Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
She flinches. “You’re not seriously considering going, are you?”
I put my phone face down and rise from my chair. “I think so. Dad just invited me out to lunch afterwards.”
“Oh, honey.” Her face falls. “He’ll probably cancel at the last minute. People don’t change.”
That’s exactly what I’m worried about, of course, but it still irritates me to hear her say it. “It’s just lunch. I turned down invitations for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, but he still asks every year. It seemed like an easy thing to say yes to.”
She shrugs. “I’m sure you’re right. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I’m a big girl, Mom. Nothing he can do will surprise me.”
“Fine.” She hands me the curtain panel. “But if any part of this wedding is amusingly tacky, I expect a full report.”
“You got it.”
That evening, while my mother is watching her shows, I dive into my inbox, hoping to find the wedding registry. But I can’t find it anywhere. So I’m forced to text my sister.
Hey, Tessa! I’m about to RSVP to the shower. Can you remind me where Maribel and Theo might have a registry? Thanks!
That done, I crank up the air-conditioning in my bedroom and do fifty pages of reading on the subject of statistical performance analysis in sports.
I’m finished by the time Tessa finally responds to my text.
Tessa: Dad thinks you’re bringing a date? But you only RSVP’d for one person. Date suddenly changed his mind?
My inner fourteen-year-old lets out a shriek of irritation. I’m not here for Tessa’s mind games. It’s so tempting to breezily reply that my date got his own invitation—and did I mention he’s six feet and three inches of pure hockey glory? The kind of man who makes Italian suit designers weep with joy when he walks into their showroom?
But that would be petty. Besides, Eric might have already forgotten the conversation we had in the hotel lobby. Heck, he could have already driven to Massachusetts without me.
Darcy: Our plans aren’t firm yet. I’d still love some help on the gift, though!
Tessa: Maribel’s registry was super basic, and it’s filled up already. So I’m sending you a list of suggestions I’ve put together. See you Saturday.
I receive an email from her a few minutes later. And when I skim it, the list is pure Tessa. There’s a $900 Lalique crystal vase, an Hermès throw blanket ($3,500), and a Smeg stand mixer in rose gold ($700).
There’s also a “casual” champagne bucket from Baccarat ($2,100) and a set of hand-painted linen napkins from a boutique in Paris (€450).
I forward the list to Eric as a joke and then text him.
Darcy: E-Train—Hope your summer is going well. We’re too late for Maribel’s registry, but my half sister put together some amusing suggestions. I forwarded you the list. Enjoy!
I wonder if he’ll respond. Maybe he’s kicking himself for offering me a ride to the North Shore of Massachusetts.
To my surprise, my phone pings only a minute later.
Eric: Is there really a brand called Smeg?
Darcy: That’s your takeaway from this list?
Eric: Well, is there?
Darcy: Yes. They make cute retro appliances for kitchens that I’ll never be able to afford. Like pink toasters and retro refrigerators.
Eric: And what is a casual champagne bucket, anyway?
Darcy: It’s what you use when your formal one is at the dry cleaner’s.
Eric: Has Tessa MET Maribel? Maribel’s idea of luxury is like a new bicycle helmet.
Darcy: This list is pure Tessa. Have you met her?
Eric: Nope. Only Theo. He didn’t say much.
It’s weird how Eric’s limited introduction to my family is so damn accurate. Theo doesn’t say much, and Tessa is a diva.
The phone rings in my hand, and the caller says ERIC TREMAINE, and the minute I spot his name, my heart flips like an Olympian.
Sigh. “Hi,” I answer.
“Hi,” he says, and the warm sound of his voice fills my chest cavity. “I got sick of typing. So we have a couple of problems—no gift ideas.”
“Right. But if they’re moving into a new house, they’ll need something.”
“Agreed.”
“What’s our other problem?”
“This… dancing thing. The internet says we have to be creative to win. I’m not very creative.”
I let out a snicker. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. As soon as I finish my homework, I’m on it.”
“Homework?”
“I take college classes in the summer.”
“Seriously?” he asks.
“And here you thought I was fun. But I’m trying to get through school with no debt.” At least no more debt. I have loans from my freshman year at NYU—when I was still laboring under the impression that I could afford to be a full-time college student.
“That’s really cool,” he says. “I can never figure out what to do with myself when there’s no hockey.”
Oh, Eric. “We have to get you out more,” I say, as though it were up to me. “I’ll work on the gift thing. Maybe I can ask Theo what they need for the house.”