"Pearl," I say. "You went home and came back."
"I changed," she says. Look at my shirt. "You're still wearing the same thing."
"It's a good shirt."
"It's a fine shirt," she says. "For a proposal. For an engagement party you could've done better." She pats my arm. "We'll work on your wardrobe."
Earl Bishop shows up, which surprises me because Earl at a social event on a Saturday evening is not something I had in my mental model of Earl.
He stands near the food table with a drink and looks at the string lights with the expression of a man who finds them unnecessary and has decided to be present anyway.
He finds me near the barn. Looks at me.
"Congratulations," he says.
Two words. From Earl. On a Saturday evening at a party he came to specifically.
"Thank you Earl," I say.
He nods. Goes back to the food table.
I look at the ranch yard full of Silver Ridge in the string light glow and think that four months ago I drove all night from San Francisco looking for peace and quiet.
I found something considerably louder, and considerably better.
Maisie appears at my elbow with a plate of food she assembled for me without being asked. Full plate, everything I like, organized with the thoughtful precision of someone who has been paying attention to what I eat for a few months now.
She holds it up. I take it.
"Good party," she says with the satisfied authority of someone who planned most of it.
"Great party," I say.
She grins.
Goes back to being the youngest social director Silver Mesa has ever had.
The toast situation gets completely out of hand immediately.
This is Remy's fault.
He announces at seven-thirty that there will be toasts, which nobody asked for and everyone immediately supports. Then he appoints himself master of ceremonies which is the most Remypossible response to a situation that didn't require a master of ceremonies.
He finds something to stand on.
I don't know what it is. A crate of some kind. It puts him approximately eight inches above everyone else, which he uses to full effect, surveying the gathered crowd with the satisfied expression of a man exactly where he wants to be in life.
"Okay," he says loudly. "Who's going first?"
Pearl raises her hand.
Remy points at her immediately. "Pearl Bishop. The floor is yours."
Pearl does not need a crate to command a room. She stands in the string light glow with her good hat and her sweet tea. She looks at Laney and me with those sharp eyes that have been reading this ranch since before either of us was born.
"I've watched a lot of people find each other in this town," she says. "Some of them deserved it. Most of them took too long." She looks at me specifically. "You took a reasonable amount of time given the circumstances." She looks at Laney. "You took slightly longer than necessary but arrived at the right answer so we'll let it go."
Laney opens her mouth. Closes it.
