“You remember this? You bought it when you went to Silver Dollar City,” Melanie said.
Tennyson pulled her own locket out and held it up.
She could tell Melanie was surprised she had hers. Melanie’s mouth curved into a smile as she took the jagged half heart between her thumb and finger and offered it to Tennyson. Tennyson did the same, fitting her piece into Melanie’s. They held them connected for several seconds, both of them with tears sliding down their faces.
Tennyson finally pulled hers away and swiped at her face. “You used to say magical things happened when we put our hearts together.”
Melanie smiled. “Because it’s true.”
Tennyson laughed. “Well, our children are getting married tomorrow. That’s pretty magical. And we’re sitting here together. Again.”
Melanie nodded. “I can do you one better—Emma’s pregnant.”
Tennyson blinked. “Wait, what? Pregnant?”
“Yeah, we’re going to be grandmothers. How’s that for magic?” Melanie laughed, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her face.
Tennyson wasn’t sure if it was the heat or Melanie’s words, but suddenly she felt faint. She couldn’t be a grandmother. Grandmothers were old. Joseph would dump her. No man his age slept with a grandmother. Oh God.
Melanie took the necklace and dropped it over her head. It fell onto her T-shirt, a high school homecoming shirt for a reunion Tennyson hadn’t attended. “Emma said something to me this morning that was profound. I mean, the baby thing was a shock, no doubt, but it was something about me and you.”
Tennyson waited a few moments, still grappling with the thought of Emma and Andrew being parents. They weren’t old enough to get married, much less have a baby. It was all too much. “What did she say?”
“She said that when we are together, she can see how we once were better versions of ourselves. She said that I gave you a place to land and you gave me wings.” Melanie paused and swallowed, the tears welling in her eyes again. “I felt that, you know. There were times over the month that I forgot I was supposed to hate you. There were times I felt like you needed me, and I needed you. Like there was this hole just waiting and yearning to be filled.”
“You missed me.” Tennyson looked down at her own necklace still in her hand.
“Yeah. I think I’m better when you’re around. I feel like I’m more who I’m supposed to be, Teeny. You do that to me.”
Those words were like pouring a ribbon of caramel, pooling and then filling that empty place with the sweetest emotion known to man. “That sounds crazy, you know. I mean, with everything between us.”
Melanie issued a laugh. “Weird, huh? But I started to realize what you do for me. You make me bold. You make me expect more from my life. You push me—quite aggravatingly, I might add—to break out of my comfort zone. You don’t let rules dictate your actions. You karate kick the rules, Tennyson. I didn’t realize it, but I need you to remind me that my life is . . . well, a bit too vanilla.”
“I’ve never been a fan of vanilla,” Tennyson said, the necklace still wrapped in her hand.
Melanie laughed again. “I know you aren’t. Everyone knows you aren’t.”
“So, um, I will admit that I need someone to kick my ass every now and then. Not literally. I don’t like messing this up,” Tennyson said, waving her hands down her body. “But I’m ridiculous, self-centered, overconfident, annoying, and often miss what is truly important in life because I worry too much about the stupid things. You don’t do that. You hold me accountable, and you know the real me. Maybe you do give me a place to rest. Maybe that’s what I’ve needed all along. ’Cause I’m tired of being . . . who I was.”
This time, Tennyson reached over and took Melanie’s hand. “I missed you, too, Melanie. There were so many times I needed your comfort, your faith in me, and your shoulder to cry on. I pretend a lot of shit, Mel. But you always gave me the real stuff, the stuff that really matters.”
Tennyson dropped Melanie’s hand, fell forward, and buried her face in her palms. Melanie’s arms came around her, and she turned and clutched this woman who she once had vowed to hate for all eternity, but just never really did. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Melly.”
“And I’m sorry I hurt you, Teeny,” Melanie said, patting and rubbing her back.
After several seconds of sweating and crying on each other, they pulled away, each snuffling and drying her eyes. Tennyson looked over at Melanie, whose red, swollen face likely reflected her own. “So can we start over?”
Melanie picked up her necklace, the tarnished be fri barely visible. “I think we should try.”
Tennyson slipped the necklace over her head, letting it fall on her sweaty chest. “Okay, then. We’re going to do better, not just because of Emma and Andrew. Or the baby. But because we deserve a second chance.”
“Yeah. I think that’s exactly what we deserve.” Melanie rose, tugging her shirt down. “Hey, don’t bring the dog tonight.”
“I’m not. Prada has a spa day planned at the doggy day care center. I felt guilty leaving her shut up all day,” Tennyson said, rising and falling in beside her friend.
Her friend.
Could they ever get back what they had once had? Probably not. They were two different people. Still, Emma had seen what they couldn’t—each needed the other in some way.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Melanie said, starting toward the bridge that traversed the culvert. “Oh, and I call dibs on my grandmother name.”
Tennyson rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”
The grass tickled her shins as she swished back toward her old neighborhood. Then she stopped and turned around. “Wait, can’t we just be Teeny and Melly?”
Melanie turned around and stood for a few seconds. Then she smiled. “That sounds . . . pretty perfect.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Melanie sat at the head table beside Kit, cutting through succulent chicken and drinking the Italian wine Tennyson had flown in for the reception. Years and years before, she and Kit had been the bride and groom, and now she wasn’t sure what they were. Parents of the bride. That was a safe moniker, one that had been used all day long.
“Mama of the bride, we need you here. Father of the bride, stand right here.” Marc Mallow had uttered those words so many times that he probably had them tattooed across his forehead.
Around them, family and friends laughed, danced, and drank signature cocktails. The rooftop was open with twinkling lights strung like tiny fireflies against the dark sky, and she had to admit that for a three-month planning period, the wedding and reception had been spectacularly done.
The actual wedding had been so beautiful, reverent, gorgeous . . . just all the words. She would forever remember the way Andrew had looked when he saw Emma coming down the aisle toward him. That face, which reminded her so much of Tennyson when she was happy, had looked utterly in love with her daughter. Emma had been calm, but tears had glistened in her blue eyes. Melanie was certain that there hadn’t been a dry eye in the church. Except maybe Marc’s. He just looked like a cat who’d lapped up all the cream. Very knowing, that man.