I leave Maureen pushing buttons and gasping in surprise as music begins to pour out of the tiny speakers. Taking Jules’s arm, I drag her toward my room and close the door behind us.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Jules jokes. “She’ll probably hack your Facebook.”
I sit down on the bed. “You can talk to me, you know.”
Jules, in classic Jules mode, snorts. “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
“You can be as snarky as you want,” I tell her. “I know how crappy you feel right now. I’ve been there.Twice.”
Jules jerks her chin up. “I’m fine. You just worry about Prince Charming. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“IknowI don’t have to worry about you. But I do. And I know you can talk to me . . . but you’drathertalk to someone else.” Reaching past her, I take the fairy tale from the nightstand and place it in her hands. “I believe this is yours now.”
I stand up. “I’m going to take Maureen downstairs and have her say goodbye to my mom. Preferably without ever speaking in her British accent. How about I meet you at the car?”
Jules looks at me and then traces her fingers over the lettering on the book’s cover. Then, unexpectedly, she throws her arms around me in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispers.
As I walk out of the room, she is just cracking open the story.
I find Oliver standing guard at the front door, thanking people as they leave. Raj fist-bumps him. “Great party, bro,” Raj says, and Oliver grins.
“Glad you liked it.”
Allie and Chris are the last to go. “See you Monday, dude,” Chris says, putting his hand on the small of her back. Oliver looks up at me, shocked.
“I’ll fill you in later,” I murmur.
When it’s finally quiet, my mother walks out of the kitchen holding a dish towel. “That went well!” she says brightly. “I’m thinking we should have Thanksgiving during a full-on tornado!”
I laugh. “Thanks for your help, Mom.”
“I’d better be getting my mother back home,” Oliver says. “Thank you so much for letting us use your house, Mrs. McPhee.”
“Anytime.” My mother gives Oliver a hug first, then Queen Maureen. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thank you,” Maureen replies, sounding only faintly British.
Just then, Jules comes running down the stairs, her cheeks pink. “Sorry,” she calls. “I’m here.” Her car keys jingle in her hand. “Ready to go, you two?”
She escorts Maureen out the door. Oliver lingers behind, his hand on my waist. “See you . . . tomorrow,” he says.
Just hearing that word makes me smile.
He leans down and brushes his lips over mine, the way you say goodbye to someone you know you’re going to have many more goodbyes with.
When the door closes, I turn around to find my mother shaking out a giant black trash bag. “No, Mom, I’ll take care of it. You did so much already. Just go to bed and let me clean up.”
“I’m not going to say no to that.” My mother yawns. “You think Edgar liked his party?”
“I’m pretty sure this was his best birthday ever.”
Her footsteps fade as she climbs the stairs, and I begin to sweep the debris of the party into the trash bag. I dump paper plates and cups and gather crumbs and frosting off the table with a sponge.
“Well, Delilah,” I say out loud, pretty proud of myself for pulling this off. “Whatcan’tyou do?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of a voice behind me. Oliver stands in the doorway, watching me clean up. “You scared me to death!” I say, but I’m smiling. I can’tnotsmile. “Why did you come back?”
