An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three) Read online

  Chris and Ryan followed us inside, where we found an empty house save for the family dog, Monte, a gamboling dopey golden retriever who completely lost it when he saw Chris. My fiancé, for his part, threw himself on the floor to roll around with the dog, laughing as Monte gave him sloppy kisses.

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Ashley. Have you no control over him?”

  I merely grinned. I loved it when Chris acted like a little boy.

  “Sorry it’s not a better reception,” Mrs. Davidson said, throwing an apron around her middle. “William is making a last-minute delivery, and Becky is studying at the library in town.”

  Ryan looked at the clock over the stove. “Studying at seven on a Friday night? Who’s the boy?”

  Mrs. Davidson sighed. “His name is Hunter. He has a nose ring.”

  “Hot,” Ryan said, smiling wickedly at her. She slapped him with a dishtowel before turning to the stove. She took the lid off of a pot of something, and a delicious aroma filled the air. “Mmm,” Ryan moaned. “I knew it was a good idea to come up here.”

  “What’s for dinner, Mom?” Chris asked, hopping up onto a bar stool at the counter. His hair was flopped down over his forehead, and he looked flushed and happy from playing with the dog, a silly grin on his face. I knew he was happy to be home.

  “Stew,” she said, using a big wooden spoon to stir the pot. “We had a great crop of root veggies this year, and the beef is from the farm as well. Your father’s new herd is coming along very well. This is a three-year-old heifer we’ve had for a while.”

  Ryan blanched. Though he had quickly given up the vegan thing, he was a little bit squeamish about the goings on of the farm. He liked to eat beef, but he didn’t like to know where it came from. I couldn’t say that I blamed him.

  Chris, on the other hand, started some detailed conversation with his mother about the heifer’s bloodline. When my phone rang, I was so eager to avoid hearing him talk about breeding practices in cows that I answered without looking at the screen. Big mistake.

  “Ashley?”

  I sighed and left the kitchen, figuring it would be more polite to take the call in the foyer. “Hello, Mom.”

  “What’s this I hear about you not making the tasting tomorrow?”

  It’s good to hear your voice, too, Mom, I thought. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.

  “I told Jen, we had a previous engagement this weekend.”

  “Well what could be more important than the food at your wedding?”

  “We’re up at the farm, Mom,” I said, blowing out a gust of air as I tried to keep my temper. “At Chris’s parents’.”

  “Couldn’t you have rescheduled? This is your wedding, Ashley.”

  I counted to three before I answered. “No, Mom, we couldn’t. If it was so important, why didn’t you check with me before you scheduled it?”

  “Well, I just assumed—”

  “Obviously, Mom. Obviously you just assumed.” Suddenly I thought of Mrs. Davidson’s arms around me, and I felt like crying all over again. “Listen, if you want to go ahead and make plans without my input, then you’re going to have to assume there will be times when I won’t be there. If it’s so important to you that I come, you should ask me next time. Before you schedule it.”

  “Fine,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I’ll do that. Please tell Chris’s parents that we’re looking forward to meeting them. We’ll have to set something up soon.”

  I wondered how that was going to go. Would she pretend things were great between her and Daddy for their benefit? I imagined her playing the happy housewife at the wedding and shuddered. “I’ll do that, Mom. Look, I should go. I’ll send Jen an email with some of our requests for food, okay?”

  “All right, dear.” She sounded more like herself now. She was quiet for a moment. “Ashley—”

  When she didn’t go on I frowned. “Yeah?”

  “I miss talking to you, you know. We used to talk so often.”

  Her voice was wistful in a way I didn’t think I had ever heard before. I felt tears gather in my eyes. The truth was, I missed her, too, more than I could say. When was the last time I had called her up just to chat? When was the last time we’d gone shopping together? I missed the relationship that we’d had. But what was I supposed to do about it? Everything felt different now.

  “I miss you, too,” I said, my voice thick.

  “I know you’re angry with me, Ashley.” Was I imagining it, or was her voice shaking? “I wish you could understand. I wish…” she trailed off.

  “What do you wish?”

  I heard her take a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was strong and confident, much more like herself. “Oh, well, dear. I’m sure it’s just the stress of the wedding making us out of sorts. When you’re home, we should have lunch.”

  My chest hurt now. I wished she hadn’t stopped talking. What had she been about to say?

  “I’ll talk to you later, Mom,” I said, resigned.

  “Goodnight, Ashley. Don’t forget to email Jen.”

  I wanted to cry, wanted to tell her I wasn’t out of sorts about the wedding, I was out of sorts because she was making me doubt everything I had ever thought about our relationship, about my parents, even about love. I wanted to yell obscenities at her, make her ironclad veneer of calmness and propriety crack. But I didn’t do anything of those things. Instead I hung up the phone and leaned my head against the cool painted wall of Mrs. Davidson’s foyer, the words I had wanted to say chasing around and around in my head.

  “Ash?” I straightened up to see Chris standing in the hall, framed in light from the kitchen beyond. “You okay?”

  I nodded, forcing a smile on my face. “Sure. Just some wedding details.”

  He looked as if he didn’t believe me, so I swept past him into the hallway. “Think your mom might make us some hot chocolate?” I called over my shoulder.

  There’s no point in bringing him down, I told myself as we joined his mom and Ryan in the kitchen. Not when he’s so happy being back home.

  In fact, there was no sense in worrying about my mom at all. It was like she had told me once—I was a big girl. I would just have to deal with it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You know, Ry, a girl could get used to this kind of thing.”

  Ryan smiled at me and topped off my wine glass. “Being a lady of leisure suits you, Ashley. Maybe you should consider dropping Chris for some rich guy so you can give up your job and live the high life.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I can so see that happening.”

  It was a sunny Tuesday in April, and Ryan and I were enjoying his lunch break at a little French bistro near his office. I was off work for spring break and was thoroughly enjoying the time to be lazy. Chris and I had talked about spending my break out of town, maybe in Vegas or over in Toronto, but he was under deadline for his current research at work. In all honesty, I was just as happy to stay home and relax. My mother had been stepping up the wedding planning exponentially over the last few weeks. The stress of dealing with her was starting to get to me.

  The waiter arrived with our entrees: scallops and risotto for me; and a spinach and mushroom-filled crepe for Ryan. I eyed my plate with raised eyebrows—we’d already gorged ourselves on lobster bisque and escargot for appetizers. “Taste it,” Ryan said, correctly reading my expression. “You’ll forget about being full with the first bite.”

  He was right. My food was delicious. “Yummy,” I whimpered, licking some garlic butter off my fork. “If I could have anything at my wedding, it would be food like this.”

  “Why don’t you, then?” he asked.

  Immediately I regretted saying anything. It had been a knee-jerk reaction to the taste of the food, but I knew I would now have to talk to Ryan about wedding stuff—something I had been trying to avoid for weeks.

  “It’s too expensive,” I lied. “My dad is already footing way too big a bill, even without adding fine French cuisine.” I did not men
tion that my mother and Jen had already decided on the menu. Jen had sent me a link to their choices, but I had barely glanced at it.

  “I bet if you tell Jen what you just told me, she could figure out a way to tweak the budget somewhere else to make it happen. She’s good, Ash. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  Tweak the budget somewhere else? But that would require changing some detail my mom had already chosen. Not to mention the lecture I would then receive, yet again, on my decision to miss the tasting in the first place. No, I didn’t think scallops and risotto would be featured at the wedding.

  “Can I taste that?” I asked, hoping to get him off that line of thought.

  “Of course.” Ryan passed the plate over to me, and I took a dainty bite. “The béchamel sauce is amazing, don’t you think?”

  I wasn’t sure what béchamel sauce was, but whatever I was eating was certainly yummy.

  “So how have you been?” I asked, after I had passed his plate back. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other much since Alpena.”

  Ryan laughed. “Ash, we get together three times a week for boot camp.”

  “True. But we don’t really talk.” I tried to keep my voice light, innocent. The truth was, Ryan had seemed very distant ever since we got back from Alpena. I rarely saw him outside of the gym, and when I did, he seemed distracted and down. I’d been bugging him about hanging out for weeks, hoping to finally get him to open up about whatever was bothering him.

  Ryan wasn’t buying my innocent tone. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I can’t say I haven’t been waiting for this.” He shook his head slightly before grabbing the wine bottle to fill up his glass.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Ash,” he said. “I could see your brain working every time I’ve seen you since Alpena. You’re worrying about me, aren’t you? And you’ve been waiting for the perfect time to get me alone to grill me.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that, right?”

  “I have been told.” He reached across the table to nab one of my scallops. “So, shoot. Tell me how concerned you are and ask me what’s up.”

  “What is up?” I asked leaning across the table. “All joking aside, Ryan. I have been worried about you, you know. For ages, actually, not just since Alpena. Like, Valentine’s Day.”

  He ran a finger around the rim of his glass, considering his words. “I don’t know,” he finally said, looking up. All traces of laughter and smirking were gone from his face now. “I’ve been feeling…well, I’ve been feeling kind of down about things, I guess.”

  “Like what kind of things?” Ryan was never one for drama, certainly never one for feeling bad about himself. You could usually count on Ryan to be pretty even keeled and happy—sarcastic, maybe. But never doom and gloom.

  “I guess,” he said, staring off into the middle distance. “I guess I’m just tired of being the fifth wheel.”

  “Are you kidding me? Ryan, you know you could never be—”

  “It feels like I am, sometimes,” he said. “I know it’s never anyone’s intention, but it’s hard to be the only one not in a couple.”

  I felt like crying for him. I knew how he felt. There had been plenty of times over the course of our friendship—before Chris and I had started dating—where Emily, Chris, and Ryan had all been dating and I hadn’t been. I could only imagine it would be tougher now that we were older and the relationships were more serious.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am. I know it must suck, Ryan. I wish there was something I could do.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t begrudge you guys your relationships, Ash. I’m happy you guys are happy, you know that.”

  “I do,” I said, reaching across to take his hand. He rolled his eyes at me, but let me squeeze his fingers nonetheless.

  “I guess it’s more than that.” He took his hand back and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it somehow even better looking for being mussed up.

  “What do you mean? More like how?”

  He was quiet for a minute, and I felt worried about him—this was so unlike him. He seemed really depressed, and I hated to see him look so sad.

  “I’m lonely, Ash,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’m tired of being on my own. I want to be in love.”

  My heart twisted. “You deserve a fantastic relationship,” I said fervently. “Really, Ry. You do. You’re one of the best people I know.” He rolled his eyes again. “I mean it.”

  “Thank you, sweetie,” he said. He took a sip of wine, looking more like his old self.

  “Have you been trying to get out there?” I asked. “Or are you letting yourself get all caught up on the Chase thing, still?”

  When he didn’t answer, it was my turn to roll my eyes. “Ryan, you have to let it go. You deserve better than that and you know it. Stop waiting for Mr. Right to come along and go out and find him. Seriously.”

  “I know you’re right,” he said. “It’s just hard to be positive. You know me, I’ll probably just screw it up anyhow, right?”

  I glared at him, but he had a point. Ryan was an expert in self-sabotage. As soon as he found himself in a good thing, he quickly did something to mess it up. It was almost compulsive. I wondered, not for the first time, how he could be so comfortable with and dedicated to his friends and such a screw up when it came to men.

  “So how about you stop doing that?” I asked.

  “Easy as that, huh?” He was grinning over his wine glass, but there was an edge to his voice.

  “Yeah. Just knock it off. When you feel the urge coming to screw something up, call me instead. Or get a therapist. Do something, though, Ryan, because I want you to be happy.”

  “I know you do, sweet girl,” he said, his voice soft again. He looked at his watch, and I knew he was done with the conversation. I bit back a curse of frustration—it could be so hard to get him to be honest about this stuff. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Do you want to stay and finish that?”

  “No,” I said, looking down at my nearly finished dish. Heaven knows I ate enough today. Tate is gonna kill me when I’m too bloated to work up to a jog tonight.”

  Ryan walked me out to my car and kissed my cheek. “Drive safe,” he said. “Thanks for lunch.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a good afternoon.”

  I watched him walk away, not feeling at all comforted by our conversation. I wished there was some way to find Ryan a good guy—and get him to follow through. I got into the car, thinking of guys I knew, wondering if any of them would actually be worthy of someone as great as my friend.

  As I buckled my seat belt, my cell phone rang. I frowned, thinking of my mother, and was pleasantly surprised to see Allison’s name on the screen.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Well,” she said without preamble. “I guess I’m coming home to try on bridesmaid dresses in two weeks.”

  “You are? Since when?”

  “Oh, since I got a call from our mother ten minutes ago informing me that I was.”

  “Oh, no. Sorry, Ally.”

  She sighed. “It’s fine. I mean, I know we needed to do it eventually. I’m just feeling a little shell-shocked. It’s been a while since I was treated to the full Amber Phillips tidal wave of guilt and expectations.”

  I laughed, though my stomach clenched. I’d had no such break from the guilt and expectations. “Still, I’m surprised you agreed to it.”

  “She bought a plane ticket for me,” Allison said. I groaned. This was so typical.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her where she could shove her plane ticket.”

  “Yeah, right. I might have, but she felt the need to mention that Daddy paid for the ticket, and it had cost him an awful lot of money.”

  “Why are you surprised by this?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “I shouldn’t be. Our mother is a master manipulator. But it’s hard not to feel some shock when she sla
ps you in the face with it so blatantly. What a witch.”

  When we were teenagers it had always made me feel upset when Allison so openly disparaged our mom. I hated the way that they fought and hated even more the way Allison talked about her behind her back. I was surprised to find that her insult still made me slightly uncomfortable, even with the way I myself had been feeling about our mother.

  “Well,” I said, wanting to redirect the conversation, “I for one am glad you agreed. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” she said, clearly embarrassed. Allison didn’t do emotional very well. “And it will be good to see Daddy. I would have come, no problem, if she would have just asked me.”

  “Not her style, Al.”

  She laughed. “You’re telling me.”

  We hung up a few minutes later, and I started my car. As I drove home, I felt a strange mixture of excitement and worry. It would be good to see Allison again, really good. But I could also imagine the fights that were sure to break out between her and my mother. I really didn’t think this wedding could handle much more drama.

  “Maybe they’ll both be on their best behavior,” I said out loud. I managed to keep a straight face for a whole thirty seconds before I started to laugh. “Or maybe not.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  My relationship with my sister Allison could best be described as fluid. Over the years, it seemed as if our roles, and the way they corresponded and played off the other, were in a constant state of change.

  Allison was born three years before me and two years after my parents got married. I couldn’t remember a time from childhood, not even when we were very little, that the two of us had been particularly close. As a child, I annoyed her. My earliest memories of Allison, before she started kindergarten and left me behind at home, were of her trying to get away from me. She didn’t want to share her toys, she didn’t want to play games, and she definitely didn’t want me taking up any of our mother’s attention.