Chapter 7 #2
“More of a unicorn guy myself.” Nate has brushed the grass off his clothes and climbed the stairs to the porch. He catches my eye and winks, then crouches down and offers Anna Carol his hand in a high five. “What’s up, AC? Keeping chill?”
“That’s not my name.”
“Right. It’s your initials,” he explains. “AC. For Anna Carol.”
“No.”
Nate opens his mouth, but Linney shakes her head at him, mouthing, Not worth it.
“Okay then.”
“My initials are A. C. M.” She punctuates each letter with a nod, her apple juice sloshing onto the patio floor.
“The dark side of monogramming everything your daughter owns,” Pete says.
“It’s my culture,” Linney says simply, taking another long pull from her champagne glass and stretching out on one of the patio loungers. I take a moment to appreciate Linney’s parenting style—so much more relaxed than our mother’s ever was.
“I think this calls for some fireworks!” my dad’s voice booms out as he takes the stairs up to the porch two at a time.
“Fireworks are for the Fourth,” I say, hating the sulkiness that sneaks into my voice. The fireworks had always been the thing my dad and I did together.
“Baby”—he flashes me the same look of wry disapproval that Cooper did back in my room—“I’ve got extras.” My mom’s eyes roll heavenward, and her lips move in a silent prayer. If there’s one thing my dad always has extras of, it’s fireworks.
“Nikki can help with the fireworks after she helps me get the food out and the table set,” Mom announces, pulling me by the elbow.
I follow Mom inside as Dad takes over entertaining Mr. Lancolm and I go into hostess autopilot.
Pulling out pitchers and platters, grabbing napkins and cutlery and ferrying them out to the long table on the screened-in porch, where I place everything just so.
My mom’s green-and-white-striped tablecloth flutters in the evening breeze.
We’re doing family style tonight, so I place the grilled corn, baked beans, freshly sliced watermelon, and a bowl teeming with tomato salad in a line down the middle of the table.
In the very center, I set the platter of shredded pork my dad spent the afternoon smoking and a pile of sesame seed buns.
It’s easy to fall into the familiar rhythms of it, and right now, I’ll do anything if it means avoiding small talk with the woman who ruined my life.
Okay, fine. Maybe Willow’s right. Maybe “ruin” is too harsh a word. But she’s still deceitful, and her entire existence will always be a cruel and painful reminder of the whole Aaron debacle, down to the fact that he chose her first. And now it feels like my family is choosing her too.
And if I’m being really honest with myself, I always assumed the next wedding in our family would be my own, not my little brother’s.
The idea that I’m the last single Bennet feels like a mark of failure, another sign that my life has strayed so far from the script, it would almost be unrecognizable to the Nikki of the past.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, everyone begins to take their place, and I stake a claim on a seat as far from Cara as possible. Nate takes the seat beside me. I feel myself go a little warm at his presence.
He reaches for the bowl of tomato salad and takes two huge spoonfuls. For some reason, it makes me smile. Between the tomato obsession and the many seasons of Survivor DVDs, I’m getting the sense that this guy doesn’t do anything halfway.
He passes me the bowl, and I take a much more reasonable serving before handing it off to Linney on my left.
“Y’all have a great setup here,” Nate says, turning toward me. “I would have loved growing up on the water.”
“Thanks,” I say. “My mom actually grew up in this house too.”
“That’s cool it stayed in the family,” he says, grabbing two sets of buns and filling both with a heaping of pork.
“Nate,” Cara hisses. She’s passing by our end of the table on her way to the ice bucket and looking pointedly at his double serving, clearly embarrassed.
If I were feeling more charitable, I’d assure Cara that nothing would delight my mother more than a guest enjoying two—or three, or four—servings of her cooking. But I’m not, so I just turn to Nate. “So, carpentry?”
“Carpentry,” he agrees.
“A noble profession.”
“Some might even call it divine.” He flashes me those dimples again while placing slices of watermelon on his plate.
“And what are you building these days?” From the corner of my eye, I watch Cara return to her seat and start chatting earnestly with my family down at the other end of the table. Cooper’s hand never seems to leave the back of her chair.
“Whatever my dad tells me to,” Nate says, drawing my attention back to him.
“You work for him?” I ask.
Nate nods. “He tells me where to go, I go there and hammer things until they stop wobbling.” He gives me a crooked grin. “As long as I’m off the clock early enough to get the boat out while the fish are still biting, I’m good. What about you?” He takes a huge bite of pulled pork sandwich.
“I’ve got my own company,” I explain. “It’s an athleisure line.
And I do a lot of brand partnerships with other companies.
Right now, I’ve got deals with a CBD gummy company and a skincare line.
I also have a newsletter I send out twice a week, and I’m trying to get a podcast off the ground.
And I have this new partnership that I just locked in—it’s not even announced yet. ”
He swallows, his eyes wide. “Wow. So when do you sleep?”
I shrug, a little embarrassed by his impressed response. “Oh, you know the cliché, ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’” I take a sip of my water.
“Right, you’ll be a real corpse of leisure.”
I laugh, nearly choking on the drink, and burst into a coughing fit.
“Everything okay down there?” my dad asks, but I just wave him off and take another sip of water.