Meeting Mr. Wright (6 page)

I
TAKE
a shower after we return from the river, all the while thinking over what Nate said to me earlier; about being able to touch people’s lives with the work that I do, even though it doesn’t always feel that important while I’m doing it. He has an interesting perspective on life, and he makes me think. It’s a little unsettling that I find myself wanting to seek him out just to talk to him, to listen to the things that he has to say.

It’s almost time for dinner, so I get dressed and head out into the hallway, ready to make my way to the main house. Of course I run into Ethan. I’m tempted to turn and retreat into my room, but I need to get this over with. I haven’t really spoken to him since he’s been here, apart from a quick hello on the day he arrived.

He’s wearing a yellow button-down shirt and a pair of loose-fitting khakis. I’ve seen that shirt before; I bought it for him when we first moved in together. I doubt he remembers that I’m the one who gave it to him.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his chin between his index finger and thumb. He always does that when he’s nervous, and I hate that I can still read him. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” I tell him. I know I should be polite and ask after him, but I don’t really feel like being polite. I don’t want to make this easy for him, don’t want to talk to him like we’re just old friends who haven’t seen each other in a while.

“You look good,” he says.

I should thank him, but I don’t.

“Listen, Callie.” He rubs his chin again. “I want to say thank you for letting me come here to the wedding. It means a lot to me.”

Even though Gabby and Ben did ask me before they invited Ethan, I don’t like the way he makes it seem like I’m the one running the show.

“If the situation had been reversed,” I say, even though it guts me to consider myself doing anything similar to what he did to me, “I hope you would’ve done the same thing. It would’ve killed me if something that happened between you and me kept me from Gabby’s wedding.”

“I would’ve deserved it, if you hadn’t wanted me to come.” Even though I know from experience that Ethan is quite a good liar, I make the choice to believe him this time.

“I’ve never been vindictive, Ethan.”

“I know that. It’s one of the things I-” He stops himself before he says it. It’s one of the things he loved about me. Loved, past tense. Past tense, like the two of us. And this is the moment when our breakup feels final to me. It wasn’t when he cried, begging me to give him another chance. It wasn’t when I packed all my things into boxes and put them in a cold, empty storage room. Not when he stopped by my mother’s house three days later to return a pair of my earrings that he had found on the dresser. Now. Here. In a hallway in Virginia at our best friends’ wedding.

It’s over. And I’m okay with that.

“Your new girlfriend is pretty.” I’m not really sure what possesses me to say it, but it feels right to be nice to him for some reason, for my own sake.

“I just want you to know, I only brought her with me because I knew I wasn’t welcome with the group. I didn’t want to come here and be alone when I wasn’t hanging with Ben.”

For the first time since our breakup, I feel bad for him. I know that he wants me to extend an offer to him to hang out with all of us, but I can’t do it. It’s not fair to his new girlfriend, Emily, to have to hang out with his ex, and it’s not fair to myself to offer up something that I’m not ready to give. Maybe in time I can be around him, but not now.

“I should go see if I can help Amy with dinner,” I say, ready to make my exit. I can’t stand here and make small talk with him any longer. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, later.” Ethan offers me a small nod as I walk past him. “You look really good.”

There are a thousand nasty responses I could make, but instead I settle for a simple thank you.

I turn and make my way down the hall. I can’t see Ethan’s face, but I know he’s watching me walk away.

T
HE
W
RIGHT
home at dinnertime is unlike anything I’m used to. Coming from a single-parent household, dinner usually consisted of me throwing something frozen in the microwave and eating by myself while I finished my homework. Here, everyone is gathered together, engaging in conversation.

There is some familial bickering going on in the dining room just off the kitchen; Ben and Nate’s sister Jessa arrived earlier this afternoon from Philly. She and her father are arguing about how much she should pay for the granite countertops she wants for the kitchen renovation that she and her husband are working on. I like Jessa; she’s boisterous like her mother, and she doesn’t take crap from either one of her brothers. She’s gorgeous too, and at twenty-seven, she’s the oldest of the Wright children.

Here in the kitchen, Amy has given me the task of making garlic bread. Truthfully, I’d do anything she asked me to. I love being around her; she makes me feel like part of her family. The lasagna that she made is bubbling away in the oven, smelling so good that I have to stop myself from walking over there, opening the door, and shoveling handfuls into my mouth while it’s still cooking. I bet the burns would be worth it, that’s how good it smells.

“There’s this park in New York that was built on old train tracks,” Amy says enthusiastically as she fills a pot with water. “It’s so gorgeous and green among the concrete buildings of the city. I think I’m going to take the train up this spring and have a nice, long visit. You should come.” She looks over at Gabby.

I pick up a dollop of butter with my knife and spread it on the bread, trying not to feel so left out because the two of them are on the other side of the kitchen making plans without me. It’s not like I’m a member of this family, so I have no rational reason to be jealous. Still, I am.

“We could make a weekend out of it,” Amy says as she scrubs the pot.

Gabby is busy slicing carrots for the salad. “Yeah, that’d be fun.”

“Callie?”

I look up, expecting Amy to correct my butter-spreading technique, but she’s just staring at me expectantly.

“I’m sorry?” I have no idea what she’s waiting for.

“Would you be up for a girls’ weekend in New York? We could see a show or something.”

I look over at Gabby, who is just smiling down at the salad bowl.

“I’d like that,” I say, unable to stop my ridiculous grin.

“We’d have to go to a spa or something, do it up right,” Amy says, and I can tell that the prospect of this trip is going to fuel her for the next few months. She is definitely the type to put together a whole itinerary on her own, and having someone else plan things for me makes the trip sound all that much more exciting. Amy is so organized that I want to take her aside and ask her if she’d mind taking a look at my life. See if she can put things in order.

Once I’ve finished with the garlic bread, I ask Amy if there’s anything else I can do to help with dinner.

“Nope,” she says, looking over at Gabby with a conspiratorial grin. “Why don’t you go out into the living room and meet Madeline?”

Madeline is Jessa’s daughter, and I just so happen to know that she’s out in the living room playing with her Uncle Nate. The very last thing I need to see in this world is that beautiful man with a small child. Amy and Gabby must know that, and because they’re both evil, evil women, they insist I go out there, grinning all the while.

“You two are about as subtle as an anvil to the head,” I say as I head to the door.

I can hear them giggling behind me as I walk out of the kitchen.

I
N THE
living room, Nate is sitting cross-legged in front of a child-sized table, which is covered by a pink tablecloth with tiny purple flowers embroidered all over it. A hot pink feather boa is wrapped around his neck. It’s tiny, meant for someone Madeline’s size.

“Pinky up, Uncle Nate!” Madeline says. She sounds exhausted, like she’s told Nate to remember his manners a thousand times before. He complies immediately, gently lifting the tiny purple tea cup from the tiny purple saucer that he’s holding in his right hand.

He sees me standing in the doorway and he smiles. He smiles without a hint of embarrassment, without even reaching to pull off the boa or set down the cup. It’s like he’s living for this little girl’s amusement, and I have to admit that’s so incredibly endearing.

“Mad,” he says, nodding in my direction. “You have a customer.”

Madeline grabs an old notepad from the pocket of the tiny checkered apron that’s tied around her waist, and she rushes over to me.

“Welcome,” she says, pulling a pencil from behind her ear. “How many?”

“Just one,” I reply.

“This way.”

Nate grins as his niece leads me toward him, and I sit cross-legged on the floor, mirroring him.

“Nice boa,” I say.

“My purple one’s at the cleaners,” he replies, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Well, pink looks good on you.”

Nate puts the cup and the saucer down on the table. “You know, I’ve heard that before.” He offers me a sly grin.

“I’ll bet you have.”

Madeline walks up to the table, her oversized pencil at the ready. “Coffee or tea?”

“Tea please.”

She clinks her tiny tea kettle against my tiny cup and pours it to the brim with air.

“Maddie,” Nate says. “This is Miss Callie. Callie, this is my niece Madeline.”

“Hi Miss Callie,” Madeline replies, completely disinterested. Her laser-like focus on her fake cafe operation is so cute, and I can’t help but smile at her even as she snubs me.

Nate isn’t having any of that behavior though. “What do we say?” His voice is so patient, and still kind.

Madeline turns her body toward me, but looks over at Nate. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him mouthing words to her.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Callie.” She’s staring at Nate as she says the words, nodding her head after each one of them.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell her.

“Good girl,” Nate says, beaming at Madeline. She walks over to him and wraps her arms around his neck as she leans in and whispers something in his ear, giggling.

Nate raises himself up to his knees before he stands. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

My eyes grow wide with low-level panic. “I don’t know what to do with kids.”

“Just talk to her. She’s like a tiny adult. You just can’t cuss in front of her.”

Nate glances back at me as he walks out of the room. I watch Madeline play in the makeshift kitchen she and Nate built out of couch cushions and blankets. She’s wearing a tiny broncos jersey, one that Nate has no doubt given to her. It’s too long, almost like a dress on her.

“I like your jersey,” I say, trying to start a conversation. “Do you watch a lot of football?”

She nods. “With Daddy.”

“Do you play?” I ask, half teasing, just wanting to know how she’ll respond.

She turns around and looks at me like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. Pointing at the sparkly crown she’s wearing, she laughs. “Silly. Princesses don’t play football!”

“Sure they do. They just have to strap on their tiaras.”

Madeline laughs as she reaches over and hands me a plate with a plastic hot dog and a plastic can of peas on top of it, and I notice Nate standing in the doorway, grinning.

“We’re training her to be a quarterback,” he says as he walks over and sits down next to me. “She’s got quite an arm on her.”

“I made you a sammich,” Madeline says, handing Nate a plate full of random plastic food.

“Looks delicious.” He rubs his stomach, and I love the way he plays along with her. The way he doesn’t care how ridiculous he looks or what he has to go along with in order to make this little girl happy. He brings the “sandwich” to his mouth and makes loud, exaggerated eating noises, then hides the plate under the table.

“You ated it all!” Madeline shouts, laughing.

“I did, and it was delicious. I want to meet the chef!”

“
I’m
the chef.” Madeline points at her chest and Nate takes her by the arm, gently pulling her to him. He smothers her with kisses and her peals of laughter bounce off the walls. It’s the best sound. With Madeline still laughing uncontrollably, Nate stands up and spins her around, increasing the laughter tenfold.