Only Love
Page 41
I remembered sitting there with Ryan just two days earlier, how earnest he’d seemed in apologizing for his abrupt mood shift the night before.
I sort of … turn everything off. Shut down.
Is it easy for you?
Yeah. It is.
Is that what he was doing now? Shutting down after opening up so completely last night? After he’d promised me he wouldn’t?
The front door opened, and Emme came out onto the porch, wrapping a sweater tighter around her. “Hey. How was your run?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“What’s wrong?” She came and sat next to me, setting the swing in motion.
“Ryan’s acting weird.”
“Some people can’t talk while they run, Stella.”
“He didn’t run with me. He had some kind of emergency and took off in his truck. I ran alone, and just as I was getting back, I saw the truck pull into the driveway. He bolted into the house and came out a few minutes later in work clothes. Said he had to go to the inn.”
“You think he was lying?”
“It’s not that.” I shook my head. “It was how he treated me. It was like I was invisible. Or worse, like he wished I was invisible. He did not want to see me or talk to me.”
“Are you sure you weren’t imagining it?”
I sighed. “I guess not. I mean, he can be hard to read sometimes. And he did tell me flat out that he’s not good at conversation.”
“There you go. Maybe he’s just having a bad day and doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t take it to heart.” She patted my leg. “Tell you what. Grams is in there moaning about how I don’t know how to bake homemade pies and I’m going to need them to save my marriage. What do you say we spend our last day here making her happy and baking pies? You can take one over to Ryan later, and I’ll have one to bring home to Nate tomorrow.”
“Okay. While they’re in the oven, maybe we can get the rest of those pictures organized and put into albums for her too.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We rose to our feet and headed in. “So what kind of pie does Grams want to make?” I asked, holding the door open for my sister.
“Bourbon pecan,” she answered.
“Good grief, does the woman make anything without booze in it?”
Emme laughed. “I don’t think so. Maybe that’s the secret to a long life.”
Pulling the door shut behind me, I laughed too. I felt a little better. “I bet you’re right.”
In the end, I was glad to have a day to spend with my sister and grandmother in the kitchen. I knew I’d remember it forever. We felt guilty that Maren was so far away, so we Skyped with her as we rolled out the crust and put together the filling. She asked how things were going for me, and I told her they were going great. I wasn’t going to give in to pessimism yet—and I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who needed constant reassurance that things were fine.
While the pies were in the oven, the three of us sat down and finished putting Grams’s old photos in albums. We marveled at the old black and whites of relatives long gone, we sighed at photos of Grams and Gramps’s wedding, and we giggled at pictures of our mom and her siblings as kids, and then of us—opening Christmas gifts, sitting on the swing out back, grinning toothless smiles at the dining table.
“Grams, your veil was so beautiful,” Emme said, studying a bridal portrait. “I love the length. And the lace.”
“Thank you, dear. Believe it or not, that veil was made with lace from my First Holy Communion dress. We got married so quickly, there wasn’t a lot of time to plan, let alone much money.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Of course I do. It’s in a trunk in the attic, I believe. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes!” Emme exclaimed.
“And if you like it and the condition isn’t terrible, you’re welcome to wear it,” Grams offered.
Emme gasped. “Really?”
“Sure. It’s not doing anyone any good up there. And it will bring you good luck.”
My sister squealed and clapped her hands. “This is amazing! I have a veil for the ceremony, but it’s really long. I was going to just take it off for the reception, but I love the idea of switching to a short veil like yours. Stella, will you come up to the attic with me and look for it?”
“Of course.”
Temporarily abandoning the photos, we went up to the second floor and pulled down the ladder to the attic. Grams stood at the base of it and directed us to the corner where she thought it might be.
We coughed at the dust, and nearly tripped over all the junk up there, but we managed to find the trunk and open it up. “Oooooh,” Emme said, lifting it from a tissue-paper-lined box. “What do you think?”
I watched as she placed it on her head and looked at me expectantly. “Gorgeous,” I told her.
She beamed, her face lighting up the shadows. “I’m so happy!”
“I can see that. I’m happy for you.”
“Maren could wear it too. And when you get married, you can wear it,” she said excitedly.
I smiled back, but it was hard not to wonder if I’d ever be the one trying on Grams’s veil. My luck in love wasn’t as good as theirs.
A couple hours ago, I’d gotten Ryan’s cell number from Grams and sent him a quick note. Hi, it’s Stella. Hope all is well. Baking with Emme and Grams today, so I will have a surprise for you when you get home. Can’t wait to see you.
He hadn’t replied.
The pies came out of the oven just before five o’clocktails, and I joined Grams in the living room with a martini while Emme sipped on some ginger ale. Neither of them brought up Ryan, and I wondered if Emme had told Grams not to mention him.
Still no reply.
We ate dinner—leftovers from last night—sitting at the dining room table, and I could tell I wasn’t the only one who kept glancing at the empty chair where he’d sat. Finally, Grams couldn’t help herself.
“Stella, will you see Mr. Woods tonight?”
“I hope so.”
“You should have invited him for dinner again.”
“I told you, Grams. He was busy today.”
“At the inn?”
“I guess so.”
Still no reply.
We cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, and Grams asked us if we’d like dessert.
What I really wanted was to get out of the house.
“Actually, Grams, I think I might like to go out for a drink,” I said. “Emme, do you want to join me?”
She blinked in surprise. “Sure. Let me just use the bathroom and grab my purse.”
Ten minutes later we were in her car heading for town.
“Sorry to drag you out. You’re probably tired,” I said.
“I’m fine.” She glanced at me. “Are you?”
“I don’t know. No.”
“It’s really shitty that he didn’t even call you today.”
“Yeah.” I stared out the window and tried not to cry. Would I leave tomorrow without ever hearing from him? Had everything he said last night been bullshit?
“Maybe he was really super busy at work,” Emme suggested. “Or his phone could have died. Or … or something.”
“Right.” I knew she was only trying to make me feel better, but at this point, I wasn’t sure that was possible. “Look, let’s not talk about Ryan. Let’s talk about you. About wedding plans.”
“Okay,” Emme said brightly. “I can’t believe there’s only three weeks to go!”
We ended up at a place called Bayside Grill, and Emme was still talking as we rushed in from the rain. “I don’t want a lot of downtime between the ceremony and reception,” she was saying. “That’s the worst. So we’re going to try to get as many photos done before the ceremony as possible. That’s why—what is it?”
I’d stopped walking the moment we entered the bar area. Blinked a few times. Let my eyes adjust to the dim light.
I sort of … turn everything off. Shut down.
Is it easy for you?
Yeah. It is.
Is that what he was doing now? Shutting down after opening up so completely last night? After he’d promised me he wouldn’t?
The front door opened, and Emme came out onto the porch, wrapping a sweater tighter around her. “Hey. How was your run?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“What’s wrong?” She came and sat next to me, setting the swing in motion.
“Ryan’s acting weird.”
“Some people can’t talk while they run, Stella.”
“He didn’t run with me. He had some kind of emergency and took off in his truck. I ran alone, and just as I was getting back, I saw the truck pull into the driveway. He bolted into the house and came out a few minutes later in work clothes. Said he had to go to the inn.”
“You think he was lying?”
“It’s not that.” I shook my head. “It was how he treated me. It was like I was invisible. Or worse, like he wished I was invisible. He did not want to see me or talk to me.”
“Are you sure you weren’t imagining it?”
I sighed. “I guess not. I mean, he can be hard to read sometimes. And he did tell me flat out that he’s not good at conversation.”
“There you go. Maybe he’s just having a bad day and doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t take it to heart.” She patted my leg. “Tell you what. Grams is in there moaning about how I don’t know how to bake homemade pies and I’m going to need them to save my marriage. What do you say we spend our last day here making her happy and baking pies? You can take one over to Ryan later, and I’ll have one to bring home to Nate tomorrow.”
“Okay. While they’re in the oven, maybe we can get the rest of those pictures organized and put into albums for her too.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We rose to our feet and headed in. “So what kind of pie does Grams want to make?” I asked, holding the door open for my sister.
“Bourbon pecan,” she answered.
“Good grief, does the woman make anything without booze in it?”
Emme laughed. “I don’t think so. Maybe that’s the secret to a long life.”
Pulling the door shut behind me, I laughed too. I felt a little better. “I bet you’re right.”
In the end, I was glad to have a day to spend with my sister and grandmother in the kitchen. I knew I’d remember it forever. We felt guilty that Maren was so far away, so we Skyped with her as we rolled out the crust and put together the filling. She asked how things were going for me, and I told her they were going great. I wasn’t going to give in to pessimism yet—and I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who needed constant reassurance that things were fine.
While the pies were in the oven, the three of us sat down and finished putting Grams’s old photos in albums. We marveled at the old black and whites of relatives long gone, we sighed at photos of Grams and Gramps’s wedding, and we giggled at pictures of our mom and her siblings as kids, and then of us—opening Christmas gifts, sitting on the swing out back, grinning toothless smiles at the dining table.
“Grams, your veil was so beautiful,” Emme said, studying a bridal portrait. “I love the length. And the lace.”
“Thank you, dear. Believe it or not, that veil was made with lace from my First Holy Communion dress. We got married so quickly, there wasn’t a lot of time to plan, let alone much money.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Of course I do. It’s in a trunk in the attic, I believe. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes!” Emme exclaimed.
“And if you like it and the condition isn’t terrible, you’re welcome to wear it,” Grams offered.
Emme gasped. “Really?”
“Sure. It’s not doing anyone any good up there. And it will bring you good luck.”
My sister squealed and clapped her hands. “This is amazing! I have a veil for the ceremony, but it’s really long. I was going to just take it off for the reception, but I love the idea of switching to a short veil like yours. Stella, will you come up to the attic with me and look for it?”
“Of course.”
Temporarily abandoning the photos, we went up to the second floor and pulled down the ladder to the attic. Grams stood at the base of it and directed us to the corner where she thought it might be.
We coughed at the dust, and nearly tripped over all the junk up there, but we managed to find the trunk and open it up. “Oooooh,” Emme said, lifting it from a tissue-paper-lined box. “What do you think?”
I watched as she placed it on her head and looked at me expectantly. “Gorgeous,” I told her.
She beamed, her face lighting up the shadows. “I’m so happy!”
“I can see that. I’m happy for you.”
“Maren could wear it too. And when you get married, you can wear it,” she said excitedly.
I smiled back, but it was hard not to wonder if I’d ever be the one trying on Grams’s veil. My luck in love wasn’t as good as theirs.
A couple hours ago, I’d gotten Ryan’s cell number from Grams and sent him a quick note. Hi, it’s Stella. Hope all is well. Baking with Emme and Grams today, so I will have a surprise for you when you get home. Can’t wait to see you.
He hadn’t replied.
The pies came out of the oven just before five o’clocktails, and I joined Grams in the living room with a martini while Emme sipped on some ginger ale. Neither of them brought up Ryan, and I wondered if Emme had told Grams not to mention him.
Still no reply.
We ate dinner—leftovers from last night—sitting at the dining room table, and I could tell I wasn’t the only one who kept glancing at the empty chair where he’d sat. Finally, Grams couldn’t help herself.
“Stella, will you see Mr. Woods tonight?”
“I hope so.”
“You should have invited him for dinner again.”
“I told you, Grams. He was busy today.”
“At the inn?”
“I guess so.”
Still no reply.
We cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, and Grams asked us if we’d like dessert.
What I really wanted was to get out of the house.
“Actually, Grams, I think I might like to go out for a drink,” I said. “Emme, do you want to join me?”
She blinked in surprise. “Sure. Let me just use the bathroom and grab my purse.”
Ten minutes later we were in her car heading for town.
“Sorry to drag you out. You’re probably tired,” I said.
“I’m fine.” She glanced at me. “Are you?”
“I don’t know. No.”
“It’s really shitty that he didn’t even call you today.”
“Yeah.” I stared out the window and tried not to cry. Would I leave tomorrow without ever hearing from him? Had everything he said last night been bullshit?
“Maybe he was really super busy at work,” Emme suggested. “Or his phone could have died. Or … or something.”
“Right.” I knew she was only trying to make me feel better, but at this point, I wasn’t sure that was possible. “Look, let’s not talk about Ryan. Let’s talk about you. About wedding plans.”
“Okay,” Emme said brightly. “I can’t believe there’s only three weeks to go!”
We ended up at a place called Bayside Grill, and Emme was still talking as we rushed in from the rain. “I don’t want a lot of downtime between the ceremony and reception,” she was saying. “That’s the worst. So we’re going to try to get as many photos done before the ceremony as possible. That’s why—what is it?”
I’d stopped walking the moment we entered the bar area. Blinked a few times. Let my eyes adjust to the dim light.
