Page 69 of The Matchmaker Club
“Let me guess, the bigger one is Tuffy.”
I playfully narrowed my eyes at him. “Nope. The smaller one.”
He chuckled. “I can see that.” He picked up a translucent bright blue bottle off my desk and held it up to the light. “Message in a bottle? Is this one of Lainey’s art pieces?”
“My mother found that and how she came up with the Matchmaker Club idea.”
“Really? What happened?” He sat down on the edge of the bed beside me, his hands exploring the glass.
“My mother loved painting by the water, and some days she’d travel out to the oceanside. It’s about a two-hour drive, but she’d make a whole day of it. To get inspired she’d walk along the edge with the waves crashing against her feet… then one day that bottle washed up in front of her. She read the note and wanted so badly to reply. So, she came up with the idea of the Matchmaker where people could find a reply and glean some hope… or at least know that someone out there is listening and cares.”
“Can I read the message?”
“Of course. You are an honorary member, after all.”
He popped off the cork and shook out the rolled-up paper. I didn’t need to read along. There was only one line on it:Why is there love if all it does is break your heart?
Lucas stared down at it like he was reading an entire letter. He rolled the paper back up and slipped it into the bottle.
“Did you read your calling letter yet?”
He cleared his throat. “Not yet, but I will.”
I didn’t push him. If he wasn’t ready, then it wasn’t time yet.
Lucas looked down at the shoebox. “Are those the tapes your mother made you?”
“Yes.”
He reached towards them, then stopped. “May I?”
“Sure. Pick one out to play now.”
He went through all of them, scanning over the songs. I watched his expressions change as he read my mother’s little messages to me. Sometimes he smiled or chuckled, and there was even a moment when he seemed to get choked up.
Lucas picked out a tape and handed it to me. “This one. Side B.”
Mixtape #9: Healing From a Broken Heart.
Huh. Side B? That meant he was ready to move on.
We sat together on the floor and listened to a few songs without saying a word.
“Are you in the mood to cross off one of those items off your list?” I asked.
The corners of his mouth rose. “What did you have in mind?”
“We could work on your playlist.”
He looked down at the bottle still in his hands. “Or we could do something a little more daring.”
“Well, look at you, Mr. I-don’t-blow-bubbles-in-my-milk.”
“Funny.” He spun the bottle on the floor and laughed a bit to himself as if remembering something. “Remember playing this game?”
“Youplayed Spin the Bottle?”
“Kind of. It was my brother’s birthday party. The bottle never stopped my way, and I chickened out when it was my turn to spin.” He spun it again, and it pointed toward my mother’s old cassette player. “I bet you didn’t chicken out.”
