Page 6 of I Always Will

“Yep. You, me, Mum, Dad, and Esme. Dinner on Saturday night. We can go to that themed pizza place.”

She cringed. He knew she hated that place. It was gaudy and loud and far too wannabe-American. It wasn’t even particularly accurate. They’d just seen pizza places and diners in American films and thrown it all together into some wild pizza place.

But they did make great pizza.

She sighed. “Have Mum and Dad met her yet?”

“Nope. Family introduction, all in one go. Also why you need to be there. I haven’t told them we’re engaged yet.”

Alexandria groaned. “Tell me you’re doing it before Saturday night.”

“Al,” he whined, dragging the sound out.

“Not my name.”

“Alexandria,” he tried again, equally as whiny. “You know I need you there for that. If it’s the three of us, and we’re in public, they’ll be better about it. Calmer. They won’t start screaming about the fact that it’s fast and the wedding will be relaxed, casual, we’ll be having a mashed potato bar, stuff like that.”

“A mashed potato bar?” she asked, stunned and momentarily distracted from the fact that her only brother was trying to drag her in as collateral on his engagement announcement.

He hummed. “Yes. Esme works at this really cool fast food-type place. Think sandwich shop, but with bowls of mash. You add toppings and sauces and stuff. It’s awesome. Well, I imagine it is. I haven’t actually been yet, but she swears by it, loves her boss, and mash is awesome. What’s not to love?”

She paused. “So, let me get this straight—”

“We’re not.” He laughed.

Alexandria sighed. “You want me to be there to protect you when you tell our parents that you’re getting married to someone you just met, in a month, and the catering will be a mashed potato bar?”

“Don’t act like you’re not excited. You love mash.”

She huffed. “Of course I love mash. Who doesn’t love mash? But that’s hardly the point, Daniel, and you know it.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Yes, I know they’re going to be upset about the speed and the idea of a mash bar instead of a sit-down dinner, but this is what will make me happy and I know, even if you don’t understand it, you love me and you support me, and we both know that you being on my side will help them get to grips with it.”

She couldn’t fault his logic, no matter how much she wanted to. Daniel was the baby, most likely the favourite, but her parents were serious people, concerned with appearances, and they enjoyed using her as an example of theproper way to do thingswhenever they felt Daniel was getting a little too free. Alexandria hated it. She wasn’t trying to be a joy-kill, she wasn’t trying to win their approval—she’d given up on that when it became apparent it wasn’t something she’d ever win on her own merit, only something she got to counterpoint whatever they didn’t want Daniel doing. But, the fact remained, that, if she didn’t show up in support, they would use her as an example of how to live your life. If she supported Daniel, perhaps he wouldn’t be organising a wedding and wrangling their parents all at the same time for the next month.

She stared at her screen. She was ahead with her work, as always, and she could afford to take the weekend off. Well, she’d take work with her, but she could see her family and have dinner at that god-awful pizza place, support her brother, and meet his future… wife.

It was all fine.

“Sure,” she said eventually. “Saturday night. I’ll be there. But I’m staying at your place. No way I’m going back to Mum and Dad’s after you drop this bombshell on them.”

He thrilled. “You’re the best, Al.”

“And you have to call meAlexandriaall night.”

“Sure thing, Al,” he laughed, sounding lighter again.

She shook her head. This was a ridiculous scheme.

Three

Present day

Alexandria paused at her parents’ front door. Through TV, films, and the internet, she was aware that many people kept keys to their parents’ homes as adults, especially if they still lived in the house the kids had grown up in.

That wasn’t the case with the Daley household.

She’d kept her key for the first couple of years of uni, but, when she came home less and less, her parents had somehow managed to take the key back and she’d never seen it again. These days, she couldn’t even remember how they’d gotten it back from her. She was sure they’d asked and she’d handed it over since she still had the keychain it had been on, but it hadn’t occurred to her that it was potentially odd to not have a key until she’d been much older, by which point, the loss of the key had been a distant memory. And not one that felt consequential enough to remember.

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