silence speaks volumes.
“If the two of you don’t tell me what sort of shenanigans you’re up to, I’m going to–”
“So many threats, Princess,” Sydney says, flicking a hand lazily in my direction. “There is nothing to worry about. We’re all going to enjoy a Stormbreakers game on Dad’s dime.” I almost miss her next words because she drops her voice so low. “While sitting with the Alden family.”
“I’m sorry…which family did you say?”
“The Alden family,” Sydney repeats, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Alden,” I lean forward, jutting my head between the front seats. “As in… Brooks Alden’s family?”
“That would be the one,” Sydney says, letting out a very fake cough.
Dread gathers in my belly. No, no, no. Things were not supposed to play out like this.
“Dare I ask who you murdered to pull this off?” I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice.
“It was actually much easier than I thought it would be.” I can see a familiar mischievous gleam in my sister’s eyes. “Remember Brooks’ sister Claire? She and I have stayed in touch.”
“You have? Why didn’t I know that?”
“We’re the admins of the Facebook page for our high school graduating class. We served on the student council together, remember? Wait, aren’t you coming up on your ten-year reunion? I’m sure Fiona Hastings will be in charge of that. Always did like to be the center of attention.”
“Stop trying to change the subject. So, you and Claire randomly got back in touch–”
“No, we’ve been in touch for a while now,” Sydney clarifies. “We follow each other on Instagram. Anyways, I told her it was my dad’s birthday, and we were planning on coming to the game. I asked her if there was a way we could upgrade our seats. You know, to get closer to the field. And instead, she offered to let us sit with them in the friends-and-family section!” She’s turned around at this point, looking as pleased as punch. “Isn’t that fun?”
“Does Brooks know about this?” I can barely get the words out.
“I’m assuming he does.”
“You know what they say about assuming,” I mutter. Trent snorts, earning him a sharp glare from his wife.
“I’m sure Claire had to ask Brooks first before she extended the invite,” Sydney says, suddenly looking uncertain. “Right?”
My gaze flicks to Trent, who has stayed silent this whole time. “What do you have to say for yourself, Trent? You’re partially at fault here, too.”
“I am?”
“Why didn’t you try to intervene?”
“I tried to,” Trent insists. “But you know how she is.”
Sydney scoffs. “You should be thanking me! I got you an in with the relatives of a gorgeous, single man, who I know would love a chance to see you again.”
“How could you possibly know that he wants to see me?”
“Claire told me that you waited on their table last month when they came to the diner.”
Rats.
“So you really are in touch,” I say dryly. “Good to know the residents of Kitt’s Harbor have nothing better to do than to discuss the comings and goings of Delia’s Diner.”
“Fess up, Nora. Why did you take their table? I thought you always hide when he comes in.”
It’s a simple explanation, really. Straightforward.
“For some reason, the Aldens requested a table outside rather than their usual booth. The server over that section didn’t feel comfortable waiting on them, so I stepped in.”
And because I was avoiding Tommy Collins at all costs. But I’m not about to tell Sydney that. No doubt if she knew that Tommy is still pathetically pursuing me, she’d track him down and tell him to back off.
Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe I should tell her.
“That’s the whole story?” She narrows her eyes at me. “You might as well get the truth out. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. I want all the details.”
When I don’t immediately start speaking, she begins a dramatized narration of the events for me.
“One beautiful Saturday morning, Brooks Alden walks into Delia’s Diner, removing his baseball cap and running his hands through his luscious, dark locks. He scans the restaurant, eyes hopeful. Filled with longing.”
I can’t help but laugh at her theatrics. “You want the story? I’ll give you the story. Once upon a time, Nora had a server who panicked at the sight of Brooks Alden, becoming too starstruck to wait on him and his family. So, Nora was then forced to take over their table. She was nothing but professional as she took their orders and made small talk.”
“What kind of small talk?”
“I don’t remember! I asked him about baseball, he asked me about Ollie, then Claire said something about childbearing…”
“See!” Sydney smacks my knee. “I knew he was filled with longing!”
“Then!” I interrupt before she takes things too far. “I got tied up with another table. A baby shower. Roman offered to take care of them after that and then he…”
“What?” Sydney asks eagerly.
“Well,” I falter. “He did something he shouldn’t have.”
“What did he do?”
“Roman wrote my phone number,” I sigh. “On Brooks’ box of leftovers.”
Sydney whips around again, and I swear her seatbelt is being tested to its limits.
“He did what ?”
“I know.”
“So then what happened? Did he call you?”
“Well…no.” It’s the truth. Brooks hadn’t called me.
“Oh, no,” Sydney says, her eyes softening. She thinks I got rejected by Brooks. A repeat of our high school breakup. We ate an insane amount of ice cream and cried over cheesy romcoms together after he dumped me. “I’m sorry. I wish you would have told me. I wouldn’t have orchestrated all this for you and Dad had I known.”
“Here’s the worst part about it.” I slide my phone out of the pocket of my shorts and scroll back through my texts. “Brooks didn’t call me, but later that night, I got this text.”
Sydney’s eyes flick over my phone screen. “Nora!” she screams. “He texted you! He texted you ! But wait…you never responded?”
“Wait, what? Yes, I did!"
“No, you didn’t,” Sydney said, turning my phone around to show me the screen. My heart sinks into my toes.
“I swear I replied…” I say, in shock. I take my phone back and stare down at Brooks’ text. The screen is riddled with spidery cracks from all the times Ollie and I have dropped the poor thing. Maybe I thought I’d hit send, but really I hadn’t. There’s a sizable crack over the send button that sometimes requires a really firm thumb tap. I’d been so determined not to look back at the text that I hadn’t even realized that it had never actually sent.
My whirling thoughts suddenly distill into frostbitten clarity.
For the last four weeks, I thought Brooks had ghosted me . But in reality, I had unknowingly ghosted him .
“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t have responded either,” Trent says, trying to cheer me up.
“That’s because you barely know how to use a cell phone.” Sydney turns back to face me.
“I thought I had pressed send. Oh my gosh,” I groan. “I can’t believe this. I’m just going to pretend it wasn’t him to make myself feel better.”
“Who else would it have been?” Sydney scoffs.
“I don’t know, one of my employees trying to play a prank on me?”
“Don’t tell me you’re serious.” My silence must be answer enough because she takes my phone right out of my hands again. “Well, there’s only one way to confirm that it really was Brooks who texted you.” Sydney deposits my phone under her thigh, keeping it out of my reach.
“Sydney Stewart,” I warn. “Don’t you dare text him back now!”
“Yeah, Syd,” Trent chimes in. “Don’t text him. Need I remind you that you’re already married? To me ?”
“I’m not going to text Brooks! This isn’t my first matchmaking rodeo,” Sydney says defensively. She considers herself responsible for our sister Bridget’s marriage to Trent’s friend Javier. Sydney pulls out her own phone. “I’m texting Claire!”
“What on earth are you going to say?” I ask.
“I’m going to tell her you somehow lost his number. I guarantee she’ll give it to me if she knows you’re the one asking for it.”
I’m about to unbuckle my own seatbelt to intervene, but her fingers are already flying across her phone keyboard. Too late.
I huff out a breath and fold my arms like Ollie does when I deny him a treat before dinner. If I’m entirely honest with myself, the blame in reality lies with me. I’d been so determined to not get my hopes up that I hadn’t bothered to double check that my text had gone through. This is my fault. And Roman’s, too. He had the gumption to give Brooks my number in the first place.
“It’s done!” Sydney cries.
Trent grumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like “crazy woman”.
“And now,” Sydney says ceremoniously, flourishing her phone through the air. “We wait. Enjoy the Seventh Inning Stretch, everyone.”
I groan and bury the heels of my hands into my eyes.