Paralyzed by the strange electric current, I just barely heard him add:
“And I’d cancel them if I did.”
***
Marco sucked down three glasses of Da’s lemonade before he told me that he should head home to shower before dinner. “I’m really sorry, Mads,” he said before climbing into the Bumper Car. “I shouldn’t have left TI with Shelly that night when I suspected you’d be left alone, and I shouldn’t have later apologized on her behalf. That was up to her to do, not me.”
I smirked. “I’ll die if I hold my breath for that. I blocked her number, too.”
Marco chuckled. “Are we okay?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “We’re okay.”
And truthfully, we were, but that didn’t mean my family wasone hundred percent forgiving. I texted the Fisher-Michaels group chat—namedGood Genes—that I’d invited Marco to tonight’s cookout, and Austin was the first to respond:I thought we were Mad Mads at him.
Me too, Dad seconded.
Me three, Da said.(And didn’t you block his number? Or was that all talk?)
I lovingly rolled my eyes. They were ganging up on me.We WERE, I typed,but he came over today to repent.
Although Dad got straight to the point that evening. “Marco Álvarez,” he said after picking Samira up at the train station. “You let our underage daughter’s glorified tour guide abandon her at her first college party.”
“First?” I asked.
Dad gave me a look. “I’m sure this was the first of many, Mads.”
Da further embarrassed Marco, adding, “All to get some action.” He glanced between the two of us, eyes narrowed inquisitively. “Do the kids still say that these days?”
“Yes, I did.” Marco flushed. “It was far from my finest hour, and I’m truly sorry.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ve regretted it every day since then, but I thought it was better if someone else apologized first.”
“Mmm,” my parents hummed, knowing he meant Shelly.
“I procrastinated doing it myself,” Marco continued. “And by the time I finally got the guts, your daughter had taken drasticmeasures to make sure she wouldn’t read it. I am, to quote Mads, a ‘dickhead.’”
“Duh, but thank you for walking her to Katie’s house,” Austin said, walking into the kitchen out of nowhere. He had an overnight bag slung over his shoulder and haphazardly deposited it on the floor so he could hug Samira. I watched her squeeze him back tightly, as if they were reuniting after being kept apart for years.
“Katie make a detour to visit the horses?” Da carefully ventured several seconds later.
“No,” Austin said. “She bailed.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We kind of got in a fight.”
About what?I wondered, but Dad put his hand over my mouth before I could ask.
“So, I’m gonna stay here tonight.” Austin gestured to his discarded duffel. “If that’s alright.”
“Of course it’s alright,” Da replied, with Dad adding, “Youdostill have our house listed as your permanent address.”
I tried not to giggle. It was true; Austin got more mail than I did. Capital One was practically begging my brother to apply for a credit card with them.
Austin half smiled. “When are the McCallisters coming over?”
“Anytime now,” Da said, then turned to Marco. “Would you mind helping me finish prepping the appetizers?”
“Just tell me what to do, Chef,” Marco answered, and once he followed Da into the kitchen—his famous watermelon salad withfeta, blueberries, and mint was on the menu—and after Samira and Dad disappeared to ready the bar, I hauled ass upstairs to Austin’s room.
“Hey,” I said, walking through his open door in time to catch him collapse face down on his bed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he said into his pillow. “Fine.”
