Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

“From Gordon Ramsay,” Macey said, handing her sister the knife and then watching her wield it toward the second onion and her fingers. “Don’t cut yourself,” she warned. “I don’t have time to take you to the ER!”

“I won’t, Mom,” Maeve said, rolling her eyes.

Finally, confident her sister had Onion Chopping 101 under control, Macey started on the peppers. “Sooo . . . when are you moving?”

“Well, my lease is up at the end of the month—which is this week, so this week.”

“You don’t sound very excited,” Macey said, looking up.

“I’m excited.”

“Really? It’s a little hard to tell,” Macey said, eyeing her. She hesitated, uncertain if she should ask what she was thinking. “Do you wish he’d proposed instead of asking you to move in?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve said with a sigh. “I wish he’d open up a little more about his family. The other day he told me this great story about a cat he had when he was little, and the cat—who already had kittens—adopted a baby bunny.”

“No way!” Macey said in surprise.

“I know, crazy, right?” Maeve replied, smiling, “I love hearing stories like that—from when he was younger. It makes me feel closer to him, but he so rarely opens up. He never talks about why he doesn’t go home—even around the holidays—and, Mace, even if he did ask me to marry him, I don’t know what I’d say. I love him like crazy, but I want to know what happened. I have a feeling it has something to do with his dad because I’m pretty sure he talks to his mom. At the same time, there’re some things that I—” But before she could finish her sentence, there was a commotion on the back porch. Macey looked out, and saw Keeper and Gus—sporting his new bandanna—greeting each other, nose to nose, tails wagging, and then Gus bounded off the porch and raced across the yard with Keeper hopping after him.

“Hey, Gage!” Macey said, holding open the screen door.

“Hey, Mace. Hope you don’t mind me bringing Gus.”

“Are you kidding?! We love Gus—he’s the reason we invite you,” she teased, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Ha ha. I figured.” He smiled and held out a paper bag containing his usual contribution—sparklers and the ingredients for s’mores.

“Thank you, my dear! Your sweetheart is over there trying not to cry as she chops onions.”

He smiled at Maeve and then turned back to Macey. “I brought beer and ice, too,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Is Ben around?”

“He was just outside with Harper, setting up,” Macey said, looking past him into the yard. “Maybe they went down to the river.”

Gage nodded. “Well, if the cooler’s around, I’ll just fill it.”

“Hmm . . . it might be in the basement.”

“I can go down and get it.”

“No, no, you don’t want to go down there,” Macey said, laughing. “We might never hear from you again.”

“Oh, it can’t be any worse than my parents’ basement,” he said.

“Oh, it can!” Macey said, heading for the basement door, and as she passed her sister, she raised her eyebrows—Gage had, without provocation, mentioned his parents!

“Hey,” he said, walking over to give Maeve a kiss.

“Hey back,” she said, smiling.

He eyed the onion. “No tears?”

“Nope,” she said. “Turns out, it’s all in the way you cut it. Who knew?” She nodded to the box of doughnuts on the counter. “Help yourself.”

“Ooh,” he said. “Thanks!”

Just then, Harper charged into the kitchen. “Uncle Gage!” she shouted, almost bowling him over.

“Hey, Harp,” he said, hugging her back.

Maeve looked over and smiled. When Macey and Ben had first adopted Harper, she’d looked around the dinner table, trying out all the monikers for her new family members, including calling Gage uncle. When Maeve had tried to explain—without going into great detail—that Gage wouldn’t really be her uncle, he had interrupted her and said that Harper could absolutely call him Uncle Gage if she wanted to, and the name had stuck. It had turned out to be fitting because Gage—who loved to play games and never turned Harper down when she challenged him to checkers—was the perfect uncle. Anytime they had a family gathering or summer picnic, he was the biggest kid there and always rounded up all the other kids to play Wiffle ball, or volleyball, or badminton, or cornhole. There was no trying to entice Gage into a game—he was their ringleader!

“I’ll beat ya in cornhole, Uncle Gage,” Harper said.

“Cornhole?!” Gage said. “Don’t you know I’m the cornhole champion?”

“You are not!” Harper said, laughing.

“I am!” He looked to Maeve for confirmation. “Maeve, tell her.”

Harper looked at her aunt, and even when Maeve raised her eyebrows and nodded, she wasn’t convinced. “I don’t believe her, either!”

“Game on!” Gage teased, grinning.

“All right!” Harper said, heading for the door, but just as she reached it, they heard a clunk, and Macey pushed open the basement door carrying a big cooler with a metal tub on top.

“I would’ve brought that up, you know,” Gage said, taking them from her, and then looking at Harper. “We have to finish setting up first.”

“Okay,” Harper said.

They disappeared outside to put the drinks on ice, and Macey turned to her sister. “Gage is such a great guy, Maeve. I’m sure you two will eventually work through this.”

Maeve nodded, but Macey was still eyeing her. “Is there something else?” she asked, but Maeve just shook her head and kept slicing the onion. If the tears stinging her eyes accidently spilled down her cheeks, at least she had an excuse.

12

PERSPIRATION TRICKLED DOWN MASON’S BACK AS HE STOOD IN LINE, waiting for rehearsal to begin. Graduation was still two days away, but the excitement in the gym was palpable. Finals were over, grades were posted, summer vacations and college orientations loomed for many of the students, and all the yearbooks—which had been handed out that morning—were, at that very moment, being inscribed with well-wishes, reminiscences, and the bittersweet sentiments of reaching the long-sought milestone and the end of an era.