I tell them the short version, and the first thing Wes says is “I knew golf was a bad idea.”
Charlie holds his hand up for Wes to high-five him, both of them finding amusement at my expense. Thankfully, Sophie turns to her other side and gives Wes a good shove, too, then changes the subject.
“Oh! Nonna started talking about the party for all of us on Friday night,” Sophie says with a horrified expression. “And mentioned we should all dress in matching clothes—you know, like we do at Christmas?”
We all cringe. In October or November every year, Nonna picks out a pajama design so we’re all matchy-matchy on Christmas morning. But no one should see Uncle Ronnie in those tight-fitting onesies he favors, no matter how cute the print is.
“Nonna thinks just because one of her crazy plans worked out that she’s unstoppable now,” I say, then nod toward Sophie and Wes. “I mean, things did work out for y’all, but we had to wade through a lot of bad to get there.”
No one could forget some of the weirder dates Sophie had to go on.
Wes shakes his head, chuckling. “She had that look. You know the one I mean.”
“And she’srequestedall family be close by for the weekend through both graduation ceremonies. Mine is the day before y’all’s,” Sophie says. “That’s going to be a lot of family dinners.”
We talk into the night as if we haven’t all been together this entire weekend. Just after eleven, Charlie and Wes get ready to head to Wes’s house, where they’ll stay the night. Sophie has to drive home, since she has graduation practice at her school first thing in the morning.
She walks Wes out, her hand anchored in his, and I see that Charlie has learned from experience to give them a few minutes to say their good-byes.
I’m cleaning up the few dishes and putting away snacks when I say, “Don’t forget to be here at eight in the morning. I want to get out there and back as early as possible.”
“That’ll work. You can get it done before your mom starts texting.”
I nod but don’t say anything. Charlie hands me the last glass, and he can tell something’s up. “I mean, she won’t start texting at eight in the morning, will she?”
I shrug and give him anI don’t think solook.
He lets out a groan. “You better be quick,” he says, then throws open the door. Wes and Sophie almost tumble back inside since he apparently had her pressed against it for their good-night kiss.
“Y’all are killing me,” Charlie says as he bounces down the steps.
Sophie buries her face in Wes’s neck and he whispers in her ear. She’s giggling. I’m super happy for them, but it is a little hard to watch sometimes.
And I’m not too proud to admit I’m a tiny bit jealous. When my relationship ended with my ex-boyfriend, Drew, I didn’t tell anyone in the family besides the Fab Four until months later, scared that Nonna would pull the same stunt on me that she did with Sophie. I mean, she did try, but it had been so long since I was any kind of upset about the breakup that it never turned into anything, thank God.
Finally, Sophie and Wes part ways and they both tell me good night as he walks her to her car. I turn off all the lights and head upstairs, going through my nighttime rituals. Once I slide between the sheets, though, I can’t get comfortable. I toss and turn for a long time, thinking about Coach Cantu and that stupid form. But by this time tomorrow, everything will be back on track.
Charlie showed up at 8:12 only after I called him three times andthreatened to sic the Evil Joes on him if he didn’t get down to my house pronto.
He was in his pj’s, the ones from two Christmases ago that have Santa hat–wearing polar bears all over them. I’ve got a matching set upstairs. Charlie kept his eyes open long enough for us to trade phones and passwords before he fell onto the couch in the den and was back asleep.
Following the directions from Maps, twenty-five minutes later I’m finally pulling up to the gates of Ellerbe Hills Country Club.
Stopping at the guard station, I lower my window and give my friendliest smile. “Hi! I’m here to see Coach Cantu!”
Okay, so that was way too enthusiastic.
And by the look on the guard’s face, he’s not impressed.
“Club isn’t open on Mondays.”
And then he turns back around and disappears inside his little booth.
That’s it? I can’t wait until tomorrow. Another twenty-four hours of worrying and just—no. No, no, no.
I wave my hand and he begrudgingly emerges.
“I desperately need to find the coach for my school’s team, who I heard works here now. I really need to talk to him. I don’t know where else to look.”
