I groan and sprint after him. Just before he unlocks the gate, I yank him back by his veiny forearm. “Wait, wait, wait. We need to talk.”
“About what?” He shoots me a quizzical look, eyes flickering to my grip on his arm. His excitement literally radiates through his veins. He’s a quintessential extrovert, and the prospect of entering a party gives him life.
I drop his arm. “About how we’re going to act?” I shouldn’t have to pose this like a question. A question he should certainly have considered by this point.
He slowly blinks. “I’m not following.”
I take a step closer, close enough to envy the density of his lash line. “Renner, we’re supposedly engaged. Don’t you think we should figure out how to act like a couple? We can’t just avoid each other at our own party.” I hate myself for saying it, but it’s true. If we’re going to carry on as normal, like Nori suggested, we can’t change our behavior too drastically.
“Oh.” He feigns disappointment. “Because I was planning to stay six feet apart from you. At all times.”
I arrow him with a get real look.
“It’s funny you mention this, because I recall saying the exact same thing this morning.”
I relent. “Fine. You were right. Happy?”
“Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair, scanning Ollie’s perfectly manicured shrubs. “So what are we talking here? Holding hands? Closed-mouth kissing? A little bit of tongue?”
When he says it like that, so breezy, a thick lump forms in my throat. “Well, no. We don’t need to be all over each other. And definitely no kissing. Closed mouth or otherwise.”
“No, no,” he says, his expression ultraserious. “If we’re sticking with the status quo, we don’t want anyone to get suspicious. We have to act like we would normally—like we’re in love,” he advises, a cheeky grin spreading over his face. He holds his hand out. “Come on, wifey.”
I mentally face-palm. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Renner loves a challenge. He also takes great pleasure in my embarrassment. This is a lethal combination.
Before I can take the last two minutes of my life back, he’s already swung his muscly arm over my shoulder, tucking me snugly into his side. “All right, sugarplum. It’s showtime.”
I squirm out of his grip. “Please don’t call me sugarplum. I’m not a child.”
“Honey pie? Honey buns?”
“That sounds geriatric.”
“Well, we are thirty. But okay.” He resets. “Snookums?”
I fire a warning glare. “Where are you getting these pet names? And no cuddles. Let’s just . . . hold hands.”
He rolls his eyes, extending his hand again. “Fine.” When I slide my fingers between his, he yanks it back, flexing his fingers. “Ouch, is this really how you hold hands?”
“What are you talking about? I hold hands completely normal.” I grasp for his hand again, but he pulls it out of my reach.
“No. You have an iron grip.”
“My dad says you’re supposed to have a strong handshake.” This mention of my dad slips out before my brain even registers it. I think Renner is surprised too, because he immediately looks down at his shoes.
I wonder if Dad is here tonight, or if he’s buried in a mountain of work and obligations to his new family. Probably the latter. I shove that tiny pang of hope deep, where it belongs. Hoping has never done me any good with Dad.
Renner registers the look on my face and softens his expression. Our eye contact holds for a blink before he shakes his head. “A handshake is different from hand-holding, Char. Just relax for once.” He takes my hand again, softly threading his fingers through mine in a way that actually doesn’t feel awful. His touch is maybe the tiniest bit comforting given that we’re about to enter a party filled with our nearest and dearest—after missing the last thirteen years of our lives.
We walk up the small, groomed path leading to the gated backyard. Awaiting us behind the gate are at least twenty people, who erupt in cheers, whistles, and inappropriate catcalls (mostly from Nori).
Renner tightens his grip on my hand and puts on his charming act as he waves hello.
“There’s the couple of the hour,” Nori shouts. She’s the first to rush forward for a hug before the mob descends.
It’s mind-boggling, being face-to-face with everyone you know. Only, everyone’s older, including Mom, who’s the second to approach with a hearty hug. She looks a mess, as usual, and her long, wavy hair is now streaked with gray. The years have weathered her skin, particularly around her eyes. Renner’s dad has aged too. His hair is thinner on top and completely salt and pepper.
“How are you?” Renner asks, embracing him in a weirdly long hug.
His dad shrugs away, seemingly confused by his son’s affection. “I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Before Renner can respond, Ollie greets us with two cerulean blue drinks topped with tiny umbrellas. He’s still taller than Renner with a wide, tapered athletic frame that Kassie used to fawn over. Only now, he’s a little less lean and slightly bulkier. His easy, toothy grin hasn’t changed, though. “You two look like you need a drink. Rough day shaping young minds?”
“You could say that,” I say with a forced smile. This is so, so weird.
“It’s been an interesting one. But I rocked my sex ed class today, so that’s a win,” Renner announces.
“Right on, man.” Ollie gives him a high five.
“Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do all of this for us,” I say, gesturing at the white balloons and lights strung along the fence, and the Mr. and Mrs.–themed plates and napkins on the food table. While Ollie has always been an excellent host, it’s clear he really put a lot of thought into tonight.
“Hey, no need to thank me. You guys are my oldest friends. I’d do anything for you, you know that.” Ollie’s sentimental tone nearly makes me tear up. He and I have always been friendly, but we’ve never been super close. Part of me wonders if my resentment toward him for taking so much of Kassie’s time has gotten in the way of that.
I wish I could say that to him. But instead, I just pull him in for a hug, careful not to spill my blue drink. “You’re the best, seriously.”
“I did fail on one thing, though. Couldn’t get that shrimp dip you like. My dad went rogue and made buffalo chicken dip instead.” He gives me an affectionate hair tousle before getting distracted by Renner’s uncle Larry, who is desperate to talk to him about the physics of home building. Renner whispers that he’s a retired physics professor at Cal Tech and has the world’s largest collection of Star Wars memorabilia.
Soon Renner’s lost to the crowd, wading through like a member of BTS after a concert. He seems to be having the time of his life chatting with everyone. Meanwhile, I’m awkwardly chilling on the sidelines, eavesdropping on Renner’s aunt Lynn telling someone about how she plans to divide her ashes in Mason jars for her family to display on their fireplace mantels. Is this what adults talk about on the regular? I feel like an awkward grade-schooler at recess, walking around the perimeter with no friends to play with.
I pounce when Nori finishes her conversation with Heidi, a girl a grade below us (who I was never even friends with). “Going back to the scene of the crime didn’t work?” she asks quietly, offering me a carrot from her plate.
“The gym was occupied all day with students. They’re decorating for prom. We’re gonna go back tonight when everyone is gone.”
“I have a feeling it’ll work,” she says with confidence. “And if it doesn’t, maybe this is all a dream. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow in your regular life.”
Wouldn’t that be nice . . .
“Or maybe your memories will come back,” she says as though it’s that simple. Like at any given moment, more than a decade’s worth of memories will return.
I steal another carrot from her plate. “Either way, I don’t know how long I can pretend, nodding when people talk to me about anal gland expression.”