Lorelei heaves a sigh and releases the hug, but grips me by the arms and holds me so she can stare me square in the eye. “Amanda. You’reAmanda Fucking Anderson. Do you have any idea how intimidating it is to like you?”
“I don’t mean to be intimidating.”
I don’t. But I know when I’m home, I feel like that girl who was always the best actress on the stage, universally loved by all the shopkeepers and former teachers and postal workers.
And while Dane never said he still feels like the band geek, and while he clearly has more confidence, he’s also quieter and more reserved than I am.
We are vastly different people.
And I absolutely adore every bit of him exactly as he is.
“This past week was a lot for both of you,” Lorelei says. “But it’s not too late to see what things would be like for you in normal times.”
“I wouldn’t have truly supported you marrying a serial killer,” Mom says. “But it was so obvious how much you liked him.”
“Was it?” I swipe at my eyes.
“Yes,” they reply in unison.
“And don’t get me started on how obvious it was that he still thinks you painted the stars in the sky,” Lorelei says. “He was always on edge when he was dating Vanessa. Like he was waiting for the next bad thing to happen. But this past week—he was so happy. Like he found where he belonged. He has a quiet kind of happy—it’s not abighappy, you know?—but he was happy. I could tell.”
And now I’m crying again.
“Amanda,” Mrs. Briggs hisses from just outside the gazebo. “Honey, I don’t know what’s wrong, but you need to see this.Look.All of you. Just look.”
She points to three people standing near the start of the potluck line.
My grandma.
Dane’s grandparents.
All going for food at the same time.
“She better be getting a fucking salad,” Mom mutters.
Lorelei stifles a whimper of amusement and hooks her arm through mine as we watch my grandmother extend a hand to her grandfather.
There’s definitely wariness in the way Grandma’s holding herself. I can see it in Mrs. Silver too. Hesitancy. Caution.
But a willingness to still shake my grandma’s hand too.
“You did it,” Lorelei whispers.
“Wedid it,” I correct, my voice thick as I try to suppress even more tears. “Because Dane thought it would work. And he was right.”
My phone dings in my pocket.
I absently pull it out as I keep watching the stiff conversation happening between our grandparents.
But when my gaze snags on Dane’s name with a text message alert, I instantly swipe my phone open and hungrily read his message.
Success all around. Great job. Wish I was there to see it.
He’s attached a picture of our grandparents from another angle.
I look around, searching for him, but I can’t find him.
He’s not here. He’s not waiting behind a bush to surprise me and ask me to be his girlfriend and give this a shot for real.
