17. Fallon

Cars fill the long gravel driveway when I arrive at my parents’ house to celebrate Dad’s birthday. Everyone’s already here, including Asher’s sleek white Mercedes Benz.

I release a heavy sigh. Guilt is a heavy and awkward carry-on as I slip out of my car and head for the house, my hair still wet from showering.

Ginger is at the door, aggressively wagging her tail as I step into the narrow foyer.

“Hey,” Mom calls, spotting me even before the screen door snaps back.

Aunt Janice looks over her shoulder as she stands at the stove, stirring a pan to which Gunnar is adding fresh spices.

Ginger paws my leg and spins in a circle, reminding me she’s here, too. I kneel to pet her, and she instantly rolls to her back, waiting for belly rubs.

“You’re late,” Lexie says, giving me a pointed stare that is attributed to Asher’s presence rather than my lack of one.

“I know. I’m sorry. Practice ran long because a couple of girls were late.” I slowly stand. My muscles are so fatigued I can’t tell if they ache yet or not.

Charlie chuckles. “Bet that was fun.”

I scoff as I grab Dad’s birthday present and sluggishly amble toward them, each step feeling like a bigger chore than the last.

“Hey, Fal,” Dad calls from the living room. Gunnar looks the most like him, but sometimes I come across a picture of myself wearing the same wide smile or subtle scowl.

I grin, setting the gift on the counter before changing directions to greet him with a hug. “Happy birthday.”

Dad squeezes me. “How’s the new team? The field? Dorm life?”

Uncle Doug raises his cup to me with a silent toast. “That’s a lot of new.”

My Uncle Doug and I have always had a close relationship. Perhaps it’s our shared drive and work ethic or introverted tendencies, but he has always been one of my favorite people.

“It is a lot of new,” I agree.

Adelaide is beside Asher on the sectional. She looks more out of place than he does. This is only the second time I’ve seen him since Tobias and I broke up.

Asher stands, his manners formal and deeply embedded.

“Hey, Fallon. It’s good to see you.” He reaches forward to hug me, lacking the same unease or discomfort that has me in a stranglehold.

“You, too.” They’re also embedded in me.

Asher and Tobias aren’t close. Prior to the fateful holiday where I introduced Asher to my family, I’d only met him a couple of times. I know better than to assume he’s like Tobias and will cheat on Adelaide, but at the same time, I fear the brothers share more than just their good looks and sizeable trust funds.

“How does it feel to be a Knight?” Uncle Doug asks, an alum of Camden.

“You should see her dorm,” Charlie says, joining us with a beer in one hand. “It’s got to be what? Seven hundred square feet?” He glances at me.

“Five hundred, tops,” Gunnar says, keeping his attention on the phone where he and Lexie are watching something.

“It’s way nicer than I had at state,” Charlie adds.

“Sorry I missed moving day,” Dad says. “Work’s been crazy.”

I shake off Dad’s apology.

“All that work is keeping you young,” Uncle Doug says.

“And tired,” Dad adds.

“He’s getting slow on the ladders,” Charlie says.

“Only so I don’t show you up,” Dad fires back. “Come on. Help me move the chair so Grandpa can watch a movie when he gets here.”

“You need help?” Charlie goads before jabbing Dad in his upper biceps. Roughhousing is my brother’s love language.

Our grandparents live just a mile down the road, and most of that distance is our driveway. My brothers and I created a path through the woods that cut the time in half.

“Where’s Mason?” I ask, using the disruption as an easy excuse to return to the kitchen and ask about my oldest brother.

“He’s coming,” Mom says. “He had a flat tire.” Most weeks, the entire family doesn’t come, but this week is an exception because of Dad’s birthday.

Gunnar begins slathering opened baguettes with his homemade garlic butter. My stomach grumbles, eyeing the German chocolate cake Mom made on the same large plate reserved for all birthdays. I glance at the timer that warns me there are still twenty minutes before dinner. I might collapse.

Gunnar pulls his chin back. “It sounds like a gremlin has taken residency in your stomach.”

Mom grins. “Eat a snack. There’s at least thirty minutes until dinner.”

Without further instruction, I dose with insulin and scrounge through the pantry, finding a bag of tortilla chips, a half-filled jar of peanuts, and some crackers before planting myself at the island. The sound of the bag opening has everyone but Adelaide joining me.

“I heard you had a date last night,” Aunt Janice says, looking at Charlie.

He pops a chip in his mouth, but his gaze tells us it didn’t go well.

“What happened?” Uncle Doug asks.

“We just didn’t connect. It felt like a goddamn job interview.”

Gunnar smirks. “You mean she had standards?”

Charlie throws a chip at him. “I mean, all she cared about was some inane checklist of meaningless and inconsequential shit, as if what I drive or my job title would tell her if I’m a good person—a good partner. She didn’t even ask the right questions to know if I’m happy or perpetually miserable like some people.” He eyes Gunnar.

“The dating pool is bleak,” Lexie says. “It’s hard to meet new people. She was probably just weeding out psychos.”

Charlie shakes his head. “I could have told her I tore the legs off insects, and she wouldn’t have cared so long as I had a nice car.”

“You don’t have a nice car…” Dad raises his eyebrows.

Charlie grins ruthlessly. “But she thinks I do.”

As the others sift through the details of Charlie’s bad date and his plausible intentions, his words swirl through my thoughts. I’ve asked the dark-haired stranger so many inconsequential questions with the excuse of wanting to get to know him better, but in reality, knowing his favorite color or if he prefers the beach doesn’t teach me if he’s anything like Tobias: easily distracted and full of himself. And if I push myself to dig into this a little further, I’d likely recognize I’m terrified I might have to reveal who I am, and the dark-haired stranger might choose to reject me just as easily as Tobias had.

Thoughts of my dark-haired stranger take a backseat as Grandma and Grandpa arrive. My grandma barely comes up to my chin. She’s petite in every manner except for her voice and personality, which more than compensates for her size.

“Don’t drop that pie, Randy,” Grandma warns. Retirement nor age has slowed her down. Instead, I think they’ve only challenged her to do the opposite.

“I won’t, Cookie.” Grandpa follows at a slower pace. He’d enjoy sitting in a rocking chair, sipping sweet tea, and watching crime drama shows as he planned to do when retiring, but Grandma keeps him moving and busy.

“Hi, Grandma,” Adelaide is the first to greet them. Lexie assumes her sister acts sweet to them because she’s hoping for a nice wedding gift. My brothers think she’s going for the long game and is hoping she’ll get whatever inheritance they leave, but there’s something genuine and authentic in the way Adelaide approaches her.

Grandma appraises her with a quick skim of her eyes. “Your hair’s too light.”

Lexie tries to hide a smile, but the rest of us ignore the quip. Grandma is incredibly generous, kind, and loving, but she is often painfully blunt—more so toward the women in our family. Our parents claim it’s a generational thing.

“I like it,” Aunt Janice says. “I think it’s a great shade for summer.”

“Me, too,” Mom adds.

Asher offers his hand to Grandpa. “Nice to see you, Mr. Hale.”

Grandpa looks at his hand, then at me, and turns away. He associates Asher with Tobias, and my grandfather has never been the forgiving type.

Gunnar snickers and dives back into the snacks.

Mason arrives minutes later with his chocolate lab, Buster. He’s over seventy pounds, has the temperament of a puppy, and the false belief that he’s a lapdog. He and Ginger spin in circles, and the extra noise and chaos sweep the awkwardness under the rug as conversations about work, wedding details, Camden, Charlie’s band, and everything in between are sparked.

The easy conversation continues over dinner. Grandma tells us about her garden and the deer that haven’t left her roses alone, how her tomatoes are flourishing, promising a great crop. Grandpa tells us about the bird nest he’s been guarding from the snakes and even gives Asher an approving look when he suggests adding a fake opossum to help protect the nest.

Grandma only double-checks if I can eat pasta twice.

We crack into games to allow our stomachs space for dessert while Grandpa sits in front of the TV. He rarely plays. Asher is unfamiliar with our Wednesday tradition, yet he blends in seamlessly. I can tell Lexie notices this, too.

With such a large group, our options are limited, but no one minds. We play a game that has us splitting the group, so it’s guys against girls. We play for hours, laughing, arguing, and heckling each other until the guys finally lose.

When Dad opens presents and discovers a malted whiskey from Uncle Doug, everyone, including Grandma and Grandpa, partakes in shots. I wander outside, finding the dogs still chasing and playing with each other.

I love my big family. I love the noise and laughter that fill every square foot of space, but it’s also taught me to appreciate silence and alone time. As my thoughts turn over Charlie’s words again about feeling like we interview one another for the wrong things when considering a relationship, I’m inclined to pull out my phone and scroll through every message I’ve sent to the dark-haired stranger and see if I’ve done the same.

The back door opens as I sit on the tire swing. Lexie tugs on a sweatshirt and crosses the yard to reach me.

“You okay?” she asks.

I’m not ready to confide that I’m trying to think of deep and meaningful topics to discuss with the dark-haired stranger, so I tell her another version of my truth for being out here. “Yeah. They just get so loud.”

“So damn loud,” she echoes, lifting a leg over the tire to sit across from me. Our knees bump, and the ropes groan in protest that we outgrew the tire swing a decade ago. Neither of us minds.

“How are you?” I ask when she glances at the house a second time.

She sighs quietly. “Good. I think. I mean, he’s going to be around now, right?”

I stare at her, uncertain how to answer. I never know how to discuss Asher.

“I keep thinking about what Charlie said.” Lexie grips the ropes on both sides of her. “I wonder if Asher knows who Adelaide is or assumes he does because she had the right answers. The right makeup and hair. The right smile.”

I allow the question to sit between us for a long minute while trying to read her thoughts. I think she wants me to tell her that he can’t possibly know Adelaide because if he did, they wouldn’t be engaged. “What if he knows exactly who she is?”

Resignation has Lexie lowering her gaze. “I guess that would mean he’s a prick who only cares about appearances and superficial bullshit. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d give Adelaide a fucking kidney if necessary, but she’s a heartless bitch. We both know she’d watch someone drown before offering to help because it might mess up her hair.” She shakes her head. “I thought she’d outgrow this, you know? She’d wake up eventually and realize that perfect hair and makeup aren’t all that matters in life, but instead, they’ve become her life. They’re literally how she makes money and defines her—all that defines her.”

I want to argue, but I can’t. Adelaide might be family, but she has never been kind, caring, or even tolerant. She makes the Wicked Witch look innocent on her good days. Our blood relation is the only reason we’ve ever spent time together.

“If he wants to be with someone who only cares about themselves and material items, then he isn’t looking for a life partner or someone to have deep conversation or connection with,” Lexie says.

“And you deserve those things,” I tell her. “You deserve to be someone’s queen.”

She releases a deep sigh. “You’re right, and that’s what I want.” Her words hang suspended in the air like our feet, and I know there are a dozen reasons for it, likely some she can’t even explain, like how hard it is to get past her feelings regardless of how badly she wants to.

“It’s okay to feel conflicted,” I tell her. “Most emotions are conflicting.”

She shakes her head. “Why, though? Why can’t it just be simple? He’s clearly a dick, so why can’t I hate him?”

“Maybe you need your own distraction. I’m supposed to go to a party Saturday night. Come be my plus one.”

“Supposed to?” She lifts both brows.

“The whole soccer team’s going.”

“Look at you making friends.” She looks proud and only fractionally surprised.

I haven’t told her about my struggles with the soccer team, not because I don’t trust her but because she would support me and only arm my defenses and reasons why I should feel indignant for them hating me, and I already feel too much of that.

“Is that a yes?” I ask.

“I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

“I promise to be stuck to your hip like Velcro.”

Lexie chuckles and closes her eyes as I kick us forward on the swing. It’s been too long since we’ve been out here, too long since we let the wind carry our problems away.

“I miss you,” she says. “You’ve only been gone for three days, and it feels like it’s been a month.”

I nod knowingly. “It’s been a long week.”

She nods solemnly, but then her shoulders grow rigid, and her gaze snaps to mine. “Wait! Aren’t you meeting Daddy Daddario this weekend?”

“I’m going to reschedule and see if we can meet on Sunday instead. If he can’t reschedule, I’ll blow off the party.”

“Swear?”

“Only if you promise you’ll go to the party with me.”

“Have you asked for his birthday yet?”

I shake my head.

“Fallon, you have to ask. I need to know the day, time, and city he was born. Then we’ll really know what the stars think of the two of you.”