Page 61 of A Night to Remember

“Old? And possibly an alcoholic? But Mom and Dad are all like, let’s kill two birds with one stone, rein in the town drunk and get rid of the spinster daughter.”

I wince, but I know she’s not exaggerating: the Meiers are straight out of a Jane Austen novel. They already treated her like a spinster when we started dating at 20. They dropped increasingly broad hints about marriage every time I saw them over the ensuing five years. We dealt with it by turning it into a drinking game: we’d each take a shot every time someone told us thatyou aren’t getting any youngeror askedwhat are you waiting for?Needless to say I don’t remember the end of many Christmases.

“I’ve had two major breakups in as many years and my parents act like they can practically hear my ovaries withering,” she continues.

“I get it, mine have basically been the same way ever since… you know.”

“Butthey must be off your case now that you’ve got your little girlfriend.”

“Oh, um… yeah. They are.”

Something in my tone makes her suspicious. “Gabriel,” she says, crossing her arms. “Do your parents know you’re dating Cinderella?”

“Stop calling her that. And no, not technically,” I admit reluctantly.

“‘Not technically?’ What does that mean?” It looks like she’s trying not to smile. Dammit.

“It’s complicated, okay? And it’s none of your business. But I can’t go to the dance with you.”

“Just as friends?”

“No.”

“It’ll be fun…”

“No.”

Gretchen huffily tosses her long black hair over her shoulder. “I’ve seen this girl, you know. She dresses like a peasant and doesn’t take care of her skin. It’s not like she even has big tits. She’s a poor man’s early ‘90s Jennifer Aniston. What can you possibly think is so special about her?”

She has an irrational fear of machines that move on their own. She has excellent taste in snooty tea and scruffy dogs. She brushes her teeth too hard and makes her bed every morning but refuses to tuck in the sheets (she likes freedom; I like security). Her hair smells like flowers and her mouth tastes like honey and I want to spend the rest of my life making wine shoot out of her nose.

“Everything,” I say simply, and can’t hold back a smile.

28

Kayla

Meg and I,along with the rest of her staff, arrive at the country club about two hours before Hungry Hearts is scheduled to begin. Meg is hovering over everyone, supervising on-site cooking, preparing serving stations, giving us all run-down after run-down on our responsibilities. I know she would have let me go to the dance with Gabe if I had asked her, but I can tell she’s glad to have me here. Outwardly, she’s in control. But I know her well enough to see that she’s nervous, like she’s thinking maybethisis the year that she runs out of booze, or the ovens break, or she undercooks the chicken and everyone gets food poisoning and dies.

“It’s delicious,” I tell her as she obsessively tastes her dip. “The Meyer lemons really make it sing. And if you eat it all trying to make sure it’s right, there won’t be any left for the guests.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighs.

“You do this every year,” I remind her.

“I do this every year,” she dutifully repeats.

“And it’s always great,” I press on.

“It’s always great. Okay, I don’t know aboutgreat, there was that one time that Stan Hutchinson got drunk and face-planted in the cake, I don’t knowwhatthe bartender was thinking by continuing to serve him, if anything like that happens tonight, I’ll?—”

“You do this every year,” I say again. “And it’s always great.”

“Okay. Yes. Thanks.” She smiles gratefully at me. She still seems a little wobbly, but I know she’ll be fine.

I, on the other hand, am alotwobbly and praying that I can keep it together tonight for Meg’s sake. I have been thinking nonstop since my conversation with my mom. If Gabe really feels what I think he feels, I worry that I am going to break his heart if we part ways in a few weeks or months. But if we stay together, and I can’t be the partner he needs me to be, then I will end up breaking his heart anyway. Only it will be worse, because we will be more entangled in each other’s lives. Probably it’s best to break up sooner rather than later to give him more time to start over.

That all sounds very sensible. However, it leaves out the minor issue of my needing to throat-punch any woman he might date who isn’tme. The thought of him getting back together with Gretchen makes me want to turn over my living room furniture and set it on fire. But at least it would be easy to hate Gretchen. What if he started dating some lovely woman who knew how to appreciate his math puns?

---