Silence on the line. The typing stopped.
“The wedding.”
“The wedding. The patio. Your family’s food. You don’t need a caterer because we ARE the caterer. You don’t need a venue because you’re standing in it.”
“Anna, we’ve been over this —”
“You’ve been over this. I’ve been saying the same thing since Luke first mentioned it. The patio at sunset. Grilled cheese trays. Tyler’s eggs. Rosa’s salsa. Meg, it’sright there.”
“It’s a grilled cheese restaurant.”
“It’s our grilled cheese restaurant.”
More silence. Anna could hear Meg thinking. Meg’s thinking had a sound—not typing, not breathing, just the hum of a brain running through every objection and finding them thinner than expected.
“I’ll think about it,” Meg said.
“You’ve been thinking about it since the art night. I saw your face.”
“My face was painting.”
“Your face was looking at the patio at sunset and imagining yourself in a white dress. I know you, Meg.”
“I was not?—”
“Luke said ‘our grilled cheese restaurant.’ You didn’t say no.”
Meg was quiet for a long time. The line hummed.
“I’ll think about it,” she said again, softer. “I have to go. Work is calling.”
“The patio is available. The sunset’s still at five. You have two weeks, Meg.”
“Goodbye, Anna.”
Anna hung up and stood in the kitchen with her phone and her coffee and the grill heating behind her. Through the window, the patio sat in the morning light—empty, quiet, the string lights catching the sun. The same patio where people had painted the sunset two nights ago. The same patio where Luke had said “weddings” and looked at Meg and Meg had pressed her fingers against her eyes.
Meg was going to say yes. Not today. Not because Anna told her to. But the caterer had canceled and the days were getting shorter and the patio was right there and sometimes the universe just keeps pointing you toward the obvious answer until you stop arguing with it.
Tyler came through the back door with eggs and his camera bag over his shoulder.
“Morning,” he said, setting the flat on the counter. “How’s Bea?”
“She made me coffee.”
Tyler stopped. Looked at her.
“She made you coffee?”
“The whole pot. The way I make it.”
Tyler set the eggs down and leaned against the counter. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “That’s really good.”
“It’s not fixed.”
“No. But she made you coffee.” He picked up the eggs and headed for the walk-in. “That’s Bea for ‘I love you and I’m still mad.’ Give her time.”
