The Space Between (36 page)

“How has no one noticed this until just now?” Erin asked.

I shook my head and studied my siblings. “No one except Lauren.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Sam started, peeling the scarf from his chin, “but I’ve had my own shit to deal with. Who handled fourteen green designs in that time, start to finish? Oh, yeah, me.”

“Does it take both hands to stroke that ego?” Riley asked. “Or can you get by with just one?”

“Going out on a limb here,” Erin said, her hand sweeping over the group. “I bet everyone wants the long version. Especially the part about the bathrooms unless that’s some kind of weird sex thing.”

I went all the way back to that heinous interview. I knew, even then. The second I saw her, I knew. I’m not shallow enough to say it was love at first sight, but something about the way she talked about history and preservation and restoration and sustainability struck a nerve. It wasn’t about architecture, either.

Andy and me, we’re a lot like those old homes. Steeped in history. Living in the present while bearing the weight of the past. Secrets hidden beneath the surface. She believed in histories and she believed they were a critical element in understanding the present. Andy showed me that it was possible for someone to know my soul.

The group fell silent when I finished. Their loaded glances pinged back and forth before everyone spoke at once.

Erin: “It’s ridiculous that you all let him go through this shit by himself, and no one noticed anything. Way to be self-involved.”

Riley: “So what are the odds you’re going to cry in a corner like a little girl when she shows up?”

Shannon: “February totally counts.”

Sam, passing a bill to Riley: “I’ll take that bet.”

Erin: “Am I going to get to meet this chick?”

Nick: “If it doesn’t work out for you two, are you good with me asking her out?”

Lauren: “She should be here any time. I’m getting her drunk tonight and talking some sense into her skinny ass.”

Matt: “Like I told you on the roof, you gotta find time to work your shit out.”

Riley: “Would it be possible for me to watch from the closet? I’ll buy the booze. I’ll paint your toenails. Anything you want. Just let me watch. Maybe take a few pictures?”

Shannon: “Just ask yourself this: what would Ryan Gosling do?”

Matt: “You are one pervy son of a bitch, RISD.”

Nick: “That’s it. We’re having a stag party tonight.”

Riley: “The Gosling would build her a fuckin’ house.”

Shannon: “Build her a fuckin’ house!”

Sam: “Bro, the only stag party we’re having is with actual deer. Our boy’s lost his taste for fresh tits and ass since getting engaged. And now this guy’s licking his pussy-whipped wounds, too. Shambles.”

Matt: “Dude, he doesn’t have time to build a house right now. But,” he pointed at me, “I’m betting she doesn’t want something new.”

Erin: “Still rocking the slimy player thing, Sammy?”

Riley: “Yeah, but if I know anything about Princess Jasmine and Optimus, PJ’s buildin’ the better house.”

Sam: “I prefer slippery.”

Shannon: “We’ll do anything we can to help, Patrick. But if you ruin this wedding, I’ll tear your balls off and feed them to you.”

Nick: “Whoa. This escalated quickly. I’m really impressed by the full impact of the Walsh squad. Also, a little scared of y’all.”

Erin: “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

I already knew they weren’t.

ANDY

F
un fact: eleven-thirty
on a Friday night was the best time to hit I-93 South and avoid holiday weekend traffic. My drive to the Cape was smooth sailing, and entirely motivated by a desire to avoid Patrick.

The Chatham Bars Inn on the far curve of Cape Cod was my kind of place—straight out of the 1910s, and recently updated with the best modern features while preserving the architectural integrity of the original structure.

On a better day, I would have photographed every nook, archway, and detail of the entire inn, but I was busy cleaving my brain into two separate and wholly unequal parts—the one focused on self-preservation and moving on from Patrick, and the one desperately in love with him.

It was always about Patrick. He was my ignition switch. I loved him years ago when I thumbed through the architecture school’s grad student publications, and his thesis taught me how to cherish and honor the past, all while making it more efficient, more sustainable. Then, he was Patrick the craftsman and Patrick the visionary, and without knowing it, he fostered my architectural spirit.

Working with Patrick changed my life. He changed everything but I didn’t let other people plan my future. I was hurt, and haunted by the reality that he kept something enormous from me for so long. He shook every belief I had, and I honestly wondered whether I wanted to build anymore.

Or maybe I was too busy being wounded to realize I couldn’t even enjoy Bikram yoga or goat’s milk cheese these days, let alone feel passionate about sustainably preserved architecture.

I hoped my late arrival would free me from all Walsh interactions, but Shannon and Lauren were leaning against the front desk when I entered.

“Shan, chill.” Lauren beckoned me closer, and wrapped her arm around my waist while I checked in. “I have a wedding planner, and we’re paying her a fortune to take care of all of these things. If there’s something we’ve missed, life will have to go on.”

“I just want you to have an incredible day,” Shannon said. “I’m annoyed about the gift baskets, and want to have a few words with the manager.”

“I’m not annoyed. This is a party. That’s all. Gift baskets are not required, are they, Curly Sue?” I shrugged and glanced between them. I didn’t want to think about weddings—getting me here was a big enough challenge. “Go talk to Will. He was really excited to meet you.”

Shannon glanced toward the bar area. “He’s at the bar, and Wes is the one talking to my sister?” Lauren murmured in agreement. “Homeboy seems a lot more interested in kicking Matt’s ass than talking to me.”

“And if that happens, my day will be far less incredible,” Lauren said. “Use some of that legendary Shannon Walsh charm, and keep him away from my Matthew.”

Armed with a renewed sense of purpose, Shannon moved toward the bar, and settled beside Lauren’s brother.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Lauren said. “What took you so long? This has been a wild night. I’ve been running all kinds of covert operations to keep these kiddos under control. I met Erin! Talk about a blood feud. She brought me a lava rock from Portugal, because it’s old and new, and I already love her. And I just heard about the tunnel at the house? How crazy is that?”

“It was crazy,” I murmured. “I’m sorry I’m late. It’s been a hectic week, that’s all.”

“I know, honey. Let’s get a drink with the hooligans before we go upstairs.” She led the way to the patio bar, and I willed the sound of crashing waves and the scent of sea air to calm me down.

Sam, Riley, and Matt were clustered on one side, while Patrick stood behind them facing the ocean, his hands in the pockets of his navy shorts with his back to the group. What I wouldn’t give to wrap my arms around his waist, press my face against his back, and just drown in Patrick.

Matt and Sam were recounting a story at Riley’s expense, interrupting each other and dissolving into hysterical laughter while Riley looked as if he was trying to swallow a goldfish. On one of those better days, I would have thrown some gas on that fire and asked about aunts who slept with alligators, and black-eyed meatloaves, but those stories no longer existed in my realm.

Shannon and Will struggled to kick-start a conversation at the bar, and she launched into a detailed accounting of her plan to work her way through locally brewed IPAs this summer. Another redhead was on the opposite end of the patio with Wes, Lauren’s other brother, and neither noticed our arrival. They were too busy staring at the sand dunes and looking like they were being held hostage.

I ordered a Riesling—everyone needed a real housewife—and let Lauren introduce me to her brothers. I couldn’t fathom how curvy little Lauren was cut from the same genetic cloth as Wes and Will. They had Lauren’s golden blond hair, theirs cut in closely cropped styles. They were shorter than Patrick yet huge, and I doubted their broad shoulders fit through standard, code-specified interior doorways. They represented a whole new branch of the Tight T-Shirt Brigade.

“Hey, Will, this is my friend Andy. She works with Matt,” Lauren said, and patted her brother’s shoulder. It looked like bone-in ham. “Andy, this is my oldest brother, Will.”

“Will Halsted.” He offered his hand, and it swallowed mine whole. “You’re not part of them?” Will gestured at the array of Walshes scattered around the patio.

“No.” I wasn’t part of the inner circle anymore, and I’m not sure I ever was.

“Finally, an impartial witness. Sit down. I want the inside story.”

“Are we not having a conversation?” Shannon snapped.

“Apparently she didn’t take the hint. We’ll talk another time, Andy,” Will promised with an exaggerated eye roll, and he motioned to Shannon. “I don’t spend nearly enough time listening to harpies. By all means, continue.”

Lauren clutched my elbow and darted away from the bar as Shannon gasped.

Wes and Erin smiled politely at each other without speaking, and both looked relieved when we approached. “Wes, Erin, this is Andy. She’s one of my very best friends, and an architect at the firm with Matt. Andy, this is my brother Wes, and Matt’s sister Erin.”

I gazed at Erin, taking in red hair and emerald eyes against alabaster skin, and I couldn’t believe her resemblance to Shannon and her mother. “Hi,” I managed, and fumbled to shake their hands.

For all of their similarities, Erin and Shannon were different in every way. Seeing Erin’s skinny jeans and
Moby Dick
book cover t-shirt, I immediately wanted to befriend her—was there anything better than a
Moby Dick
t-shirt on Cape Cod? Seriously, no one would wear that without expecting a few ironic chuckles. I wanted to talk to the girl equipped with that kind of wit.

Shannon, on the other hand, was flawlessly pulled together in khaki shorts, a white tank top, and a breezy sweater that exposed one shoulder. She looked like a page from the Nordstrom catalog. Shannon was starlet waves, Erin was choppy side-swept bangs and shoulder-length layers. Shannon was smartly accessorized and Tory Burch espadrilles, Erin was a tiny, diamond nose ring winking in the darkness and simple leather flip-flops. In spite of it all, there was no mistaking them as sisters, and their resemblance to their mother was jarring.

Following a quick round of goodbyes and a steamy moment between Matt and Lauren—outside the attentive eyes of Will and Wes—we settled on the bed in my room with an exclusive bottle of tequila, a bowl of lime wedges, and two shot glasses. It was a recipe for mayhem if I ever saw one.

“To your last night as a single lady,” I toasted, and we knocked the liquid back.

Tequila: my Mexican medicine man.

Or my chupacabra, depending on whether I survived the night.

“To your obnoxiously skinny waist,” Lauren said as she poured another round.

“And your indecently perfect double D-cups,” I added, and our glasses clinked.

Lauren lined up another round. “To barefoot beach weddings and no white dresses.” She laughed, and our palms slapped together in a high five.

“To growly, bitey boys who love us so much they turn into cavemen,” Lauren said.

I held my drink high but my chin fell to my chest. It all hit me at once, and the dam broke.

Lauren plucked the glass from my fingers, and her arms wrapped around my shoulders in a fierce hug while tears streamed down my face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re marrying his brother! You’re Team Patrick by default. And it’s over. So over. Nothing to tell.”

“There are no teams, Andy. It’s not over. It seems awful right now, but you’ll get through. You know that, right?” I shrugged miserably and she handed me some tissues. “You will. I need you. Who’s going to help me when the next girl infiltrates these boys? It’s a matter of time until Sam or Nick, or—mother of pearls—Riley finds himself with the girl who’s going to change everything for him. The way you changed Patrick.” She squeezed my knee. “I need you to help me talk them through it and get them to the other side when it all goes to hell because it always does. And I need you to help me rein in Shannon when she needs it. You picked out my wedding dress, Andy, and you’re drinking with me the night before my wedding. You’re my family now, and I’m not letting you get away. I’ll mediate couples’ counseling before I let you cross state lines.”

I sniffled and glanced in her direction. I wasn’t used to having someone fight this hard for me, and I didn’t know how to respond. I blew my nose loudly. “I hated you that day I met you at the farmers’ market. I thought you were engaged to Patrick, and I hated you because I was already a little in love with him.”

“Then don’t let him go.” She wiped the tears from my cheeks and handed me a glass. “Tequila,” Lauren laughed. “Forget your problems, forget your man…hell, forget your name!”

*