Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [79]
“She swears like some ex-nun turned sailor,” Natalie murmured.
“Yeah. You have to wonder how she spends her free time,” I seconded.
“Quit your whining,” Nat called to our big sis. “You two are living together, so don’t talk to me about clubs, okay?”
Margaret tromped over to us. “Move over, favorite,” she grumbled, shoving my shoulder so she could sit down. “Is everything okay out here? I’ve been spying through the windows.”
“Everything’s great. I’m Nattie’s maid of honor,” I said. It felt okay. Yes. It would be fine.
“God’s sandals, Natalie! You want Andrew’s former fiancée to be your fucking maid of honor?”
“Yes,” Nat answered calmly. “But only if she wants to be.”
“And I do,” I said, sticking my tongue out at Margaret.
“So? What am I, Nat? Can I maybe sweep up for you? Maybe I could do dishes at the reception and peek out at you once in a while, if you don’t think I’ll be blinded with your golden beauty, your majesty.”
“God, listen to her,” Nat giggled. “Would you be my bridesmaid, Margaret dear?”
“Oh, gosh, thanks, yes. I can’t wait.” Margaret shot me a look. “Maid of honor, huh? Freaky.”
“Margs, you’ve met Wyatt, right?” Natalie asked.
Margaret stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Sure,” she answered. I closed my eyes.
“What do you think?” Nat sat up straighter, grinning. She always did love girl talk.
“Well, aside from that sixth toe on his left foot, he’s pretty cute,” Margs said.
“Very funny,” I answered. “It’s barely a nub, Natalie.”
Natalie was laughing. “What else, Margs?”
“Well, the way he sucks on Grace’s ear is pretty disgusting. Especially in church. Yick.”
“Come on, I’m serious,” Natalie wheezed, wiping her eyes.
“That wandering eye freaks me out.”
When our mother came out to find what was keeping her girls, she found us helpless with laughter on the bench under the maple tree.
My good humor remained as Angus and I walked home along the Farmington. A path meandered through the state forest that bordered the river, and though the gnats were out, they were harmless enough if I ignored them. Angus trotted ahead on his long leash, stopping frequently to pee, sniff and pee some more, making sure that all the other dogs who came down this path would know that Angus McFangus had been there before them.
Natalie and Andrew had set a date after poring over Mom’s calendar. June fourth, the day after Manning’s graduation. Four weeks from now. Four weeks to break up with my imaginary boyfriend, four weeks to possibly find a date for yet another wedding. I imagined being stag at this one. Bleecch. Yet the thought of turning myself inside out to find someone was equally distasteful.
Angus barked and trembled. Up ahead, someone was fly-fishing in the river, hip boots on, the long line of his pole arcing out in a golden, serpentine flash. The sun shone on his messy hair, and I smiled, somehow not surprised to see my neighbor.
“Catching anything, or are you just trying to look pretty?” I called.
“Howdy, neighbor,” he called back. “Haven’t caught a thing.”
“You poor slob.” I picked my way over the rocks to get closer. “Don’t blind me with your hook, okay?”
“Why? Seems like I owe you a few cuts and bruises,” he said, sloshing over toward me. Angus began yarping. “Quiet, you,” Cal said sternly, which set Angus off into hysterics. Yarpyarpyarpyarp! Yarpyarpyarpyarpyarp!
“You have such a way with animals,” I said. “Do small children burst into tears at the sight of you?”
He laughed. “What are you doing out here, Grace?”
“Oh, just headed for home,” I answered.
“Want to sit for a while? I have cookies,” he said temptingly.
“Are they homemade?” I asked.
“If by homemade, you mean bought at the bakery, then yes,” he answered. “They’re good. Not compared to your brownies, though. Those things were out of this world. Worth all the pain I had to go through to get them.”
“Aw. Well, that was such a nice compliment, maybe I’ll bake you some more.” I sat on a rock that jutted over