“It’s an indoor show, actually,” I say. “There’s this little theater in Galena, so it’s a really small, intimate thing. It’ll be cool.”
Gin’s brows pinch, but her eyes stay wide, bouncing between Renee and me in search of a shred of context. “Are you playing a concert in Galena?” she guesses.
The realization sets in as quickly as the storm. Not for lack of trying, but I never did tell Gin about the memorial show, did I?
“Right!” I cough. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. The Handful is playing a memorial concert for my dad.”
“Oh.” Gin blinks. She glances briefly at the table like she’s referencing a calendar, then back to me. “When?”
“Two days before your wedding, actually. On Dad’s Gone Day.”
Concern moves like a rain cloud over Gin’s expression. The bent umbrella of her brow can’t keep the pain out of her eyes.
“I’m gonna drive back that night,” I rush to assure her. “I already have it all worked out with—”
Mom,I don’t say.A chill rolls down my spine like a marble down a track. I havenothingworked out with Mom. Renee shifts beside me, knowing as much. I’ve ignored every one of Mom’s calls and texts since the Kurt incident, so that’s…shit, it hasn’t been a month already, has it?
Gin meanwhile has gone pale as a bedsheet, and I feel terrible—she must think I’m being callous with my planning, not prioritizing her wedding. I’m stammering for the right thing to say, which I’m famously horrible at; I’ve put my foot in my mouth so many times that my toes should be permanently pruny. Gin speaks up first, voice baked in dismay.
“I can’t believe I booked my wedding two days after the anniversary of your dad’s death.”
My breath halts. “What? I mean…Gin, it’s fine.”
Her eyes are shiny, the tears ready to spill over.
“Seriously, Gin. Don’t worry about that. It’s…I’m just glad that I’ll be able to go to both.”
“Right.” Her face pinches just a decimal of a fraction. “But like…are we invited to the concert?”
This I didn’t expect at all. “Do…do you want to come or—”
“Of course I want to come.” Her voice is wrapped in hurt.
“I’m sorry, I figured you couldn’t go. You did hear me say…it’s two days before your wedding.”
“So?”
“So won’t you need to be setting up and, I don’t know, getting your nails done? Greeting your out-of-town guests?”
“Rishi’s brother is our only out-of-town guest,” Gin reminds me. “And if it’s important to you, I’ll be there. And I’d love to bring Rishi, too.”
“Could we carpool?” Renee chimes in. “Sorry to always be that person.”
Surprise bursts in Gin’s eyes, and I watch her gaze track from Renee to me.
“If you’re all going, then I’m going.” Chrissy slings an armaround the bride and cracks a smile. “Concert with the girlies, then we get Gin married. Best weekend ever, right? How lucky are we?”
It’s corny, but it really feels true. I feel so lucky to be a part of a group that would only form under one very specific set of circumstances: Virginia Bennett falling in love. But that circumstance, as it is, will be coming to a close before we know it, and I’m suddenly sad. After the vows are said and done, what will we have in common? We’ll see Gin individually, I’m sure, and maybe reunite for a baby shower or a karaoke costume party down the line. It’ll be fine, but it’ll never be quite like this again. Not with Gin and Chrissy. Certainly not with Renee. Without the wedding in common, will we even see each other? My poor little heart soars and stings all at once, knowing all things ever do is change.
At the first break in the rain, we say our goodbyes, scattering to our respective cars and sexy waiters.
“Nicely done finding Waiter Boy.” Renee buckles her seat belt, then in a lower voice adds, “Forgetting to tell the bride about the memorial show, however?”
I clack my tongue and reverse out of my parking spot, one arm thrown lazily around the passenger seat headrest. It’s an honest accident that my fingertips brush through Renee’s hair, but it’s so impossibly soft that I have to stop myself from doing it again on purpose. Renee’s softness is an infinite surprise.
She plays DJ for the whole drive home, leading with the first few tracks off The Handful’s platinum record,Songs for Alice. Myheart squeezes in my chest as she sings along, not missing so much as a word.
“Have you been studying?” I tease, and Renee shrugs and purses her lips, but she can’t hide the smile in her eyes. When the chorus comes in, she lets a high note rip, and I whistle. “Damn! Ricky Pierce, who?!”
