A Thin Line (5 page)

He smiles, almost laughing. "See, here's me being nice to you. Here's you treating me like shit. I'm just saying, Evangeline, you reap what you sow."

"You called me a feminist bitch last week. I don't think you're a nice person."

"I was emotional. You insulted my manhood. I can be nice."

"I beg to differ."

"You probably beg to do a lot of things."

"Not what you're thinking of. I've never had to beg for it. How about you, Reid?"

"You and I both know I've never had to beg." He stares at me and I stare at him and unlike a few nights ago, I refuse to look away. Preston finally breaks his gaze, laughing.

"Tell you what. Put this junk back and I'll take you to breakfast. You've got to eat better than this if you plan on being any competition in the courtroom."

"No thank you."

"Come on, what else you have to do? Go home and do more research? Bill more hours?"

"I am in the middle of a case right now. One I am going to win because I will be prepared. Unlike opposing counsel who's trolling the grocery store right now."

"I wouldn't worry about the case, really. No way are you going to win. So relax. Let's go eat."

He reaches into my basket and starts restocking my groceries-the chips and salsa are back on the shelf and I am staring, incredulously at him.

"I don't want to eat with you, Preston. And I'll thank you not to pass judgment on my snacks." I reach for the bag of chips but he grabs for my hand and doesn't let go. He gently begins to pull me down the aisle.

"I said-"

"I know what you said. Come on anyway. I'm hungry; you're clearly hungry. You were considering nacho cheese. Do you know how much sodium is in that stuff? It's not even cheese." He tilts his head in a nod toward the door. "We'll go to Grand Luxe. You love that place."

I feel shitty about it but I stop protesting. I do love Grand Luxe Café. Our families used to go there all the time, at least once a month. I would be the first person in the car if my dad mentioned it. Preston's mom, Corrine, loved that place as well so my mom would always call down the street to see if her best friend wanted to come along. And maybe bring Preston to keep Angie company?

Did I really want to put up with Preston just for chocolate chip pancakes?

Apparently so, because a half hour later, I am sitting on one side of a booth and he is on the other side, unwrapping a straw and dunking it into a glass of ice water, absentmindedly reviewing the menu.

"It's almost lunch time," he mumbles. "Maybe I'll get their new ranch chicken sandwich. What are you having?"

I don't even look at the menu. I can smell the pancakes a mile away. "My usual," I say, sipping the coffee that the waitress has set in front of me and I've doctored with cream and sugar.

"Chocolate chip pancakes?" He raises an eyebrow. "See, doesn't that sound better than chips and salsa?"

"Now, yes. At 3am, I am going to want chips and salsa."

"At 3am you should be thinking about anything but food."

"Try not to be a pig right now, okay?"

He shrugs, nonplussed. "Not a pig, just a guy. Anyway, I was going to call you. Did you look up the resort in St. Lucia?"

I nod. I had looked up the resort and called their coordinator several times. I hadn't even bothered to look at any other destinations. I was mesmerized by everything in the brochure, on the website, in the reviews on the
Tying the Knot's
Destination Wedding forum.

"And?"

"The only thing I'm worried about is the timing. October is too soon."

"You underestimate our friends and the bait of a free party. Nate's paying for everything at the resort, so they just have to get there. They’ll save a few hundred for a flight."

I hate it when he's right, but he's right. "Plus, they do a lot of arranging and planning. We just have to tell them what we want."

"Right. So, we're decided on a destination and a month?" Grudgingly, I nod. Preston pumps a fist in the air. "We've made our first decision without killing each other! Aren't you proud of us?"

"One down, like a thousand to go." I sip my coffee, feeling less celebratory.

"You're so droll, Evangeline. When did you get so anti-everything?"

"First of all, please stop calling me Evangeline. I am asking nicely and saying please-"

"You used to love for me to call you that," he says quietly, watching the ice in his glass bob around his straw.

After we broke up, the thing I missed the most was the way he said my name. Truthfully, every time he calls me Evangeline, it makes me miss when we were young and in love.

"I no longer love for you to call me that. Please stop. Secondly, I'm not anti-everything. I don't like you very much and I don't trust you."

Preston is quiet for a few seconds, then opens his mouth and I brace for something surly and hateful. He surprises me though by saying, "Fine. I'll work on calling you Angie. Forgive me if I slip."

I gulp, shocked at his acquiescence. He is full of unexpected twists and turns.

We chat a little more about the wedding, deciding to get on a conference call with the resort early the next week. First, we had to break the news to Nate and Morgan about when and where they were getting married, so they could have invitations printed and mailed.

"Have you thought about Nate's Bachelor party?"

"A little. You? About Morgan's?"

I shake my head. "Not even for a second. I mean, you know Morgan. She’s not the wild and crazy party type. I don't even know what to do for her. She'd be happy with a Bachelorette Tea."

"That sounds boring."

"I know."

"We could combine them. Like a co-ed party. We plan one party, we kill two birds."

I shake my head. "I know you and I know what kind of parties you throw." I recall a story I heard about Kent's Bachelor party involving a naked guy, a mechanical bull and a Taser. I shudder. "And I don't want to look at half naked women stripping for Nate."

"So we have some half naked men too. For the ladies."

I laugh. "Preston..."

"What? It's a good idea!"

"Maybe for our other friends," I say, still giggling. "I don't know about Nate and Morgan. Let's... let's keep thinking on it. We have some time."

"Fine," he says, picking up his sandwich and taking a giant bite. We had a joke in our house that Preston could eat a sandwich in three bites. Food disappears around him quickly.

I eat my pancakes, savoring every delicious bite. I don't even think there's syrup left on the plate when I push it away. "Thank you for breakfast," I say, when I've wiped crumbs from my mouth and finished my coffee. "I haven't been here in a while."

"Really?" He picks at crumbs of a sesame seed bun on his plate and pushes it away. "I come here all the time. Lots of memories in this place."

"Yeah." My conversation with Troy comes to mind and before I can stop myself I ask, "So...why didn't you ever move away? You could have gone anywhere. I would have left, if I were you."

"Would you?" I watch his Adam's apple bob as he reaches for his water and sucks down a mouthful. "I have everything I need right here," he finally says. "Friends, family, good job. No reason I should go somewhere where I have nothing because you hate me."

His expression morphs from playful and easy to dark and terse. He crumples his napkin and drops it onto his empty plate before grabbing the leather folder containing the check for our order. He leans to one side, opens his wallet, pulls out a platinum card and slides it into the pocket, dropping the folder on the edge of the table.

He stares out the window, not saying a word while he waits for the waitress to run his card and bring it back. When she does, he signs the receipt, slides the card back into his wallet and, for the first time in about five minutes, looks at me. "Ready to go?"

I nod, feeling... strange. Obviously, I hurt his feelings by asking why he'd never moved away. Why do I care about his feelings? Why does it matter to me that I've upset him?

We took his car to the restaurant, so we climb back into his shiny Mercedes coupe and head back to the grocery store. He pulls in next to my shabby little Corolla. I expect a jab or two at the old jalopy but he doesn't say a word.

I get out of his car and step to mine. I barely have my driver's side door open before he guns the engine and takes off, his tires squealing on the pavement. 

And there's the Asshole I know and hate.

After Preston pealed out of the parking lot, I went back to the store and got the snacks I intended to buy before I was derailed. As I pull into the parking deck attached to my apartment complex, I hear my phone chiming inside the pouch I'd tossed onto the passenger seat.

I grab the pouch, dig out my phone and frown at the caller ID display. Morgan calling me in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday is unusual. She's normally over at Universal, nitpicking some stage show. Summer is the busiest time of year for her department. Lots of tourists means multiple shows a day and the show she casts for seems to have constant turnover.

"Morgan? What's up?" I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, grab my bags and head upstairs to my apartment.

I hear a sniffle and I freeze. Morgan crying is almost the worst sound on the planet. It takes a lot to make her cry and I'm such a Mama Bear with her. I want to claw someone's eyes out the second I hear the tears in her voice.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? What's wrong?"

I unlock my door and dump the bags on the kitchen counter, head to the living room and drop to the couch.

Sniffle.
"My wedding. is going. to be
ruined
!"

"What? Who's going to ruin your wedding?"

"We asked you and Preston to do this one, simple thing–"

"I... well..." Confused, I sputter, trying to come up with a rebuttal. "Okay it's a little more than one simple thing–"

"And you can't even do that!"

"You're not making any sense, Morgan. What in hell are you talking about? Why are you crying?"

I hear the muffled sounds of her blowing her nose and then she comes back on the line. "Preston called Nate an hour ago to tell him that he didn't want to help plan the wedding and to let you help me make all the decisions like a normal engaged couple."

My shoulders sag. That asshole. "You're kidding. Is this a joke?"

"No! We saw him last night at Prime. He said he planned to call you today about some details. Today, he's out. What did you say to him?"

"Me? Why would you think I said something to him?"

"Because you two bicker like an old married couple."

"We do not. I didn't say anything to him. He followed me to the store and dragged me out to breakfast at Grand Luxe. We talked about the wedding and locations and dates. We had plans to get on a call this week to hammer out some more details and book it. We got along fine. I don't know what climbed up his ass all of a sudden..." 

Our conversation, the one where he ended up acting an ass and dumped me at the store comes to memory. "Shit."

"What? What shit? What?"

"I asked him…I asked why he never moved away. He could have gone anywhere... New York, LA, even Miami. He loves the women there."

Morgan laughs but it isn't a cheerful laugh. More of a
‘you motherfucker'
laugh. "You did not ask him that, Angie."

"What? Is that a no–no question all of a sudden?"

She groans. "Evangeline Nicole Campbell!"

I laugh at the use of my full name. I normally only hear that from my mother.  "What?"

"You already know why he's still here, and why he never left."

"I do?"

She heaves a frustrated breath. "Yes. You do." 

"Oh, Lord. When did you join the church of Troy Reid? He's been preaching that
Preston is in love with you
sermon for years."

"Nate and I founded that church. Preston has loved you since ya'll were in junior high."

"And then when we were in high school, we broke up. Took him all of a month to get over me and into some other girl. That was the end of the love part for me."

"Not for him, and you know it. I hate that you pretend to not see it."

I roll my eyes so hard, I swear I see yesterday. This is my life, an endless cycle of denial where Preston is concerned. "You guys can wish that to be true until the cows come home. Doesn't mean it is.  You don't see how he treats me? You don't hear the shit he says to me?"

"In response to how you treat him and the shit you say to him. If you were nicer to him–"

“But that’s it! I don't
want
to be nice to him. I have no reason to be nice to him. I don't like him. I don't trust him. And it's fine if he doesn't want to plan this wedding with me. You and I can do it, he's just getting in the way anyway."

Morgan is quiet on the other end of the line, so quiet I wonder if she's hung up on me. Then I hear a small sigh and she says, "I don't think that's going to work for us, Angie."

"What do you mean, not going to work for you?"

"Nate and I don't
need
a wedding. We'll go to the JoP and get it over with–"

"You can’t!” I screech. “Not after we've talked nonstop about your dream wedding and I joined a wedding planning forum and
I've had to spend time with Preston for
your
benefit. Fuck that. You can't just dump it."

"Uhm, watch me. And if I do end up having a wedding, I don't want to deal with this Angie–Preston bullshit. I'm tired of it; it's too much stress, after all this time, being in between you two.  You can't even do this one thing together and I.... I don't think I even want you involved in the wedding at all. I'll pick a new Maid of Honor; Nate will probably have one of his brothers be a Best Man since Preston is out now.”

I almost drop the phone at this sudden declaration. I'm so shocked I stand up. "Excuse me, what? If we don't plan this wedding, we can't be involved at all?"

"I don't want you cutting eyes at Preston in my wedding photos and I don't want bitching at my rehearsal dinner and I don't want to have to explain to people that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor have been in a stupid eighteen year fight and that's why they can't sit next to each other at the reception."

I am speechless. Frustrated. Annoyed. I'm not the one that can't seem to control themselves in these situations.

"What do you want me to do, Morgan? I'm here. I'm planning. I'm not the one throwing a pissy fit."

"Fix it! I want you to fix it. Go to him and figure out what's up his ass and... I don't know, apologize or something."

"Apologize? For what? Pointing out that he's stuck around here like a loyal puppy dog? What am I supposed to say to him?"

"
Something
.  I don't care what you say; just say something to fix it."

***

I brace myself as I drive past the sign for Lake Conway Estates, a community of townhomes. Every home backs up to a small beach and the calm waters of Lake Conway, a place that holds some bittersweet memories for me. 

Preston rents a two bedroom, two and a half bath place from his uncle, who lives in New York. He wouldn't be able to afford it otherwise, but he likes to wow the easily impressionable, especially young ladies, with his finely appointed home full of high end finishes, fixtures and furniture.

I pull into the driveway and park next to a red CRV. I head to the front door and press the button for the doorbell. I hear the chimes, but don't hear footsteps shuffling down the tile in the front hall. I try to spy through the peephole and the windows on either side of the door but the house is shut up tight, blinds drawn to keep out the sun.

"Back here!"

I walk to the edge of the porch and poke my head around the corner. Preston is standing at the rear gate, his hand on the lock. His face registers surprise to see me, but it is quickly replaced by nonchalance.  "Come join the party," he says, flipping the latch and swinging the door open.

I'm not in the mood for a party or for Preston's guest, but I need to talk to him so I hop down from the porch and stomp through the ankle high brush along the side of the house.

The back patio is huge, leading to a view of the lake and the forest on the other side. One corner of the patio is reserved for the fire pit and comfortable seating around it.  A stainless steel gas barbeque grill occupies another corner. Lounge chairs and a few glass topped tables with brightly colored sun blocking umbrellas are lined up and ready for a relaxing day at the lake. Inside a cabinet, a modest stereo system pipes music to in-ground speakers placed strategically around the patio. Large tropical potted plants add an island feel to an already beautiful space.   

A door slides open; I turn to see the perky, chesty waitress from
Prime
. She steps out of the house dressed in a bikini top and very tight, very short jean cutoffs. Her long weave has been replaced by shoulder length two strand twists that look much better on her.

"Oh. Hey." She says, with a smile that is not warm. "You're Preston's… friend… from the bar. Nice to see you again."

I am still dressed in a tank top and loose, shapeless yoga pants. I didn't care what I was wearing when I was at lunch with Preston, or when I showed up and thought he was alone, but suddenly I feel frumpy. And that pisses me off.

"Oh, Evangeline is an old friend," Preston says, waving me further onto the patio. "I'm supposed to call her Angie, but Evangeline rolls off the tongue. This is uh..."  His brow furrows for a second, while he tries to remember his guest's name.

"I need to talk to you,” I tell him. “It won't take long."

Preston takes a seat at one of the patio tables. The girl sits next to him and crosses her legs but angles herself toward him. I recognize this nonverbal cue. It's possessive. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Alone," I add, and head toward the sliding glass door that leads into the house.

I hear a sigh and, "I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."

I haven't been to Preston's house in a while, but it always looks the same. He finds one thing that works for him and holds on to it.  The house looks identical to the last time I was there– a formal living room with cream colored microfiber couch and chairs, mahogany end tables and China cabinet; a den with brown leather couches and La Z Boy chairs, a 60 inch flat screen TV mounted above a glass stereo cabinet that holds all manner of electronics as well as a number of game consoles; and the kitchen, which is spotless except for a blender, a bottle of tequila and drink mix sitting out on the slate grey marble counter. 

I stop in the kitchen and turn to Preston.  He leans over the counter, taking a swallow of the bottle he has brought with him from the patio.

"What's up? I'm busy, obviously."

I chuckle, leaning a hip against the opposite counter. "You don't even know her name."

He thinks for a moment, then perks up. "Jade. Her name is Jade."

I smile. "Of course it is. She looks like a stripper. Pardon... exotic dancer."

"She's a grad student. And a damn good waitress. Not that it's any of your business."

"It sure isn't, thank God. She looks awfully young."

Preston snickers. "Jealous?"

"More like disgusted. She looks like she sees your fancy clothes and fancy house and wants some of your fancy money."

"Again, I ask... jealous?"

"Just watch yourself, alright? You run through women like underwear. You're not very discriminating."

"Obviously," he throws back. And I deserve that, walked right into it. "And you wouldn't know anything about how much I date if you weren't watching me so closely."

He swigs another swallow of beer and rambles on.  "Listen, I'm a young, virile, attractive adult male. I don't ever have to be alone if I don't want to be. The money's an extra benefit. Besides, I didn't take a vow of celibacy, like some people I know."

"Not that it's any of your business."

"It's not, thank God. But Troy says you work day and night. When's the last time you went on a date?"

"What? Troy doesn't know–I date, okay? Maybe I don't tell your brother everything that goes on in my life."

"Uh huh," he says, nodding but chuckling. "Chips and salsa and a session with your battery operated friend isn't a date."

My eyes roll without my permission. I'm fine with it. "Shut the fuck up, Preston."

"Truth hurts, does it?  I hit a nerve?"

"I date, okay?"

I did.
Sometimes.
Not lately, but I wasn't
not
dating. I didn't have time, what with trying to do my job and volunteering at law related organizations and helping my mom with my dad and planning this wedding. Speaking of the wedding…

"I didn't come here to talk about my sex life–"

"Or lack thereof."

"You called Nate to tell him that you don't want to plan the wedding with me."

He nods. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I don’t."

"I thought we agreed that we would do this, Preston. We had a good conversation today and we already decided where and when. And then you just drop out? What the fuck?"

"What difference does it make if I help or not? Why can't you and Morgan do this together? What makes them think I give a shit about their wedding?"