Wrong About the Guy(19)

“I played lacrosse,” I said. “Freshman year. And I did a season of softball. Oh, and I was on the swim team for a while last year but they expected us to get there at six every morning and—What’s so funny?” This was to George, who looked way too amused, given the fact I didn’t think I’d said anything particularly witty.

“Nothing.” He sawed his knife through his steak in a quick, clean motion.

“I like to try different things,” I said, annoyed.

Mia suddenly let out a huge wail, making table-long conversation temporarily impossible.

Aaron stood up abruptly. “I’m going to grab a beer. Anyone else want one?” We both declined. I watched as he went into the kitchen area and got a beer from the outdoor refrigerator. As he was walking by the adults, Crystal looked up and said something to him. He shrugged in response and she touched Michael’s arm and pointed to the beer. Michael gave an identical shrug, and Aaron shot Crystal a triumphant look.

Megan had walked away from the table so she could shush and bounce the baby, and Aaron dropped into her seat, joining the adult conversation.

“She hasn’t gotten a chance to eat,” George said in a low voice.

“Who?”

He was getting to his feet. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked over to Megan, then held out his arms in an offer to take Mia from her. Megan shook her head at first, but he said, “Just for a few minutes, so you can have some dinner.” She still hesitated for another moment or two, but then passed the baby to him. She watched anxiously while he tried to find a comfortable way to hold Mia—he clearly wasn’t any more used to holding babies than toddlers—but he said, “It’s okay. I’ve got this,” and she suddenly flashed a brilliant smile. “Five minutes,” she said. “That’s enough.” She ran over to the food and quickly filled a plate.

George moved onto the grass and started walking the baby in slow, careful circles. She wasn’t screaming anymore, just mildly fretting, but she still had tears on her cheeks; they glinted in the little white lights Mom had asked the gardeners to string on the trellis for the summer.

I had no one to talk to now, so I got up and went to them. “I can take her,” I said, and held my arms out.

“It’s okay. You should keep eating.”

“I’m done. Come on, give her to me. I’m amazing with babies.”

George shifted Mia into my arms. I tried to cuddle her against me but she whined and moved her head restlessly. “She’s just tired,” I said. “Jacob always used to get cranky right before he went to sleep. Actually, he still does. Actually, so do I.” I started to bounce her rhythmically, shifting from foot to foot with a little dip on each side, and she stopped complaining. “Ah, see? I bet she’ll be asleep in two minutes.”

“You’re good with kids.”

“That’s because I relate to them—I’m selfish and demanding and I cry when I don’t get my way.”

“I guess it takes a spoiled child to soothe a spoiled child,” he said.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” I cuddled Mia against me. “We’re demanding but we’re not spoiled.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said.


Video chatting with Heather later that night, I said, “I’m not spoiled, right?”

“Of course not,” she said. “You’re the best person in the world.”

For some reason, the hyperbole was less reassuring than a simple no would have been. “I do a lot for other people,” I said, sitting down with a thump on my desk chair and peering at her on the screen. “I’m going to be running the Holiday-Giving Program at school—did I tell you about that?”

“No,” she said. “What is it?”

“We give families who live in shelters Thanksgiving turkeys and Christmas presents and stuff like that. I’m president this year. Well, co-president.”

“That’s really cool. You do a lot of nice things for people. Especially me.” She smiled. “Why are you even worrying about this?”


“George called me spoiled.”

“Really? That’s so mean.”

“He was mostly joking.”

“Then stop worrying about it! You’re being ridiculous.” She had braided her thick fair hair while we were talking and now she whisked the tip of her braid over her lips like she was dusting them. “When do I get to meet Aaron? I’m dying to.”

“I’ll text him and make a plan. I want to know what you think.”

“I can’t wait! If he’s half as cute as he looks in his photos—”

“He’s cuter,” I said. “And funny. And smart. He’s nothing like the boys from school. He’s a million times cooler—but not in a fake cool way, you know? Like he’s just his own person. And you should see him with his shirt off. Everyone should see him with his shirt off. It should be like the universal Christmas present for good girls everywhere.”

“Happy sigh,” she said with a happy sigh. “So you’re totally in love.”

I shook my head. “In love, no. But there is potential there.”

“That’s the most positive thing you’ve ever said about any guy.”