I must gasp or something because Daphne shakes herself, sits up, and reads over my shoulder. “Oh wow. Is this your roommate?”
I’m too stunned to answer.
But then Paul taps out one more thing. I gotta run. But tell your girl it wasn’t your fault. You were really looking forward to that date, too. You had a necklace made for her which was super weird, and a dreamy look on your face. I made fun of you for it, but I was super jealous. Later!
Daphne and I slowly turn to look at each other. We’re wearing identical shocked expressions, before she leans in and kisses me. “I knew it,” she whispers.
“You did not,” I argue, throwing down my phone and rolling on top of her. “You thought I stood you up.”
“That was before I got to know you,” she argues. “Now I’m mostly a believer.”
“Mostly?” I tease. Then I cup one of her breasts and gently stroke it. “How can I seal the deal? Can you think of a way?”
“I can,” she says, smiling. “Order two different kinds of wings, and some french fries, too.”
I bark out a laugh. “Okay, Shipley. Anything else?”
“A private karaoke performance. Naked.”
I let out a hoot of laughter. “Sure, baby. Anything for you.”
Forty-Seven
Daphne
We don’t wake up until Chastity raps on the door of my farmhouse bedroom. “Daphne? Rickie? Family meeting in half an hour.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
“There’s bacon,” she adds helpfully.
“Mmm. Thanks.”
But I don’t get up. Rickie is curled tightly around me. That may have something to do with the modest size of my bed in the farmhouse. Or maybe he’s just in a very snuggly mood.
Either way, I like it. Except it’s giving me ideas. And we can’t get busy here in my childhood bedroom.
“Rickie,” I whisper. “We have to get up. Family meeting.”
“I’m not family,” he slurs. “I’m not anybody’s family before at least ten in the morning.”
“Be that as it may, it’s also breakfast time. I heard there’s bacon.”
“Mmf. You know what would really motivate me to wake up?”
“I’m sure it involves sex,” I guess.
“Ding ding. Shower sex. Let’s go. I have some very fond memories of you and me in that shower on a hundred-degree day after baking pies.”
“Not today, McFly. Wake up and come downstairs if you can.” Against all my deepest desires, I slide out of his comfortable embrace. I have to, because it’s going to be a very busy April Friday, and I need that half hour to get ready.
So I head to the bathroom, bracing myself.
First, there’s a family meeting. That wouldn’t be a big deal, except that I’m going to open up my grad school financial aid packages and compare them. It’s always terrifying to confront your future head-on.
Then again, I’m pretty grateful that I have a few options. Reardon Halsey didn’t break me. In six short weeks I’ll have a degree from Moo U, and then in the fall I’ll head off to one of the three grad school programs that accepted me.
Two weeks ago I found out that I didn’t get into Berkeley. Or Johns Hopkins. Although Berkeley wrote me a lovely letter encouraging me to get more work experience and reapply.
That had been a blow to my ego. But in hindsight it’s not that surprising. I have a funny-looking resume, and I lack the real-life experience that many public health masters’ candidates have.
Still, I have choices. I’ll make the most of them.
Grad school decisions aren’t even the biggest thing on my mind this weekend. May is getting married tomorrow. That’s why we’re all here in the farmhouse, to celebrate her wedding weekend. Today there will be a quick rehearsal at the church, and then the men are all headed out to play paintball in the woods somewhere. The women are getting a yoga class, followed by mani/pedis and mocktails.
Then, tomorrow, there’s a church wedding, followed by May’s reception at Speakeasy. The gastropub’s private upstairs space will be decked out for dancing and a barbecue buffet.
It will all be great. Just as soon as I get through the scary financial aid parts.
Mom went all out for brunch today, so I nibble on some extra strawberries while I wait for the family meeting to begin. In front of me on the table are three large envelopes. Sealed.
“You haven’t opened them?” Griffin asks, sipping his coffee.
“No,” I admit. “I promised myself that I’d open them here, where you could remind me that prestige isn’t everything. If North Carolina isn’t a good deal for