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Still, the idea of a living dad had totally excited me. And I hadn’t been upset about Mom remarrying at all. It had been pretty much a relief, actually. I’d been wickedly concerned about her since I started high school when college suddenly loomed ahead. Soon, I’d be moving out and heading off to some university, and Mom would be left all alone.
That just wasn’t acceptable.
So you could say I’d been working on her for years to find some nice, handsome man and settle down. I had been happy when she’d finally mentioned Barry’s name at supper one evening.
Of course, I’d had to meet him first, and he’d had to pass my inspection, which he’d done with flying colors. The first time Mom had invited him over, he had given me a single pink rose.
I was a goner from that point on. Barry had caught me, hook, line, and sinker. He was a doctor—a dentist to be exact—and my mom had met him while working as a scrub nurse in the ER after he’d been in a minor car accident and hurt his knee. They’d met while she’d been decked out in a mask and surgical gloves and then, yeah, the rest was history.
After my enthusiastic response to her marriage announcement, Mom’s shoulders had sagged, and she had smiled. But in the next moment, her eyes had welled with tears. “I’ll always love your father, Grace,” she had said. “And I’ll always love you. No matter what. You come first.”
I had teared up a little too. Okay, fine, confession: I’d totally had the crocodile droplets going on full throttle. We’d hugged some more. I think we talked until midnight that night, opening up to each other about our feelings, and thoughts, and dreams, bonding like two best friends instead of a mother and daughter. I had felt so connected to her. We understood one another, and I knew we’d always have each other no matter what man came into our lives.
The wedding had been a short, quiet ceremony, set in early November. It had been a warm, yet breezy day, scattering the most beautiful colored leaves across the chapel lawn. Mom and I had held each other close, pressing our cheeks together, and grinned at the photographer as we had our picture taken outside. When we had motioned Barry over to join the next shot, he had charged forward, wading through the fall foliage with ease, and had wormed between the two of us to throw one arm around Mom’s shoulder and the other around mine.
And the three of us had become a family.
I felt better—calmer inside—after Mom married. She’d finally found her happily ever after. I didn’t have to worry about her, not that I’d ever admit I did worry. She’d just roll her eyes and retort worrying wasn’t a daughter’s duty, it was a mother’s.
Uh huh. Right.
She was happy, though. Barry made her almost giggly. That was all I cared about. Well, mostly all I cared about. One little glitch I hadn’t foreseen in this happily ever after was the rest of my high school career.
Barry owned a wonderful house on a three-acre lot on the edge of Osage, a town not too far from ours, containing a population in the whopping four digits. His place made our two-bedroom bungalow look like a shack in Ethiopia. So, basically, it was a given Mom and I would move in with him. But he lived twenty-three miles away, see, and Hillsburg High—my home school—became a forty-some minute trek one way, through ice, snow, rain, and every other seasonal disaster that made Mom cringe and announce, “No way are you driving that far every day.”
No way was she going to let me stay at Hillsburg when I’d be able to walk to Southeast—which just so happened to be Hillsburg’s all-time school rival.
If I’d been a senior, she might’ve let me drive the distance for the rest of the year. But being a mere junior, I was forced to—you got it—transfer.
Oh, the horror.
Since Mom was so happy, I didn’t complain. This would be best for her and only a year and a half of sacrifice for me. That was the big picture I forced myself to see. But inside, I dreaded every moment that drew closer to the big switch.
She’d given me a small continuance and told her new husband we’d have to wait to move in with him until I finished the semester, except…the semester was now officially ov
er and even the two-week winter break separating me from becoming a purple and white dragon had come to an end.
Barry, Mom, and I had barely been living together for two weeks by the time the Sunday evening before my first day at Southeast rolled around.
I’d been queasy all afternoon, making myself sick with worry and hoping it’d turn into a full flu. That way I’d have a few more days to prepare myself. On the other hand, I also wanted to get it over with and done.
I already knew the first day of anything was the hardest. The first day of camp, of dance class, of getting my period. After twenty-four hours of adjusting, the nerves would settle, I’d begin to catch on, and the worst part would pass. So, I was definitely ready to wade past day one.
I just didn’t look forward to it.
What took up most of my thoughts was what would happen when I saw Ryder Yates again. Would he flirt mercilessly as he had at the basketball game, avoid me out of mortification, or worst of all, completely forget who I was?
“So, Grace,” Barry said. “I know you’re worried about your first day at Southeast tomorrow, so I got you a little something to help ease the nerves.”
It was suppertime, and my new family sat around the dining room table.
My mouth fell open when Barry set a small, jewelry-sized black velvet box on the table next to my glass of milk. I glanced at Mom.
She blinked a few times before transferring her confused gaze to her husband. “Barry?”
He fluttered an unconcerned hand her way and continued to grin at me. “Well? Go ahead and open it.”
That was all the encouragement I needed. I reached out, ripped off the red bow on top, and flipped open the lid.
