Round 36

A t some point in the night, I woke up to a chain of text messages:

William: I’m sorry for getting you fired. I didn’t think it would come to that.

William: I’ll take the fall. Tell me what to do.

William: And I’m sorry for bailing. I’m sorry for so many things, Rose. I never meant for all this trouble.

William: I’d like to talk to you in person if you’ll let me. But I need a little more time. Please. And then, if you still want to, we’ll talk.

I didn’t sleep a wink after that.

The entire drive back was spent in aching silence. As we pulled up to Shaun’s apartment building, a long groan escaped him.

“Good luck, my love,” Neema said. “What are you expecting?”

“Well, I’m hoping for the silent treatment—gives me more time to figure out how to apologize.” Jumping out of the car, he paused before closing the door. “I’m expecting he’s changed the locks and left all my belongings in the foyer.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” I said, staring at my hands.

Shaun and I hadn’t talked about everything—about William and me sneaking around, and how he’d known. And more importantly, how he had it wrong.

“I said some horrible things.” Shaun swallowed, his voice hoarse. “Things I promised myself I would never say. Things I knew would hurt him in a bad way.”

Closing the door, he walked to the driver’s side window. He kissed Neema and waited.

“Rose?” he said, looking at me through her open window. “I was trying to protect you and us.” He gestured between the three of us. “I can’t lose my brother again, or you, and now I seem to have messed it up on all accounts.”

“Something the Ashdern boys are really good at,” I mumbled and released a long breath. I didn’t like fighting with Shaun. “And I am mad—really, really mad at you. Not only for thinking you could speak on my behalf, but for doing so behind my back. I can make my own decisions, even if you don’t agree with them.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

“We’re not done with this conversation, but you haven’t lost me, you idiot, and I’m sure with enough groveling, you’ll get William back too.” My lungs squeezed breathing his name.

“If he doesn’t come around, do you want to be my best man?”

“She’s taken.” Neema gave him a kiss and pushed him out of the window. “And her maid of honor duties will be keeping her busier than usual.”

As soon as we left, Neema turned to me. “Have you spoken to William? Are you okay?”

I shut my eyes and exhaled. “I don’t know if we’re okay. I don’t know what ‘okay’ is since we’re not anything.” My voice cracked. All I could think about was Stacey . “Maybe we were never ‘okay.’” I looked out the window. “It was just a stupid game, and I’m not innocent. I was playing it too, but I think maybe we were playing different games. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.” A harsh sob broke from me, and while my mother had always called me a crier, this was excessive.

I had no idea what was going on in William’s mind or what he needed time for, but I imagined he wanted to let me down as easily as possible and wait until after the wedding. My heart crumbled as I imagined the pain in his eyes. The regret.

And the mere thought that I had anything to do with that regret drowned me.

I couldn’t lose him. I would miss the light in his eyes, the secret smile he offered me and only me, the pleasure of that dimple, the hunger, his strong hands. I would miss everything.

Neema opened her mouth to speak but hesitated before finally saying the words she held back. “Let me know if you need a plus-one for Patrick. Whatever you decide, I’m here.” She looked at me, studying me before adding, “I think you’re wrong, by the way. I think you were playing the same game, only you were both confused about the rules.”

Chewing my lip, I turned my attention to the trees whipping by fast enough to bring on nausea, which was easier than trying to untwist my tangled heart.

Later that evening, my maid of honor duties kicked into high gear, and I was tasked with collecting our dresses from the dressmaker along with the boys’ suits. William wouldn’t need his now that he’d backed out, but I wasn’t about to explain that to the woman who’d spent so much time creating them.

Because Shaun and Neema agreed they wouldn’t see each other for the last few days before the wedding, I had to drop Shaun’s suit at his apartment. And if I was being honest… I was hoping to accidentally run into William. It had been less than twenty-four hours since his text message, but my need to see him grew with each passing second.

My need to tell him he had it wrong. Shaun had it wrong.

William was perfect for me. And I was perfect for him—if he’d let me be.

“Hey, thanks for this,” Shaun said, opening the door and taking the bags from me.

I not-so-subtly peeked around him.

Shaun sighed. “He’s not here.”

“Oh.” I swallowed my disappointment.

“In a strange turn of events, he’s not mad at me.” Shaun released a light sigh followed by a soft smile.

“That sounds like a good thing.”

He shrugged and pursed his lips. “You know William. He’s pretty comfortable with being mad—it’s like his default setting. And this time, I deserve it. But he isn’t mad. He’s quiet. Quiet and busy.”

“Busy with what?”

Shaun looked up and all around before scratching the side of his head. “He’s been at work most of the time. He’s got a deadline.”

The lump in my throat returned, and when I didn’t answer, Shaun let out a soft sigh. He placed the suits over the back of the couch. “He still won’t be needing this.”

“I thought he wasn’t mad.”

He released a pain-filled laugh. “It’s not about me. He doesn’t want to be around our dad, and I can’t really blame him for it. We had a deal.” He smiled, and then his mouth curved downward. “But I had to invite my parents. I thought…” He unclenched his fists. “I thought my dad wouldn’t make it. He’s usually too busy to do anything.”

“Were things really that tense at home? Between William and your dad?” I leaned against the wall and checked the time. I had to leave in a minute, but I wanted to hear this.

“I guess it was, I don’t know. A lot of their arguments happened behind closed doors. Our dad didn’t like for my mom and me to get involved.” He inhaled a deep breath. “But he was a great dad to me, so I… I struggle to see him the way William does. And it was okay because William knew I had his back. He knew I didn’t think of him the way our dad does. But now…” He rubbed his hands over his face and shook his head. “Like you said, groveling. I’m groveling and doing everything he asks of me.”

“What’s he asked for?”

Shaun opened his mouth and shut it before shaking his head. “Uh, nothing, never mind. Don’t you need to get to the airport?”

I looked down at the time. Drat.

“Happy groveling,” I said and turned to leave even though part of me wanted to wait there until William returned. Until he was ready to see me.

The next few items on Neema’s to-do list included collecting our jewelry and shoes and fetching one of her wedding guests from the airport.

Running low on physical energy—and my emotional energy nonexistent—I arrived at the airport and took a seat while I waited for her friend’s plane to land. I had no idea what she looked like, but Neema had described me to her friend—including what I was wearing—so I had no worries she’d have trouble finding me.

To pass the time, I scrolled through the gallery on my phone. Images of William filled the screen, and my stomach turned. In the last few weeks, I’d taken quite a number of photos of him.

William cooking.

William as Batman.

William on the balcony.

Silly selfies William sent to me.

William playing my game.

William. William. William.

Ugh, my phone was more obsessed than I was.

I sorted my gallery from old to new and started again.

I scrolled until I came upon childhood photos of myself and my numerous travels with my parents. Seeing their happy faces made my chest ache. I missed my mother and father so much. It was three days until the wedding, and I was so excited, not only for my best friends, but to see my parents. Especially since learning about the dynamic between William and his father, I missed mine and the relationship we shared even more.

Images of Comic-Con flooded my screen. I couldn’t help smiling at a selfie I’d taken with a very realistic Edward Cullen look-alike. I’d printed that image and framed it.

I continued scrolling and found photos of the board game area where I met Gandalf before my phone died. Included was a photo I’d taken of Gandalf versus Hulk during their epic duel. I zoomed in on the poor-quality photo, and a warmth of memories washed over me.

It had been the best day. Perhaps my mom was right, and I should upload the photo on social media. I smiled, imagining Gandalf seeing it and the two of us reconnecting after so many years.

And then I’d have a third man to worry about. Great idea.

My gallery continued through my college years. Suddenly, Neema, Lincoln, and Claire’s smiling faces were in every photo. And then came Patrick.

And still I felt no longing.

“There she is!” a familiar voice called out—a voice so familiar I would’ve known it even if it called to me from across the world, which it often did.

My mom pointed at me, and my dad followed her finger with squinted eyes. A rush of pure love flooded through me, and I burst into a smile so wide I could feel the stretch on my cheeks. They wobbled toward me with their lopsided luggage.

I ran to them and was immediately pulled into a three-way hug.

“Rosie!” my mom exclaimed. “You have grown!”

I grinned. “Still the same height, Mom.”

She laughed. “No, baby. Your face.”

She cupped my chin and studied me. Any other person might feel uncomfortable under such close scrutiny, but not me. This was how she evaluated my state of being.

“A lot has happened in the last few months, hasn’t it?” she said.

“Yeah. This face is what happens when mothers don’t warn their daughters about their ex-boyfriends planning a proposal in front of her best friends and a hundred strangers.” I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping she knew how unimpressed I was.

There was a touch of resentment I needed to work on.

My mother’s mouth dropped open, but my dad interrupted her and pulled me in for a squeeze. “Rosie.”

“Yes, Dad?”

He squeezed me tight for the longest time. I tried to break free of his hold after a couple moments, but his grip was too strong.

“Feels nice being able to hug you again,” he said.

Once the Jones family finally managed to function without holding on to one another, we headed to the car. I tossed their bruised and battered luggage, now almost beyond recognition since the last time they visited, into the trunk. I could only imagine the stories we were about to hear.

“Mom, Dad, where am I taking you? Are you staying with us?”

“Yes, if that’s okay with you,” Mom said. “Neema insisted. I think she wants to make sure I finish all the candles before the wedding.”

“Sure. You two can take my bed, but no hanky-panky.” I shot her a stern look. “I mean it.”

My dad’s giggles in the backseat were not reassuring.

When we reached the apartment, Neema flung open the door. “Surprise!” she shouted as we entered, though I had clearly already experienced the surprise.

My mother pulled Neema in for a hug that might’ve been even tighter than the one she greeted me with at the airport. “You are radiating love and happiness.” She cupped Neema’s face in her hands as she’d done with mine.

Neema squeezed my mother in another hug while my dad nodded and patted her on the back in the same way he always greeted my friends. She grinned and nodded back.

“Rosie says that everything for the wedding is sorted.”

“Except the candles,” Neema said with a nervous laugh.

“I’ll start on them tonight.” My mom wiggled with excitement.

“Wonderful! Do you need anything?” Neema asked.

“No. I have everything I need in my bags.” My mother walked to the kitchen. “Shall I cook some dinner?”

“Mom, you’ve been traveling for hours,” I said. “Rest. We’ll get some pizza.”

My mother waved her hand in the air, brushing me off while she opened a cabinet and scanned its contents. She had a talent for whipping up a delicious curry in twenty minutes, which is exactly what she did. We inhaled every bite and collapsed on the couch in a food coma.

“How come you can’t cook like that?” Neema asked, rubbing her belly.

“Ask her.” I pointed at my mom.

My mother laughed. She knew we didn’t have time for a cooking lesson, not to mention there was never a recipe. My mother didn’t use them. She tossed spices blindly into her pot and then sniffed and tossed some more. Half the time, she only had half the ingredients she wanted, but somehow the result was always delicious.

“When are you going to tell me about Patrick’s proposal?” Mom glanced at my finger. “I don’t see a ring, Rosie.”

“Oh, there’s a ring! There’s an enormous ring hidden somewhere in her room.” Neema hopped to her feet and hurried toward my bedroom.

My mother had my father’s name tattooed across her ring finger. A large diamond wouldn’t impress her.

Neema returned with the little box that triggered my racing heart. My mother opened it and then snapped it shut, her expression unreadable. “So what did you tell him?”

“I haven’t given him an answer yet,” I mumbled.

“Are you having doubts?” Mom asked while Dad snored beside her.

“I know exactly what I’m going to say, but he told me to take a few days. He said no good ever comes from doing something spontaneously.” I smiled, knowing how much that would upset my mom.

She narrowed her eyes. “Did he really say that?”

I nodded.

“Naughty boy. He knows you very well. I’ll give him that.”

“Why didn’t you warn me, Mom?” I looked down at my hands, avoiding her gaze. I was angry at her, but I wasn’t in the mood for more fighting. “He proposed to me on the night of Neema’s bachelorette—in a club full of people, including Shaun and William and everyone.”

“First, I didn’t know that part. He called us to ask for our blessing.”

“And second?” I asked.

“Second, I didn’t want you to be prepared, because the irony is I believe the best decisions are made spontaneously. The longer you thought about it, the more you’d try to reason it—and you can’t reason love. It doesn’t work that way.” While my mother generally laughed easily, her expression now was solemn.

Beside her, my father released a loud snore.

She pinched his nose, waking him. “Go to bed.”

Half-awake and grumbling, he stood and stomped off.

“Night, Dad. You can throw everything off the bed,” I called.

He nodded, but I’m not sure he heard me since he was basically sleepwalking.

My mom turned to me. “Rosie, if you had to answer Patrick at that exact moment, right there in front of everyone, what would you have said?”

No.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I know you know.” She stood and stretched her arms until her back let out a loud crack. Then, leaning down, she kissed the top of my head. “Now go to sleep. I love you forever and wherever, and I never want you to doubt that.”