Once and for All(93)

“But maybe,” I said, reciting what I now knew to be one of her favorite lines from Workholes, “we don’t always know what we need.”

She beamed at me, proud. “Exactly.”

William slid open the glass door, sticking his head out. “We’re on target for everything to come together by six, just so you know. You both ready for the guests?”

“You make it sound so formal,” I said.

“It’s a celebration!” His phone beeped; he pulled it out, glancing at it. “And as such, I think you might need shoes. I don’t cook for barefoot people.”

“I have flip-flops in the kitchen,” I said.

“This is a party,” he insisted. “Throw me a bone. Please?”

I looked at my mom, who shrugged so innocently it was obvious she was in on whatever he was up to. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, as his phone beeped again. “Just want everything to be perfect.”

My mom looked at me. “You might as well humor him. When he gets like this, there’s really no other option.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go get some real shoes.”

As I started inside, passing Matt, who was arranging cheeses on a platter, I heard William say something to my mom, his voice low. She replied, also quietly. Thick as thieves. Some things never change.

I climbed the stairs two at a time, glancing at the clock as I went. In my closet, I scanned the various options lined up against the wall, trying to decide which ones went best with what I had on. Then I saw the black sandals under that same colored dress, their beaded straps folded neatly around them. If I really was moving on, I thought, it was time to do it in all ways, not just some. I stepped closer, picking them up, and slid my bare foot into one. It still fit perfectly, the worn spot at the toe from all the walking that night instantly familiar, even as I’d long forgotten it.

I’d just finished buckling them when I heard voices outside my open window. Walking over, I expected to see Ben, or maybe Jilly and Michael Salem, who were also joining us. But the yard was empty, whoever had arrived already out of sight under the front porch overhang. When I headed back downstairs to greet them, though, there was only William, shutting the front door. When he saw me, he jumped, startled.

“You’re supposed to be upstairs,” he said, shifting what I now saw was a box in his arms, on the top the name of a bakery just down from the office.

“It only takes so long to pick out shoes,” I said. “What’s that?”

He looked down at the box as if he’d never seen it before. “This? Oh. Nothing.”

“Looks like a cake,” I pointed out.

“It might be a cake,” he said. “It could also be any number of other things that come in boxes.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Looks like a cake,” I said again.

“Fine.” He sighed, shaking his head and looking at the ceiling. “If you must know—”

“I must,” I said. I always got such a kick out of seeing William squirm. It was like the best birthday present ever.

“—I made you a chocolate chip cheesecake last night for your birthday. It was perfect, until I tried to put it into the car to bring here and dropped it all over the console.”

“I love your chocolate chip cheesecake,” I said.

He gave me a pained look. “Are you trying to make me feel awful?”

“William.” I smiled. “It’s fine. I love any kind of cake, you know that. I’m just glad we’re all together.”

“Well, this is from Sweet Tooth, so it’s going to be good,” he pointed out, nodding at the box. “Thank goodness Ambrose was just leaving the office and could run out and get one. He’s a lifesaver. I just hope he has good taste in desserts. I left it all up to him.”

“Ambrose?” I said. “That’s who was just here?”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to know,” he said, “but clearly my shoe subterfuge was as lame as I suspected.”

I turned, looking out the glass panel by the door. The street was quiet, no one in sight. What did I want to see, anyway? We’d wrapped things up as neatly as could be expected after all our messy threads. End of story. Once and for all.

“William?” Matt called out from the kitchen. “I’m wondering about crackers or baguette with this artisanal blue. Can you weigh in?”

“Coming,” he replied, setting the box down on the hallway table just as the doorbell rang. Immediately, my mom came inside from the back deck, smoothing her hair. I took a look through the glass: standing there was a dark-haired man in a sport jacket, holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

Behind me, William and Matt were huddled over the cheese plate, their voices low. I heard William laugh, the sound a comfort as always, then looked at my mom again, the smile that broke across John’s face as she opened the door to face him. So much happiness at once; it was almost too much, like a bright light that made me squint.

This was how it was supposed to be, I thought, as I walked over to the Sweet Tooth box, looking down at it. Carefully, I eased it open, immediately smelling sugar: the cake was round and chocolate frosted, dotted with white icing roses. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOUNA, it said in an arc of perfect lettering on the top. And below, smaller: MAKE A WISH.