Dane asked Miriam out? Repeatedly? This is news to me—though admittedly, I used to pay a lot less attention to everyone else because I was so busy focusing on Amelia. Still, I thought he was all about Riley.
Miguel directs Fiona over to Miriam. “Miri,esta esFiona,” he says. “Fiona, this is my sister, Miriam.”
Miriam starts to extend her hand, but Fiona has already decided they’re going to hug and has wrapped her arms around her. “It’s so nice to meet you. Miguel has been the best host, and incredibly understanding about my brother’s crisis. I assume he told you about that.”
“Oh, yes.” Miriam’s curls bounce as she nods. “I’m glad mybrother’s gotten a friend out of this debacle. I just hope Lakeside’s able to weather this.”
Someone who’d never heard her speak before might miss it, but there’s just the slightest threat to Miriam’s tone. Miguel shoots her a warning look. “Why don’t we eat? Please, pile your plates,” he tells everyone. “We’ve made way too much food.”
“Where’s the Lucky Charms?” Dane says, surveying the counter.
Fiona looks from Dane to Miguel quizzically.
“Chief here has a cereal jones that some would say borders on the obsessive,” Dane explains.
One of the corners of Fiona’s mouth tilts up. “Is that so?”
“It’s not ajones,” Miguel says. “Cereal’s just easier than cooking when it’s only me and Harold.”
“If I’d known, I would have picked up a few boxes on the way over,” teases Fiona.
“Then I would have eaten that, too. All breakfast’s good,” he says, inching closer to her.
“Best meal of the day,” she says, and now they smile at each other.
Amelia Mae’s loaded up a plate and has decided we’re eating in the living room, away from the adults and Walter, whom they’re passing around like a bread basket. “Don’t tell your owner, but I got you a piece of French toast,” she says, tearing off part of a slice to feed to me. “Try not to swallow it all at once.”
That’s a tall ask—the toast is even better than I remembered, although I guess that’s what happens when you go without something for a while. I gobble it down. Amelia’s busy spearing berries on her fork and dipping them inwhipped cream, so I peek my head around the corner. Riley, Dane, and Miriam are seated around the kitchen table, but I hear Fiona and Miguel in the hallway and belly-crawl in their direction to find out what they’re upto.
“I brought you something,” says Fiona. “Just a tiny little gift to thank you for the past few days.”
“Really? I got you something, too,” says Miguel. “One second.” He steps into the living room momentarily and grabs a book off the tall, built-in bookshelves.
“Stoner!” she exclaims, turning it over in her hands.
“It’s actually my copy, but I’ve read it plenty of times, so I’m happy for it to find a new home,” he says, watching her.
“I can’t wait to read it and tell you what I think,” she says, pressing it to her chest momentarily. My Amelia used to do that with books, too; I wish I could understand for myself what’s so magical about a bunch of bound, scribbled-upon paper that makes a person want to hugit.
Fiona slips the paperback into her bag and hands him another book that she’s just retrieved. “This is my favorite Laurie Colwin novel,” she tells him. “Personally, I think shedoesget her male characters right, but you be the judge.”
“I will.”
Fiona glances at me momentarily. Then she leans in and presses her lips to Miguel’s. It’s a quick kiss—so fast, in fact, that he doesn’t have a chance to close his eyes, nor do I have the opportunity to bark at her. I wouldn’t’ve this time, though.
Because somehow, what just happened feels right.
She spins and saunters back into the kitchen. He follows her, and I follow him. Amelia Mae’s left her hiding spot and is seated at the table now, whispering to Riley. “You remember what we discussed, don’t you?” she says, and Riley laughslightly and glances around. When she sees that Brenna’s still in the bathroom, she whispers back, “I do, and I’ll talk to her as soon as the timing is right. I promise.”
“Good,” says Amelia Mae. “Remember, when you find someone as good as she is, you do what you can to keep them in your life.” When she spots me, she turns to her mother. “Speaking of friends, look how sad Harry is,” she says, pointing at me. “He doesn’t want us to leave.”
“He looks perfectly doglike to me,” says Fiona mildly. “Not sad and not happy. Somewhere in between.”
By the time Walter has learned to do his business on the grass instead of her rugs, she’ll have realized that I, like all of my kind, have a full range of humanlike emotions. I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but maybe the puppyisa good idea, if strictly for educational purposes.
“No, I can tell he’s broken up over us having to go back to Chicago,” Amelia Mae insists.
“Dear heart, I like it here, too, but you really do need to get to drama camp sometime this week—I want to make sure you have time to practice your lines. You’re going to want to be at your best for the play.”
