Over dinner, she barrages Max with questions. She asks him about the pop-up, about Ireland, about his favorite artists, and he happily goes down any rabbit hole her probing inquiries take him. I can already tell Oona’s obsessed with him.
The meal wraps up, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Usually, when I hang out with my dad and Oona, I get annoyed or say something unintentionally bratty, and I feel like a jerk afterwards. Maybe it’s because Max is here to act as a buffer, or maybe I’m starting to like Oona.
She stands by my dad, wrapping an arm around him, and they kiss. Seeing them affectionate with each other still throws me—I don’t remember my dad being this lovey-dovey with my mom all the time. But he’s happy, and that’s what’s important.
“Should I do it, or you?” Oona asks him in a volume I almost can’t hear over the smooth jazz from the speakers. My dad nods, urging her on. “As you know, we’ve been planning the wedding, and your father and I wanted to ask you something.”
My stomach turns. I hoped I would get out of tonight easy, but now she’s going to ask me to be their officiant, or maybe a bridesmaid. The thought had crossed my mind that they’d want me involved in the big day, but with everything at work, I haven’t had the time to reflect on how I really feel about that.
“We’ve talked a lot about the day and what we’re envisioning. Something small, intimate. Close friends and family only. And Harlow is where we met, so it feels like the right place to have the wedding.”
“I’ve got some contacts, you know,” I say. “Caterers, coordinators. Officiants.”
Oona looks at my dad, then back at me. “Oh, that would be marvelous.”
Damn. She’s gunning for maid of honor duties.
“But before any of that, we have to decide where to have the ceremony and reception. And we both agree there is one place that makes sense. If you’re okay with it.” Oona seems like she’s holding her breath, and I’ve never seen her so nervous. The affectionate arm she has wrapped around my dad might be more for her to stay steady on her feet.
“We were thinking,” she goes on, “The Mirage would be perfect.”
“Oh,” I squeak out like a deflating tire. The request blindsides me like walking full-speed into a closed door, but I add, “Wow.”
“Yes, wow. It’s…” Oona nods, then laughs. “You can say no. But—”
“It was my idea,” my dad butts in, rubbing salt in my wound. “Thought it might be a nice way to have her there in spirit.”
Forget salt. This is a bottle of bleach.
“And the place is…well, it’s yours now,” he says. “I’m proud of what you’ve done with it.”
Under the table, Max cups my thigh and squeezes. His eyes have homed in on me. I don’t know if he’s just checking in, readyto go to war for me, or both. His face becomes blurry, but I refuse to let myself lose it here.
“Of course,” I say, fighting back tears with a plastered-on smile.
“Really?” Oona chirps.
“Yes. I’ll have to check the dates, but…absolutely. Family discount,” I manage, struggling to breathe. “I’m happy for you.”
Oona comes over and wraps me in a hug, and my dad joins. They’re both overjoyed—so grateful, beyond excited—and so deeply in love.
I’m hollow as we say goodbye. Max offers to drive, and it’s not until we pull into the driveway of The Mirage that I notice the tears streaming down my face. I go inside the casita and crawl into bed, and Max shows up thirty seconds later, glass of water in hand. He pats the comforter to entice Freddie to curl up with me, and he kneels by the side of the mattress, his palm firm on my arm, his thumb rubbing in circles.
“Do you wanna talk?” Max asks.
“No.” To myself more than to Max, I say, “I miss her, that’s all.”
“What do you miss most about her?”
I sniffle. “Everything.”
Max watches me, his eyes sad. “There was this one fight with my parents in high school. College talk, I think. I came over here because, well, I wanted to vent to you, but you were sleeping over at Gwen’s.” He brushes some hair off my face, and I ignore the urge to kiss the pads of his fingertips. “Your mom ordered Hidden Moon, we sat on the couch, and she listened to me complain. She always treated me like I was someone worth listening to.”
I attempt a smile, because Max has given me the gift of knowing my mother a little better, even now. “She never told me about that.”
“Probably didn’t want you to worry.”
“It felt good to be loved by her, didn’t it?” Freddie rolls onto his belly, and I stroke his fur, which instantly makes him purr. “Whenever she saw me, no matter when we last saw each other, whatever we talked about before, or if we’d had a fight…she looked like the happiest woman in the world, just to see me. That sounds kind of selfish, I suppose—that what I miss most is how I felt because of her.”
