Chapter 17 #2
James frowns. “You made guacamole?”
“Since when do you bake?” Winnie asks, and I appreciate her genuine curiosity rather than the disbelief coming off my brothers in waves. “Or cook? Wait—what category does guacamole fall under since you’re not technically heating anything up?”
A hearty discussion bordering on argument ensues involving my two brothers and their wives and what, precisely, defines baking, cooking, and making recipes that require only mixing and no heat.
Since I could care less about definitions, I ignore them, and my eyes find Molly’s.
“You made guacamole … for me?” she asks.
I nod, and the smile she gives me sends a wave of something hot and electric through my limbs. It settles in my stomach, a steady burn and churn of happy nerves.
“If it doesn’t get baked or cooked,” Pat is now yelling, “it can’t technically count as baking or cooking!”
I get to my feet, then hold out a hand to Molly. She takes it with a smile, and I tug her up toward me.
I raise my voice above Winnie and Pat, who seem about ready to come to blows with James over culinary terminology. “Who’s ready for dinner?”
Though I really resented my family’s interruption and especially their timing, dinner is actually a lot of fun. One of my brothers found out we had reservations at a little Italian place and called ahead to expand our party to six people. Because the Grahams are that level of intrusive.
The food is amazing, and there’s less bickering, or at least, no serious bickering. It wouldn’t be a Graham family dinner without Pat and James getting into it about something, goaded on by Lindy and Winnie—who I think find it good sport watching their men argue.
My brothers apparently forgot the argument about baking and cooking and instead got into it over Pat’s latest obsession, which is a group on Facebook called Things That Have Faces.
Of course, we all pulled out phones and checked out the group while they bickered.
The group has pictures of houses where the way the windows and doors line up make the building look like a person.
Some are a little more subtle, like a tortilla that some people swear looks like Elvis or curtains you have to stare at for a moment before you can see a ghostly sort of visage.
There are all kinds of arguments in the comments about those posts where people have to actually search to find the face.
As to what my brothers are arguing about, it’s Pat’s contributions to the group.
Apparently, he’s been posting random pictures with a caption like Oh man—I almost didn’t see it or This looked normal until I saw the face.
But none of them have faces. Pat’s just being Pat, and James says that it’s rude and abusing the trust of the group.
They can argue all they want if it means I get to sit next to Molly with my arm around her shoulders, toying with her hair.
Pretending, for the time being, that we’re just another legitimate couple at this table.
It’s not so hard to pretend when this is what I want.
It comes so easily that at points I completely forget about the fake aspect.
As the waiter clears our plates, Molly scoots her chair slightly closer and leans into me.
Maybe she’s forgetting too.
Pat doesn’t miss the move and waggles his eyebrows at me. With the hand not around Molly, I lift my fist, sticking my thumb between my middle and ring fingers. He laughs, choking on the water he was drinking.
I’d almost forgotten about this—the Graham fam equivalent to a middle finger. We used to do this to each other all the time as kids until Tank noticed and made us stop, telling us that if the intent was rude, it doesn’t matter what specific gesture you’re making.
He was right. Didn’t stop us from doing it behind his back.
The urge to make the gesture now comes from some long-forgotten place of muscle memory, creaky with disuse but almost automatic.
The present time seems like a good time to revive it.
Pat must agree, because he gives it back to me, still giggling.
“When are you getting married?” Molly asks Winnie. “Your ring is gorgeous, by the way.”
“Thanks!” Winnie holds out her hand, showing off the ring, which has some kind of black stone in a fancy setting. “It totally matches my vibe. James did a great job.”
I’m not sure I ever really looked at her ring, but now that I am, I’m surprised.
Mostly because my brother isn’t really into jewelry, and this is definitely not a run of the mill ring.
Thought, care, and planning went into this.
And based on the size of the stone, money.
I never saw James into anyone before Winnie, and though I know he prides himself in taking care of his people, I’m still a little surprised.
Molly shifts, her long hair brushing my arm, and I remember I made guacamole for her earlier.
I guess when you really fall for someone, you end up expanding what you know and what you’re willing to do for their sake. Researching rings. Fake dating. Making guacamole. Throwing away perfectly good pickles.
I'm almost as bad as James.
The realization startles me. Maybe because I hadn’t realized just how hard and fast I’ve been falling for Molly. This isn’t just like or attraction. I’ve got big feelings—the kind that are totally unfamiliar. Which is maybe why they snuck up on me.
James and I exchange a glance, and I swear it feels like he’s somehow aware of my revelation. He doesn’t wink like Pat did. But he does smirk.
I give him the Graham middle finger too, and he hides a laugh behind his napkin.
“As for wedding dates, we actually were thinking … soon.” Winnie’s tone is evasive, and her gaze shifts to James, who shrugs.
“How soon?” Lindy demands. “As in, will I need to buy a maternity dress or a dress that will make access easy for nursing a baby?”
Winnie scrunches up her face. “We’re actually getting married next week.”
Lindy drops her fork. I almost fall out of my chair.
“Next week?” Pat says, and I can’t tell whether he’s yelling because he’s excited or mad. Maybe both.
“Wait—are you eloping?” Lindy asks. “Because how in the world do you think you’re going to pull off a wedding in a week? Do you have a dress? A cake? Who's doing the flowers? Do you have a cake?”
“You said cake twice,” Pat says.
Lindy shrugs. “The baby likes wedding cake.”
“It’s already on the family calendar,” James says, dropping his arm over Winnie’s shoulders.
“I think we all would have noticed a wedding on there,” I say, pulling out my phone and noticing several missed calls and texts from Thayden. Great.
A sour feeling spreads through my stomach. This many missed communications from Thayden are never a good thing. I flip the phone over on the table, but Molly doesn’t miss my reaction. Or maybe she saw my phone screen. She’s still leaning into me. Any closer and she’d be in my lap.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Just Thayden. I’ll call him later.”
“Nope. I don’t see a wedding,” Pat says. “Just the … oh. The Dark Horse special event—is your wedding the special event?”
“Yep,” Winnie says. “We made sure everyone could be there. Even Val is flying in because there’s no way she’d miss it—but don’t tell Chevy. She wanted to surprise him.”
“So, Val knows you’re getting married?” Lindy asks. “You told Val and not me?” She sniffs, her eyes suddenly glassy.
“No! I didn’t tell her. Yet. You know Val is terrible with secrets. But it wasn’t hard to convince her to let us fly her back. She misses Chevy too much. And she said she needed to see your baby bump now that you’ve actually got a baby bump to see.”
“Okay.” Lindy’s voice wavers and tears are dripping down her cheeks but she’s smiling. “You’re getting married!”
With no warning, she jumps up from her chair so fast, it falls over, and then she’s leaning over the back of Winnie’s chair hugging her while patting James’s shoulder with just shy of violent aggression.
“I’m so happy for you, and I’m so mad you didn’t tell me, and I’m so excited to eat wedding cake.”
Winnie laughs. “You’re going to love the cake. The new bakery is making it. I got a sample, and it was amazing.”
“If you told me, I could’ve helped with planning!” Lindy says. “And come to the cake tasting!”
“Me too,” Pat says.
“Same,” I say, though I don’t know how helpful I would have been. I definitely would have gone for a cake tasting.
“I didn’t want anyone to have to do anything,” Winnie says. “It’s going to be simple. Small. Just the way we like it.”
More like: just the way James likes it.
I could absolutely envision Winnie planning a raucous, massive wedding reception with dancing and music and maybe plate throwing—even if she’s not Greek.
But James … that kind of thing would be his nightmare.
Once again, my mind circles back to how relationships involve so much give and take, so much stretching outside of yourself.
I’ve never done that, I realize. Not with Liza or any of the women I’ve dated for any length of time. Not that I was a neglectful boyfriend or didn’t do nice things for the women I dated. I paid for meals, held open doors, called or texted when I said I would.
But I’ve never sacrificed the way Pat has and does for Lindy or the way Winnie and James do for each other.
I wonder suddenly, if this is how Tank was with my mom.
I’m sure he was. Back then, I wouldn’t have noticed since I was not quite twelve when Mom died.
Too young to see my parents as people or to think about how they showed each other love.
They were happy, though. Like my brothers and their women. Like I am, sitting at this table with Molly by my side.
I hope, though, that this isn’t too much for her. It seems like my family is ever-present, and every time we’ve been with them, there’s some kind of emotional moment happening. And she’s been very quiet since Winnie’s announcement.
“Who’s walking you down the aisle?” Pat asks.
“Chevy?” Lindy asks. She returns to her seat, which had been righted by the waiter who looks like he’s more than ready for us to leave.
Winnie shakes her head. “I asked Tank.”
“Dad knows?” I ask, wondering just how many secrets our father keeps.
“He’s the only other one besides a few of the people we’ve hired for things,” James says.
Winnie turns to Molly. “My parents are both dead. Not that I would have asked my dad anyway.” She swallows and I don’t miss the way James takes her hand and squeezes.
Winnie pushes her glasses up and wipes her eyes.
“Anyway, that’s a whole long dramatic story I won’t bore you with, but please know you’re invited, Molly. ”
“Thank you,” Molly says. She’s smiling, but it falls as soon as Winnie turns back to answer one of the thousand questions Lindy is asking.
Molly’s hands are in her lap, and she’s tying her cloth napkin into a knot, then untying and retying it again.
I dip my head and lean closer. “I’m sorry if my family is a lot,” I murmur. “We’ve got babies, weddings, and tears all around. Are you okay?”
When she turns to face me, our noses brush. I should move back. But I don’t. Neither does she. And if I’m not imagining things, her eyes look wet, like tears are on the verge of falling down her cheeks.
“I’m okay,” she says. “Your family is amazing, and you’re lucky to have them.”
I’m about to make some kind of joke when Molly pushes back her chair and bolts across the restaurant toward the bathroom.