Page 64 of A Night to Remember

He stares unhappily at his laptop and controller. “You were pretty cool about that,” he says grudgingly.

“I wasverycool about that,” I insist. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

He shifts from foot to foot and runs both hands through his blond hair.

“Are you sure you don’t want ‘Hungry Eyes’, it’s much more?—”

“No.”

“Okay. Okay.” He nods his head in resignation. “But I’m calling you the next time one of the kids is puking.”

“Deal.”

My detour to the DJ booth cost me time, but it steadied my nerves. Briefly. By the time I make my way over to Gabe and Gretchen, though, my palms are sweating and I’m breathing in short, raggedy gasps. I walk past his parents, who fortunately don’t see me, and Adam and Lucy, who definitely do. Gretchen spots me first and gives me the kind of withering stare that I imagine the stepsisters would have given Cinderella if they had managed to recognize her. I ignore her, though. I suddenly have no interest in attacking her; I just want to talk tohim.

“Wilson,” I say breathlessly.

He spins around. His eyes register surprise at my wardrobe change, but when he speaks his voice is full of concern.

“Johnson! What’s up? Are you okay?” He takes my elbow as Gretchen literally stomps her foot in frustration behind him.

“I’ve been a stubborn jerk,” I start, staring pleadingly into his amber eyes. “I’ll stay in town for as long as you want. We can live wherever you want. Just please… please don’t get back together with her.”

“Excuseme, but that isnotyour choice,” Gretchen protests, but Gabe pays no attention.

He slips one hand behind my back and cups my face with the other. “I wasn’t going to,” he replies, the beginnings of his best-friend smile playing on his lips. “But why don’t you tell me why I shouldn’t.”

I grin back at him as Gretchen huffs off, and suddenly it all seems so easy. This is Gabe. This is me. We’re old friends. And we belong together.

“Because I love you,” I say, squeezing him around the waist. “And you love me.”

He dazzles me with his smile, pulls me closer, and then stops. “Wait, is the DJ playing ‘Mandelbrot Set’?” I nod, laughing. “You remember that night?”

“Of course,” I reply. “It was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. I’ll never forget it.”

“I can’t believethisis our song,” he laughs, beaming down at me. “I literally Googled ‘songs with math’ and chose the first one that wasn’t just counting. It’s about fractals. You can’t dance to it. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I say with a chuckle, happy tears spilling over my lower lashes. “Now shut up and dance with me.”

He does. And we dance to the song after that, and the song after that, and the song after that.

He introduces me to his parents, whose expressions change from reservation to joy when his grandmother stage-whispers to her daughter and son-in-law thatthis is The Girl With the Ankle—whatever that means.

“Why, she’s just as pretty as that librarian girl! You’re from the café, right?” Mark Pritchard shouts as he nearly shakes my hand off my arm. “One thing’s for sure, Gabe, we have an embarrassment of riches in this little town, an embarrassment of riches! Did I ever tell you how I metmywife? She was engaged to Bill Olson at the time, of course, kind of a nasty business, to be honest, but all’s fair in love and war, you know what I mean, Gabe?”

“Kayla,” Adam says, meeting us shortly after we escape Mark. “I’m…” he starts, then stops. The four of us—Adam, Lucy, Gabe, and I—stand facing each other awkwardly. The men square their shoulders. Lucy and I make brief eye contact.

“Do you think we could start over?” I ask Adam when it becomes clear that he can’t finish his sentence. I hold out my hand. He takes it less hesitantly than he did after the mediation meeting and offers me half a smile.

“I’d do just about anything for this loser here,” he says, giving Gabe a playful shove with his free hand.

“Me too,” I reply, grinning broadly at myboyfriend. Gabe retaliates by tickling me, and I giggle in his arms in full view of his hopefully not-so-terrible brother, his extended family, and the entire Kentwood gossip mill.

Later, Gabe pulls me into a quiet corner, away from the trout croquettes and dried-flower bouquets and ungrammatical pop songs.

“You know I love you, too, right?” he says quietly. “And we’re going to figure it out. Your work, my work, and maybe none of it will be exactly what we planned, but?—”

“It’ll be great.” I beam at him. “We’ll figure it all out. Together.”

---