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We’ve exchanged some heated words over the years about allowing me to make my own choices, which I assume is what he’s referring to.
“I’ve thought it through. It wasn’t a rash decision.” I’m not looking for his approval. But part of me feels obligated to say that.
“I’m sure you have. I’m relieved, honestly.”
“Relieved?”
“I know things between me and your mom…well, I’m happy to know we didn’t ruin your faith in love, I guess.” My dad shifts beside me, then sticks his hands in his pockets.
He’s set me right up for a snarky comment about how I’m different than he is. HowIwould never cheat on a significant other. But I’m sick of it—the strife. Holding a grudge is exhausting. So, instead, I just say, “You didn’t.”
My dad glances over. “I don’t think you’re too young, Weston. You’re a good man, and you’ll make a great husband.”
Something lodges in my throat. All I can manage is a nod before my dad turns around and walks back outside. I stand there for a minute longer, looking at the trees and replaying our interaction, before I head into the kitchen to grab the buns.
The next few hours pass in a blur of catching up with people I haven’t spoken to in months, some for even longer. Most of my old teammates from Alleghany High are here. I answer many of the same questions over and over again.
Once it’s dark out, some of the parents depart. Chris and I build a fire in the fancy fire pit my mom had installed. Maeve, predictably, goes inside to borrow one of my sweatshirts once the sun drops and the moon appears.
When she returns, I grab her hand. “Wanna go for a walk?”
Maeve studies me for a second as she tugs at the strings of the hoodie with her free hand. “Yeah. Sure.”
A few people glance our way as we head for the tree line, but most are too busy talking or eating dessert to pay us much mind as we walk into the foliage that separates the cabin from the lake.
Gradually, the lights and sounds from the party fade as we grow closer to the shore of the lake. The knot of anxiety in my stomach tightens. Talking to my dad helped—shockingly—but I’m still nervous. Not because I don’t think Maeve really loves me or because she doesn’t want to marry me, but I know she values her independence. And I’m worried if I ask and she says no, it’ll leave a lasting mark on our relationship, like a stain that won’t fully wash out.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts I stumble when Maeve pulls to a stop. She shines the light from her phone on the foliage surrounding us, so I can see her lean over and brush a few leaves off the surface of the bark.
Maeve glances back, her skin pale in the harsh light. “Remember this?”
I squeeze her hand. “Of course.”
“We haven’t come here in ages,” Maeve says, brushing a few more stray leaves off the fallen tree where we first met.
“I know. I miss it.”
She arches a brow. “The tree?”
I laugh as I pick at some moss with my free hand. “That version of us.”
“We were strangers.”
I shrug. “Things felt simpler.”
“Yeah,” Maeve replies, softly. “I guess they were.”
I tug on her hand, pulling her deeper into the woods and closer to the shore. I can hear the water lapping against the strip of sand that encircles the lake. The moon is rising now that the very last streaks of pink and orange faded, sending muted light glimmering and refracting across the smooth surface.
Maeve glances between me and the lake. “I’m not going swimming, if that’s your plan here. This—” She gestures to herself. “Took a while.”
“Trying to impress someone, Stevens?”
“You, mostly.”
There’s a naked honesty—a vulnerability—to her response that makes more teasing a non-option. I tip her chin up, forcing her to look at me. “Maeve. I don’t see anyone but you.”
“Right. I’m sure all the girls trying to get your attention are easy to miss.”
