Page 15 of The Weekend Crashers
Dove reaches for Lexi’s hand, and Piper notices their matching platinum bands. She wills herself not to think about rings.
She’s not about to let the fact that her boyfriend might be having second thoughts about their future ruin her weekend.
Chapter Nine
Maggie looks around the room for Piper. She’s already bought a bunch of yarn, most of it for Piper, and wants to show her.
She finds her talking to a small group standing in front of a wall covered with framed photos. Maggie recognizes one of the women from Instagram: Hannah Elise. She always posts some impossibly gorgeous sweater or elaborate throw and insists the patterns are easy.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Maggie says, coming up behind Piper and touching her shoulder. “But I picked up a few things for you and don’t want you to double-buy,” Maggie says.
Piper picks through the basket. “A few things? Mom. I think you got enough for the whole retreat.”
Her basketisa bit stuffed. She snagged a deep, dusky brown baby alpaca, soft and plush with a subtle sheen. And blue Malabrigo lace, hand-dyed and exceptionally soft, made from 100 percent baby merino wool. She found a bulky yarn in a heathered, rustic tweed that seems made for the autumn weekend. Everything she sets her eyes on looks special, each holding the promise of happy hours to come.
“Nice stash,” Hannah Elise says, introducing herself and a couple who are apparently on their honeymoon. Maggiethinks,If I met someone willing to go on a knitting retreat as a honeymoon, I’d get married, too.
A loud burst of male laughter, followed by some shouting, comes through the wall from the restaurant next door. Maggie had almost forgotten about the bachelor party.
Belinda calls out, asking for everyone’s attention for a moment, and the buzz of conversation quiets down.
“Welcome, everyone. For those of you who are new to my retreats, a special welcome. We are standing in what I think of as the sort of home base of the retreat, the Pearl S. Buck Room—named after the author ofThe Good Earthamong many other titles. But since the room has become knitting retreat central, we have come to call it affectionately the Purl.” She spells it out to clarify and is met with appreciative laughter.
“I’m delighted to see everyone chattering away and getting to know one another already. And I can tell you from many years of experience: By the time you leave here, you’ll have made at least one new forever friend. As a memento, I’ll take a group photo before the end of the weekend. It’s a retreat tradition, as you can see from the frames covering that entire wall over there.”
So that explains all the photos behind her.
Piper leans over and whispers, “Mom, I’ll catch up with you later.”
Later? “Where are you going?”
Piper says something to elaborate, but Maggie can’t hear because her voice is swallowed up by noise coming from the restaurant next door.
“What?” she whispers back.
“Isaid, Hannah Elise is going to show me some things from her latest drop.”
“Wait—you’re leaving? What about yarn shopping?”
Piper glances pointedly at Maggie’s full basket. “I thinkyou’ve got that covered.” She leans over and hugs her. “I won’t be long. Have fun!”
Maggie knows it’s irrational, but she feels a little rejected. She and Piper should be experiencing the opening event together. And worse, she can’t even hear the tail end of Belinda’s remarks because of the men making so much noise next door. What if it’s like this during the entire retreat? How is she supposed to lose herself in the pleasure of creation if it sounds like they’re at Madison Square Garden?
She looks around, but no one else seems to notice, while she simmers with a building rage. Rage at the bachelor party for being loud, rage at Gretchen for firing Piper as a client, and yes, maybe rage at Piper herself for leaving her in favor of a knitting influencer.
There’s another roar from the restaurant and it sends her over the edge.
Aidan and his father-in-law, Barclay, sit at opposite ends of the group table at the inn’s restaurant, Bucks Tavern. Everyone is hooting and hollering, and Scott, the groom-to-be, is doing a shot of bourbon. They’re going around the table toasting Scott. Aidan didn’t, as a rule, drink during the day, but now everyone at the table is looking at him expectantly. It’s his turn to speak.
“You’re up, buddy,” Ritchie says. Sometimes, Aidan almost forgets that Ritchie and Nancy were brother and sister. They didn’t look alike and never acted alike. Aidan had always felt more of a connection with Barclay.
Aidan stands and raises his glass, surveying the group. In addition to Ritchie and Barclay, and Scott, there are four of Scott’s Penn State fraternity brothers.
“Scott, it’s incredible this day is already here.” He remembersthe day Scott was born. He and Nancy rushed to Doylestown Hospital at four in the morning. Cole would be born eight months later, but at the time, Nancy hadn’t even known she was pregnant yet. “And I know if your Aunt Nancy were here with us, she’d want me to tell you how proud she is of you, and how much we both wish you both every happiness in your lives together.”
He hadn’t planned on evoking his wife, but the occasion made it impossible not to think of her, to want to acknowledge her in some way. Now, after so much time has passed, he’d gotten over the constant feeling that he was being robbed of her presence.
They met as lifeguards down the shore. It was the summer after college, and his father told him to take the summer to do outdoor work as a sort of last hurrah before adulthood began and he was stuck working in an office all day. So he went to the beach and there was Nancy, with her white-blond hair down her back and the freckles across the bridge of her nose. And those long, tan legs. He’d be the first to admit he’d noticed the legs first. In fact, he did admit it to her, on their third date—when he already knew they’d be together long enough to someday laugh about it.
