“Prove.” I prod a finger into his chest, and sweet hell, it’s like poking a steel door. “It.”
“Done. I’ll see you tonight.” He turns and begins walking down the aisle.
“Charlie, wait.”
He pauses and looks back over his shoulder.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I love defying expectations, and you, Alice Everly, seem to have a lot of them.”
18
Ipaint my toenails with sparkling purple polish and bedazzle my eyelids and cheekbones with silver glitter. I don’t bother straightening my hair—it would curl in the humidity anyway. It looks like chaos, but Ifeela little chaotic. I even put on the green scrap of a dress Heather packed in my suitcase. It’s short and silky with spaghetti straps and cut low in the back. I don’t have a bra that works with it, so I’m not wearing one.
I take a photo of myself in the bathroom mirror and send it to Heather.
What is happening up there???she writes back. And:You look HOT.
I tell myself looking hot was not the goal. I’ve decided to defy expectations, too, including my own.
I feel sunnier than I did this morning. My phone has been lighting up all day withhappy birthdays from friends. The twins sent me a video of an elaborate dance routine, involving high heels, cowboy hats, and a perplexing number of jumping jacks. Bennett’s message included every tangentially celebratory emoji in the Unicode library. My dad recounted the day I was born, a story I can recite word for word. I also received a text from Harrison, asking me to dinner. I haven’t responded.
I’ve just put the lasagna in the oven when Nan calls out, “He’s here.”
And sure enough, through the window, a black Porsche slithers through the bush. The rain has stopped, but fog hangs in the trees. It’s like a car commercial.
“How do I look?” Nan asks, adjusting her tiara.
“Regal.”
And she does. She’s wearing her pearls and a tweed skirt and jacket set that she’s had forever and will never go out of style. She’s sitting straight as a pin, shoulders proud. I roll my own back as soon as I note her posture.
I open the door before Charlie knocks, propping it ajar with my hip. He stands on the stone steps, and for untold seconds, all I can do is stare. Charlie is wearing a suit. It’s the color of the sky, an almost metallic gray. The top two buttons of his white shirt are undone. And he’s holding a chocolate layer cake. For a heartbeat, he looks at me, just as stunned as I am.
“I baked,” he says.
“So you did.”
“You look…” He swallows. “Like a mermaid.”
I glance down at myself. “This dress was a leap for me.”
“It was a very good leap.” His voice is rougher than usual.
I point at his car. “The five-minute walk was too much for you?”
“I didn’t want to scuff my shoes,” he says. “And I have a few more things in the car I couldn’t carry. Do you mind taking the cake in for me?”
I do as he asks, then meet him outside on the pathway in my bare feet to see if he needs help. Water drips from the branches, onto the forest floor and tin roof. A drop lands on my shoulders. I stand there quietly, listening to the earthy song.
Charlie looks into the limbs of a birch. “I like it after the rain, too.”
“It smells unreal.” The air is thick and fresh, more fragrant, almost medicinal. It reminds me of Charlie. We breathe it in together, but then I feel his focus drift to me. “What?”
“Nothing. I just figured you were more of a city girl. City person,” he amends when I arch a brow.
“Says the guy driving the Porsche.”
