Maybe this could be the summer I made it up to him. I was already going to help him build a house for his new wife; that seemed like a pretty good start.
“I’ll cook for you, too,” I promised. “I’m not actually awful despite what you might expect.” I had been when I’d last lived at mom and dad’s house, but ten years of living mostly on my own had forced me to learn some recipes. I had discovered that cooking was pretty fun.
“Yeah?” Pat asked, helping himself to another forkful of macaroni. “That sounds great, man!” Contentment radiated off him. It wasn’t that Pat had seemed unhappy before he met Charlotte, but if this was the effect she could have on him then I definitely needed to meet the woman - properly.
After a few minutes of quiet as we both demolished our servings of food, Pat shifted forward slightly in his seat. “So, still no plus one for the wedding? We’ve officially finalized the seating chart, but for you, I can get Charlotte to squeeze an extra person in! You’re not seeing anyone down there in Utah?”
“No, no plus one.” I shook my head.
It had been some time since I last dated anyone I’d consider bringing to my brother’s wedding. Becca and I had split up over a year ago. We’d been together for three years, she was the first woman after Helena that I seriously thought I might marry. It turned out that Becca didn’t agree.
That had come as a harsh blow. But it made me realize what were the things that I wanted. A family, for one. That was the big thing that had led Becca and I to split up. She hadn’t been ready and I... had been.
I shook my head, not very interested in going down that thought spiral.
“Besides, don’t I get to sit at the head table as the best man? Next to... Charlotte’s mom? Is that how it works?” I knew there was an order in which you were meant to sit; Pat would probably know it better. If he knew shades of white, he must know what way people sat at the head table.
Frowning, Pat nodded his head uncertainly. “Yeah, I think so. Charlotte showed me all these little charts of what order people could sit in. I told her that as long as I get to sit next to her, I don’t care whether mom sits on my left or my right!”
It sounded a lot more complicated than something as simple as who sat where ought to be.
“Have you thought about your speech yet?” Pat asked, startling me out of my musings.
“I have to give a speech?” I asked in perfect deadpan. From the way the frown line deepened between Pat’s eyebrows - a frown line I knew we shared - it had been a very successful joke. “Don’t frown, baby bro.” I shook my head, reaching across the table to bump my hand against Pat’s shoulder. “Of course I’ve thought about it.”
That was not a lie. I had thought about my speech. And subsequently worried about it. Speeches weren’t my thing. I could do post-game interviews, sure, but a deep, meaningful speech at my younger brother’s wedding? That was intimidating.
Pat hardly needed to hear about that. There was way too much going on that he already worried about; I hardly planned to be adding to it.
“It will be great,” I promised. I had the whole summer, right? I’d figure something out.
Pat seemed relieved, like I’d taken a weight off his shoulders. Well, that was what big brothers were for, wasn’t it? Anything that would ease Pat’s mind at such an important time of his life was the least that I could do.
“Awesome. Well, I think that’s everything I was supposed to check in with you about.” We both laughed, tickled by the idea of a list of things Pat needed to bring up with me.
He leaned further forward still. “Now, tell me everything about the Pumas!”
“Everything?” I repeated, raising my eyebrow at Pat. When he confirmed it, I went into the detail of exactly how we’d gotten to the playoffs. Blow by blow accounts of games he’d almost definitely seen anyway, but Pat never stopped me, just listening eagerly.
He was an excellent baby brother. I was going to figure out how to give the best speech at his wedding, just like I was going to figure out how to help him build the best house for his new wife.
And I was very successfully going to ignore the way that new wife was best friends with someone I thought would by now be my wife.
Chapter Two
Helena
NOVEMBER 7TH, 2006
There were worse things than starting a new high school the week of their 11th-grade dance. As I checked my reflection in mom’s rearview mirror, I couldn’t think of any.
“I don’t know why you’re worried, sweetie,” Mom murmured. “You had plenty of friends in Halton Hills.”
“But I don’t remember how I made those friends,” I answered, pressing my pink-glossed lips together. “They were just… always there.” We’d lived in the same town all my life. My friends Samantha and Lucy had been my friends since we were old enough to walk, when making friends was as easy as swapping stickers and braiding our Barbie’s hair.
Making friends with other 16-year-olds was a lot more daunting. Getting ready for the dance with no Samantha singing along at the top of her voice, and none of Lucy’s make-up spread across my dressing table, had felt weird and wrong.
My mom and my sister Kate had done their best. Mom had
