I let out a bleat and put my head in my hands. I thought of Mikey—of all the things we’d left unsaid. Of the apology I’d never had the chance to give him, and all the people he might’ve become. Of the way he made space for me like nobody else on this planet could. Of all the ways our paths diverged and all the hits he’d taken for me once things went gray. Of the way he loved Ingrid, the way he ate a whole carton of Sour Patch Kids before he pitched a game, and the way he’d never, ever loved me less for what I’d done.
“Fuck,” I said. “I miss him so fucking much.”
“Go to her, Tyler. Make something of this mess. Make it mean something.”
“It’s too late,” I said. “You should’ve seen the look on her face this morning. I mean, you did. You were there. There’s no coming back from that. She’s not going to forgive me again. She’s not going to give me another chance.”
Meredith sat down beside me, that tuxedo splayed out between us. She was flickering wildly—growing paler, more translucent with every passing breath. Her eyes were filled with tears.
“I think,” she said, “you’re underestimating what a heart can do.”
The Groveling Hero
Henry had been in love with Willa his whole life. That was no longer in question. What was unclear was what Willa would do with that information once he’d shouted it from the rooftops. Whether she’d ride off into the proverbial sunset with him or shake her head and say it was too little, too late. That she did not wish to spend forever with a man who’d caused her that much pain not once—but twice.
87
Katie
By the time Ingrid and I arrived at the gala, it was nearly nine o’clock. Usually, I’d have been here all day, straightening out clipboards at the silent auction table or double-checking the seating chart against each and every place card. But this time, I wasn’t expected at all.
My mother—who was mid-conversation with a few donors—spotted me from across the room. For a moment, her mouth fell agape. And then, just as quickly, a smirk stretched across her face. Something hot and wild flew through my bloodstream, but I exhaled it away. She got back to her chitchat, and I scrunched my eyes closed.
Ingrid squeezed my hand. “For Mikey, okay?”
I squeezed back. “For Mikey.”
And for a little while, everything was fine. We drank fancy sparkling cider, put in a lowball offer for tickets to the ballet, and then—while Ingrid went to find us more lukewarm coconut shrimp—I talked to a reporter who’d covered my brother’s team at the Little League World Series. Mid-sentence, a hand cinched my shoulder.
“Oscar, if you’ll excuse us for a moment?”
The reporter nodded. I turned to my mother.
“Mom, I—”
She pulled me into the catering kitchen. Behind us, a serverwiped clean clinking glassware. A sink ran, and through the back-of-house laughter, a radio blared.
“Where’s Tyler?” she said.
“Don’t do that, Mom. Please.”
“If you brought Ingrid to hurt me, that won’t work. She still sends me a card on Mikey’s birthday. She’s going to be a trauma surgeon, you know. She’s—”
“Mom, stop. I brought Ingrid for me. I’m here for Mikey. This isn’t about Tyler, okay? And it’s not about our fight either. Please don’t make this something it’s not.”
She smiled, and my insides turned cold. I wrapped my arms around my elbows as if that might protect me from the freeze.
“I warned you,” she said. “This is what that boy does. He takes and takes and takes, and then he leaves. Do you see that now? That I was only trying to protect you? I was too late with Mikey. I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve been paying more attention. But I couldn’t make that mistake again. This was for the better. Then, and now.”
That cater waiter glanced up from his side work, then looked away. I took a deep breath and straightened out my shoulders.
“Mom,” I said. “I love you.”
She startled. She took a half step back. I kept talking.
“I love you. I love you because you are my mother and because that’s the kind of person I am. And if you can’t love me back, it’s okay. You can grieve. You can take all the time you need. I understand.”
The slightest tremble worked across her face. Here, in this kitchen, in these ball gowns, that decades-old radio at war with a string quartet on the other side of those swinging double doors.
