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“Tell Sadie I say hi,” she says, then drops her voice. “And I’m serious about those questions.”
Her eyes linger on mine, then she walks past me, her arm brushing against me in what I’m sure is an intentional move.
“Enjoy your date,” I say over my shoulder, cringing at the jealousy laced throughout my tone.
“I will.” Then her footsteps fade away.
I blink, fighting every instinct within me so I don’t look over my shoulder at her departing figure because I know that’s just what she wants.
Instead, I take my seat and gear up for Sadie to return because I know she’s going to ask me all the questions.
I’m going to have to be honest and tell her that even after tonight, I still prefer being alone with horses than with women. Even if Juliet’s beginning to turn my eye.
Anyway, I’ve got something else to focus my attention on now.
It’s the mayor’s birthday, and I plum forgot to deliver his gift.
Juliet
The weekend flies by.
Friday night, we come home late from the party to a cake having been delivered at our door with pink frosting that reads, “Congrats, Mayor, on Your Many, Many, Many Years of Living.”
Along with the cake is a birthday card that plays, “Cat’s in the Cradle” when it’s opened, revealing a photo of an ugly tomcat with bulging eyes. A word bubble from the feral creature says, “Happy Birthday, to our favorite and longest running Meow-or Monroe.”
Both are left anonymous.
“I hate cats,” Dad mumbles.
Whoever sent these “gifts” must have known that, too.
While he isn’t thrilled, I have a good laugh as we eat a slice each of the delicious chocolate dessert—though we’re already stuffed from the cheesecake at the party.
Saturday morning, we watch episodes of our favorite comfort shows—NCIS and Psych—before heading to the Walkers’ for the last barbecue of the season. Liv is there, too, so we get more time to talk and catch up, enjoying each other’s company as the brothers break out in a game of football, which I gladly sit out. I don’t need to keep up with the boys any longer.
Tate drapes his arm around Liv’s shoulder every once in a while, but after speaking with Liv, I don’t press for more information. They obviously have their own reasons to keep things under wraps, and I don’t need to pry.
On Sunday, Dad and I attend service in the old white church, and I get to greet even more friends I haven’t seen in months.
But I don’t see Archer. Nor do Dad and I talk about Archer.
We don’t talk about any guy, for that matter, and it makes for one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time. It sure beats watching Blake play pickleball for hours because he “needs the support from my girlfriend on the sidelines.”
Monday arrives quickly, and I ride into town with Dad because apparently, I’m enjoying reliving my high school days so much, I need to recreate them entirely by being driven everywhere.
I never needed a car in Boston because the T was faster, and thanks to Miss Sunfire, my car-less streak is continuing strong.
Anyway, I don’t mind the extra time I get with Dad this morning. I make him French toast so he can be sustained through lunch by more than his half-eaten banana.
“You’re sure you’re not going to feel neglected today?” Dad asks for the hundredth time. “You can come with me to the office, you know.”
He feels bad because he actually has a job—which I don’t—and other obligations—which I also don’t.
“I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ve got a few missing assignments to turn in for school, so I’ll just be at the library most of the day. And Landrie said she’ll be free for lunch, so I’m all set.”
I obviously have no assignments, but I really am eating with Landrie. I’d tell Dad the truth someday about how I’m really spending the rest of my time, but I don’t want to burst the perfect bubble of delusion we’ve made for ourselves this weekend.
“If you’re sure,” he says. “I just have a lot of things to get caught up on. The Fall Festival has been a bit of a fiasco getting it up off the ground this year.”
