“How does the cake look?” Gretchen asked when I walked back down into the living room. She was perched on the sofa, watching a video of her wedding.
“The cake looks…wonderful,” I said. Especially the little cupcake in my favorite flavor.
As I sat down beside her on the sofa, I wondered what to do next. Should I cancel my date with Sean? Probably. But it was so last minute—that seemed mean, even if Conor had assured me that Sean would get over it.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t talk it over with my sister. If I broke the date with Sean, nobody would be more upset about it than Gretchen. But it wasn’t as if the shoes and the dress would go to waste…though the waltz lessons definitely would.
So I’d go to the dance with Sean. I’d have as nice a time as I could, but at some point during the night, I’d have to tell him that things had changed. That we wouldn’t be going away for the weekend after all, because, as Conor pointed out, I couldn’t have it both ways. I wasn’t sure how to tell him that I might be falling for his brother. That wouldn’t go over well. But I wouldn’t be fake about things, either.
“Look at you.” She pointed to me and Jones on the TV screen. We were jumping around the dance floor, doing the mashed potato, pumping our arms up and down. “All I ask is, tomorrow night?”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“You dance a little better than you did at my wedding.”
We both laughed, and then Gretchen reached for a tissue, because she was starting to cry. “God. I haven’t been able to look at this video in a long time. It makes me sad—but it’s sort of fun, too.”
I’d hardly ever seen her cry. It was strange. She was usually so tough, acting like she didn’t care.
“I know you’re in love with Sean and everything, but promise me you won’t get married until you’re older,” Gretchen said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I told her, dropping onto the sofa beside her. “I’m not getting married anytime soon.”
And another thing, I could have added. I’m not in love with Sean.
Chapter 18
I’d forgotten to ask Sean how we would get over to St. Paul for the Snow Ball. I could take the minivan, though I didn’t really want to drive. I wondered if Conor was going to drive the three of us again, but that would be beyond awkward. Besides, it was hard to imagine the three of us crammed into the pickup in our dressy clothes.
My hair was blown and brushed out straight, falling on my shoulders. Gretchen had helped me put some small sprinkles of ice-like glitter in my hair and on my bare shoulders. She’d also done my makeup, again, which she was getting pretty good at doing.
I shifted by the doorway in my high heels, and glanced at my watch. It was almost eight-fifteen, and Sean had said he’d pick me up at eight.
The night wasn’t exactly off to the best possible start, but oh well. “Being fashionably late—that’s something Emily Post recommends, right?” I asked Gretchen as I came back from the front hallway, where I’d been pacing.
“I don’t know. But I think anything over ten minutes is rude.” She frowned, then reached for the telephone. “I think I’ll call over there, see what happened to him—”
“No. Don’t!” I cried. “I mean, if anyone should call, it’s me, but I’m giving him five more minutes.”
“I don’t approve,” Gretchen said. “For the record. He should be here on time.”
I walked back over and peered out the window. A long, black station wagon was pulling up at the curb. It wasn’t a limo, but it was close. “Hey! That might be him,” I said. Don’t tell me he rented a car for this, I thought.
Gretchen limped over to me and gave my makeup a final check. “You’re going to be cold,” she said. “Take this.” She reached into the closet and pulled out her long, maroon down coat—the one that looked like a sleeping bag.
“Thanks, Mom, but I’ll just take this instead.” I didn’t have a long coat with me, so I just put my puffy jacket over my shoulders. I didn’t plan to wear it, much.
“That doesn’t go with your dress!” she protested.
“Well, neither does that.” I pointed to her coat.
“You’re impossible. You don’t wear a short jacket with a gown,” she said.
“It’s not a gown. It’s a dress.” Gretchen rolled her eyes when I said that. “And I’ll just carry it, if you’re so concerned.” I balled up the jacket under one arm, and held my miniature purse with the other.
“You look silly,” Gretchen said. “But cute.”
“Thank you.” I bowed.
I looked out the window at the car idling by the curb. Was Sean going to come in, or did I have to run out there myself?
But there he was, coming up the walk. I took a deep breath and braced myself. Tonight wasn’t going to be easy. At least not at the beginning. First I had to tell Sean that I’d fallen for his brother. Then I had to tell Conor that I wanted to be with him.
Very possibly, I should have done all this before right now.
Gretchen opened the door, and I stood behind her, feeling like it was too eager to be caught looking out the window for your date.
“Wow,” Sean said as I stepped out from behind Gretchen. “You look gorgeous.”
I smiled at Sean, who was standing in the open doorway, a bit stunned. “Thanks,” I said. “You look pretty good yourself.”
Sean was wearing a dark blue suit, and he looked a little like Ashton Kutcher. In other words, very, very good.
“Picture time. Picture time!” Gretchen cried.
I could have killed her. Literally. “You are so like Mom. So like her,” I said.
“Don’t say that. Say cheese,” she replied.
Sean and I posed in the doorway, then we posed by the fireplace, then we posed with Brett.
Finally we convinced her that we really did have to get going. I gave Brett a good-night kiss, arranged the little scarf on my shoulders, and Sean took my hand and guided me over the doorstep and down the front walk.
I walked around to the other side of the car with Sean, and saw a camera flash go off on the front walk.
“Gretchen. Do you really need a shot of us getting into the car?” I asked.
“Yes. Now be quiet and smile and wave.”
I doubted that she caught my smile, because as soon as Sean opened the car door, I saw who was in the car: five other people, including what’s-her-name from the lake. I think I would have rather gone in the old pickup, rust and Conor and all.
Sean and I slid into the front seat next to one of the seven hockey players, Duke, who was driving the car. The other four people were crowded into the backseat. Sean introduced me to everyone, and although I didn’t catch everyone’s names or figure out who had come with whom, I did get her name again: Melissa. She was wearing a sexy, white strapless dress, and she had olive brown skin and looked amazing, a shoo-in contestant for the upcoming “America’s Next Top Model” season.
The fact that she was there didn’t bother me the way it would have a few weeks ago, though it did seem a little tactless on Sean’s part for us to all ride in the same car.
Me? I stuffed my down jacket at my feet and then sat back and tried to relax. We drove past Sean’s house and I looked to see whether Conor’s truck was parked outside. It was. My heart sank. Wasn’t he going to the party?
“We should go out to eat first,” Sean said.
“Aren’t they having food at the party?” I asked.