Paige
My midnight blue one-shoulder dress skims a few inches above my knees, and thanks to my four-inch heels, I won’t feel miniature next to the rest of my family, especially because my mom and Sophie will be in flats. I took extra care with my hair and makeup tonight— and I filmed my routine, of course. I’m wearing my hair (with extensions, obvs) in a deliberately messy updo and these curls took time.
But, I feel pretty. And it’s no surprise that pretty is my armor. And that protective shield is necessary tonight. Everyone in this room—my family, my sister’s soon-to-be in-laws, and her friends—have direction. They have a purpose. They know what they want to do and they’re good at doing it.
Like my mom said earlier, all I’m good at doing is painting my face. Ok, that’s not exactly what she said, but it’s close enough.
And I can’t make a career out of that. I mean, people do, but my parents would kill me. And I love vlogging, but I want to do more with it.
I just don’t have any clue what “more” means. And that is my problem. Spencer mentioned marketing a while back, and that does sound like something I’d enjoy, but it’s way too late to change my major. I’m already a junior. And I’m pretty sure my parents would freak out.
I hear a wolf whistle as I exit my room, and I know it’s Trevor and my brother before I even turn in their direction.
“Yessss,” Trevor nods as I walk toward them. “You’re killing it, as always, Princess P. Hate to break it to you, Jake, but your sister is a stunner.”
“I’m aware.” He smiles wryly. “You do look beautiful, Paige.”
“Thanks. And you guys look handsome,” I say, taking in their evening attire. Trevor is wearing the hell out of a bow-tie and my brother looks cover-ready with no tie, a jacket, and his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Jake wears I-don’t-give-a-fuck like a second skin. “When did you get all dressed up? I didn’t even hear you come in to change,” I say.
Jake’s face blanches for a second until Trevor says, “I grabbed his stuff while you were in the shower. He changed in my room, for times’ sake. Not for nothin, pretty girl, but you are a bathroom hog.”
“This is accurate.” I laugh as we head toward the elevator.
“So, are we taking bets on how long it’ll take Dr. Dickhead to hit on the waitstaff?” Jake asks, and Trevor elbows him.
“Jesus, Underwood. Show some class. Bets should be placed before we enter the event venue. And also, ten bucks on the first ten minutes.” He presses the button for the main lobby. The party is being held in the ballroom and the terrace, and as we exit the elevator, I see that the staid decor has been transformed. Warm, soft lights add a gentle glow to the space and the linens are an array of warm, neutral tones. Sophie does have incredible taste.
After greeting everyone, the guys and I head for the bar and it hits me how much I’ve missed them. It kind of stinks that Trevor’s in North Carolina right now, but it’s good to be with them. Hopefully that, and a few vodka tonics, will make the night considerably less awkward than I anticipate.
Turns out, I’m wrong.
Either my dad didn’t get the memo that my mom already talked to me about my LSATs and my grades, or he figures it bears repeating. Apparently, Underwoods don’t get B’s, even though I’ve been happy with them for years. Delighted, even.
Nothing has changed since I talked to my mom, so my response is the same. “Dad, I’m doing my best, and—”
“Sweetie, I’m afraid your best just isn’t good enough, at this point,” my dad says, and it’s a good thing I went with fake lashes instead of mascara, because I’m about two seconds away from tearing up. I mean, I know I never live up to their expectations, and I joke about being the one who doesn’t belong, but to hear it spoken in so many words? Ouch.
Dinner hasn't been served yet, so we’re all milling about the dining area and the balconies that overlook the gardens, as we enjoy hors d'oeuvres and drinks.
“Phil, now’s not the time,” my mom interrupts. “Paige, your dad and I want to have brunch with you before we head home tomorrow. We can talk about your future then, okay?”
“Sure.” I nod, taking a sip of wine to stop my lips from trembling. What the hell? I don’t tremble. I am brave and fearless and…
“Are you giving Paige the bad news?” my sister asks as she takes a seat at our table, and it’s clear she’s been helping herself to the champagne. As the bride-to-be, she’s been making the rounds, but lucky us, we’re her next stop. “You better hope those makeup videos bring in the money, baby sister, because you’re officially being cut off.” Sophie punctuates this news by pretending to slice her finger across her throat.
My first thought is, who is letting her drink this much at her engagement party? My second thought is, if I were engaged to Dr. Dickhead, I’d be hitting the sauce, too. And my third thought is, what the hell?
And I’m pretty sure I say that last part out loud because my mother sighs and my father reaches for his whiskey glass, only to find it empty.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow, dear,” my mother tries to placate me.
“I think I want to talk now,” I say.
“Well, that’s not an option, Paige,” my dad says, truly losing his cool. “You can’t always get what you want. You’ve been living life as you please for years and I’m sorry, but time’s up. Sophie’s right. If you don’t buckle down and earn a minimum of 160 on that test, we’re no longer paying for your education. We’re not throwing money at a university degree just so you can make videos teaching people how to put on lipstick.”
The petulant part of me wants to point out that we actually are talking now, even though he said that wouldn’t be an option, but I’m not sure that would be a helpful statement at this point. I’m also not sure I could make any comments without bursting into tears, so I just nod.
“We’ll talk more at brunch, honey,” my mother says, as though that’s a comforting thought. “Come with me, Philip,” she says to my dad. “I see the Burtons and I know you wanted to ask Dave about that Alaskan cruise they took.”
And off they go. They pretty much just shattered my life plan, such as it was, and now they’re off to talk with Dave Burton about Alaskan cruises.
What the actual fuck?
I don’t even think; I just go in search of Jake and Trevor. They’ll help me make sense of all this, make a plan of some kind. A quick scan of heads tells me they’re not in the dining room, so I head out to the largest balcony.
They’re not there, either. I search for a few more minutes, and I’m about to give up when I spot an alcove off to the side. I peer around the corner, only to see Dr. Dickhead and a woman whose name and face I don’t know. And they are not just having a chitchat. Unless that’s a thing people do topless now.
Jesus. I mean, Jake and Trevor and I joke about what an ass he is, but everyone else thinks he's perfect. The scene in front of me clearly says otherwise. And I can not let this go. Sophie and I may not be super close, but no way am I letting Dr. Dickhead get away with this.
Luckily, my wine glass is still in my hand, and half-full. It’s a waste of good wine, but it needs to be done. “You’re an asshole, Dr. Dickhead,” I say as I toss my drink in his face. He sputters and coughs as the wine hits him, but I don’t stick around for any of the aftermath.
I take another quick look for Trev and Jake, but they’re gone. I’d guess they’re in the bar. I don’t have time to find out. I need to get out of here. Between my parents’ ultimatum and my run-in with Dr. Dickhead, I am emotionally spent and I can’t stay here a minute longer. I’ve got my clutch, which includes my phone and my credit card and the $40.00 cash I have to my name. I don’t have a wrap or a cardigan, but that just can’t be fixed.
Shoulders back, head held high, I walk out of the resort like I know what the fuck I’m doing.
Half an hour later, in the freezing rain, and nowhere near the bus station, I realize just how wrong I am.
Spencer
I’m restless and on edge, though I really shouldn’t be. It’s been a good day all around.
We won our second game of the season. Dinner was great. Mom and Ted are getting a dog. Well, two. They showed me pictures of two tiny golden retrievers and I’d never tell Westley this, but those two puppies are the cutest pets ever.
And, predictably, my dad texted me a veritable outline of the why and how all my saves were lucky. They got one goal on me, and he dissected that in a series of text bubbles.
But, I stopped every other shot, and my boys put the biscuit in their basket three times, so we took the win.
My night was totally normal, but something still feels off. I texted with Paige after the game, and sent her a pic of my sweaty self. She texted back the heart-eyes emoji, but that was it until an hour later when I got a shot of her in a fitted dress, one shoulder bare, with her hair all piled up. Uh, yeah. I blushed ten shades of red. So much so, that my mom wanted to know what had me all flustered. So, as awkward as it felt, I handed over my phone and said, “That’s my girlfriend. She’s at her sister’s engagement party tonight, so she sent me a pic.”
My mom was all aflutter with about a million questions, so I told them about Paige. Ted was fascinated by how popular tutorials are, and now I’m pretty sure I’ve created a monster. My mom texted and said he watched DIY tutorials all the way home and now he wants to make birdhouses. That Ted. What a card.
Of course, my mom can’t wait to meet her, so they made plans to come to another game so I can introduce them to Paige. And if my mom meets her, my dad will want to, as well, because he makes everything a competition. And the way my dad’s been lately? I don’t want him to meet Paige.
But, right now, none of that is even on my radar.
All that’s on my radar is Paige. I’m sitting in the living room with the guys, watching Cooper and Noah battle it out in a game of Call of Duty. We’re all shooting the shit and talking about the game, as well as the stats for Merrimack, our next opponent.
“You see their center, Briggsy? That guy’s on fucking fire.”
“Have I seen their center?” I scoff. “Like my dad hasn’t sent me thirty-two videos of this guy making impossible shots.”
“Ha! Papa Briggs. That guy should be on Dance Moms, but like, they’d call it Hockey Dads,” Meysy jokes.
“Paige said the exact same thing,” I tell him, and look down at my phone, frowning.
“What’s the matter, Briggerton? Is your girl not responding? Have you had to wait more than ten minutes for a text? Because that’s grounds for breaking up,” Chase says sarcastically.
I laugh, but it’s been a while. She texted that she was having fun with Jake, and that his best friend flew up for the occasion. And she sent some screenshots of old, grainy hockey greats. Apparently, the resort bar is sports-themed and she thought of me. But after that, not much. Just a heart or a thumbs-up to my texts. And that’s not like Paige. She’s a talker, even in text.
I’m about to fire off an “Are you there?” meme, but my phone rings. I don’t even look at the number, I just swipe.
“Spence?” Her voice sounds small and unsure, and it hits me right in the pit of my stomach.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” She answers in a flood of words, but they’re muffled and I think she’s crying, or we have a terrible connection, or both. I stand and then pace to the window, like I’ll maybe have better reception there? “Slow down, baby, I can’t understand you. “ As if they sense the tension on the other end, the guys go quiet, even Meysy, which is saying something.
“...the train station...and my walking directions, but ...not fucking there. And it’s so cold...not supposed to rain. And they cut me off and Dr. Dickhead...in his face. Emma would be so proud of me.”
“Wait, rain? It’s raining?” I can’t quite tell because the phone keeps cutting out and every other word is punctuated with a sob.
“Yes, and I’m in one of those little bus stop thingies. But the busses don’t run this late. And my phone was supposed to be giving...but I’ve been walking in a circ...hours. My feet are…”
“Ok, hang on. Is it well-lit? Do you feel safe? Ok, gimme the address. West Ave? Ok. Stay put for five minutes unless I call you back, ok?”
“Yeah, I feel so dumb. What the...find a...station.”
“Stop. This is not on you. Give me five and I’ll call you right back. Watch the latest Brett Marx video— this chick cuts all her dreadlocks off. It takes her three days to unknot all that hair. You’ll love it. And yes, I watched it without you, and no, I feel no shame.”
We hang up and I look at my teammates on the couches in front of me. “Who can get me Jake Underwood’s number?”
Vonne grabs his phone, taps out a text, and within minutes, I’m calling Paige’s brother.
“Jake? Look—”
“This isn’t Jake.”
“Fuck me. Is Jake Underwood there?” I’m pacing so hard I’m about to wear a damn hole in the carpet.
“He’s in the shower. Who’s this?”
“Spencer Briggs. I go to Moo U and I’m—”
“Spence? The guy who’s dating Princess P?”
“Paige, yeah. Paige is my girlfriend. Look—”
“I’m not technically her big brother, but let’s get a few things straight—”
“Sorry, no time for pseudo-big brother talks. Paige is stuck in the rain at the bus shelter on West Ave. I need you guys to pick her up, because I’m about three hours out.” I lift my hand in the air to catch the keys Coop lobs in my direction, and JD’s at the door with my coat.
“You need a co-pilot?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I shake my head.
All I hear on the other end before it disconnects is, “Put some fucking pants on, Jake. We need to go.”
I send a quick text to Paige, telling her the cavalry is on the way.
What she doesn’t know is that I’m the cavalry.