“Sure,” I say, eyes flicking up to Reid.
“I could help,” Reid says.
His mom looks surprised. “I thought you loved the register.”
“But I really love teacups.”
“Noted,” she says. Then she sends us to the storage room. I shut the door behind me, and for a moment, we just look at each other. I may not be capable of words.
He’s wearing a shirt that’s sort of different from his usual T-shirts—white, with blue baseball sleeves. His hair is kind of messy, and his eyes look almost gold.
I am utterly, enterically nervous.
“I don’t know how this is supposed to work,” I say finally.
He laughs. “Me neither.”
I settle onto the floor against the wall, tugging my skirt down over my legs. He slides down the wall, next to me.
“I got your card,” I say.
“My card?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I got Elizabeth’s card.”
He nods solemnly. “That was nice of her.”
“Yeah. Except also kind of . . . threatening?”
“Hmm.” His dimple flickers. “Maybe she’s jealous.”
“Maybe.”
And there’s this tiny, hanging pause.
I bite my lip. “So, I guess we should talk?”
“Or we could not talk,” he says.
“Not talking is good,” I say softly.
His hand finds mine. Our fingers lace together.
“I really wish that door would lock,” I add.
“I wish my mom wasn’t on the other side.” He squeezes my hand. “I want to kiss you.”
He says it so quietly, it’s almost a sigh.
I laugh. “I’m so relieved to hear that.”
“Seriously?”
I nod, burying my face in his shoulder. I breathe in deeply. “You smell good.”
“Like deodorant?” he suggests.
I grin. “Like you.”
“I think that’s my deodorant.”
“Well, I’m glad you wear deodorant.”
He kisses my head. “Let’s go back to you being relieved I want to kiss you. Did I somehow not make that clear last night?”
I shrug.
“Or this morning?” He pulls out his phone, scrolling up through his messages. “Let’s see. Here’s the part where I said kissing you was the best thing that ever happened to my mouth. Here’s where I said you were better than Mini Eggs. Better than Mini Eggs, Molly.”
“I know.”
“How do you go from better than Mini Eggs to thinking I don’t want to kiss you again?”
“I don’t know.” I smile. “I just didn’t want to make any assumptions. . . .”
“Well.” He glances quickly at the storage room door, as if expecting his mom to burst through it. Then he draws in a breath and cups my cheeks gently.
And he kisses me.
“Oh.”
“You can make assumptions with me,” he says. “You can assume anything.”
“You mean—” I begin.
He cuts me off. “Yes.”
I laugh. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He kisses me again. “Do I want to kiss you? Yes. Do I want to do more than kiss you? Yes. But am I willing to take it slow? Yes. And do I want to be your boyfriend?” His voice cracks slightly, but the word comes out emphatically. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay to what?” He actually looks nervous.
“To all of it.” My heart is in my throat. “Except taking it slow. I don’t want to take it slow.”
“Then let’s not.” He laughs.
“Good.”
So, I think that means I have a boyfriend. I’m Molly with a boyfriend. Reid Jerome Wertheim is my boyfriend.
I don’t even know if my brain can process those two words as a unified phrase. “My” and “boyfriend.”
As in: My boyfriend is an excellent kisser. My boyfriend has five cats. My boyfriend stayed over until four in the morning. My boyfriend is the reason I am very, very tired right now.
But it’s a good kind of tired—a sun-dappled, floating kind of tired. It is the most hazily lit movie dream of my entire dreaming career. I want to put this on pause. I want to stretch out this moment. I want to just exist inside of it.
And now I feel a little bad for Elizabeth, because I totally just stole her boyfriend. And I’m really, really sorry about it, and I know she’s a queen, but the thing is, she’s dead. And I’m alive.
I feel very, very alive.
27
SO, NOW MY BRAIN IS a two-color pie graph: one part Reid, one part wedding fever. NOT that I’m fevering over the thought of marrying Reid. I am most decidedly not visualizing myself in wedding dresses. I’ve given literally no thought to the viability of covering a wedding cake in Cadbury Mini Eggs. All obsessive wedding fantasies are wholly dedicated to the wedding that’s happening in my backyard. In a week.
I swear to God, it’s like a switch got flipped. Everything had been relatively calm—until it suddenly wasn’t. I’m pretty sure there’s an anxiety lever somewhere, and someone cranked it to UTTER PANIC FREAKOUT MODE.
That someone is Patty.
Patty, who has her laptop at the breakfast table, open to the ten-day forecast. “They’re saying scattered showers. We should get a tent, right? Just in case? Do you think we need one with full siding? It looks like that’s an option, but we’d probably need to rent fans.”
Nadine boops Xavier on the nose and hands him a sippy cup. “You don’t want to just move everything inside if it rains?”
“You think we can fit thirty-five people in this house?”
Cassie and I eat our cereal in silence. This is strangely like watching reality TV. I can almost picture Patty as a talking head, overlaid with an animated wedding veil and sound effects.
“And Cass, you need to get a dress or pants. You can’t wear shorts to this.”
“Who said I was wearing shorts?” Cassie looks confused.
Nadine shakes her head and shoots Cassie a tiny smile.
“Well, good. Don’t do it.” Patty exhales. “Great. Okay. I just need to call the tent company. And Deenie, you talked to the caterers?”
“Yup. We’re scheduled for Thursday.”
“Okay, we’ve got Olivia on photography—and I’d really like to pay her, by the way.”
Cassie shrugs. “Yeah, she’s not gonna let you.”
“Hey,” pipes Nadine, “don’t let her bring that Schulmeister kid. They’re still broken up, right? Because I do not need my doorstep darkened by that little shitwiper on my wedding day. Nope to the nope.”
Cassie covers her mouth, giggling.
“Anyway, maybe just talk to her about payment, if you don’t mind. And Molly, you’ve got all the decorations under control, right?”
“Right.”
She rubs her temple. “I know I’m forgetting something.” She looks at Nadine. “What am I forgetting?” Then she proceeds to sit down where there isn’t a chair.
“Mama,” says Xav. “Uh-oh!”
Cassie and I exchange wide-eyed holy shit expressions.
“Okay. I’m taking over,” Nadine says. “You.” She points to Cassie. “Deal with Olivia. And you.” She turns to me. “Centerpieces. And one of you needs to be ready to wrangle your grandmother. I don’t need Betty stirring shit up.”
“Oh my God,” Cassie says. “Nadine, you’re a stone-cold ’zilla.”
“Damn straight.”
“Oh,” Patty says. “Molly, are you bringing the boy?”
“Wait, what?” Cassie asks. She turns to me, eyes glinting.
“Um.”
“You can bring him,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “That’s totally fine. I just need to know by Friday.”