And then he leans in and says, “Nice show, huh?”
Whoop, there it is. None of what just happened was real. It was all for show. The speech. The kiss. Because of course it was.
Renner deserves an Oscar for that performance.
For the rest of the night, our guests ogle us like we’re some famous penguin couple in a zoo. Renner’s speech fooled everyone.
Since our kiss, there’s a heightened awareness between us. It’s like whenever Clay enters the classroom and my heart cartwheels. I get a little clammy, my hands clench in my lap, and I can’t help but wonder if everyone notices how freakin’ weird I’m acting.
Not that I have a crush, by any means, but Renner is in my peripheral vision no matter where I go in Ollie’s backyard. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I keep catching his eyes lingering on me too. When I’m not being awkward, stuffing my face with Tostitos and heaping buffalo chicken dip, I master the art of evasion. I deflect difficult questions like, Are you excited for the wedding? Do you think you’ll cry when you walk down the aisle? It’s easy enough, so long as I remain vague and avoid the temptation to tell everyone it’s canceled. And after seeing the joy on my mom’s face, we’ll need to think of a gentle way to drop that bomb.
Unfortunately, Renner is making me look like a total nitwit. I overhear him telling everyone about our elaborate five-hundred-guest wedding. He includes oddly specific tidbits, claiming Pizza Hut is catering the affair, that we’re having a chocolate fondue fountain, a rose archway, a ten-piece live band, a skating rink, fireworks, Cirque du Soleil acrobats, and exotic animals casually moseying around the premises. I’ve seen enough reality TV to know that most of the time, husbands remain aloof and uninterested in wedding planning. Renner is not one of those men.
I corner him near the hot tub. “Why do you keep telling everyone we’re having an elaborate wedding?” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder to ensure no one is eavesdropping. According to Nori, we have a strict budget for our 150-person wedding at a resort near Fairfax, near Dad and Alexandra’s lake house.
He shrugs, leaning his weight against the hot tub. “Why not? Go big or go home.”
“We aren’t getting married, first of all. And even if we were, which we aren’t, I’m not blowing my life savings on one day.”
“The most special day of your life,” he corrects.
“Nope. If anything, we should have chosen to elope.”
He covers his mouth like I’ve confessed to murder. “Eloping isn’t my style.”
“This is so typical. Tossing out my ideas without consideration. What’s so wrong with a small, intimate wedding? It’s romantic. Not that we’re aiming for romance here, but—”
He furrows his brow. “You’re saying you don’t want to be surrounded by friends and family on your big day?”
“I mean, a handful. Not the entire town.” I don’t know why I’m even arguing. Of course Renner would be foaming at the prospect of a day all about him. He wouldn’t give up that opportunity.
He tips his head to the side. “Why are you trying to convince me to elope when you just said we’re canceling?”
I blink, coming to my senses. “Right. We aren’t actually getting married. We’re getting out of here. Tonight,” I remind him. But he doesn’t hear me. He’s distracted by a new arrival, his mom.
He was right when he said there was something different about her, aside from being more than a decade older. I’ve only seen Renner’s mom a handful of times. She was always naturally stunning, but a little worn with dark circles under her eyes, like a woman weighed down by life.
That isn’t the woman I see today. Her face has filled out, her skin practically glows, and she radiates joy, from her eyes to her smile.
A slightly balding man in a polo shirt with a lumberjack frame follows close behind her. It’s only when the crowd parts that I see they’re holding hands. Renner’s mom is holding hands with . . . a man who isn’t his dad.
Renner looks like he’s seen a ghost, eyes darting from them to his dad at the other end of the yard, who waves casually as they enter. I can tell from Renner’s expression that he didn’t know about this new guy.
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.”