Older couples are stepping out of luxurious cars, brands I have never heard of, in opulent ball gowns and accompanying men in suits. My breath becomes uneven as I recognize the parents of my old peers. It will be my first time seeing Declan’s parents since the accident.
“Come on,” he says softly, holding his elbow aloft so that I can loop my arm through his. My breath stutters as I remember that he brought me here as his date.
“Yes, monsieur,” I tease.
Declan exhales sharply through his nose in response.
My hand tremors slightly on his arm, and my eyes can’t focus on a single target, darting around anxiously at the patrons entering around us.
“Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen. There will be a five-course dinner comprised of tiny geometric shapes that barely look like food, a few thank-you speeches, and some dancing. We’ll dance like we’re in one of your favorite fantasybooks, and we can play that game where we guess who the highest donor will be.” He speaks soothingly in a low voice near my ear as we approach the entrance.
I nod and blow out a breath. Declan going over the order of events eases my nerves. The nerves I hadn’t said a word about. Registering that fact sends a familiar zing down my spine.
We pass a sign that reads:TIDES OF CHANGE
And then in a smaller font below that:Preserving Seabrook’s historic charm, marine life, and wildlife habitat
We find our seats near the front of the ballroom, at a round table covered in a white cloth, delicate china placed in perfect formation. Declan pulls my chair for me, tucking it in as I sit down.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
He takes the seat to my right. The rest of the seats are occupied by faces I don’t recognize, but there are two empty spots across from me. A glass is clinked into the microphone, quieting everyone and signaling the official start of the event. I look up to find Declan’s mom, Gwen, behind the microphone, and my body unexpectedly tenses. My vision goes fuzzy at the edges, and I have to remind myself not to stare at her with wide eyes. The last time I saw her face, I was on her front doorstep, begging for the opportunity to see her son.
“Good evening, everybody!” she purrs, hair balanced in an impressive updo. “Welcome to the Cypress Grove Community’s annual charity gala.” She pauses to allow the audience’s applause. “We know you’ve all been hard at work, and we are grateful for your generous contributions to the Tides of Change fundraiser this year. And of course, none of this would have been possible without my husband, Randall. Randall, please come up, honey.”
At an intimidating six foot three and a stern set to his jaw,he strides from the side of the ballroom as the crowd erupts in applause again. He smiles and waves with the perfect amount of bashfulness to pass beneath the bar of conceit. Randall checks every box when it comes to being a charismatic man. Everyone in Seabrook loves him. But I’ve always found him unnerving. Perhaps it was from seeing the amount of pressure he put on Declan behind the scenes. The pressure of keeping up the appearance of a perfect family, garnering accomplishments that deserve their peer’s veneration.
But it seems like Declan has grown up to crave the opposite. He could have led with the fact that he owned the coffee shop, but I had no idea until this week. It was like he’d rather people underestimate him so that he knew your affection was coming from a trustworthy place.
My train of thought is broken when I hear Gwen’s voice go soft. “Randall, my beautiful husband, thank you for all that you do, not only for this community but for how you take care of us at home, first and foremost. As you all know, our family has been through some unexpected trials in the past few years.” She glances at Declan, and when she catches sight of me, her eyes flicker with something. Her expression falters for a split second, but she recovers so quickly I think I’ve exaggerated it. “But your steadfastness and strength has been the grounding pillar that guided us through the toughest of days. And despite it all, somehow, you still managed to support the health of this thriving community.” Gwen gestures to the audience with a dramatic flourish, eyes shining beneath the spotlight, and everyone breaks into applause again. The speech feels forced to me, but something about the way Gwen and Randall are locking eyes right now feels real. Weighted in a way I can’t pinpoint. I glance over my shoulder at Declan, who is clapping along with the crowd with an easy smile on his face.
They invite the guest speakers and auctioneers to the stage and then take their seats at our table. But a new speaker begins talking so I don’t have the opportunity to acknowledge them yet. I feel Gwen’s presence across from me like a wall of heat as I try to appear focused. We’re brought the geometric food that Declan promised, and everyone eats in tiny, polite bites while the auctioneers present the bidding opportunities. The sound of cutlery clinking against fine porcelain and small talk fills the ballroom like an orchestrated symphony. I pretend to be a seasoned guest.
When the presentations end, I turn to face Declan, eyes wide with the subtle panic of saying hello to his parents. He dips his head with a discreet nod. He places a hand on my back and says, “Mom, Dad, I believe I mentioned Blair has been back in town for the summer, and I, uh, I’ve brought her here as my date.”
Randall breaks into a warm smile. “Hi, Blair. It’s nice to see you again. And my, my, you look well!”
“Thank you. It’s good to see you too.” I smile, feeling like a child again beneath his gaze. Then my eyes flicker to Gwen, and I catch the way her mouth tenses with some unnamed emotion before schooling back into a polite grin.
“It’s nice to see you, sweetie,” she says, offering an awkward wave from across the table. Her stack of gold bracelets tinkles with the movement.
We small talk about my time at Pepperdine and I start to panic when it veers toward what I’ll be doing now, since I’ve yet to inform Declan that I’ve given up my spot at Ernst & Young.
But Declan relieves me of having to say anything else by offering me his hand and asking “May I have this dance?” with a hopeful expression.
“Do your worst, Declan Renshaw.”
His lips curl with a coy smile as he takes me by the hand. Declan was always an unexpectedly suave dancer. Although it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, considering he was one of those people who was infuriatingly good at everything they tried.
“Don’t worry. I’m not so coordinated anymore,” he says like he heard my thoughts.
My heart fractures. I’ve been failing to remember how many areas of his life have been affected by the accident. I’ve been slow to remember that I was experiencing the Declan after the accident, not the one before it. It wasn’t lost on me how easy I found it to harbor resentment toward people not remembering my current affliction, and yet, I was forgetting Declan’s regularly.
It was a pointed reminder that the experiences people didn’t witness would never resonate as deeply with them as they did with you. If you wanted them to be appreciated, it was your responsibility to share them—it wasn’t on others to understand something they had never seen. I mentally chip away at the wall I’ve been secretly constructing against Roshi and Faye.
Other couples fill the dance floor. The ones who have been married for decades are easy to see. Twirling and spinning each other around without any effort of thought displayed on their faces.
Declan leads the way, tugging me forward by the hand, and when he finds a clearing, spins me around, bringing his other hand to my waist in one fluid motion. A surprised laugh leaps out of me without my permission. I can’t help it. He is charming. It was objectively true. And fine, I could admit, I felt charmed.
