Page 21 of Came the Closest
A baseball card for a pro player even though he likes watching the College World Series. A long-expired, half empty plastic container of Ovaltine I snuck from the fridge at age seven. A snack size Ziploc bag of faded, undoubtedly stale Lucky Charms that I was supposed to have eaten at school. A lanyard from one of Del Ray Development’s fundraisers twenty years ago. A business card from the manager of Dad’s favorite downtown Omaha restaurant, where he took us every Thursday night when Mom was home. A pair of cufflinks with DR engraved on the once shiny silver.
A couple dozen other items, everything small enough to fit in this one box, that didn’t even matter.
I remember putting every single item in the box, each time buoyed by false hope. I also remember sitting on the porch step with the baseball card in my hand and the cufflinks on the long sleeves of my Henley shirt, waiting for Dad to get home from work.
I remember him not coming home, too. Jordan coming to get me for supper, and Gran running me a bath I didn’t want. Dad’s car turning into the driveway after I was already in bed, baseball card and cufflinks back in my Dad Box.
Clearing my throat, I close the box and push it away from me. Stale packing tape scrapes the tabletop like gravel on tile. “You can toss it. I don’t need anything in there.”
Graham hums. “Pretty sure that’s not true.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t need it.”
“I have a pretty good idea of why, given that it says Colton’s Dad Box on the side facing me.”
My eyes snap to his. “You said you didn’t look.”
“Because I didn’t. I read.” He must have refilled his glass at some point; he leans back in his chair and sips leisurely.
Irritated, I look away. My gaze lands on the picture of Graham, Ember, Dad, and Ember’s parents hanging on the living room wall. Graham’s gazing softly at his new fiancée while Ember smiles beams into the camera. John, Jackie, and Dad all look like proud, doting parents of the happy couple.
It adds to the emotional riot inside me.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what it’s like to be that little boy,” Graham says in a low voice, a hint of steel underlining his words. “The one who just wants a place to belong and a parent figure to trust. Because you, me, and Jordan were all him at one point. You were just lucky enough to find that safe person in Tripp Kolter. Tell me—how would you have felt if he had rejected you like Dad used to?”
I inhale sharply. I hate being compared to my dad, and I don’t deserve to be compared to Tripp.
“And for the record, Gran knew the Kolters could give you what Dad couldn’t. Never underestimate the people who love you, Collie.” Graham taps his empty glass once on the table before he stands up. “Try to get some beauty sleep. God knows you need it. We have suit fittings tomorrow afternoon.”
I wonder what would happen if I “accidentally” ripped a seam in my suit jacket, like, thirty minutes before the wedding in July. It’s so hot I can barely breathe, and the fitting is in a temperature controlled bridal shop. Not standing outside on a hot summer day with the relentless sun beating down on the navy material.
My current temperature fluctuations might also have to do with the way the assistant keeps eyeing me. Female attention doesn’t typically faze me, but today, I’m annoyed.
“All right.” Francie, the owner of Happily Ever After, pats me on the shoulder with a wrinkled hand. “You can take your jacket off now. Carefully, so the pins don’t move, please.”
“Collie doesn’t know the definition of careful,” Jordan taunts, waiting behind me for his turn.
I scowl at him in the trifecta of mirrors. Or, rather, all three of me scowl at all three of him. It would be more fun if the ratio was three to one, but Gran would say beggars can’t be choosers.
Francie passes the jacket to the assistant, and I step off the platform. I drop onto the red velvet sofa beside Graham. He was the first to get fitted—groom’s privilege—which means we’re nearing the end of this appointment. I’ve been told this is our last fitting unless Francie determines differently when we come by to pick them up. I’m genuinely hoping she doesn’t.
I peer at Graham’s phone screen. “Ooh, are you texting your soon-to-be wifey?”
Jordan glances over his shoulder, but Francie nudges him back forward. “Are you as passive aggressive with your texts to her as you are with us?”
Graham scoffs and turns his phone away. “No. And also no. I’m working on an email.”
“It’s a Saturday,” I say, chastising.
“And?”
I shrug and lean back into the sofa. I’ve only been in this bridal shop once, and that was for our first fitting a couple months ago. It’s overly feminine, with lots of red and pink contrasting pale wooden floors and ivory walls, but it’s not bad. Francie’s a hoot, and if I were feeling normal, I’d egg her on a little more.
As it is, I opt for silence. I start counting the wedding gowns on the rack until my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, and my eyes widen.
Cheyenne: Do you have plans this afternoon? I need to talk to you.
Angling my phone away from Graham, I reply with, Not that I know of. Just supper at Dad’s later