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Her attempt is met with nothing but silence. Noah must realize that it’s the most effective weapon he holds, making Mom fidget with the lace on her dress nervously as it deepens.
“Here you go, sir,” the receptionist interrupts, cutting through the tension of the moment.
"Thank you," Curt tells her, reaching to take the wedding license she’s holding out for him.
"If you go sit in those chairs over in the corner, someone will be with you shortly to take you before the judge,” she continues, looking frazzled with her curly brown hair sticking up everywhere and the glasses on her face in desperate need of a good cleaning. Daisy makes it to us finally, evidently deciding to amble around the room before coming over. I decidedly keep my gaze away from hers, knowing she isn’t done with her teasing. Not yet, anyway.
We make our way over to the chairs, and Curt pulls my mom onto his lap, eliciting a scoff from Noah. His cheek is pulsing and I wonder how everyone is missing the rage in his blue gaze. He's clearly not even close to being ready to forgive their indiscretion. Not that I really blame him. I’ve tried to put myself in his position, thinking about how I would feel if the roles were reversed, and I’ve come to the conclusion that his rage is warranted.
Which doesn't bode well for the happy couple.
It doesn’t bode well for me either if he makes their marriage hell and things end up falling apart because of it.
Daisy fidgets about on her phone, I'm sure passing the time by talking to the forty million people that follow her every move on social media. She takes a selfie and I know she'll add some witty phrase to the post alongside her pic. Probably something about being a “lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets.” I laugh softly to myself and Noah stares at me, shooting me a glare that tells me he thinks I'm an idiot.
My quiet grin fades and I find myself wishing that I hadn't left my phone at home. I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea. I was probably trying to be the dutiful daughter once again, and making sure that I was giving my mom the attention she would want.
I’m an idiot.
Glancing at her, I’m not sure she can even remember she has daughters right now. Not when her eyes are set on her groom to be.
Time stands still as we wait. It seems to take forever before a woman in hot pink sky high heels and a tight black dress opens the door a few feet away from us.
"Are you the Fontaine family?" she asks in a bored voice. My chest flips at the name. Not that it has been discussed, but I have no intention of ever being adopted by Curt. Which means that in a few short hours, I’ll be an Ames and my mother will be a Fontaine. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
My mother doesn't seem to be struggling with her name change judging by the way she eagerly hops off Curt’s lap. For a second, I worry that they'll break out in a sprint in their eagerness to form their union.
"Yes, we are," my mother comments excitedly, confirming my suspicions from a moment ago. Curt wraps his arms around her and presses a kiss to the side of her neck.
"Blah, their cuteness is going to make me sick,” huffs Daisy next to me, shaking her head. I know she's not actually disgusted though. Even if the idea of marriage absolutely terrifies her, she's happy for our mother. She told me as much the other night.
“I think Mom gets happier every day,” Daisy muses, lying on her back beside me on my bed.
“Yeah, I know. It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it? Just the other day, I caught her dancing in the kitchen. Literally dancing. Like she’s turned into a Disney princess overnight. I half expected birds to come swooping in the open window and start talking to her.”
“I wouldn't have been surprised if they had.” She chuckles. “I always dreamed about her meeting someone, but I never could quite picture what it would be like. I have to admit that it makes me happy to see her so happy. You know?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, but my insides are churning. In a few days, we’ll be moving out of our family home and starting a whole new life with strangers.
"Don't be scared, Sky," she murmurs like she can read my mind as I stare at the ceiling in the darkness, my mind racing with all the changes yet to come.
"I'm not," I huff, before sighing deeply.
She laughs softly, and even though I can't see her, I know she's shaking her head, a fond smile on her lips.
"Think of it as an adventure, or like you're the heroine in one of your stories, setting off to become the new queen of the high school."
I think I’d written a story about that once, but the idea that it could actually come true in real life is beyond laughable.
"Do you think the school there will be similar to the school here?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet even though my mom's on night shift and there's no one in the house but us. It's a strange thing, really, the tendency of humans to whisper in the dark, like we’re afraid there’s something out there we can't see that’s going to take our confessions for themselves.
"No," she responds. "It'll be small. Everyone on the island goes to the same high school, but even then I'm sure it will feel small compared to our school."
That was probably a safe assumption. There were seven thousand people at our high school, and it felt like that. But I'd always liked it because it made it easier to disappear. When there were that many people crammed in the hallways, you couldn't focus on anyone other than the “bright lights” of the school. And I had never been one of those bright lights. But Daisy had. For her, the whole world was a stage. I wondered if the intangible quality that she always seemed to hold–to grab life around the neck and make it her own–would stretch to this new school as well.
"You'll probably have to talk in class there. There won’t be fifty people crammed into one classroom. Half of that at best. And you just know they’ll make you introduce yourself on the first day. So be ready for it. I will." She laughs to herself, probably imagining her grand entrance, an invisible crown already on her head as she deems herself queen of this new school.
My thoughts instantly turn to Noah, wondering what he’s like walking those same halls.
