7. Chapter Seven Lucy
Chapter Seven: Lucy
T wo days before the wedding finds me at Mermaid Shores’ other Montgomery household, where Josie’s parents are hosting a backyard barbecue in lieu of a formal rehearsal dinner. The idea is that Josie and Elijah wanted the lead-up to the wedding to be a celebration of their hometown and their relationship, which is why we had the joint B-B-B at the Siren & Sword last night. Everything about the festivities is intended to be casual and relaxed and emblematic of this town’s welcoming spirit, which will stand in satisfyingly sharp contrast to the fancy wedding ceremony at Blakeley Manor. It’ll be the best of both worlds, really.
That’s what I’m trying to focus on—how much of a success this wedding weekend will be—as I unpack a grocery bag full of hamburger meat and hot dog buns in my Uncle Joe’s kitchen. Josie’s dad is outside with my dad, who drove down from Maine this morning with his newest wife, Lottie, and the Montgomery brothers are no doubt bickering over the grill while the poor woman is forced to witness it.
Elijah is somewhere in the backyard as well, dutifully using his tech skills to set up the twinkly lights to sync with the playlist I arranged. Josie, dressed in a bridal-white sundress, is smiling at him through the kitchen windows.
“You’re not supposed to be helping,” I remind her.
My cousin tugs her attention away from her almost-husband, albeit reluctantly.
She plants her hands on her hips. “And why not?”
“Because you’re the bride,” I remind her. After neatly organizing the packets of buns, I move on to the fridge, double-checking that we have plenty of vegetarian options as well as the regular barbecue meats. Josie’s mom did the shopping for this event and, although I trust Carol with my life, I’m unable to snap out of Maidzilla Mode.
Especially after Theo’s snide comment about how I’m apparently not as detail-oriented as I think. He’s such a jerk.
A tall, well-dressed, disgustingly handsome jerk, but a jerk nonetheless.
He totally faked it when we ran into each other outside the florist. I knew he recognized me, but he played it off so casually that I almost convinced myself I was mistaken.
Stupid, self-important idiot.
“Elijah is helping,” Josie says, unpacking the fancy plastic plates that look so nice I almost don’t believe they’re disposable.
“Hm?”
“You said I shouldn’t be helping because I’m the bride, but Elijah is the groom and he’s helping.”
“Right.”
Josie snorts. “Are you okay? Did you have too much to drink last night?”
“No,” I grumble. “As maid of honor and co-owner of Montgomery Events, it would’ve been unprofessional for me to—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Josie interrupts. “Can you relax? Have a drink right now, will you? I’ll make you a margarita.”
“I don’t want a—”
“And Aunt Rachel was so kind to bring us a bottle of tequila from her recent trip to Mexico,” Josie continues, choosing to ignore my protests. “So, really, it would be kind of rude to refuse a drink made with it.”
“She’s not my aunt,” I mutter petulantly. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so difficult. I hate that I’m letting last night’s altercation with Theo kill the good vibes.
Josie tuts her tongue at my response. She knows I’m being thorny on purpose. Aunt Rachel might be Josie’s mom’s sister, and therefore not a blood relation of mine, but our families have always been so close that I’ve never called her anything other than aunt .
While Josie fiddles with the blender, I get back to work checking that we are well-stocked on all the barbecue essentials. The Sullivan twins are supposed to be bringing over a massive batch of their family’s famous potato salad, which I’ve already double- and triple-confirmed, so I can tick that off my mental list. There are also plenty of drinks, thanks to Mabel and Liam, all staying cool down in the basement at the moment. There are also about three dozen different bags of potato chips clumped together on the kitchen table.
Basically, everything is perfectly in order and I don’t have anything to worry about. Which should be ideal, of course, except that it means my mind is free to obsess over other things.
Like Theo.
Last night, after shuffling home from the Siren & Sword well past midnight, I prolonged collapsing in bed just long enough to grab my iPad and open the wedding guest list. Sure enough, I found Theo’s name clearly printed among the two hundred recipients of invitations, as well as a note to confirm that he RSVP’d.
How the heck did I miss that? Or did I simply block it out at the time, unwilling to accept the reality until it was literally right in front of me?
The dull plunk of Josie yanking the cork off the bottle of tequila nudges me out of my troubled thoughts before I can go much deeper.
Except, then Josie asks, “So… who was that guy you were arguing with last night?”
I whirl around before I can temper my reaction. “What?”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “That super tall guy? Leo, or something? He introduced himself at one point in the evening, but there were so many people in that bar that I could hardly hear him properly.”
“Theo,” I mutter. I instantly regret the correction, because Josie snorts.
“He’s one of Elijah’s college friends,” Josie says, a question in her tone.
“I know.”
“How?”
“What?”
She sighs in exasperation, setting down the bottle with a heavy thunk . “How do you know one of Elijah’s friends from Caltech when I don’t?”
“I don’t know him.”
It’s a terrible lie, and Josie sees right through it.
“Seriously, Lu. Don’t think I didn’t notice you two in the corner of the bar. You looked like a couple of feral cats ready to battle it out. I could feel the tension from across the room.”
“There was no tension .”
“Oh, yes, I can tell from your tone of voice that you feel totally normal and calm about this guy,” Josie quips sarcastically.
There’s no point in trying to hide the truth from Josie. If she really wants to know, she’ll find a way to get it out of me whether I like it or not. It’s in my best interest to give her just enough details to satisfy her and hopefully avoid discussing the full truth in the process.
“Fine.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “We went to divorce camp together.”
For a second, Josie merely looks confused. I don’t blame her. Divorce camp, more formally known as Camp Hannefort, was ages ago. And it’s not like I’ve ever wanted to bring up my summer of therapy in the middle of the woods with other miserable children of divorce.
The memory sparks to life in Josie’s eyes soon enough, though.
“Wait, really? I forgot about that. How do you even remember him? You were, like, fifteen.”
“Sixteen.”“Still.”
“Trust me,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I could never forget him.”
Confusion colors her expression once more. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It is a bad thing.” I shrug again. “But it’s fine. It’s no big deal. It was a long time ago and he’ll be gone again when this wedding is over, so it’s not like it’s a huge issue that we need to discuss in detail. I’d much rather focus on the tasks at hand, like making sure we have enough ketchup and mustard. People always go crazy with condiments at barbecues.”
Josie gives me a look meant to communicate I don’t really believe you, but I’m willing to let it drop for at least a little while .
“Right,” she replies. “Priorities. Ketchup and mustard.”
“Exactly.”
***
Two hours after Josie’s light interrogation about Theo, the barbecue is in full swing. Uncle Joe’s large backyard is stuffed with wedding guests. The air is perfectly scented with the aroma of summer—charcoal from the grill, sunscreen on skin, and the heady lilac bushes in full bloom. The familiarity of it calms me, even as I dart all over the place to make sure that we stay fully stocked on all the necessities, as well as pause to chat with everyone who tosses a smile my way.
I might not be the bride, but I can’t help feeling like I was born for this. Born for being a hostess. I’ve always known that I loved to socialize, and even when I was a child, I begged to have major responsibilities at any gatherings that us Montgomerys were hosting. Josie was the same way. Which is exactly why we decided to start Montgomery Events when we both finished college.
As late afternoon crawls toward a golden June evening, I help Mrs. Cromwell and Aunt Carol bring out the dessert options: strawberry shortcake and Gigi Lee’s famous snickerdoodles. Even with the barbecuing part of the event done, the party shows no sign of stopping.
“There’s gotta be, like, at least a hundred people here,” Mabel says to me as she shoulders her way out the back door, expertly balancing a massive platter of her mother’s baked goods. I’m right behind her, armed with six tubs of whipped cream.
“I know!” I laugh. “And to think there are twice this many people attending the actual wedding.”
“It’s the event of the decade!”
I really hope so. I’m not after glory, but if the Josieandelijah wedding goes down in Mermaid Shores’ history as one of the most beloved events to take place here, I can die happy.
I check that the bride and groom are still enjoying the limelight without having to lift a finger, then follow after Mabel to deposit the dessert supplies at the massive buffet table that my dad helped set up along the tree-shaded edge of the yard.
“Hey! Need my help with anything?”
I turn at the sound of the familiar voice, arms still laden with Cool Whip, and find Eric Kendall grinning at me. He looks dapper in a blue button-down, linen trousers, and boat shoes. In fact, he’d probably fit in better with the wealthy tourist crowd than with the majority of the people at this backyard barbecue, but he pulls it off nicely enough. He looks handsome, really.
Even so, I weirdly feel zero attraction to him.
“No, it’s okay, Eric,” I assure him. “Go enjoy the party.”
“Nonsense,” he protests, leaning forward to take the tubs out of my arms and carry them the remaining ten feet to the table. Mabel shoots him a sideways glance, then raises her eyebrows at me, but I just shake my head before turning my attention back to him.
“Are you having a nice time?” I ask him.
He nods emphatically. “Oh, yeah! Best barbecue I’ve ever been to, honestly. It’s a cool replacement for a rehearsal dinner. Was that your idea?”
“Oh, um, not really. Josie and Elijah wanted something more low-key.”
“Saving all the pomp and parading for the big day, right? I heard the manor the ceremony is at is insanely fancy.”
“It’s very elegant, yeah. I suppose this and the party at the bar last night balances it all out.”
Eric nods again, as if I’ve said something extremely intelligent. I’m really starting to wonder if he’s just laying it on thick to flatter me.
“That’s genius,” he replies. “I had a great time last night, though it would’ve been even better if I got the chance to talk to you for longer than a minute or so.”
I force out a laugh, which is not something I often have to do. “Yes, well… Maidzilla duties.”
“Maidzilla?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I glance around, subtly seeking an escape route. It’s not that I don’t like talking to Eric. It’s just that he’s a little too enthusiastic about trapping me into a lengthy conversation, and I really have too many things to take care of to let myself get distracted by meaningless flirtations.
As if she can read my mind, Mabel taps me on the shoulder. “Lucy? Carol said something about needing more ice for the punch.”
“I’m on it,” I assure her.
“I can get it,” Eric offers automatically.
“No,” I tell him, holding out a hand to stop him from taking another step toward the house. “Really. I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.”
When it looks like Eric is going to insist, Mabel steps in yet again.
“Hey, you’re new around here, aren’t you?” she interjects, sidling up close to him. I watch in real time and try to stifle a laugh as Eric takes in the full effect of Mabel’s undeniable beauty and blinks in surprise. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to some of the locals. You absolutely have to meet Joshie and Roy.”
I swear, I could kiss the ground that Mabel Lee walks on. As soon as she expertly steers Eric away, I turn and dash toward the house. The ice is being kept in the large industrial freezer that Uncle Joe installed in the basement. Once upon a time, that freezer used to be full of all sorts of treats for us kids, since Josie and I often had friends over here after school. Now, it’s finally being put back to good use.
There’s a huge crowd of people loitering near the sliding glass door on the deck, so I bypass them by slipping around the side of the house and using the door that leads directly down to the basement. I prop it open with a rock and then descend into the cool darkness.
As the wooden steps creak underfoot, I let out a long sigh of relief. Oddly enough, I’m a little grateful for this small moment by myself. As an extrovert, I really do love being around people, but sometimes it’s nice to step away for a minute to clear my head.
Using my phone as a flashlight, I hop down onto the cement floor and hum to myself as I make my way over to the freezer.
***
[ Twelve Years Ago ]
“Yesterday in our group session, we were talking about the importance of having healthy mindsets,” says Dr. Sans, his wrinkled hands folded calmly on his lap. “Does anyone want to share any thoughts about that after we’ve let those discussions marinate overnight?”
I stifle a giggle. That’s one of Dr. Sans’ favorite words: marinate . He likes it when we sit with our feelings, like all my emotions are a big bowl of soup broth and I’m the meat and potatoes.
Still, I raise my hand. I like group therapy. Even though I usually like to avoid talking about my feelings, it’s easier to do so here at Camp Hannefort. Probably because everyone else is in the same boat as I am, more or less.
Dr. Sans nods at me. “Yes, Lucy?”
“I thought what you said about mindsets was really interesting and I wholeheartedly agree with it. Having a positive outlook can change everything.”
There’s a quiet scoff on the other side of the circle. Beside me, Trina groans quietly.
And then he speaks up.
Theo Danvers. My nemesis.
It doesn’t matter that he’s super hot. He’s also super annoying. And, for whatever reason, he really doesn’t like me. The only time he ever speaks up in these group sessions is to disagree with me.
“Having a positive outlook doesn’t change anything,” he inserts, without even bothering to raise his hand. Hello, rude . “In fact, too much positivity in a difficult situation can become toxic.”
“Toxic?” I snap back, sitting upright in my chair. “Seriously? How can looking on the bright side ever be considered poisonous?”
I feel Abby’s hand on my arm, a silent reminder that I decided arguing with Theo Danvers in group therapy isn’t worth it. It’s impossible not to rise to the bait, though.
He’s just so… ugh.
“It can be harmful to force positivity in a situation where being pragmatic is more helpful,” Theo replies, refusing to back down. “Like, if we were in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, it wouldn’t help anyone to be like, ‘Hey! At least the sun is shining!’”
Beside him, his friend Brandon stifles a laugh.
“Well, we’re talking about divorce ,” I snarl back at him. “Not zombie apocalypses.”
“It was an example.”
“A bad one.”
“I think everyone else got my point.”
“Oh? Should we ask them? Trina, do you think what Theo said made literally any sense at all?”
Trina gapes at me for a moment, wanting to side with me, but too shy to know what to say. I flinch, hoping she can see the apology in my eyes.
Dr. Sans comes to her rescue quickly.
“Alright, alright,” he croons, waving his hands as if he’s clearing the air of smoke. “Let’s make room for these turbulent emotions and handle them with openness. And remember, it’s okay to disagree with your friends.”
I snort humorlessly. Theo is not my friend.
We glare at each other across the lopsided circle of chairs. For a long moment, everyone else remains quiet, waiting to see which one of us is going to start hissing first. Even Dr. Sans shifts nervously in his seat.
Abby clears her throat quietly. “Um, I think Lucy makes a good point…”
At that, Theo rolls his eyes. He doesn’t even look like he’s listening to what Abby actually has to say. He’s just annoyed that she agrees with me.
Typical. Really, he is just so annoying.