I thank Artie, tell him to say “hi” to the missus for me, and hang up. When I look at the texts that Declan had sent earlier, I try re-reading them with a slightly less cynical perspective. And all of a sudden, I can fill in the blanks and rearrange all of the sentences that matter: I love you. I miss you already. Please give me another chance. I’ll do anything. Please don’t be mad at me. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I fucked up. I wish you were here. I need you.
I have no idea what the nail polish emoji was all about, but I think I know what Declan Cannavale is all about now.
And I never fell like thish around anyone before either.
I hope we haven’t ducked things up completely.
Thirty-Five
Piper
THE BUTTSMACKER
December 30th
Dear Diary,
Today Mom, Aunt Maddie and I basically acted out the climax of every romantic comedy I have ever seen, and one that I plan to write one day when my parents finally give me the screenwriting software I’ve been asking for since I was twelve.
Let’s just say that if there is such a thing as romantic karma, then my boobs are going to get really big, and my first boyfriend will have the best butt in school (although not necessarily my school because my New Year’s resolution is to expand my horizons and also crush on boys from other schools).
Anyway. Aunt Maddie wasn’t sure if she should go to Cleveland to be with Declan since he wasn’t answering his phone and hadn’t responded to her text messages. Mom and I were like—OMG you have to go! How can you not go?! You have to go to him and tell him you love him and HEA with him because #Maclan! Like what is she even thinking? He has the best butt in all the land. Well, I mean it’s tied with his brother Eddie’s although I’ve never seen his IRL. They may use a stunt butt on the show IDK.
So Dad watched the baby and Mom and I drove over to Maddie’s. While my mom was still driving around trying to find parking and my aunt was busy finding a flight, I packed a suitcase for her. I packed up all the outfits that I would wear for Declan if I could. She’ll thank me later. Or more like Declan will!
She got a ticket for a flight that was leaving in two and a half hours, so we had to book it!
We rushed to the airport and Mom’s driving wasn’t nearly as slow and annoying as usual since the baby wasn’t in the car with us. Aunt Maddie was more nervous than I’ve ever seen her, so Mom gave her a tiny bottle of something called Bailey’s that she said her Aunt Mel put in her purse “to help get her through the holidays.” And then she put on that Cranberries song “Dreams,” and we all sang it at the top of our lungs.
When we pulled up to drop Maddie off, my mom said the best thing she’s ever said, and I’m so proud of her.
She said: “I know I’m the older sister, but you’ve always been the big sis in this family. You’re always the one to help get everyone else’s shit together, including mine. Declan might be drunk off his ass right now, and he might need you, but probably not in the way that it seemed when you were his assistant. No guy would show up at a family dinner on Staten Island unless he needed the woman he was showing up for in his life all the time. But some guys need a big old smack on the butt to get them to realize it’s time for them to man up. Now it’s time for you to let that man know you’re his woman. Smack that butt, girl. And bring that butt home for all of us because OMG it’s perfect.”
Okay, I may have rewritten your little monologue a tiny bit, but that was basically what you said. That’s right, Mom. I know you read my diary and I don’t mind you knowing this: it was really cool that you said that. It was super exciting to be a part of #Maclan’s HEA and it was basically the most fun we’ve had together all year. I guess I’ve missed hanging out with you.
Hopefully Aunt Maddie will get there in time for the rehearsal dinner.
But seriously—you have to stop reading my diary.
Thirty-Six
Declan
TRY HARD. TRY HARDER. TRY HARD WITH A VENGEANCE.
Everything is terrible, and I’m an idiot.
When I wake up, I am fully dressed in the bathtub of my hotel suite.
That’s the good news—that I wake up and that I’m in my hotel suite in Cleveland.
The other news is I’m wearing Nolan’s clothes, which are a couple of sizes too big for me, and a bachelorette party novelty trucker hat. I carefully remove it from my head and see that it says Shot Queen. Which makes sense. My brain has been replaced with a pulsating lead boulder, I’m pretty sure I got run over by an SUV at some point, and it feels like somebody put a cigar out on my tongue. Ghosts are trying to pull my hair follicles out one by one, and I think I see those twin girls from The Shining over by the toilet.
My Irish ancestors clearly hate me.
Everything hurts, including my heart, and the first thought that emerges from the quicksand of my mind is, “Maddie. I have to call Maddie.”
The desire to see Maddie and hear her voice again is the only thing stronger than my desire to sleep for another week or two. As long as she doesn’t yell at me. And as long as I don’t have to keep my eyelids open for more than a second at a time. Or lift my head up.
I
