“Me neither. I’m basically gutted.” He sighed, looking down at his card. “Anyway. It’s great to see you. Especially without having old Partone droning on about global implications in front of us.”
“He did love the big consequences,” I agreed, as two women entered the gazebo. “Have fun tonight.”
At this, he made a face, then smiled as he started across the lawn to his table. Halfway there, he turned back and glanced at me, looking away quickly when he saw I was still watching him.
“Wait, what is this? The tables? How do we know which number we are?”
I sighed inwardly, then turned around to help the two women. One point to Mrs. Lin. No matter the issue, there was always an ongoing tally, somehow.
The end of a rehearsal dinner is different from that of a wedding. Even if it’s late, there’s still that sense of anticipation and excitement, the big event still ahead. That is, if you’re a guest. When you’re working, it’s one down, one to go.
“You’re sure? You won’t get upset?”
I gave Ambrose an apologetic look, knowing I deserved this. “No. And I shouldn’t have earlier. I’m just super grumpy, for some reason. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. Then, as I watched, he briefly closed his eyes, blowing out the pillar between us. I wondered what he wished for. I’d never ask, though. “I didn’t realize Leo was such a bust as a date.”
“He wasn’t,” I told him, blowing out the next candle. “It’s me.”
“Lauren seems to think otherwise.”
“You talked to Lauren about this?”
“Well, yeah,” he said. He glanced at me. “You weren’t yourself, and Leo is her best friend. I figured she’d have insight.”
I suppose I deserved this, too, but it was harder to take somehow. “Did she?”
“She said,” he replied, moving to the next table, “that he is great if you’ve known him forever, like she has, but that in college he’s become a bit . . .”
I waited, curious about exactly what adjective would follow. This was not a case when you filled it in.
“. . . insufferable,” he finished. He blew out another candle. “She blames his writing professor and hopes it’s just a phase. But she understood he probably isn’t the best boyfriend material right now.”
“Good thing I’m not the one who has to stick in the long-term relationship,” I commented.
“Oh, I’ve got you beat, no question,” he replied. “Lauren will make it easy.”
After all the whistling, humming, bouncy steps, and general good cheer, the fact he felt this way shouldn’t have been any kind of surprise to me. But hearing it, for whatever reason, was still difficult. I had a flash of him standing behind me, cutting that cake, then quickly pushed it away. “She seems great,” I said.
“She’s awesome.” He moved over to the next table. “Don’t feel bad, it was just a super stroke of luck she showed up when she did that night.”
“I’m still in this,” I reminded him. “All I have to do is date a bunch of people once, and I’m doing that.”
“True, true,” he agreed. Out on the street, someone zoomed past, tires squealing. I could only hope it wasn’t one of the valets. “So you’re saying you have another prospect already lined up?”
“I’m working on it,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie, if thinking counted as working. What I’d actually been mulling, a bit worriedly, was that if Jilly was so into Michael Salem, I’d be losing the one person who was happy to set me up repeatedly. Unless he had a friend. Or, um, lots of friends.
“Well, good,” Ambrose said. “It’s no fun if we can’t keep it interesting.”
“Don’t worry about that. You just focus on you,” I said, walking over to another table and bending over the row of small votives there to blow them out. Once done, I looked up to see him staring at me. “What?”
“You really don’t make a wish? Like, ever?”
“It’s not my birthday, and this isn’t a cake,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be. Why wouldn’t you ask for something, given the chance?”
“Birthdays are special. These are just candles.”
“Still counts,” he said firmly.
“Ambrose, come on.”
“What? You don’t need anything? Your life is perfect?”
“It’s just a wish,” I said. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, but just because you make them doesn’t increase the chances of them working.”
“You’re still putting it out there, though,” he countered. “Into the universe. Has to count.”
I looked down at the row of four flames in front of me, still lit. “Let’s just agree to disagree, okay? It’s your thing, like stealing dogs and doing the conga. Doesn’t mean it has to be mine, right?”
“That’s how you sum me up?” he asked, and I smiled. “Dog stealer and conga dancer?”
“And wish maker,” I added. “I’m just not. That’s okay, right?”
He held my gaze for a second, and I had the fleeting thought, out of nowhere, that he might say it wasn’t. Instead, though, he came over and bent down, then closed his eyes, blowing out the row from one end to another. When he was done, he gave me a smile, then walked off to the next table. It wasn’t until later, driving home, that I realized he’d never answered my question. But I knew the real reply to his. My last birthday, I’d closed my eyes and thought of nothing when I leaned over my cake. You stop believing in wishes when the only one you want to make can never come true.
CHAPTER
18
THAT MORNING, I texted Ethan as soon as I woke up, like I did every day. I never got out of bed until I saw his return message pop up on my screen.
MORNING, LULU. HAVE A GOOD ONE.
With that, I pushed back the covers, getting to my feet, and went to take a shower, dropping my phone onto the speaker just outside the bathroom on my way. I didn’t listen to Lexi Navigator that particular day, even though it was my go-to rise and shine music. Instead, it was news, just headlines, none of which I remembered after toweling myself off.
Once dressed, I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs, where my mother was still in her bathrobe watching Daybreak USA, her favorite morning show. For the two hours it was on each day, she’d keep up a running commentary on the four hosts, weighing in on their hair and makeup, their reactions as they interviewed guests, and their interplay with each other. Everyone had something, I guess, and my mom’s was a morning news program.
“Melissa is just too thin these days,” she said to me, as I popped a bagel in the toaster, checking the clock. “I know she’s going through that divorce, but she needs to take care of herself.”
I glanced at the screen, where Melissa Scott, in a teal dress, was reporting on the stock market. She looked fine to me. “What do you and William have going on today?”
“Just prep for Rachel Quaker’s rehearsal dinner, and the wedding tomorrow,” she replied. During the school year, I only worked on weekends, so I was less up to date on the various events we had planned. This one, though, I remembered, if only for the unique last name.