In the Unlikely Event

“You’re going to screw your brother-in-law.” Summer crosses her arms in my periphery. “Let that sink for a second, Lewdy McGrosson. Still wanna go?”

“I’m not going to screw anyone there. Well, maybe Callum.” Definitely Callum. And unquestionably extra-loud. “Mal’s happily married and made that very clear. Here’s another thing he made clear: he hates my guts.”

“There’s a fine line between hate and love, and you two are about to dry-hump on top of it before rolling over to the love side and shitting all over your partners. Mark my words.” Summer shakes her finger in my face, collapsing next to me on the couch.

“What does Callum say about all this, anyway?”

Summer was #TeamCallum before I even agreed to go on a date with him—something about him being wholesome, with a well-paying job, and sane. I decide to omit the snow falling on us the minute Mal came out to the balcony. She would laugh at me.

“He’s great with it, actually.” I perk up.

Well, kind of. His exact words were, “Look at it as a last hurrah. You’ll be needing to make some tough decisions about working at a bar and running around with your camera all day. This could be a great time to clear your head and think about our future together.”

“Is he?”

I swear, she eyes me like I’m a cat about to hiccup a feather.

“England is a short flight away, and he’ll be visiting his family for Christmas and the new year. He’s excited. Besides, two months is nothing.”

“Two months is one month and twenty-nine days more than you had last time with Mal, and if I recall correctly, you promised to drop your boyfriend, panties, and hypothetical family to be with him at any point.”

“If I recall correctly…” I finish my glass of wine and slam it on the coffee table. “I was also eighteen, grieving, and believed in orgasms just a little less than I believed in the Tooth Fairy. I grew up.”

Summer throws me a skeptical glance.

“Look, I want the promotion,” I say, trying another tactic. “Things are going really well. This project could open so many doors for me. Callum is skeptical about my career, and this could prove to him that I make my own money. I need you to support this.”

She takes a deep breath, narrowing her eyes. “Do you really want the promotion, or do you think you should want it?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Your happiness is the difference.”

“I want the promotion,” I snap.

“Don’t ruin it with Callum, Rory.”

“I won’t. If anything, I’ll probably have Callum over all the time to get rid of the weirdness. I want to see Kathleen again just a little less than I want to have dinner with Hitler, Stalin, and Vlad the Impaler.”

“Hey, don’t bunch Vlad in with those assholes. He was just misconstrued and loyal to his country.” Summer sniffs.

I bump her shoulder with mine. “Point is, I’m dreading every moment of being there. Nothing will happen between married Mal and me.”

“Call me every day.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“And whenever you want to pork him—remember he also screws your sister, and that’s just too Jerry Springer for me to ever be associated with you again.”

“I wouldn’t risk our friendship like that,” I agree.

“Letting him double-dip his wiener into the family sauce again is…gut-wrenching.”

“Thanks for the culinary analogy,” I mutter. “You really made your point now.”

Her eyes on me don’t waver. “Promise me, Rory.”

“Jeez, Louise. Promise.”

She watches me for a long beat, moving her jaw back and forth. On TV, Richard and Julia are wrapping it up. Something about how love conquers all, yada yada. I never much enjoyed Pretty Woman.

Then I remember my conversation with Mal all those years ago—about women having to drive men somewhere for it to be a classic romance flick. Julia Roberts did that. I bet Mal likes this movie.

Don’t think about Mal. Mal is a bastard.

Summer shoves the spoon into the ice cream and scoops out half the tub, waving it in my face. “Carb up, girl. If that’s not a good excuse, I don’t know what is.”

One week later

Rory

The cab driver deposits Callum and me in front of Mal’s cottage and U-turns away, leaving mud splashes in his wake.

It’s surreal to see the cottage again after eight years of fixating on what happened between its walls. It looks like the place has been neglected beyond belief. The exterior has turned from charmingly old to decayed ancient. The roof is tattered, falling apart, and the grass is still overgrown, with patches of mud everywhere. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a woman’s touch from Kathleen, the cardigan-loving, proper-talking demoness? Alas, the place looks like it needs a good scrub, a lawnmower, and a hug. At least from the outside.

“Bloody hell,” Callum mutters behind me.

We were supposed to go to England to see his family—the first time I would have met his parents—and instead, he decided to accompany me here for a day to help me settle. He’ll have to catch a flight tomorrow morning to England, and I’m already dreading his departure.