Page 28 of Those Two Words

“Johanna,” my mom chokes out. “You look stunning, my little Mayflower.”

Even my dad tries to subtly swipe away his tears.

My face drops and I chew my lips to hide the shy smile pulling at them. When a pair of black, shiny dress shoes steps into view, the bashfulness vanishes.

I slowly drag my eyes up to find a wide-eyed Patrick. As he looks me up and down, his mouth parts slightly, but no words come out. He’s in a silver two-piece suit and I know he hates how his hair has been styled like that.

Is it normal to think your best friend looks hot?

His tie is a little lopsided and I reach out to adjust it, which snaps his gaze to mine. I watch him swallow as I straighten the silky material. “Well don’t you clean up well.”

“T-thanks. You look beautiful. No! I mean, yes, you do. Your dress is beautiful. You look okay. No, grea—oh fuck.”

“Patrick!” Claire scolds from across the room. Ted shakes his head with laughter as he fiddles around with his Polaroid camera.

He’s not usually nervous like this, but the red tips of his ears and the way he stumbles over his words make me think he is. Because of me?

“Your tie kinda matches my dress,” I point out, giving it a pat, letting him know I’m done. It’s a darker shade of blue, but it looks nice against the poofy tulle between us.

“Is that okay? I know I’m not your date, but when you said you were wearing blue…I can change, it’s dumb.”

He goes to turn away, but I drag him back with the grip I still have on his tie. He falls into me but steadies himself when his warm hands land on my bare shoulders. My heart pitter-patters at the contact, and now I’m the one blushing.

“No, keep it on. I like it.” The rhythm of my heart doesn’t slow when his panicked face morphs into a big smile, flashing his straight white teeth.

We take photos, our parents fuss over us, and then Patrick heads over to the school with a few of his lacrosse teammates and Dex, leaving me to wait for my date at the restaurant.

When the clock on the wall chimes at seven o’clock, my ears perk up every time I hear a car outside. After ten minutes of waiting, my knees bounce in anticipation. After half an hour, my mom is giving me a pitiful look from across the table. And after one hour, my dad doesn’t put up a fight when I beg him to take me home.

As we step out into the cool night, the tears of mortification I’ve been holding in finally fall. My prom is ruined, and everyone will be talking about how I got stood up by Brody on Monday morning. I tug at the clips in my hair, not caring about the sharp sting in my scalp, when shouting from behind me has me pausing.

“Wait!”

My dad and I turn to find a red-faced Patrick running toward us with something white clutched in his hands, arms flailing in the air.

Quickly wiping at my tear-stained cheeks, I look at my dad in question, who shrugs.

“Patrick, what are you doing here?” I ask once he reaches us. His styled hair is now a mess of curls, and he bends at the waist trying to catch his breath.

“Wow. The school is much farther than you think.” Did he run here? “My dad texted me. Brody Dixon is a fucking idiot, and you can do better. Don’t let that little turd ruin your night,” he rushes out breathlessly. He holds out his elbow to me, but I just stare at him in confusion. “C’mon, YoYo. We’re gonna be late.”

Still unsure of what’s happening, I take his arm and he escorts me to where my dad is standing by his truck. Patrick jogs ahead and opens the back passenger door for me, and I can’t help but giggle at the bow he gives me as I climb in. I expect him to sit in the front seat, but to my surprise, he rounds the truck and slides in next to me.

“George, my good man. Take us to the prom!” Patrick calls to my dad, who is now sitting behind the wheel.

My dad rolls his eyes in the rearview mirror, starts the engine, and pulls a U-turn to head in the direction of the school.

I look at Patrick, who’s face is still pretty flushed as he smiles brightly. He holds out a fist and uncurls his fingers to reveal a white flower sitting in the middle of his palm. It’s a little crushed and bruised now, but it’s still recognizable.

“A corsage?” I whisper, my eyes flicking between the delicate flower and my best friend.

“Yeah.” He scratches his cheek and glances between us. “Dex was holding on to it for me. That’s why it’s, umm, a little squashed. I didn’t think that tool would get you one, and I didn’t want you missing out.”

He shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal, when this is the biggest deal ever. The pitter-pattering from earlier is nothing compared to the herd of horses now galloping in my chest.

He takes hold of my left hand and slips the elastic band around my wrist. He’s leaning so close to me, his minty breath coasts across my face and the subtle scent of his aftershave fills my nostrils. Pine and something else?

“You didn’t need to come back for me.”

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