Page 32 of Skating and Fake Dating
Uncle Bob says, “I have bolt cutters. I’ll run back to the house and grab ’em.”
Aunt Doris says, “You’ll do no such thing. You’ll miss the wedding.”
“At this rate, we’ll all be late. And just think, this could’ve been your big day, Bailey,” my mother says.
My shoulders drop on a long-held exhale because I’ve beenwaiting for a comment about how I used to date Tagg. “Lucky for me—” I start.
Savanna says, “But now she has this big hunk of?—”
“Hot potato,” Aunt Lesly says with a wink.
And they say I lack focus while they’re the verbal version of a jitterbug. I’m afraid we’re going to need to get some carbs in Carson in order for him to endure this, but his eyes crease with amusement until they land on me.
Now he knows the truth about what a failure I am. And my mother’s comment about how I need to eat is a thinly veiled recommendation that I do the opposite—she read an article on reverse psychology once and used it on Dad to take out the trash more often before telegraphing the method to all of us. Of course, Odette, with her perfect figure, won’t be receiving diet blog posts and recipes ahead of her wedding day. But I certainly will.
Again, I mouth to Carson,I’m sorry.
But he shakes his head slightly, or he’s doing a double-take. Standing at least a head taller than everyone, he towers, holds a position of command, and likely sees what’s coming before the rest of us in this perfumed crowd of busybodies.
Aunt Bianca pulls a hairpin from her updo and clicks her tongue. “Leave it to me. I will pick the lock.”
Some claim it can’t be done since they’re law enforcement-issued cuffs. Others place bets.
Mom says, “But you’re the wife of an officer of the law.”
“And the mother of seven boys. I’ve learned a thing or two in my day.”
Suffice it to say that not only do the women in my family have big mouths and strong opinions, but they’re also forces to be reckoned with. Unlike them, I tend to get steamrolled in family discussions, my voice lost in the squall of their confidence and convictions.
Carson and I sit down at the kitchen dinette where Aunt Bianca gets to work as everyone hovers around her.
“Give the woman some space to work,” Dad bellows.
“It’s not every day you get to see a crime in progress,” Uncle Bob replies.
“This isn’t a crime,” I say, desperate for them all to know what really went on.
“They’re like Bonnie and Clyde,” Catie coos.
I counter, “We were at the flea market.”
Savanna gives an exaggerated wink. “Code for robbing a bank.”
I huff. “Guys, Carson is a pro hockey player. He doesn’t need to steal anything.”
“Except your heart,” Aunt Doris says. “Watch out. He has big hands.”
Cheeks blazing, I say, “I am so, so, so?—”
Carson’s free hand caps mine, encapsulating it and sending a comforting shower of warmth directly into my bloodstream. “You were right about this being a good story.”
“By good, do you mean humiliating?”
Biting his lip, he says, “I think I get it now.”
Before I can ask him to elaborate, a distinct click is heard over the chatter.
My aunt lifts her arms in triumph. “I did it!”
