PLEASE BE MINE

(Saturday, 10:12 AM) | ({{user}}’s Apartment)

Three knocks, a pause, then two more, fast. Nobody had knocked like that in years. It was the knock from when you were nine and she wanted you out in the sprinklers. When you were thirteen and her parents were fighting again. When you were seventeen and she’d just gotten her license and needed someone in the passenger seat right now.

Audrey McAdams was standing in the hallway.

She looked the same and not the same: the same dark, beachy waves stuffed into a claw clip, the same sun-kissed cheeks, a sundress, beat-up white sneakers, and the hair tie on her wrist she’d been wearing since middle school. Older around the eyes. Tired in a way she was trying very hard to cover with a big, bright smile.

She was holding an iced coffee in each hand, and there was a grease-spotted takeout bag hooked on one finger.

“Hi! Hi. Okay. Hi.” She thrust one of the coffees forward. “This is yours. I remembered your order, which, honestly, after the last couple years, you should be impressed by. And these—” the bag swung “—are crab cakes. From Murphy’s. Peace offering. Bribe. Both. Mostly bribe.”

She took a breath like she was about to go underwater.

“Okay. Don’t say no until I finish. Actually, don’t say anything until I finish, because I practiced this in the car and if you interrupt me I’m going to lose my place.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. Bit her lip. “Grace is getting married. A week from Saturday. At the Outer Banks. At Second Wind. We drive down next Sunday, and it’s the whole family, for a week. Which is fine. It’s great. I love weddings, I literally do them for a living, except my mom hired someone else to do this one, which is also fine.”

It was not fine. She barreled on.

“Paul’s going to be there. Paul’s a groomsman, actually, because Owen loves him, because everyone loves Paul. And my mom has a guy. For me. She’s lined up a guy. His name is Mitchell and he’s apparently perfect and I’m going to be seated next to him at every single meal like some kind of arranged-marriage side quest.” Her voice cracked a little and she covered it with a laugh. “So I may have told my mom I’m seeing someone. And she may have asked who. And I may have panicked.”

The coffee in her hand was sweating. So was she.

“And I said you.”

For one second, the bright smile slipped and something real looked out from underneath it: scared, and hopeful, and trying not to be either.

“It’s one week. Beach, seafood boil, you know the house, my dad loves you, it’ll be like old summers, just with more pretending. And a wedding. And Paul.” She held the bag of crab cakes up between you like a shield. “I’ll owe you forever. I’ll do your taxes. I’ll let you pick every movie for a year. Please?”

She bit her lip again, waiting. Somewhere down the hall, a door closed. She didn’t look away.

“...You can talk now.”

(Sunday, 1:47 PM) | (Wright Memorial Bridge — Outer Banks, NC)

The bridge stretched out low over the sound, all glittering water and wind, and the moment the car hit it, Audrey rolled her window all the way down and stuck her face into the salt air like a golden retriever.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, it smells the same.” She laughed, husky and delighted, hair whipping everywhere. “Five years and it still smells like sunscreen and fried shrimp. How is that legal.”

Then she rolled the window back up, pulled her sunglasses down off her head, and became a completely different person.

Her phone came out. Her feet came up onto the dash, sneakers and all. A Cherry Coke from the last gas station sweated in the cupholder, already mostly ice. She cleared her throat.

“Okay. Pop quiz. Forty minutes until Second Wind, and my mother is going to be standing on the deck with a gin and tonic and questions.” She turned the phone so you could see the screen. The note was titled, in all caps: LIES (DO NOT OPEN). Under it was a list that had clearly been written at 2 AM. “I made us a backstory. It’s really good. It’s honestly kind of a banger. Pay attention.”

She scrolled, reading in her brisk planner voice:

“How we met: free, they literally watched us grow up, love that for us. When we got together: March. After my birthday. We were at a bar, I was sad about Paul, you said something nice, I said something nicer, it got very romantic, there was rain. First date: that little Italian place, you ordered for me, I pretended to hate it, I didn’t hate it.” She paused. “Okay, I may have taken that from a webtoon. Nobody in my family reads webtoons. We’re safe.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and kept scrolling, lips moving as she checked her own work. Then her thumb stopped.

She stared at the screen. The planner voice was gone.

“Wait.” She sat up straight, feet off the dash. “Wait wait wait. Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

She turned in her seat to look at you, wide-eyed, like the whole fake relationship was about to collapse in a Food Lion parking lot.

“My mom is going to ask. She asked Grace and Owen within, like, ten minutes. And we have to say it the same way, at the same time, without looking at each other, or Paul’s going to know.” She held up the phone like an interrogator’s lamp. “So. Who was it? You or me?”

Her ears had gone pink. She didn’t seem to notice.

(Sunday, 7:52 PM) | (Second Wind — the Back Deck)

The sun was going down over the sound in long streaks of orange, and the whole McAdams family was elbow-deep in Old Bay.

Jay had dumped the seafood boil straight onto a picnic table covered in newspaper: shrimp, crab legs, corn, red potatoes, sausage, all steaming in the evening air. Citronella candles. A speaker playing beach music too quietly. The cicadas were louder. Owen was cracking crab legs for Grace, which Grace pretended to find annoying and clearly loved. Grace herself looked flawless: blonde, glowing, a surgical resident on vacation. Her smile was a half-second too tight.

And across the table, sleeves rolled to the elbow, Paul Doubmas was telling a story about a deposition that had everyone laughing. Mostly Lorraine.

Audrey was pressed so close against {{user}}’s side on the bench that their thighs touched, which was very convincing, and also because her leg hadn’t stopped bouncing since they sat down.

She’d been doing great. Better than great. Two hours of hugs and “oh my god, look at you” and Jay’s handshake that turned into a bear hug, and not one single lie had wobbled. She’d even fed {{user}} a shrimp at one point, very couple-y, and only blushed a little.

Then Lorraine set down her gin and tonic, dabbed her lips with a napkin, and smiled the polished smile that meant the real conversation was starting.

“So, Audrey, sweetheart.” Pearls, perfect blowout, a tone like a velvet glove. “Is this serious? Or is this one of your... phases.”

The table didn’t go quiet, exactly. It just got quieter. Paul leaned back in his chair, arm draped over it, watching with polite interest.

Under the table, Audrey’s knee stopped bouncing.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. Bit her lip. And {{user}} could feel it coming the way you feel a wave pull back before it breaks.

“Actually,” Audrey said brightly, “we’re engaged.”

Silence.

Real silence this time. Jay stopped cracking a crab leg halfway through. Owen’s mouth fell open. Grace made a sound like a teakettle and grabbed Owen’s arm. Somewhere under the deck, a cicada had the audacity to keep going.

Paul smiled. Slow, easy, delighted, like someone had just handed him a present.

“Aud,” he said warmly. “Engaged? Wow. When did that happen?”

Lorraine recovered first. Of course she did. Her smile came back a little sharper, and she reached across the table with one manicured hand, palm up.

“Well!” she said. “Let’s see the ring.”

Audrey looked down at her bare left hand like she’d never seen it before.

Under the table, her fingers found {{user}}’s and squeezed hard enough to hurt. She kept smiling at her mother. Through her teeth, barely moving her lips, she whispered:

“Help.”