7
[MESSAGES]
JOEL: There’s a classic movie marathon on Saturday and they’re showing Shadowlands. You up for it?
KENZIE: Is that the biographical movie about C. S. Lewis?
JOEL: Yes.
KENZIE: I love C. S. Lewis. You remembered!
JOEL: No big deal. I’ll pick you up at five.
KENZIE: Should I meet you at the movie theater instead?
JOEL: No.
KENZIE: I could.
JOEL: I know you could, but I’ll pick you up.
KENZIE: Do you need my address?
JOEL: I know where you live.
KENZIE: Okay. Thank you.
JOEL: Just reminding you of our no kissing rule. You think you’ll be able to restrain yourself?
KENZIE: *GIF of a person rolling their eyes*
KENZIE: I was wondering how long it would take before you brought it up.
JOEL: I waited three whole days. Count yourself lucky.
[GROUP CHAT]
TESS: WHAT?! You and Joel are going on a date?
KENZIE: A fake date.
SOFIA: Sure, sure.
KATE: Details, please.
TESS: Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?
KATE: Gideon’s asleep. I’ve snuck into the bathroom. This is too important to wait until I get back.
KENZIE: It’s not a real date.
KATE: I’ve been trying to set you and Joel up for ages. And it finally happened at my wedding.
KENZIE: Nothing happened.
SOFIA: Your face told a different story.
TESS: Aaron wants me to tell you Joel has no record and no red flags on his socials.
KATE: I could have told her that.
TESS: Can I do your hair?
SOFIA: I call dibs on your nails.
TESS: Make sure you wear your sexy black underwear. The ones with the lace.
KENZIE: Joel will not be seeing my underwear!
KATE: You wear pretty underwear so YOU feel sexy and confident.
TESS: Please don’t wear your granny panties. I’m begging you.
SOFIA: As a matter of fact, I’m coming over to your place right now and burning them.
In the days leading up to Saturday, I can’t stop thinking about the kiss.
My mind has taken on a will of its own, replaying every little detail.
The sure, confident way Joel angled my head so he could gain better access to my mouth.
The expert sweep of his tongue. I remember how powerful his muscles felt under my fingers, how soft his lips were in contrast to the hardness of his body.
I can’t regret a kiss like that.
I haven’t thought about Bobby at all. Which is a relief. But with Joel consuming my thoughts, the what-ifs are starting to creep in. What if Joel changes his mind and doesn’t show on Saturday? What if it’s awkward, or too real, or not real enough?
I tell myself to stop overthinking it. It’s one public date. A fake date at that. He’s helping me. I’m helping him. That’s all.
On Friday night, I drive to my parents’ place tucked away in the woods just outside town, hoping the change of scenery will distract me. As soon as I hit the long gravel driveway, I feel the tension fall away.
I dish out cuddles to the various rescue dogs loitering in the hallway before I find my parents in the kitchen.
It’s my favorite room in the house, the smell of cinnamon in the air, the herb pots lined along the windowsill.
My dad is slathering garlic butter onto a baguette, while my mom stirs something on the stove, humming under her breath.
The humming is the soundtrack of my childhood.
She hummed while painting at the kitchen table on rainy days, letting me swirl leftover colors in her rinsing jar like I was creating galaxies.
That’s where it started, my love for brushstrokes and blank paper, for making something that didn’t exist before.
Nostalgia curls around my ribs, tighter than I expect.
“Hi, sweetheart,” my dad says, pulling me into a hug. He’s wearing shorts and flip-flops, and his salt-and-pepper hair hangs shaggily around his face.
“Hi, Dad.” I return his hug. “Nice tan. Where’d you guys go this time?”
“Croatia.”
“Was it a good holiday?”
“Wonderful. We’re already planning another trip next year.”
My parents love to travel and are taking full advantage of their retirement years to explore different places and cultures.
“You should come with us next time,” he says gently.
“Maybe.”
His eyes soften and he kisses the top of my head. I’ve been saying maybe for years. We both know how much of a homebody I am.
“Hey, where’s my hug from my girl?”
Smiling, I wander over to my mother and wrap my arms around her. Her hair is the same light color as mine but now streaked with gray. I tend to favor my mom the most in looks, inheriting my blonde hair and blue eyes from her.
“Smells good, Mom.”
I give her another squeeze, before I loosen my hold. We’re a family of huggers.
Mom turns to me with a smile, eyes flicking to my paint-smudged fingers. “Busy creating magic again?”
“I was taught by the best,” I reply, and her smile deepens. I peer into the pot. “What’s for dinner?”
“Pesto pasta salad.”
“Need help?” I ask.
“That would be great. Dad’s on onion duty.”
“Never been afraid to cry,” he declares.
I find a jar of olives and a red pepper in the fridge and start chopping.
As we prepare dinner together, we catch up on the week.
I tell them about Kate’s wedding and her surprise maneuver to get Joel and me on the dance floor.
My parents find it hilarious. They want every last detail.
So I tell them, but I don’t mention the kiss in the storeroom.
I haven’t told anyone about that. And I’m not entirely sure why.
They open a bottle of wine to celebrate Kate’s ingenuity. I stick to juice because I’m driving. And because I don’t find her matchmaking efforts as much of a cause for celebration as they evidently do.
“What’s the movie Joel’s taking you to?” Mom asks as she stirs the pesto into the shell pasta.
“ Shadowlands .”
Dad frowns. “Is that the one where Anthony Hopkins plays C. S. Lewis?”
“That’s the one,” I confirm as Ember, the smallest of their four rescue cats, winds herself around my legs. I reach down to stroke her soft fur. “Have you watched it?”
Mom and Dad exchange a glance I can’t read.
“Ages ago,” Mom replies, waving a dismissive hand. “Anyway, tell me about the greeting card designs you’re working on.”
I love talking about my work, especially to my mom.
I fill them in on my latest design while I wipe the counter down.
When the salad and garlic bread are ready, we make our way to the back deck.
There’s still a slight chill in the air, and my dad hands me a throw blanket.
I drape it over my legs and we settle in on the deck to eat our dinner, the view of the woods familiar and comforting, like stepping into a favorite memory.
Our conversation drifts from their long-time neighbors who are thinking of moving, to the bathroom renovations they’re in the middle of, to all the various social events taking place in Brown Oaks.
After I finish eating, my mom makes hot chocolate and I curl up under the blanket with Rue, a timid little dachshund with big, worried eyes, to watch the sun sink lower into the sky.
The wind sighs through the pine trees, and the questions that have been dogging me the whole week fall silent at last.