"It doesn't," I said. "It can be whatever we want. You want to fly to Vegas next weekend?"
She sucked in a breath and shook her head. "No, no, we're not eloping," she said. "I eloped once, and I don't wantthis" —she drew a circle around us as she spoke— "to have any resemblance tothat."
I grabbed her hand to put an end to the illustrative drawings, and kissed her wrist. "I couldn't agree more," I said. "But 'not eloping' leaves the door wide-open. Do you want the ballroom at Sixty State Street? I know the GM and I'll get it for you. Or a wedding on the beach somewhere tropical? Pick the island, and I'll book the flights tonight. Or a party at one of your favorite hillbilly music shops? Say the word and I'll make it happen. Tell me what you want and—"
"That," she said, shifting in her seat to face me. "The party. I want the party. I don't want a big, serious wedding thing. I don't want aisles or roses or white cakes or invitations with check boxes for chicken or fish. I want it to be fun."
I didn't know how the universe created someone who knew my heart, soul, and abhorrence of all things typical the way Tiel did, but I appreciated the fuck out of those cosmos because this girl was going to marry me.
"Then let's have a party," I said.
She twisted her scarf around her finger for a long moment before saying, "But maybe we don't tell anyone." Before I could protest—she knew that I didn't have many requirements beyond her, but my siblings were non-negotiable—she continued. "I don't mean a secret, but maybe a surprise? Instead of all the formal weddingish stuff, we just have a party and surprise everyone by getting married."
I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel as I considered this.
"And instead of one of my so-called hillbilly music shops, we should do it at home, in the fire engine bays. Everyone would think we're having a little holiday party or something, and it would be such an insane surprise."
When she put it that way, the idea seemed perfectly weird, and I couldn't imagine our nuptials any other way.
"Holiday party?" I repeated. "You'd be good with…next month?"
She drank her cappuccino while I navigated a few miles of traffic. "How about Christmas Eve?" she said. "It's crazy, I know, but think about it—your family always has a Christmas Eve event, and most of my friends usually stay together for random holiday hijinks. I think we could pull this off on Christmas Eve. Andy might kill me for creeping on her Christmas Eve party because she's been talking about it since August, but I can handle her."
"We'd hire a caterer," I said, giving her a pointed glance so she understood it wasn't an option. Tiel could cook for the masses after growing up in a restaurant, but that wasn't how I intended for her to spend the days leading up to her wedding. "And a decorator to make the garage look better than polished concrete and bricks."
"Okay, but only if we can have little corn dogs."
"Since when are you a fan of little corn dogs?"
She held up her hands as if I was severely missing the point. "I'm not, but nothing says 'this isn't a traditional wedding' more than corn dogs. Oh, and tiny baskets of French fries."
"I can respect that argument," I said. "We'd have to tell Riley. We couldn't plan an event at the house without him noticing, and he won't tell anyone."
"And Ellie," she added. "I know the band has a few days off for the holidays, but they're still overseas. I need her here."
"Only if Ellie can join us," I said, tapping my thumb again. "And Erin, too. We should email her, though, because she doesn't like talking to people. Let's see if her showing up is even within the realm of possibility."
"Okay," Tiel sang. "But first would you tell me what actually happened with her? And Shannon? Why don't they talk? Does she live in Europe because of what happened, or does she live in Europe because that's her life? I mean, we just came from the most fucked-up family situation on the eastern seaboard, but how is it okay for your sisters to be estranged for years? And withyourfamily? The people who find sport in seeing how much time they can spend together while also giving each other an epic quantity of shit. How does Patrick not turn on the growls and demand the situation be fixed?"
"I don't know all the details," I hedged, ignoring the part about Patrick solving problems through growling. Too accurate.
"Who are you trying to convince with that? Me or you?" Tiel asked. "Everyone in your family knows everything about everything."
I gestured toward the road, as if the cars and signs and sky could encapsulate the feelings I had about Shannon and Erin's war of silence. The two were surprisingly close-lipped about it all, never amassing allies or inciting skirmishes. While they certainly interpreted moves from any of us as acts of allegiance or treason, their relationship was never open for discussion.
Ever.
I scratched my jaw, scowling. "There was a cannonball."
"A cannonball?" she repeated.
"Yeah," I said. "You know how there are little monuments in old town squares and cemeteries around Boston? Where they have a stacked pyramid of cannonballs, and some shiny old cannons or statues?"
"Vaguely," she said.
"Erin stole a cannonball."
"Erin. Stole. A cannonball." Tiel stared at me, her expression packed with skepticism. "Is there more to this story, or are they at odds over the cannonball itself? It's far-fetched but it wouldn't surprise me if your siblings went to war with each other over historical artifacts."
