Page 115 of Every Chance After

But when I hear the front door reopen, I rush to meet her, desperate to wrap her in my arms and apologize until she tells me to stop.

Only it’s not her. I’m sucker-punched with sharp disappointment.

Mom and Elena stare me down critically until Mom says, “Grady, what’s happened?”

“Why are you here?” I demand instead, returning to the kitchen.

“We brought dessert,” Mom says, holding a covered casserole dish.

“And wine,” Elena offers, holding up a bottle.

“When Marigold said you were having a dinner party, we thought we’d swing by with a sweet treat to end the evening,” Mom says, setting her dish on the kitchen island.

I huff. “They told you?”

“Yep, and we couldn’t miss this disaster,” Elena laughs. “Where’s Marnie? Is she onto your ridiculous plan yet?”

“She’s gone.”

My mom and aunt share a concerned glance before Elena helps herself to wine glasses, and Mom unveils her pineapple cake. “Well, we’re here, so you might as well tell us what happened.”

Marigold and Gil enter from the porch with the dogs, graciously taking attention away from me.

“Where’s Marnie? I want to take her to the pier and put on my best moves,” Gil grins.

“Gone,” Mom chirps. “Your brother’s self-sabotage is complete.”

“Don’t blame her for leaving after the piano incident,” Gil explains everything Marina said and how upset she was.

“She’s so right about you, Grady,” Mom says.

“Now, she feels like that piano,” Elena tacks on.

“Look, the party’s over,” I decide, holding my hands up to usher them all to the door. “I don’t want to talk about it. You all need to go.”

“Grady, dessert!” Marigold orders, pointing at Mom’s cake. “You can’t leave a party without having dessert, remember?”

I sigh with resignation.“Yes, Marigold. You’re right. Please, have dessert. But the rest of you?—”

“Grady, you’re upset.” Mom rests her hand on my arm in an attempt to be soothing. “Maybe we can help, huh?”

I press my lips together defiantly. If I can’t talk to Marina, I’m certainly not talking to them. They pipe in with advice anyway, barely taking turns with shit like “Stop being afraid of love,” and “You shouldn’t be alone forever.” I hardly listen. Platitudes won’t help me scale the walls I’ve worked so hard to build or wrestle my shame over screwing this up.

But the simple truth might.

“If you like her, you should tell her,” Marigold says, her mouth full of cake. “Marnie’s upset. You should make her feel better. It’s like her games. She wants someone to play with, and she wants it to be you. So, why not play? Don’t youwantto makeherhappy?”

“Yes, Marigold. Of course, I do,” I sputter.

“Then, take her some cake,” Marigold advises. “It’s very good.”

“Fine.”

Mom prepares a cake slice to-go while Elena initiates a long list of pointers for winning Marina back—not that I listen. I grab my keys and the airtight container and ignore their little pep talks as I race to the door.

It’s dark when I pull beside her truck in the driveway. Warm glows emanate from her windows, and her shadow moves across the living room. I grab my apology cake and approach the door. She swings it open before I knock.

She looks surprised, pained, and unsure all at once. Her hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun. Her shoes are off, but she still wears the pink blouse and jean skirt. She twiddles with her necklace.

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