Page 59 of Reply All
“Honey, you did not need to get me this much stuff. The flowers would’ve been more than enough.”
“She has a whole thing behind each gift, Mom.” Will shoots me a smirk, dark eyes shining.
Sandra raises a curious eyebrow at her son, then at me.
“The flowers are a thank you for welcoming me into your home,” I begin to explain. “The heart shaped cookies because your birthday is on Valentine’s Day. And the other gift is your birthday gift.”
“It’s too much, is what it is. Thank you, though.” She takes my hand and squeezes it, her smile warm and tender. An obtrusive thought instantly pops into my head:I wish I had had a mother like her growing up. But the guilt pushes it away as quickly as it came on. My mother couldn’t help herself, so it’s not fair to feel this way.
“Of course. It’s no problem.”
She squeezes my hand once more before taking the gifts from me and placing them on her lap. “How about I introduce you to my best friends? They’re kind of like Will’s aunts and, in addition to myself, will be the ones providing you with a wide array of embarrassing childhood stories for your entertainment.”
I snort and follow her into the living room, laughing as Will groans in mortification. “Please don’t believe anything they say. And if they bring up the whole bowl of Jolly Ranchers thing, please have mercy on me—it was traumatic, not cute.”
* * *
The Jolly Rancherstory turns out to be an instant classic—and something I will forever tease Will about. The way he stole and proceeded to eat all of his kindergarten teacher’s secret stash of watermelon candy. How she asked everyone to ‘fess up, but they all denied it—including Will. The way he tried to hide it but his bright red tongue sold him out. And how the teacher decided to punish him by not letting him participate in the holiday pageant while the rest of his classmates did leaves an image of young, cute Will in my head I never want to forget.
“It was traumatic, Bridge! Imagine standing there, crying, having to watch everyone have fun, but you can’t do anything about it.”
I smile and laugh, looking down at a picture of five-year-old Will. “I totally get it, Will. It does sound traumatic. But oh my god, look at how adorable you are.” I point to the adorable boy with the mop of curly hair, eyes too big to fit his face, and a sweater that screams the nineties so loudly I wonder how I can hear anything in this place. “I can just imagine you being a cute lil’ mess in your Rudolph sweater.”
He narrows his eyes at me and takes the photo album from my hands. “That’s it. No more baby pictures for you.”
“Noooo.” I reach over him in laughter as he pulls the album behind his back, losing my balance and falling over his lap, ass up. Realizing the precarious position we find ourselves in, I try to right myself but fail. Instead, I end up slipping off his lap and onto the ground with a loud thud.
“Shit. You okay?” He reaches a hand down to help me to my feet, but I don’t take it, choosing instead to right myself. When I sit up, leaning on my hands, I inadvertently push out my chest. Will’s gaze instantly drops to it, pupils blown wide. Humor has left the building, replaced by that ever-present sexual tension between us which only ever seems to wax and never wane.
“Will,” I hiss in a whisper voice as I readjust my neckline. “I didn’t actually think not staring at my tits would be a difficult thing for you to do in front of your mother.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, an embarrassed laugh bursting through his lips. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“William, we need you in the kitchen!” Alexandria, one of Sandra’s oldest friends, calls out.
“One sec,” he calls back. He helps me to my feet, hands in his, and smiles down at me. “Thank you for coming, by the way. It’s helped in keeping them off my case about a lot of things. Even though I added one by bringing you.”
“What do you mean?”
He squeezes my hands once. “Well, now they think we’re in love. Or at the very least, something like it.”
WILL
Seeing her here, surrounded by everyone he considers family, is unlike anything he could’ve imagined.
He loves the way this feels. Loves the wayshefeels and fits in the equation.
And he thinks he might loveher.
No.
Heknowshe loves her.
21
SO, THAT’S WHAT YOU MEANT BY BFFS
As I slide another bead onto my elastic, I watch Will from the friendship bracelet making table in the corner of the living room. He’s coddled and loved by his mother and her friends through cheek-pinching and teasing. And it’s nice, seeing him like this. Most of the time, by the way he talks, I feel like Will doesn’t think too highly of himself. Which is ridiculous, since I know bad people, having been surrounded my entire life by them, disappointment, and betrayal. And Will could never.
