4. Monty
CHAPTER 4
Monty
M ove-in Day.
After a brutal Game 7 loss in Miami, I was back in Colorado and ready for the reno to begin so it could be over.
“Mew!”
Parfait le Chat, protesting vehemently from his soft-sided pet carrier, was my last trip. I’d set up the mackerel tabby’s bed, toys, food, water, and litter box in my room and bathroom. “Almost there, boy. Just up these stairs and … here we go.”
After my sister Mindy died, Nana decided I needed a cat. My parents wouldn’t allow pets at our house, so Parfait—named after Nana’s favorite dessert at the time—lived at her house. Tasha and I spent a whole practice brainstorming silly nicknames. Parfy, Barfy, Parfait the Cray, Parfetta the Chetta. All ridiculous, but it was the first time I’d laughed in weeks.
“Nana says his name is Par-feh luh Sha.” I stroked my new kitten and winced when he bit me.” But I can read and it says Par-fate-lee-chat. So dumb. ”
Tasha giggled. I was pleased that I’d made her laugh.
“Well,” she said. “We’ll just have to give the little fuzzball a nickname. How about Parfy?”
“Or Barfy!” I hooted. We collapsed into giggles as the kitten ran around us jumping and scratching and hopping like a bouncy ball in one of those lottery boxes.
“Parfait the Cray!” I could hardly get the words out I was laughing so hard.
“Parfetta the Chetta! Like cheese!” Tasha squealed.
Warmed by the memory, I couldn’t help chuckling as I pushed my key into the lock and opened the door. Tasha’s apartment was just off Main Street, separated by a parking lot from the back of the Coffee Loft and its neighboring businesses. It was a good ten-minute drive from Nana’s, and Parfait had cried the full duration.
Montoya Construction would start the accessibility renovations on Monday. I figured with the wedding this weekend, it’d be better to move in on Friday than on Sunday. So I’d been in and out all morning while Tasha worked at the Coffee Loft. She was home now. Nowhere visible, but the aroma of something cooking gave her away.
I toed off my shoes under the entry table and slid my feet into the fuzzy slippers Tasha had given me for a high school cheer secret Santa gift. They were worn out like a well-loved teddy bear and a little too small. Trusty, dependable, broken in, a little withered and dulled by age but functional and far superior to a stiff brand-new pair. My toes peeked out the open front, but the worn-in softness and familiar comfort far outweighed the minor size deficiency.
I settled Parfait in my room and shut the door, closing him in. Best to let him get adjusted to a smaller space before overwhelming him with the full layout. I snorted. Tasha’s entire apartment was smaller than Nana’s master suite. The cat would be fine, but I didn’t want to press my luck just yet.
I crossed the living space to the open kitchen to inspect the permeating scent. A Crock-Pot sat on the counter, and I lifted the lid. “Mmm.” It was some kind of chili with veggies.
“Drop that crock cover or I’ll shoot.”
I glanced up, furrowing my brow as my brain registered the sight before me. Tasha, in a belted satin robe, her sandy hair in long, sculpted waves, held a squirt bottle. I couldn’t help chuckling.
I replaced the lid on the pot and held my hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t dare mess with your dinner. Why are you making dinner? Don’t they feed you at rehearsals? And what’s in that bottle?”
She glared at me. “Water, for the cat. If he goes where he’s not allowed.”
That elicited a full belly laugh, deep from my gut. “First of all, a cat is going to go where a cat is going to go. Second, and lucky for you, Parfait is old and lazy. Ancient by cat standards. And he only jumps if he’s highly motivated.”
The muscles in her face relaxed, and she lowered the bottle. “Fine. It’s chicken and veggie chili. Gabby forgot about my dietary restrictions, and the kitchen couldn’t accommodate tonight on such short notice. So, I’ll eat before I go and probably when I get back. It’s fixed for tomorrow, though,” she added.
Tasha had always been a picky eater, and as an adult, she’d become a weirdly healthy eater. She was always refusing food at events; this had gluten, that had dairy, the other thing had cross-contamination.
“Why are you still looking at me?” she asked.
Was I? I guess I was .
“Uh … your hair looks nice.” It did. I was used to seeing her in a ponytail.
“Stop it,” she gritted through her teeth.
“Stop what?” I asked.
“You don’t need to be nice to me because I saved you and your cat from being homeless.”
I held back a laugh and pasted on a smug expression. “Noted. You’ve got a blob of lotion on your cheek.”
“I—” Her free hand flew to her face. “Uh!”
She spun around and stalked back to her room. I chuckled. It was fun ruffling her feathers. It came naturally.
After Nana’s stroke, I made a list of my regrets. Not monitoring her sugar intake as stringently as I could have. Wasting years and effort trying to get my parents to notice me. Breaking my promise to a four-year-old Tasha that I’d be her stunt partner forever.
But it wasn’t enough that I’d broken our partnership after sixteen years. It was my choice for her replacement that had rubbed salt in the wound, though that hadn’t been my intention, and I’d regretted it almost immediately. There was a lot of work to be done if she was ever going to forgive me. I wanted to earn her trust again as much as I wanted Nana to make a full recovery.
I just didn’t know how.
Maybe that path would be revealed to me while I was staying here.
I spent the next few hours unpacking and petting Parfait. I figured I’d stay in my room until Tasha left for Gabby and Noel’s wedding rehearsal and dinner. Once I finished, I relaxed on the bed. The old cat climbed onto my chest, turned in a circle, plopped down, and fell into a deep sleep .
Knock knock. I glanced at the clock. 5:07. Parfait was still snoring. “Come in,” I said lightly.
Tasha opened the door slowly, revealing herself one inch at a time. Her long waves were held back with a glittery headband, and she wore a fit-and-flare yellow sundress that set off her tan. She looked like … a ray of sunshine.
Very un-Tasha-like.
I tried not to react.
Because of the cat, of course. Didn’t want to disturb the old guy.
Le Chat. I laughed internally at my own joke.
“Montgomery! You’re not dressed. Aren’t you coming?”
“Huh?”
“To the rehearsal.”
“I’m not in the wedding,” I reminded her.
Tasha’s forehead knitted in confusion. “Gabby didn’t invite you to the dinner?”
“She did. But I figured I’d stay here and help Parfait get adjusted. No one will miss me.”
She tilted her head and frowned but recovered quickly. “That’s true.” But it didn’t land with the usual vitriol. Was she disappointed I wasn’t going?
Impossible. The girl hated me. I was only here because our arrangement was mutually beneficial.
“Help yourself to the chili. Bye.”
The door clicked shut behind her, and I stroked the cat thoughtfully. Tasha had been almost civil. What was that about?
Twenty-something hours later, the wedding reception in Brenna Trotter’s barn venue was well underway. The wedding party dances had been danced, the cake had been cut, and now it was time for my favorite part.
Line dances.
This reception was stacked with former cheerleaders and current hockey players, none of which were on the floor yet. They’d get rowdy later, but I’d be on my way home by then. I positioned myself in the center of the dance floor behind Tasha’s grandmother and great-aunt as The Hustle got underway. DJs always warmed up the crowd with that one. It was old and got the Boomers on the floor. Then they’d play the Electric Slide, and the Gen Xers would join in. Depending on the event, the Achy Breaky Heart was next. Then the Macarena, the Cha Cha Slide, the Cupid Shuffle, and finally the Wobble.
I knew them all. I put my own spin into each of them. As did Tasha and Gabby. We’d been doing most of them at cheer camps since preschool.
I looked for her over the dancing septuagenarians. She stood by the dessert table, speaking to a waiter, probably asking for the ingredients. The sign said “Gluten-free Chocolate Cake,” but as I learned from her, that didn’t necessarily mean it was true, especially if it was made with or on the same equipment as the gluten-full desserts. When she turned away from him, I waved. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
The next time I faced her direction, she’d moved, and I located her back at our table, chatting with Brenna. I waved again and caught Brenna’s attention. She said something to Tasha, then pulled her to her feet .
They were coming my way. The song faded out, and most of the Boomers left the dance floor, making room for the next generation and a handful of Millennials and Gen Zers who knew the Electric Slide.
There was room in this line dance to change it up. Tasha had been the one to teach me that. One year at cheer camp, we had to choreograph our own variation. She was a born choreographer. She not only did hers but mine and Gabby’s, too.
I loosened the tie around my neck and rolled up my sleeves as they stepped into place to my left. I’d ditched my jacket as soon as we arrived at our table.
“Let’s see what you got,” Tasha challenged, stepping into the grapevine and turning in circles instead of sliding.
Classic Tasha.
The next move was to lean back and twist your body to the right, then roll forward to punch at the ground. This was the part where she’d had me do a back tuck and then punch forward. But I didn’t have room for that here. Instead, I busted out my pop-and-lock moves and flat robot hands.
Giggling behind me encouraged me to continue that way, and by the end of the song, I’d broken a sweat. Tasha patted my back. “The kids loved that.”
I lifted my brow and waited for her opinion, but of course it wouldn’t come. Straight praise wasn’t our thing anymore. Not for a long time. Not since?—
I kept my expression neutral as more guests crowded onto the floor. Tasha danced beside me through all the dances until the Wobble ended. The DJ slowed it down with a ’90s ballad, and that was our cue to head back to our table. Neither of us got into the slow dances. They were awkward and … feely .
I didn’t want any feels.
“Hey,” she hissed, pulling at my elbow as we waded through the lovey-dovey couples to get to our table. “Who’s that guy?” She tipped her chin with appreciation toward a tall, pale blond deep in conversation with Xavier. But he wasn’t looking at Penny’s husband.
His gaze was fixed on Tasha.
“Vlad?” I asked. “Noel’s friend from some European league,” I said dismissively. “Signed with the Edge last week.”
“So he’s local. Introduce me?”
I studied her face, flushed from dancing. Exerted, Tasha was at her friendliest. Endorphins made her nicer.
Without a word, I led her over to the guy.
Xavier saw us coming and waved us over. “Vlad, have you met my sister-in-law, Tasha?”
He shook his head. “Vlad Ivanov. Pleased to meet you.” He spoke carefully and deliberately, almost robotically as he held out his hand for Tasha. She lifted hers for a shake, but he raised her arm and brushed a kiss against her knuckles instead. Her left arm was still hooked into mine, and I felt her whole body shiver at his touch.
I already hated the guy.
“Vlad’s Russian and working on his English,” Xavier explained. “We’re all helping him learn words.”
“Nice of you.” I turned to Tasha. “Enjoy your conversation.” I smirked. I peeled her arm off mine like it was poisonous and sauntered back to our table, plopping into my seat next to Penny.
“What do you know about Vlad?” I asked.
She fussed with the baby’s breath tucked into her waist-length braid. “Not much. Xavier likes him. Why do you ask? ”
I thumbed over my shoulder. “Tasha likes him, too.”
“Aw, are you looking out for my sister?” She smiled and patted my knee. “I knew you didn’t hate her.”
“Hate her?” I blinked. “I don’t hate her. She’s the one who froze me out.”
“I know. But you hurt her pretty badly when you chose Gabby as a partner over her that summer before she broke her leg.”
“I had good reasons.”
“I’m sure you did. But it cut her deep. Especially after your pledge to be ‘partners forever,’” she air-quoted. “And then she fell and broke her leg…”
“We were four. Little kids make all kinds of silly promises. And most don’t remember them and hold onto them their whole life.”
“It wasn’t silly to her, and you know it. She trusted you, Monty. It’s very hard for her to trust people; always has been.”
“I know.” I squeezed my eyes shut. The memory of preschool me and Tasha spitting on our palms and shaking on partners forever haunted me. “I never dropped her, not once.”
“She knows that. And I think that made it hurt even worse, especially after she fell.” Penny sat up straight as Vlad and Tasha passed us, hand in hand, toward the dance floor.
“And now she slow dances,” I mumbled, incredulous.
“So go cut in,” Penny suggested.
I shook my head. “Doesn’t bother me.”
She cast a pointed look at me and patted my knee again. “Keep telling yourself that.” Xavier appeared behind her, and she stood. “Don’t be so stubborn,” she advised me. I averted my gaze as they made their way through the tables to slow dance to whatever lame song was playing.
Time to put in a request.
It took a fifty-dollar bill to convince the DJ to play “The Chicken Dance,” especially since it was on Gabby and Noel’s banned song list. Who banned the most iconic dance?
Gabby, that’s who. I wish I’d had my phone ready to snap a picture of her face when it began to play. I knew it irked her, but I didn’t request it to make her mad. I requested it to get Tasha’s attention. Those two had been in competition since they were born.
They were both super smart and great athletes. But Tasha could also ice skate, and Gabby, despite years of lessons as a kid, was still a bender. She’d improved a bit since dating Noel, but there was zero grace in her slide. Tasha, on the other hand, could have gone into figure skating instead of cheer if she’d decided to. And with her natural ability to choreograph graceful and compelling routines, she was fun to watch on or off the ice.
I joined the guests forming a circle on the dance floor and snuck a glance in Tasha’s direction. She was six people down from me, and I watched and listened while she taught Vlad the moves.
“Gabby hates this song!” she shouted over the music. “I had my tenth birthday at the ice rink, and she couldn’t skate. But Monty and I pulled her out for this song because we thought we could hold her up. We couldn’t. She fell more times than we could count!”
Vlad just smiled. Probably couldn’t understand a word she was saying.
Probably didn’t care, either, from the way he was looking at her .
It irked me.
I glanced at the glowering Gabby, and I smiled at the memory. Guess she never got over it. While I flapped my arms, I scanned the circle. A few people down from me were Brenna and her husband, Brendan, then Nate and his roommate, Leon. Across from me, Gabby’s brother Jake and two of his college buddies were paired up with a trio of girls from the Worlds team, some hockey players next to them. Then Noel, Xavier, and Penny. Behind them, Gabby was at the DJ’s booth, probably reminding him in the kindest way that he wasn’t supposed to play this song.
When she looked up, I flashed a grin as I shimmied into a squat. When I wiggled back up, she was shaking her head and laughing.
Gab was a good sport.
But the joke was on me. “The Chicken Dance” ended, and another ballad began.
How I loathed weddings.
Couples getting cozy, singles on the prowl. Except for me. I didn’t have time for a relationship. Since Nana had been stuck in a wheelchair, she’d been my top priority. I’d yet to find a woman who was okay with that. It was tiring, dating. And there was always that small part of me that wondered if they were more interested in my money than me. My trust fund was substantial. I drove a high-end pickup truck. I lived in Nana’s Victorian mansion. And I had no plans to ever move out.
I’d given up looking for someone who was okay with all that.
I passed Tasha and Vlad as I exited the dance floor, trying not to be a creeper. He was a charmer. She was flushed, giggling, and batting her eyelashes. It was hard to tell if she was being genuine—because, endorphins—or playing it up because she so desperately wanted a hockey boyfriend like her sister and cousin. Xavier and Noel were great, but she sure was narrowing the field. There were only a handful of single guys on the Edge, and she’d managed to catch the eye of the newest most eligible bachelor.
“Monty!” Penny waved from the table where she was standing with Xavier. Seated at it were an older couple, probably his parents, and who I assumed were his three sisters. “Have you met the Schwanns?”
I offered my hand to Xavier’s dad. “Montgomery Biddington. Nice to meet you.”
“Heinrich Schwann and my wife, Irina.”
“He’s cute!” the middle daughter whispered loudly to the youngest. I grinned at the preteens but pretended not to hear.
The oldest, who I knew to be in her early twenties from Penny talking about her, shushed them and smiled. “I’m Daniella. These silly girls are Karina and Edyta. Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure.” I shook their hands and kept my face neutral as Penny used her index fingers and mouthed she’s single in Daniella’s direction.
Time to go.
“Pen, can you make sure Tasha gets home? I need to check in on Nana before visiting hours end, and I don’t think she’s ready to leave.” I nodded toward the dance floor, where she and Vlad were swaying. He was wearing a perma-smile, and I don’t think he blinked the whole time I stared at him.
What a meathead .
“Sure. Say hi to Nana Booboo for me and tell her we miss her at the Coffee Loft.”
“Will do. Thanks, Pen.”
I weaved through the tables to my chair, retrieved my jacket, and was out of there before the song ended.