FIFTEEN
I ’ve kissed three guys in my life, but I’ve never been the kisser. The one who leans in and makes first contact.
And now I know why.
Renner isn’t expecting my lips to crash into him like a Mack Truck. As I close in, his eyes widen like saucers in abject terror.
But it’s too late. I’ve propelled myself forward with too much momentum. Our noses smash together, punctuated by the hard clank of my teeth against his upper lip. And there it is, the faintest metallic taste of blood.
Ouch.
Nonetheless, we’ve done it. We’ve kissed, at least in the technical sense.
“There,” I say through an epic sigh of relief, the tips of my fingers zipping with adrenaline as I pull back.
I expect anger or frustration for ruining the show. But instead, the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “Was that ... a kiss?” he whispers, eyes trained on mine, as though we’re the only people in this backyard. As if all eyes aren’t on us.
“I think so?”
He pulls me in and chuckles softly, chest rising against mine. “Somehow that’s worse than your hand-holding. You nearly knocked my teeth out.” He touches his front teeth, feigning concern that they’re still there.
If I had to kiss Renner, why did I do it so poorly? In front of a crowd, no less. He doesn’t have anything else to razz me about.
He leans in to try again, forehead grazing mine. From this angle, I can see the thick swoop of his lashes. The slight cluster of freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. The way his lips quiver as I inch closer.
He tilts his head to the left, running his thumb over my jawline to cup my chin, leaving me breathless. His lips slide into an earnest grin that nearly sends me adrift. It reminds me of that very first day of school. For that moment on the bleachers, I’d been charmed by his sunlight. His effortless smile. That intoxicating lemony scent.
I only realize I’m shaking when he squeezes my hand, which manages to slow the wild thrash of my heart.
Unlike me, he comes in slow and tentative. This is how it’s done, his body says, catching my bottom lip with a softness I didn’t know him capable of. His lips draw apart, then slide back together, a little deeper than before. His beard hair tickles the side of my face ever so slightly, lighting up every cell in my body. Our lips melt together seamlessly in a way I’ve never felt. Like opposites colliding. It feels safe, yet electrifying.
A part of me, a part I didn’t know existed, is desperate to pull him closer, run my fingers through his thick, silky hair, recapture his lips with mine. But he pulls back.
Before I can register what the hell just happened, he’s lapping up praise from the party guests. He shouts something to my mom that I can’t hear over my ringing ears.
And then he leans in and says, “Nice show, huh?”
Whoop, there it is. None of what just happened was real. It was all for show. The speech. The kiss. Because of course it was.
Renner deserves an Oscar for that performance.
For the rest of the night, our guests ogle us like we’re some famous penguin couple in a zoo. Renner’s speech fooled everyone.
Since our kiss, there’s a heightened awareness between us. It’s like whenever Clay enters the classroom and my heart cartwheels. I get a little clammy, my hands clench in my lap, and I can’t help but wonder if everyone notices how freakin’ weird I’m acting.
Not that I have a crush, by any means, but Renner is in my peripheral vision no matter where I go in Ollie’s backyard. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I keep catching his eyes lingering on me too. When I’m not being awkward, stuffing my face with Tostitos and heaping buffalo chicken dip, I master the art of evasion. I deflect difficult questions like, Are you excited for the wedding? Do you think you’ll cry when you walk down the aisle? It’s easy enough, so long as I remain vague and avoid the temptation to tell everyone it’s canceled. And after seeing the joy on my mom’s face, we’ll need to think of a gentle way to drop that bomb.
Unfortunately, Renner is making me look like a total nitwit. I overhear him telling everyone about our elaborate five-hundred-guest wedding. He includes oddly specific tidbits, claiming Pizza Hut is catering the affair, that we’re having a chocolate fondue fountain, a rose archway, a ten-piece live band, a skating rink, fireworks, Cirque du Soleil acrobats, and exotic animals casually moseying around the premises. I’ve seen enough reality TV to know that most of the time, husbands remain aloof and uninterested in wedding planning. Renner is not one of those men.
I corner him near the hot tub. “Why do you keep telling everyone we’re having an elaborate wedding?” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder to ensure no one is eavesdropping. According to Nori, we have a strict budget for our 150-person wedding at a resort near Fairfax, near Dad and Alexandra’s lake house.
He shrugs, leaning his weight against the hot tub. “Why not? Go big or go home.”
“We aren’t getting married, first of all. And even if we were, which we aren’t, I’m not blowing my life savings on one day.”
“The most special day of your life,” he corrects.
“Nope. If anything, we should have chosen to elope.”
He covers his mouth like I’ve confessed to murder. “Eloping isn’t my style.”
“This is so typical. Tossing out my ideas without consideration. What’s so wrong with a small, intimate wedding? It’s romantic. Not that we’re aiming for romance here, but—”
He furrows his brow. “You’re saying you don’t want to be surrounded by friends and family on your big day?”
“I mean, a handful. Not the entire town.” I don’t know why I’m even arguing. Of course Renner would be foaming at the prospect of a day all about him. He wouldn’t give up that opportunity.
He tips his head to the side. “Why are you trying to convince me to elope when you just said we’re canceling?”
I blink, coming to my senses. “Right. We aren’t actually getting married. We’re getting out of here. Tonight,” I remind him. But he doesn’t hear me. He’s distracted by a new arrival, his mom.
He was right when he said there was something different about her, aside from being more than a decade older. I’ve only seen Renner’s mom a handful of times. She was always naturally stunning, but a little worn with dark circles under her eyes, like a woman weighed down by life.
That isn’t the woman I see today. Her face has filled out, her skin practically glows, and she radiates joy, from her eyes to her smile.
A slightly balding man in a polo shirt with a lumberjack frame follows close behind her. It’s only when the crowd parts that I see they’re holding hands. Renner’s mom is holding hands with ... a man who isn’t his dad.
Renner looks like he’s seen a ghost, eyes darting from them to his dad at the other end of the yard, who waves casually as they enter. I can tell from Renner’s expression that he didn’t know about this new guy.
An ache settles deep at the base of my stomach. Instinctively, I place my hand on his shoulder, but he heads inside through the sliding door.
Against my better judgment, I follow him into Ollie’s gleaming white kitchen. Renner’s making himself busy, collecting random soda cans and tossing them into the blue bin with excessive force.
“I’m sorry, Renner. Your mom didn’t mention him this morning?”
His lips tighten as he tosses another can in the bin. “Nope.” His eyes pierce through the kitchen window toward his mom and her new boyfriend on the deck.
I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Renner not smiling, not the life of the party, at an event. Even when he’s arguing with me, he’s usually emitting an aura of nonchalance that makes me want to slap him. He’s never shown weakness, no matter what hurtful words I toss at him. But right now, sagged over the counter, he seems stripped of all that Renner-like energy. He looks flat-out sad. I don’t like it. At all.
“For what it’s worth, your mom seems really happy,” I say gently.
“She does. Happier than I’ve ever seen her, actually.” His eyes are a little misty as he watches her through the window. “I guess I can’t really be upset.”
I inch closer. “You can be. I get it,” I say, surprised at the words coming out of my mouth. I never thought I could really relate to Renner. “My parents never really fought in front of me, or if they did, they hid it well. So when my dad left, it felt so ... out of the blue.”
He lowers his shoulders and gives me a sympathetic glance. “That must have been really hard.”
“It was.” My body eases as a new, unfamiliar energy passes between us. It’s not hatred or judgment or annoyance. It feels a little bit like understanding.
The sound of the sliding door interrupts my thoughts. Nori and Lainey come charging into the kitchen—a little tipsy—in search of hot dog buns.
Renner slips back into the yard and I take refuge in the washroom, sitting atop Ollie’s sleek toilet that doubles as a high-tech bidet. The water-pressure options are endless. It even illuminates the water in your choice of color.
Just as I begin to relish the solitude and cool tiles on my feet, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Hon? You in there?”
“Mom?” I call.
“It’s me. Let me in. I need to pee!”
I open the door and she waltzes in, all smiles, a little flushed from the alcohol. “Gosh, this is the tenth time I’ve peed in an hour.”
“I think you just really love the bidet.”
She smirks. “I have a love-hate relationship with it. The first time I tried, I got splashed directly in the mouth. But it has a heated seat so I think I can forgive.” She rattles on about the various features for the entire length of her pee before pausing to study my face. “You seem a little ... overwhelmed tonight. All the attention getting to you?”
“I just ... I don’t know,” I say, dazed, afraid to say too much.
“You don’t know about what?”
“Everything. The wedding ...”
She peers at me. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
You could say that. “What if I was? I mean, do you really think I’m ready for marriage? I’m only seven—” I stop myself. “Thirty.”
“You’ve always been more mature than everyone your age.” She sighs. “I’m not one to talk when it comes to marriage advice, but I do know this. I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re with J. T.”
“You say that like I was never happy without him.”
“It’s just ... you’ve always been so careful. Grounded. Unwilling to let loose and have fun.” Her expression darkens. “I know it’s because of me. That you aways felt like you had to keep things together. But he brings out a side of you I haven’t seen since before Dad left.”
There’s a lot to unpack there, too much for this moment, so I settle for, “Speaking of Dad ... he’s not here. Shocker.”
She levels me with her look. “You know he would be here if he could.”
Would he, though?
“Speaking of the wedding, do you still want me to come by your room early for hair and makeup?” she asks. “I know they’re doing the bridal party first but—”
My mind snags on her words. “Bridal party,” I repeat, flooded with the memory of Kassie and me tanning on her deck that first summer we met, scrolling through wedding dress photos on her mom’s tablet.
“As my future maid of honor, you’re obligated to tell me if the dress I pick is as atrocious as this one,” she’d said, cringing at a couture dress made exclusively of feathers.
“Wait. You want me to be your maid of honor?” I asked, eyes wide and hopeful. We’d only been friends for a month.
Being her friend already felt like winning the lottery. But being her designated future maid of honor was something entirely different. I felt like a teen hero in a fantasy novel who was prophesied to save the world. The chosen one.
And that’s when it hits me. Kassie isn’t here tonight. Where is she?
“Mom? Who’s in my wedding party?” I ask.
“Your wedding party?” she repeats, bewildered. “You decided to have one person each, remember? J. T. has Ollie, you have Nori.”
I shake my head. “No. I wouldn’t leave Kassie out.”
She shoots me a funny look. “Kassie? You haven’t spoken to Kassie in years. You aren’t friends anymore.”
“We’re not?” I blink, unable to compute.
“At least, not that I’m aware of. You drifted apart. Are you sure you’re okay?”
My mouth dries and my stomach twists and turns, as though someone’s wrung it like a dishcloth.
Drifted apart. The words grate, refusing to settle in my gut. There must be a reason. Some sort of falling-out. Bad blood. A fight or disagreement that knocked us off course. Drifting apart is neutral, almost cold. Did we really just apathetically decide not to put any more effort in? That our friendship was no longer worth it? Somehow apathy hurts more than any theoretical fight we could ever have. Because here’s the thing. You fight with people you love. You ignore people you don’t care about. Kind of like Dad.
I clutch my gut, afraid I might hurl.
How could this even happen? I don’t believe for one moment that I’d just let us “drift apart” for no solid reason.
Mom keeps talking, but her words are echoey and garbled, as though we’re stuck in a fishbowl. All I can hear is the blood rushing through my ears. I repeat the words again silently. Kassie and I haven’t spoken in years. We aren’t friends anymore. Everything has changed.
I need to get out of here. Now.