Victoria looked down at her square. She looked up at Ava. "11," she said. Aa's eyes went wide. Then she grabbed Victoria's arm with both hands and shook it.
"You won. Pick the chocolate one. Pick the chocolate. You pick it. " Victoria said. "You're the one who wanted it. " Ava hesitated for exactly one second because she was eight and the protocol of cakewalk prizes was apparently something she had opinions about.
Then she walked to the table with the focused purpose of someone completing a mission. Pointed at the chocolate buttercream cake and carried it back with both hands and a triumph that was fully proportional to the significance she'd assigned it. We won, she said. You won, Victoria said. Same thing Ava said.
And said it the way children say things that are actually just true. She looked over at Marcus. He was already looking at her. She held up the cake slightly. He shook his head slowly.
And it was the fondest kind of headshake. The one that means I should have expected this. And I'm glad they spent the next 2 hours moving through the festival. The way you move through a festival when you're with a child who has a plan and you're the adult who has decided your plan is her plan. They threw rings at bottles.
Victoria won nothing. Ava won a rubber duck. They ate popcorn that was exactly as overpriced as Marcus had promised. Victoria bought two cups of apple cider from a table run by what appeared to be the entire third grade and their parents. She handed one to Marcus when she found him near the gymnasium door.
He looked at the cup, looked at her. Thank you, he said. You brought me to a fall festival, she said. Cider seems like the minimum. He almost said something.
Then he looked out at the crowd at Ava who was now involved in a ring toss situation that was getting competitive. He said, "Instead, you look different today. " Different from what? Different from yesterday morning. He sipped the cider. Yesterday morning you looked like somebody who'd been wearing the same expression for about 10 years.
And today he didn't answer immediately. He watched Ava make a shot miss. Argue briefly with her own assessment of the miss and try again. Then he said, "Today you look like you're here. Three words.
Simple. " But they hit her in a place that was not simple at all. She looked out at the festival, at the people moving through it, families, couples, people she didn't know and who didn't know her. No one had approached her for anything. No one had handed her a business card. No one had said I heard about that last quarter or I wanted to pick your brain or my firm is looking for a strategic partner.
She was just a woman with a cup of cider standing next to a man she'd known for 24 hours. She thought, "I could get used to this. " And then she thought, "That's the most dangerous thing you've thought all weekend. " She took a sip of cider and said nothing. It was around 3:30 when the afternoon shifted. Ava had found her school friends and migrated into a cluster of third graders near the bounce house, and Marcus and Victoria had drifted to a bench near the edge of the parking lot where it was slightly quieter. They'd been talking for maybe 40 minutes about everything and nothing.
His grandmother's ratifications that had slowly become his own. A book he'd been reading about the history of American infrastructure that she'd expressed surprise at. And he'd said simply, "Cars are infrastructure. It's all connected. " when a woman approached. Late30s well put together the specific energy of someone who knew Marcus and had an opinion about him being on a bench with someone she didn't recognize.
Marcus, she said, her voice was warm on the surface and slightly pressurized underneath. The way water feels before it starts to boil. I didn't know you were bringing someone. Hey, Renee, Marcus said. Nothing in his voice indicated anything.
How's James? He's good. Her eyes moved to Victoria with the transparent pretense of a casual glance. I don't think we've met, Victoria said. Not Wells, not Hail, just Victoria, which felt in this moment.
More accurate than either. Renee Dawson. I've known Marcus since God since forever. You're not from Mil Haven, Atlanta, Victoria said. Visiting for the weekend?
Renee smiled. It was the smile of a woman processing information she'd requested, but didn't necessarily enjoy receiving. She looked back at Marcus. Ava looks like she's having a great time. She won a cake, Marcus said.
Of course, she did a beat. Then I'll let you two get back to it. Marcus, call me about the church potluck thing. We need to pin down who's bringing what. I'll call you, he said.
Renee walked away. Victoria watched her go. Old friend. She said she's been trying to set me up with her cousin for about 3 years. Marcus said, "Nice woman, very committed to the plan.
Are you opposed to the plan? " He looked at her sideways. "I'm not opposed to meeting people," he said. "I'm opposed to being managed into it. " She understood that more precisely than she would have liked. The festival began to thin out around 4. Parents gathering children, volunteers stacking folding tables, the ring toss shutting down mid-aru from a 9-year-old who wanted one more shot.
Ava reappeared at Marcus' elbow with her rubber duck and the cake held with the careful authority of someone who understood what they were carrying. "Can Victoria come for dinner again? " she said. Marcus looked at Victoria. Victoria looked at Ava. I don't want to impose twice, she said.
You're not imposing. Ava said with great certainty. I'm inviting you. That's different. Marcus said, "She's right.