time he was glad I was there. They each imitated me by picking up their own wraps.
“You know, I always loved the idea of baking your own bread,” said Wylie, “but I’m
horrible
at cooking. So’s my mom. She
hates
it.”
“I used to be the same way,” I confessed.
“What changed?”
“Being married to someone who enjoyed it. His enthusiasm rubbed off on me, and it became a thing we did together.”
It took her a moment to realize that I wasn’t talking about David. “Oh, you meant the other guy—I forgot his name,” she said.
I nodded. “Sam.”
“Right. That’s really nice,” she added. But whereas Wylie’s eyes expressed interest and attention, David’s turned dark.
I paused for a few beats, trying to think of something to say to comfort David. I pointed to him, but was struck dumb when it came to addressing him—what should I call him? After the interaction with Peter,
Dad
was completely out of the question. And yet, calling him
David
seemed just as inappropriate. But I was out of alternatives, and it was the better of the two. “David is a good cook.” I took a gulp of ginger ale in attempt to wash out my discomfort, although this was one of those rare times I wished for a stronger elixir. David took a swig from a bottle of iced tea. He seemed equally bothered by the lack of a proper moniker, and in the end I concluded that I’d made things worse.
Wylie leaned in to her straw and took a sip of Coke. And then she noticed the ring on my finger. “Wait—are you two engaged?”
David took my hand. “Sure are.”
“Since when?”
“ ’Bout two weeks ago,” I replied.
She frowned. “Did you not want me to know?”
David dropped his head. “You’ll have to forgive me, Wylie. I’m just not sure of my footing here. None of us are. That’s why I invited you to visit with us. I want us to get to know each other, so we can feel comfortable sharing such things. Andi and I really want you to be a part of our lives, and vice versa.”
Wait—
he
invited
her
?
Her eyes darted to me, as if seeking my confirmation. I blinked rapidly and nodded, but I knew my expression was betraying me, and I knew she knew as well.
“Well, congratulations, I guess,” she said. “I hope you’ll at least invite me to the wedding.”
“Are you kidding?” said David. “We want you
in
the wedding.”
Where had
that
come from? Not that I wouldn’t want to invite Wylie—but for her to be a part of it? I hadn’t even begun to consider such details for my own family and best friends.
Things were happening way too fast. I couldn’t get the look on Peter’s face as he turned his daughter over to us out of my head, couldn’t stop feeling as if we were doing exactly what Janine threatened us not to do—swooping in and taking over. I couldn’t stop feeling as if this was all
wrong
.
I could barely look at the pita wrap, much less swallow another bite.
The conversation quickly turned casual, peppered with bits of entertainment gossip and stories about Wylie’s high school and David explaining his work to her. They became engrossed in a conversation about painting, especially when David started in on the Impressionists. It was like sitting withtwo Red Sox fans talking about the game and not being able to get a word in edgewise. She seemed to be genuinely interested in his explanation of Manet’s color contrast. Or maybe she was already trying to please her father. Either way, I couldn’t hold it against her. David’s passion always lured me into his aura, like a mosquito being lured into an ultraviolet light, and then he’d zap me with his electric smile. Even at that moment, I could feel the pull of his sienna eyes, the music of his voice, the rhythm of his words and his breath, and knew I was already done for. Wylie would be next. It was inevitable. Moreover, having those same eyes, I knew she was capable of doing the same to him.
We got back to the house by late afternoon/early evening,
“You know, I always loved the idea of baking your own bread,” said Wylie, “but I’m
horrible
at cooking. So’s my mom. She
hates
it.”
“I used to be the same way,” I confessed.
“What changed?”
“Being married to someone who enjoyed it. His enthusiasm rubbed off on me, and it became a thing we did together.”
It took her a moment to realize that I wasn’t talking about David. “Oh, you meant the other guy—I forgot his name,” she said.
I nodded. “Sam.”
“Right. That’s really nice,” she added. But whereas Wylie’s eyes expressed interest and attention, David’s turned dark.
I paused for a few beats, trying to think of something to say to comfort David. I pointed to him, but was struck dumb when it came to addressing him—what should I call him? After the interaction with Peter,
Dad
was completely out of the question. And yet, calling him
David
seemed just as inappropriate. But I was out of alternatives, and it was the better of the two. “David is a good cook.” I took a gulp of ginger ale in attempt to wash out my discomfort, although this was one of those rare times I wished for a stronger elixir. David took a swig from a bottle of iced tea. He seemed equally bothered by the lack of a proper moniker, and in the end I concluded that I’d made things worse.
Wylie leaned in to her straw and took a sip of Coke. And then she noticed the ring on my finger. “Wait—are you two engaged?”
David took my hand. “Sure are.”
“Since when?”
“ ’Bout two weeks ago,” I replied.
She frowned. “Did you not want me to know?”
David dropped his head. “You’ll have to forgive me, Wylie. I’m just not sure of my footing here. None of us are. That’s why I invited you to visit with us. I want us to get to know each other, so we can feel comfortable sharing such things. Andi and I really want you to be a part of our lives, and vice versa.”
Wait—
he
invited
her
?
Her eyes darted to me, as if seeking my confirmation. I blinked rapidly and nodded, but I knew my expression was betraying me, and I knew she knew as well.
“Well, congratulations, I guess,” she said. “I hope you’ll at least invite me to the wedding.”
“Are you kidding?” said David. “We want you
in
the wedding.”
Where had
that
come from? Not that I wouldn’t want to invite Wylie—but for her to be a part of it? I hadn’t even begun to consider such details for my own family and best friends.
Things were happening way too fast. I couldn’t get the look on Peter’s face as he turned his daughter over to us out of my head, couldn’t stop feeling as if we were doing exactly what Janine threatened us not to do—swooping in and taking over. I couldn’t stop feeling as if this was all
wrong
.
I could barely look at the pita wrap, much less swallow another bite.
The conversation quickly turned casual, peppered with bits of entertainment gossip and stories about Wylie’s high school and David explaining his work to her. They became engrossed in a conversation about painting, especially when David started in on the Impressionists. It was like sitting withtwo Red Sox fans talking about the game and not being able to get a word in edgewise. She seemed to be genuinely interested in his explanation of Manet’s color contrast. Or maybe she was already trying to please her father. Either way, I couldn’t hold it against her. David’s passion always lured me into his aura, like a mosquito being lured into an ultraviolet light, and then he’d zap me with his electric smile. Even at that moment, I could feel the pull of his sienna eyes, the music of his voice, the rhythm of his words and his breath, and knew I was already done for. Wylie would be next. It was inevitable. Moreover, having those same eyes, I knew she was capable of doing the same to him.
We got back to the house by late afternoon/early evening,
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