Chapter 8 #2
Rae appears, concern scrolling across her brow.
She must sense the tension. “Trouble in paradise? I know planning a wedding can be a stressful time. But just think, it’s all leading up to a day that you’ll remember for the rest of your lives.
It’s the springboard for your future, really.
Ignore any pressure you’re feeling from family or friends and remember that this is your special day. ”
I expect Junie to erupt with sardonic laughter, so through my teeth, I quickly say, “Rae is right, Erica. We can’t let anyone or anything come between us.”
“Mig—”
“I want everything to be perfect for my sweetheart,” I say.
“But—”
Placing my hand on Junie’s knee, I say, “Really, truly, whatever will make you happy.”
I left that window open for it to be slammed on my knuckles, but Rae gives me an assist. “So these are the documents you’ll need to sign for our working agreement. The deposit amount is here and I’ll need your signatures here.” She points to the sheet of paper.
Junie blinks as if overwhelmed, stuck on Rae’s comment about pressure from friends and family, which was precisely our problem, or preparing to retaliate and embarrass me for going along with Rae’s mistake about us being the bride and groom to be.
“Oh, wait. You signed everything online already. I’m not old, but I am old-fashioned, which is what people love about my cooking.
I still can’t get used to doing everything digitally.
My assistant insisted I move into the modern day, so I made a compromise.
She’ll do the forms online, but I collect payment in person.
Plus, it’s so nice to meet face to face, don’t you think?
I want to know who I’m cooking for. It might sound silly, but that way, I can add a little bit of extra love into the recipes, reflecting your love for each other. ”
With a break in Rae’s monologue, Junie says, “Oh, we don’t—”
She interrupts. “I really appreciate you not minding coming over on short notice. I was holding a spot for a wedding in Omaha.” She drops her voice to a whisper, “An assemblyman’s daughter supposedly broke off a marriage of convenience, leaving the groom at the altar because it was all for show.
” She waggles her eyebrows. “Can you imagine? Planning an entire wedding and then calling it off?!”
“Actually, yes—” Junie starts.
Rae claps her hands. “Oh, don’t tell me yours is a second-chance romance? I’m a sucker for all the sappy love stories, but that one might be my favorite. When I discovered the wonder of audiobooks, I’ll tell you that it passes the time when I have to do dishes.”
Junie tries again, “But we’re—”
Rae jumps to her feet. “My husband tells me I’d be more efficient if I stopped gabbing, but I can’t help it. However, I’ll grab you the samples you requested. This is the best part.”
Junie turns to me. “Tell her. You have to tell her the truth that we’re not—”
The truth is, no matter how hard Junie tries to push my buttons and drive me away, I’ve never gotten over her.
Trust me, I’ve tried. Yes, she can be feisty and fiery, but that’s something I appreciate about her.
I’m that way too, and it’s like we’re on common ground, equal footing.
She doesn’t take my nonsense, and I won’t tolerate hers. Much.
I rather like the idea of a second chance.
I whisper, “We might embarrass Rae if we correct her at this point. Plus, it’ll be complicated to explain.”
“Terrible idea. When she sees the actual bride and groom, she’ll think she’s at the wrong wedding.”
We go back and forth for a full minute until Rae appears, pushing a cart with several plates covered with those fancy silver dome covers.
“Now, I know you two won’t mind sharing, what with your embarking on sharing a life together.” She sets the various plates on a table and describes each dish with passion.
Even if we were able to get a word in edgewise, we wouldn’t be able to explain that we’re not a couple about to embark on anything together other than planning the wedding of the real Erica and Shane because our mouths are full of arguably the most delicious food I’ve had in ages. Don’t tell Ma.
“Wow. This is amazing,” Junie says, swallowing a mouthful.
“The steak is so tender,” I add.
Rae beams as she talks about various cooking methods that go well over my head, even though I’m no slouch in the kitchen.
Ma and Pop dream of opening an Italian-Mexican hybrid restaurant.
Pop says his knees might not make it to see that day since he’s still doing carpentry and that line of work is hard on the joints and back.
While I try the creamiest garlic mashed potatoes I’ve ever tasted, I think about my post-hockey career. Perhaps I could open the restaurant next to Junie’s salon, getting a future with her one way or another.
Never mind samples, we walk out of Rae’s having eaten a full-course meal ... and letting her think that we’re Erica and Shane.
The opposite of a hangry Junie is a satis-appy Junie—satisfied and happy. Before we get on the road, I check my texts and read one from my mother. Then I shoot one off to Shane, letting him know everything for the caterer is cool.
She says, “I’m looking forward to Erica and Shane’s wedding just so we can eat that again.”
“You mean you’re not most excited to walk down the aisle with me?”
Junie, buckling her seatbelt, goes still. “What do you mean?”
“As you pointed out, the maid of honor and best man typically lead the wedding processional and exit together as well.”
She clears he throat as if realizing what I meant. “Right. But since they know we don’t get along, perhaps they’ll make other arrangements.”
“Sure. Considering they paired us up to plan the wedding. Makes perfect sense.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
She doesn’t argue further because I have a point. “This begs the question, why did they think this was a good idea? Maybe I’m not one of Shane’s best friends and he’s just using this as an opportunity to get back at me for the time I had two dozen pizzas sent to his dorm room.”
“Did you do that?”
“Of course. You know how competitive I am.”
Junie knows everything about me.
I say, “We have to figure this out for Shane and Erica.”
She leans back in her seat as if overwhelmed. “I’m trying to settle my mother in and open a salon.”
“I’m a season starter with a brand new team.”
She whips her head in my direction. “Are you saying you’re busier than me?”
“I’m saying we both have our hands full, but we can do this together.”
Her gaze slides to mine as if she expects me to cap off my comment by adding something insulting, like in our typical back-and-forth banter. But when I don’t, it’s like the wind that rustled up autumn leaves settles and they slowly drift to the ground before landing softly.
“We have three jobs. Let’s delegate and not screw it up for their sake.”
“For their sake,” I repeat.
“Let’s call a truce.”
“Good idea. I can do that.” We certainly can’t go on like this.
“To tolerate each other.”
I stop at a traffic light. Junie extends her hand. “Truce shake.”
“Deal.” I slide my hand around hers, gripping tight and relishing her smooth, warm skin against mine. I don’t want to let go.
Our gazes float together, illuminated by the passing headlights. She blinks slowly. I lose track of place and time until someone honks.
“We’re doing this for them,” she says as if trying to convince herself when she doesn’t drop my grip.
“Of course,” I say, getting into gear.
But are we doing this for them or us? Both?
A moment later, she says, “The tri-tips and mashed potatoes were really good, Shane.”
“Now you play along. Well, I won’t tell your mother,” I joke.
“She hasn’t cooked in months.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Mrs. Popovik rivals my mother in the kitchen, which is part of their problem. They’re always trying to show each other up.
“Ever since Papa died ... ” She lets me finish the sentence.
“I’m sorry, Junie.” My hand finds hers again and squeezes as I head toward my house.
“Thanks. I lost him and then it’s like she just checked out.”
I pull down the long driveway, bordered by columns of evergreens. This is the third house I bought for the family and I hope it’s the last.
“Where are we? What are we doing here?” Junie asks as if this is the start of a scene from a horror movie. She lets go of my hand and grips the armrest while peering out the window.
“Your mother is here.”
“Why?” she asks as if sensing something brewing.
I shake my head slowly. “I cannot fathom and am afraid to find out.”
“Whose house is this?” she asks, turning to me, wide-eyed.
“So many questions.” I chuckle.
“Well, if you’d give me some more information, I wouldn’t be asking.”
“For your information, this is my house.”
The driveway opens up to reveal a modern craftsman farmhouse lined with stones on the bottom that build toward wood siding.
Junie goes still, eyes wide. “It’s our dream house.”
I tip my head from side to side, not surprised that she noticed, but that she acknowledged it.
When we were together, we’d talk about someday leaving the city for the countryside and raising our kids with lots of room to play outside.
Junie wanted a wide front porch. I insisted on a barn.
Not sure why, other than I like the way they look.
Around here, I learned that people use them for at-home ice rinks.
“After leaving New York, I bought us a place in Washington, thinking we’d be there a while.
Ma loved the big bathtub with jacuzzi jets and Pop practically lived in the garage with its huge workbench and tons of room for tools and projects.
Then, I got traded to Missouri, and we relocated again.
Ma got another tub and Pop the garage, and the kitchen was designed by a professional chef.
They were in heaven. I was hardly there, busy with team stuff.
Then, I got traded again. There is a new housing development, closer to town, but all the houses were already under agreement.
This one is out past Redd’s place on the outskirts of Cobbiton, but it was the only place available that would fit all of us with room to spare for when my older brothers visit. ”
Junie’s eyes are wide with awe. “It’s beautiful.”
“Hopefully, we won’t be packing up and leaving anytime soon.” The hockey season starts in a week and I’ve been training well. I hope to live up to the showman center reputation I’ve built for myself. The thing is, I always start strong and then fizzle out.
As Junie follows me up the lantern-lit path, I explain, “Ma and Pop have an attached apartment in the back. Charlie and Joey have rooms on the first floor. The rest of the space is mine, including upstairs ...” And kind of empty.
Until a pair of eyes gleam from inside the front door when I open it. I flip on the light to reveal a tabby cat with a distinctive brown line above its mouth. He meows and rubs against my legs. I give him a bro-pet, tapping his flank.
“Burt Reynolds, meet Junie. Junie meet Burt.”
“You named your cat Burt Reynolds?”
“The other option was Jeff, but you can’t deny he looks like the actor with the mustache.” Our fathers loved his movies and would watch them and practice the lines while they worked on improving their English.
Junie says, “Those are his markings, not a mustache.”
I shrug and pour some food into his bowl, then refresh his water, which my brother didn’t do even though I texted him earlier.
“It’s quiet in here,” Junie says as if accustomed to our boisterous apartment filled with boys.
I miss the noise, as strange as that sounds. “A rarity. Likely, everyone is in Ma and Pop’s section.”
“Never figured you for a cat dad.”
“He was here when we arrived. A regular greeting party.”
Junie tells me about Sharon Linderberg while petting the cat, who, for the first time, ignores his food. She has him purring in her arms.
I have a vision of us here, together. Mr. and Mrs. Cruz with the cat and a bunch of kids and it fills my head with happy sounds and memories that I’m afraid aren’t meant to be until Junie smiles at me.
“He likes you.”
“At least someone in this house does,” Junie mutters.
“Harsh. I like you, Junie.”
Brushing off my comment, she says, “Well, I like Purr-t Reynolds. I always wanted a cat, but we couldn’t in our apartment.”
“I know.”
She looks up at me, her bottom lip in a pout as if it’s not fair that I get to have a cat and she doesn’t.
But I want her, don’t I? I suppose life isn’t always fair.