Under the Same Stars(46)
Marco’s invited? I thought.
Austin sighed. “I’m embarrassed, Mads. Commissioning the cake from a specialty bakery is one thing, but I think it’s an insult to Bedens Brook if we don’t serve their food. I mean, this is already going to be beyond expensive, but why are we even having the reception there if we’re not taking advantage of that?” He grumbled. “She’s the one who wanted the full-on country club wedding.”
I bit my lip. “I’m guessing you aired these grievances to her?”
“Yep.” He inhaled, then exhaled. “She asked me why I cared so much. I’m only the groom—which I guess means my only part in this whole thing is showing up for the ceremony—and it’s not like I’m footing the final bill, so what does it matter to me?”
“Oh my god.” I didn’t want to believe it. “Talk about a bridezilla!”
My brother didn’t say anything. I took that to mean he didn’t disagree with me.
“Austin, that’s terrible,” I said. “Terrible, and super unfair. You should…”
Break up with her, the voice in the back of my head whispered.
“Please don’t tell Dad and Da,” he murmured after a moment. “I’m going to tell them we argued about whether or not we should go to Katie’s business school friend’s wedding in October. They aren’t that close, and it’s in Cabo.”
“But—”
“I’ve never really felt the need to visit Cabo,” he said. “I wouldn’t be lying.”
“You wouldn’t be telling the truth, either,” I quickly countered.
Austin’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion. “Mads…”
“Where are you?!” someone shouted from downstairs. It was Liam, Connor’s thirteen-year-old brother. The McCallisters had arrived. “I need you to back me up! Lauren doesn’t think Shawn Mendes is hot!”
“Uh…” Austin’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Lauren?”
“Someone from school.” I tried not to wince. “Lauren Bitterman plays lacrosse.”
“Okay, cool,” he said slowly, still confused. “But why is Lauren Bitterman here?”
I groaned. “I’m assuming because she’s finally clawed her way into Connor’s heart.”
Once again, it appeared I wasn’t enough for him.
***
We ate outside on the front porch, crowded together around the glass-topped table. Da’s food was incredible, and our ceaseless laughter drifted up into the twilit sky. Austin and Samira were the first to call it a night. “We’re going to Fable,” they announced after we’d devoured the decadent olive oil and salted chocolate brownies Samira had made.
“You’re never going to get a table…” Marco warned. Fable was his family’s whimsical dessert and cocktail lounge. It was almost like a speakeasy in the sense that there was no sign of its existence beyond a brassy gold plaque with a quill on it. Seconds after knocking on the nondescript front door of a side-street rowhouse, the host opened one of the wooden panes and asked for your name. Inside, it was like a magical library with gleaming wood walls, flickering candles, cozy velvet and leather chairs, and bookcases upon bookcases.
There was always a waitlist.
“Then we’ll squeeze in at the bar,” Austin responded. His eyes darted to Samira. “I need a nightcap.”
“The seasonal mocktails are very popular,” Marco noted. “I recommend the s’more martini. It’s mixed with a liquor substitute.”
“A s’more martini?” Connor and I said simultaneously, and I felt myself flush as he asked: “How can that possibly taste good?”
“Because I invented it,” Marco said.
My parents and the McCallisters laughed, the sound crackling like a campfire. I rolled my eyes when Marco smiled smugly and straightened up in his seat. “Boom, toasted,” Mr. McCallister said with a wink.
“Oh, jeez, Dad…” Connor groaned as Da and Mr. McCallister shared a fist bump for a Dad Joke well-done.
Marco and I went to hang out in what my family called the “Garden” after the McCallisters headed home (Connor and Lauren hand in hand!). Years ago, Da and Austin had ambitiously planted a large vegetable patch, which was now flanked by flourishing herb and flower gardens. Dad had been the architect of a split-rail fence complete with wire mesh, in order to keep deer and other critters from trespassing. It outlined a square, and in the center of the Garden was a brick patio with an inlaid koi pond and wrought-iron summer furniture. After slipping through the garden gate, I flicked on the market lights I’d strung up overhead and then flung myself onto the couch’s red cushions. “Graceful,” Marco commented.
“And beautiful,” I quipped. “You can’t forget beautiful.”
She is beauty and she is grace, I remembered him joking after I’d tripped down the stairs at Austin and Katie’s engagement party.
Ugh, Katie.
I couldn’t even think about her right now, because if I did, I’d either focus on the off chance that she and Austin might not recover from this fight and I would get Austin back…or we’d get Austin back, but he’d be devastated without Katie.
Why was there this tug-of-war?