Chapter 32
thirty-two
. . .
Maci
Some endings take months to find the courage to send.
One week after Witt takes me to the Grand Canyon and tells me he loves me beneath a sky full of stars, I’m standing in Noelle’s kitchen tying sage-green ribbon around a tiny jar of honey.
This is apparently what happens when Margarita Night includes children and a wedding deadline.
“So…” Noelle draws the word out as she pours another batch of margaritas into the blender. “How was the Grand Canyon?”
My fingers freeze around the ribbon.
“He told you?”
“Not exactly.” She presses the lid onto the blender. “The kids begged to come over once they were feeling better, but he said he had to catch up on work because he took you to the most romantic place on earth.”
Birdie snorts. “Under the disguise of not having time to babysit.”
“Exactly.” Noelle hits the button, and the blender roars to life. When it stops, she lifts the lid and adds, “Because flying you across the country and camping beneath the stars is apparently less time-consuming than ordering pizza for three children.”
“He said we were camping?”
“He said there would be a tent.”
“There was a tent.”
Annika looks up from the stack of favor tags she’s trimming. “Only one?”
“One tent. Two sleeping bags.”
Sutton frowns as if Witt has personally disappointed her. “Witt has the touch.” She scoffs.
“I’m not sure he ever had touch,” Noelle says. “Witt once asked a woman if she was flirting with him because he needed clarification before deciding how to respond.”
“What did she say?” I ask.
“That she wasn’t flirting anymore.”
Laughter bursts around the kitchen.
I try to join in, but heat is already creeping up my neck as memories of the trip replay in my head. Witt carefully choosing our campsite. Witt lying beside me beneath the stars. Witt telling me I’m the lines connecting everything together.
Witt saying he loves me as if the words are a fact he’s verified a thousand times.
Birdie leans across the island, her eyes narrowing. “That blush says the second sleeping bag didn’t matter.”
“We only used one.”
“Maybe he does have game.” Sutton says, shocked.
“Parker said Witt’s being tight-lipped about what happened. Just said he wanted to show you the stars,” Annika explains.
Noelle says, “We want the scoop.”
Four pairs of eyes lock on me.
I reach for my margarita. “I’m not discussing the details.”
Noelle slides the fresh pitcher onto the island. “That means there are details.”
“There are always details,” Birdie says.
“Let’s just say that Witt made me forget the stars I was there to see.”
His sisters’ mouths hang open for a few moments before they erupt. Bouncing their feet in repetition against the floor, tapping the table. Birdie even claps.
Birdie presses her lips together and then says, “No offense girls but Witt has always been my favorite, other than J.D. of course.”
Sutton chimes in. “Because you love saving wounded raccoons or anything wounded.”
“Because I needed saving one time and J.D. did that for me. Maci doesn’t know but he called me Birdie the night we… well hooked up and I ended up using it as my stage name and the rest is history. ”
“Does anyone use your real name?”
“Genevieve? God no. Do I look like a Genevieve?” she asks covered in glue, glitter and ribbon.
A tiny blur races through the kitchen wearing one pink rain boot, a princess crown, and a superhero cape.
“It’s a beautiful name though.”
“It is. It’s just not me. In school my friends called me Genie, but now I’m Birdie and I love it.”
Suddenly Noelle jumps up. “Don’t run with the scissors!” Noelle calls after Emma.
“They’re safety scissors!” Emma shouts back.
“That does not make me feel better.”
I laugh and take a drink. Pink sugar coats the rim because Birdie declared plain salt too depressing for a girls’ night.
Between the margaritas, bowls of queso, stacks of ribbon, and dozens of tiny honey jars covering the island, Noelle’s kitchen looks like a Mexican restaurant collided with a wedding supply store.
Margarita Night was supposed to happen last week, but Birdie had to fly out of town for a recording session, two of the kids got sick, and finding an evening when everyone was free apparently requires the same strategic planning as an NFL schedule.
Tonight, the guys are all at the stadium preparing for the home opener, Birdie and Noelle couldn’t find sitters, and Margarita Night became Margarita-and-Wedding-Favor Night.
I like this version better, anyway. It feels less like an event I’ve been invited to and more like real life.
Messy. Loud. Slightly sticky.
The kind of night where no one cares that my hair is piled into a crooked knot or that there’s dried glue on my thumb. I’ve spent years trying to fit myself into rooms where everyone seemed to understand rules I’d never been given.
Here, the only rule appears to be protecting your drink from small hands.
“I still think glitter was a mistake,” Annika says from the opposite side of the island.
“Glitter is never a mistake.” Birdie shakes more silver flakes over one of the wooden signs meant for the dessert table.
Noelle stares at the sparkling trail leading from the island to the hallway. “That’s easy to say when this isn’t your house.”
“It’ll vacuum.”
“It’ll multiply,” Sutton corrects. “You’ll still be finding it when Emma graduates from high school.”
Birdie lifts the sign and studies it. The words LOVE IS THE BEST PLAY are surrounded by enough glitter and rhinestones to be visible from space.
“What do we think?”
“I think it weighs more than one of your awards,” Annika says.
Birdie gasps. “I don’t have that many awards.”
“You do. Don’t be bashful.” Noelle adds.
Birdie’s smile softens for half a second before she sets the sign back on the table.
“How did the recording session go?” Sutton asks. “You never finished telling us.”
“Amazing.” Birdie brightens so quickly it’s like someone flipped on a stage light inside her.
“The industry is all about collaborations right now. Country with rock. Country with pop. Sometimes country with something that doesn’t sound remotely country until they add a steel guitar and call it genre-bending. ”
“Is that an actual industry term?” I ask.
“It is now.” She brushes glitter from her fingers. “Hayes Dieslich was incredible. I actually could’ve made it back in time for Margarita Night.”
Noelle arches an eyebrow. “You canceled on us for nothing?”
“I didn’t know it would go that fast. We did one practice run, then one real take, and that was it. Our voices were perfect together.”
Annika leans closer. “Perfect in a musical way or a he’s-a-country-star-with-jeans-painted-on-his-body way?”
“Musically perfect.” Birdie pauses. “His jeans were also very committed to their job. But your kids were sick anyway.”
We all laugh.
“Did J.D. meet him?” Sutton asks.
“Yes, and before you ask, he was fine.”
“Fine as in secure and supportive?” Noelle asks.
“Fine as in he shook Hayes’ hand, told him he loved his last album, then stood behind the soundboard looking like he was reviewing game footage.”
“That sounds more like J.D.,” Noelle says.
“He asked the producer how many duets were planned for the album.”
I lift my glass. “Research.”
“Exactly what he called it.” Birdie smiles into her drink. “Then, on the flight home, he listened to the demo four times and told me Hayes came in early on the second chorus.”
“Did he?” Annika asks.
“Yes, but that wasn’t the point.”
“It was to J.D.,” Sutton says.
Annika slides another tiny honey jar across the island. “Okay, can we focus? Parker has counted these twice, and if we show up short, he’ll convince himself it’s an omen.”
Birdie picks up the printed instruction sheet resting in the middle of the table. “Whose idea was homemade honey favors?”
“My fiancé’s,” Annika says, shaking her head.
Sutton takes the page from her and reads aloud. “‘Step one: Center label exactly one-half inch from the bottom. Step two: Tie ribbon with two loops, not three.’”
Sutton looks up. “He made directions?”
Annika sighs dramatically. “He said consistency matters.”
Birdie laughs. “You’ve turned Parker into a wedding planner.”
“I created a monster.”
“No,” Noelle corrects. “You created a groom.”
“I didn’t know there was a difference.”
“There isn’t,” Sutton says. “Not once Pinterest gets involved.”
I carefully tighten the sage-green ribbon around another jar. A small white tag hangs from it, printed with SPREAD THE LOVE in gold lettering.
“They’re cute.”
“They’re driving me insane,” Annika mutters, though she’s smiling.
“They’re driving Parker insane,” Noelle says. “He texted me this morning asking if sage green and eucalyptus green were actually different colors.”
“Are they?” Birdie asks.
“Apparently.”
“What happens if one ribbon has three loops?” I ask.
Annika places a hand over her heart. “The marriage is immediately invalid.”
I laugh, reaching for another jar. “Good to know.”
Sutton picks through the pile of ribbons before speaking again. “I wonder who Dad’s going to ask.”
The room quiets just enough for everyone to know exactly what she means.
Annika looks up. “He still hasn’t decided?”
“Nope.” Sutton shakes her head. “Greyson keeps reminding him he made a promise.”
I glance between them. “What promise?”
Noelle smiles. “Dad said that if Witt ever started dating, he’d stop hiding behind being a widower and ask someone out.”
“He specifically promised to bring a date to the wedding,” Sutton adds. “Greyson refuses to let him forget it.”
“Apparently, Witt finding love means Dad has no excuses left,” Birdie says.
Annika ties another ribbon and squints at the bow. “How often does Greyson remind him?”
“At least once a week,” Sutton says.
“Twice this week,” Noelle corrects. “Dad changes the subject every time.”
Birdie grins. “I’m still voting for Dara.”
“I don’t know.” Annika tilts her head. “Dad and Mary Beth have been awfully friendly lately.”
Sutton shrugs. “I think he’ll surprise all of us.”
“Whoever it is, I hope she likes football,” I say.
All four women stare at me.
“What?”
Noelle laughs. “At this point, that isn’t a preference. It’s a survival skill.”
The front door flies open before anyone can answer the knock.
"Daddy!" Witley barrels into the kitchen carrying what appears to be three dandelions and half a stick.
Greyson follows behind, completely out of breath, but picks her up and kisses her on the cheek.
"I caught her before she climbed the mailbox."
"Barely," Witley corrects proudly.
Birdie laughs.
"Future Olympian."
"No," Greyson says. "Future insurance claim."
The girls immediately scatter toward the snacks. I slide my tote farther beneath my chair. Or at least, I think I do.
A few minutes later Witley reaches for another ribbon.
Her foot catches the strap.
“Sorry!”
The tote tips sideways. Everything spills across the hardwood floor.
Lip gloss.
Wallet.
Phone charger.
Notebook.
Pens.
Receipts.
A folded envelope skids farther than everything else, stopping right in front of Noelle. She bends automatically and picks it up.
I freeze.
My heart stutters.
No.
Not that one.
She turns it over. Across the front, in my handwriting...
Glitch
No address, just one name.
Her eyes lift to mine, not angry or suspicious.
More like she’s processing and being protective, like every older sister who's spent her life making sure no one hurts her little brother.
"Who's Glitch?"
The room’s decibel level falls from ten to one. Enough that I know everyone heard.
I force myself to smile. "An old online friend."
She looks at the envelope again.
"You never mailed it?"
I shake my head. "I wrote it a while ago."
I rewrote it the the day after returning from the Grand Canyon. Things had changed and I needed to be clearer.
Birdie casually reaches for another honey jar, intentionally giving me space instead of piling on questions.
Sutton changes the subject first. "So..." She holds up two ribbons. "Is this eucalyptus green or sage green?"
Annika groans dramatically. "We're not starting that again."
The conversation moves on almost instantly.
But before Noelle sets the envelope back into my hand, she gives me the smallest smile.
The kind that says...
I'm not asking because I'm judging you.
I'm asking because I love my brother.
It’s not long before all the jars are finished and we’ve cleaned up the crafting chaos. I hug everyone bye and when I break from Noelle, her stare lingers for a half-second.
I make my escape while they’re all gathering toys, and sippy cups.
I blow out a breath when I get into my car.
The letter.
The drive home is quiet.
My tote sits on the passenger seat.
The envelope peeks out from the top.
I've carried it with me for months from the time it only had Glitch’s name on it to now where it’s been fully written.
Every time I thought about mailing it, something stopped me.
Hope.
Fear.
Timing.
I don't know, but I see the red, white and blue sign of the post office at the next intersection. My fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
I drive past it, but then I signal and make a u-turn.
Five minutes later I'm standing beneath the fluorescent lights, the envelope suddenly feeling heavier than paper should.
I run my thumb across the name one last time.
Glitch.
I take out my phone and a pen and add the forwarding address on the front.
Some endings deserve an answer.
Others...
Simply deserve to be finished.
I slide the letter into the blue mailbox. It disappears as my opal ring hits the box with a soft metallic clink.
For the first time in ten years, there are no more words left to send.
I smile all the way home.