I wrinkle my nose, taking a sip of my drink while I think about it. The song is good, and I think it had fallen off the charts by the time I went through my heartbreak playlist phase. And, honestly, there’s a good chance I won’t even notice the song when he’s holding me close.
“Of course, the bride and groom doing the ‘Chicken Dance’ would also be memorable,” he teases.
Just like that, Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” becomes our official wedding song.
The whole evening is like a dream—a perfect date as daydreamed by my teenage self—and I really wish it didn’t have to come to an end.
Of course it has to, though, and as we step out onto the sidewalk and Hayden turns back toward the direction of his car, the dreaminess gives way to panic. Of course he’s going to insist on driving me home.
And if I were Hayden, I’d probably assume Gin will peek out her window and, if she did, she would expect to see him kiss me goodnight.
In this moment, there’s literally nothing I want more than to feel Hayden’s mouth on mine.
But I can’t.
I’m already having a hard enough time maintaining that boundary between the way young me felt about Hayden and the absolute lie that our relationship is now. I do not want to end a date to the diner—something we never got to do before—by kissing in his car.
“I’m closer to home than I am to your car,” I tell him. “I’ll just walk.”
“I can drop you off.”
But I’m already pulling my hand from his. “Thanks for the burger.”
“Cara, wait. We should?—”
“See you tomorrow for dinner.” Before he can say anything else, I turn and practically speed-walk up the sidewalk in the opposite direction without looking back. I know it’s childish, but my heart just can’t take any more games tonight.
When I get home, Gin’s sitting in her recliner in front of the television, and she barely acknowledges me when I call out a greeting to her.
I leave her alone. She’s been forced to accept that not only will she have to give up the house, but her daughter is marrying a Reilly, so it’s no surprise she’s wallowing in misery. I know this is hard for her.
And I also know tomorrow, when she has to walk into Aaron’s house and share a meal with Colleen Reilly, is going to be even harder. I just hope everybody is pleasant—no matter how hard they have to fake it—and there aren’t any food fights.
And nobody gets stabbed with a fork.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cara
I swear, I’m about two seconds from doing a Google search on whether you can be adopted by some other family at my age.
“Mom, we’re going to be late!” It’s the third time I’ve called up the stairs to her, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s going to back out of this Gamble-Reilly family dinner in protest.
Having to text Hayden last minute and tell him we’re not coming wouldn’t bode well for family harmony on Saturday. And not just Gamble-Reilly harmony. I might actually disinvite my mother.
My phone chimes and I sigh, expecting a where are you text from Hayden, but it’s a message from my sister.
GEORGIA
Are you there yet?
CARA
I’m still waiting for Mom. And if I was there, I wouldn’t answer. I don’t think being on my phone the whole time would make a good impression on my future mother-in-law.
Just typing the words—my mother-in-law—into my phone makes my stomach hurt.
GEORGIA
