Still, I’m impressed.
Hard truths rarely go over with her, but so far she’s maintaining her composure.
“Hmm.” She examines the plates in her hands. “Well, I mean, it’s tradition and all to register for wedding china, and most people display them in cabinets so they’re rarely out of sight—but if you’re absolutely positive you won’t use them …”
Slade defers to me with a wordless glance.
Are we actually on the same page for once?
“I agree.” I take a step closer to Slade, offering my support. “I appreciate the sentiment, but no sense in registering for something we’ll never use.”
“Fair enough.” She stacks the plates in her hands. “At least select some stemware while we’re here—they have some lovely champagne flutes over there. You can use them on your wedding day and toast with them on every anniversary, just like your father and I do.”
The ease of which my mother pretends all of this is normal never ceases to amaze me, so I don’t waste my breath reminding her there won’t be any anniversary celebrations. At least not on my part. I have no doubt Slade will be joyfully commemorating the specific milestones in which he collects another percentage of his inheritance.
“Sure,” I say. “We’ll head that way in a second.”
Mom trots off to return the plates to their displays, and I turn to my future husband.
“You can pick the flutes,” I tell him. “I’ve never been big on champagne and I highly doubt we’ll be celebrating anything, ever. I mean, with how hard everything will be and all.”
His coffee-hued irises flash, but he doesn’t offer a comeback.
“I need some air.” I point to the doors and head that way before he has a chance to protest. Not that he would. I’m sure he wants a break from all of this together-ness.
Once outside, I drag in a lungful of crisp winter air and let the cold sunlight wash over me. Hard to believe in less than a year I’ll be trading in the four seasons for alligators, well-fed mosquitos, and tropical storms.
I dig the toe of my leather boot into a blanket of nearby snow and listen for the satisfying crunch, a sound I imagine I’ll be missing more than anything this time next year.
Years ago, when I was arguing with my parents about this arrangement, my grandmother pulled me aside and told me to focus on what I was getting out of this, not what I was giving up. She reminded me that her marriage was arranged, and that my parents’ marriage was also arranged, and all of them were wonderfully happy with lives blessed beyond belief. She prattled on about financial security, a bright future for my children, and a family history that spans back to the gilded age since one of Slade’s great-great-grandmothers was a Golden Age “dollar princess.”
She painted a beautiful portrait with her words, one filled with hope and joyful future memories and all good things.
If Gram were still around, she’d have gotten a kick out of my black wedding dress, though she’d have vetoed it as well.
Her penchant for tradition made my mother look like an amateur.
“There you are.” A masculine voice interrupts my me-time after a few minutes.
I look over to find Slade standing outside the shop door, his hands in his pockets and his breath turning to clouds with each exhalation. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hates the cold almost as much as he hates this arrangement.
“Did my mother send you to find me?” I ask, head cocked. If he says no, it’ll be the shock of a lifetime because Slade’s not the type to care about anyone’s wellbeing other than this own.
“Of course.”
“Tell her I went to grab an iced coffee down the street. She’ll freak out. It’ll be fun.” I wink and he stands there, like he doesn’t get it. And he wouldn’t, I suppose. He only knows her on a superficial level and even then, that’s barely scratching the surface of Blythe Wakemont. “I’m kidding. Don’t do that.”
There’s a vague tightness in my chest when I realize he and I will likely never have inside jokes the way a real couple would. I don’t need a crystal ball to know we’re going to be two passing ships in the night for the next twenty years.
Maybe Slade’s right—this is going to be harder than I imagined.
“I think she’s ready to wrap everything up and head to the next place …” he says.
“Right.” I follow him back inside, and we find my mother at the registry desk, making pleasantries with the attendant as they go over a printed list.
We’re patiently waiting a moment later when Slade leans in, his lips nearly brushing my cheek, and he says, “I chose the champagne glasses, by the way.”
“Oh, yeah? What’d you go with?” I ask.
Pulling out his phone, he shows me an image he must have taken when I was outside.
“They’re not flutes, they’re technically champagne saucers,” he says. “Drinking it this way allows for more surface area of the champagne to come into contact with air, which lets you taste more of the aroma flavors. Some people drink champagne for the bubbles. Some drink it for the full experience.”
Typical Slade—intellectualizing every little thing down to the last detail.
“That’s nice and all,” I say, “but like I said before, I’m not a big champagne person.”
“Have you ever tried it from a saucer?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Then perhaps you do like it, you just don’t know it yet.”
.
Slade—
My mom said we should tell each other ten things we want the other person to know so we can get to know each other better. She also said we have to be nicer going forward. I told her I’d try. Anyway, here’s my list:
I’m a Sagittarius (which means we’re incompatible since you’re a Capricorn).
My favorite kind of food is any type of green vegetable—no one believes me, but it’s true. Brussels sprouts and asparagus are my favorite, then arugula.
I speak both French and Spanish.
I’m distantly related to Ariana Grande on my mom’s side.
My best friend’s name is Stassi. She has two older brothers who play hockey and they’re super annoying.
I love scary movies and they never give me nightmares.
The longest handstand I’ve ever done was three minutes and thirty-nine seconds long.
I make really, really good banana chocolate chip pancakes.
I’ve never broken a bone or gotten stitches before.
I almost drowned once, but my nanny saved me. Then she got fired.
Campbell (age 11)
Campbell—
Here are ten things about me that I think you should know:
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
Slade (age 12)
Slade—
Tell me something I don’t already know.
Campbell (age 11)
Campbell—