An ache settles deep at the base of my stomach. Instinctively, I place my hand on his shoulder, but he heads inside through the sliding door.
Against my better judgment, I follow him into Ollie’s gleaming white kitchen. Renner’s making himself busy, collecting random soda cans and tossing them into the blue bin with excessive force.
“I’m sorry, Renner. Your mom didn’t mention him this morning?”
His lips tighten as he tosses another can in the bin. “Nope.” His eyes pierce through the kitchen window toward his mom and her new boyfriend on the deck.
I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Renner not smiling, not the life of the party, at an event. Even when he’s arguing with me, he’s usually emitting an aura of nonchalance that makes me want to slap him. He’s never shown weakness, no matter what hurtful words I toss at him. But right now, sagged over the counter, he seems stripped of all that Renner-like energy. He looks flat-out sad. I don’t like it. At all.
“For what it’s worth, your mom seems really happy,” I say gently.
“She does. Happier than I’ve ever seen her, actually.” His eyes are a little misty as he watches her through the window. “I guess I can’t really be upset.”
I inch closer. “You can be. I get it,” I say, surprised at the words coming out of my mouth. I never thought I could really relate to Renner. “My parents never really fought in front of me, or if they did, they hid it well. So when my dad left, it felt so . . . out of the blue.”
He lowers his shoulders and gives me a sympathetic glance. “That must have been really hard.”
“It was.” My body eases as a new, unfamiliar energy passes between us. It’s not hatred or judgment or annoyance. It feels a little bit like understanding.
The sound of the sliding door interrupts my thoughts. Nori and Lainey come charging into the kitchen—a little tipsy—in search of hot dog buns.
Renner slips back into the yard and I take refuge in the washroom, sitting atop Ollie’s sleek toilet that doubles as a high-tech bidet. The water-pressure options are endless. It even illuminates the water in your choice of color.
Just as I begin to relish the solitude and cool tiles on my feet, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Hon? You in there?”
“Mom?” I call.
“It’s me. Let me in. I need to pee!”
I open the door and she waltzes in, all smiles, a little flushed from the alcohol. “Gosh, this is the tenth time I’ve peed in an hour.”
“I think you just really love the bidet.”
She smirks. “I have a love-hate relationship with it. The first time I tried, I got splashed directly in the mouth. But it has a heated seat so I think I can forgive.” She rattles on about the various features for the entire length of her pee before pausing to study my face. “You seem a little . . . overwhelmed tonight. All the attention getting to you?”
“I just . . . I don’t know,” I say, dazed, afraid to say too much.
“You don’t know about what?”
“Everything. The wedding . . .”
She peers at me. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
You could say that. “What if I was? I mean, do you really think I’m ready for marriage? I’m only seven—” I stop myself. “Thirty.”
“You’ve always been more mature than everyone your age.” She sighs. “I’m not one to talk when it comes to marriage advice, but I do know this. I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re with J. T.”
“You say that like I was never happy without him.”
“It’s just . . . you’ve always been so careful. Grounded. Unwilling to let loose and have fun.” Her expression darkens. “I know it’s because of me. That you aways felt like you had to keep things together. But he brings out a side of you I haven’t seen since before Dad left.”
There’s a lot to unpack there, too much for this moment, so I settle for, “Speaking of Dad . . . he’s not here. Shocker.”
She levels me with her look. “You know he would be here if he could.”
Would he, though?
“Speaking of the wedding, do you still want me to come by your room early for hair and makeup?” she asks. “I know they’re doing the bridal party first but—”
My mind snags on her words. “Bridal party,” I repeat, flooded with the memory of Kassie and me tanning on her deck that first summer we met, scrolling through wedding dress photos on her mom’s tablet.