Paige Rewritten (16 page)

The irony is killing me.

“I don't have much to say, Luke. I need a shower and I'm planning on drinking about six more of these.” I point to my coffee mug. “I didn't plan very much else for the weekend, other than dinner tonight.” Assuming Tyler and I are still on for a double date with Layla and Peter.

Layla called me earlier in the week and asked if we could do the double date. “I need to talk wedding details!” she told me.

“Why do the guys need to be there?”

“Because,” she said, her voice hitting the
duh-
tone. “Peter is so covered in wedding details that he can barely see straight. He needs male company, Paige. Badly. The other day, he told me we should consider an eyelet lace for our end table. No man should ever use the word
eyelet
.”

I just laughed.

Luke is just looking at me, eyes intent, totally focused on me. When we were dating, one of my most favorite qualities about him was that he listened wholeheartedly to whoever he was talking to. When you spoke to Luke, you felt like you were the only person in the entire universe right then.

It's a little disconcerting now.

I eat three bites of my doughnut. Luke nods and then stares at the three pictures I have framed on the wall. One of my family when Preslee and I were little kids, one of Layla and me at her parents' anniversary party, and one of my parents and me at my college graduation.

“Paige,” he says slowly. “Can I ask a question?”

With that tone of voice, I'm fairly certain he's not about to ask me if I feel like boy bands might be making a comeback.

“What happened to us?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“I'm sorry?” I am incredulous. Surely he remembers this.

“I mean, I know things got weird when I got to college.”

I don't remember things getting weird then. We were all living in Austin. Luke went to UT and lived at home. In a lot of ways, we saw each other more after he graduated high school because he wasn't so busy with all the extracurricular stuff he had before, like football and track.

We started dating when I was sixteen. I was a sophomore; Luke was a senior. My parents had 812 rules for us about dating.
No being out past ten. No being anywhere by yourselves. No being in a car alone. No being in a house alone.

Mom and Dad liked to emphasize points they found to be important.

Honestly, if Luke hadn't been Layla's brother and they hadn't already known him so well, I really doubt if I would ever have been allowed to date him. But Luke was the perfect gentleman. He followed every single rule my parents had down to the punctuation. At first, anyway.

It was part of why I fell so hard for him, I think.

After he graduated and started going to UT, I got busier at school, but we still saw each other often. Some of the time, Layla was with us. A lot of the time, she wasn't. We did group things at the church, we ate out at restaurants, we hung out at my house with Preslee and Mom and Dad.

It wasn't until after I graduated high school and moved here that things started getting weird.

“And I know I got mixed up on my priorities,” Luke says now, raking a hand back through his dark hair.

Half of what happened to us was just long-distance problems. That's always what I've assumed, anyway. We were making new friends, going different places. I was getting super involved at church and hanging out all the time with Layla. And Luke was being courted by his current employer and being offered lots of money and a great position, and if he could graduate with honors, he could go work for them.

Suddenly, Luke never seemed to go to church anymore. When I asked why he didn't go one Sunday, he told me he had homework. Then he had a party the next week and slept in on Sunday. Then he had more homework. And papers to write and books to read and parties to recover from.

I finally stopped asking him if he saw my parents at church and if they mentioned anything about Preslee.

Then he stopped calling as much. Our nightly routine of calling each other became a three-times-a-week routine. Then a once-a-week thing. Text messages became less frequent and less meaningful.

Luke rubs his eyes. “And then that awful visit …” he mutters.

I was nineteen. I had just gone back to school after the worst Christmas break ever, because Preslee made it completely miserable. Luke called me that Friday and asked if he could come for the weekend. I was so excited. I'd barely seen him over the break.

When he got here, he walked in with a duffel bag and I just looked at him. “You know you can't stay here,” I said, shocked that he would even think he could.

He gave me a look that made me feel like the twelve-year-old dweeb I'd been when we first met. “So you're still a prude, huh? I figured college would have fixed that part of you real fast.”

I just stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

Luke looks at me now, pain filling his expression. “I am so sorry, Paige. I am so very sorry. I know that nothing I can say will ever fix what happened, but I can't tell you how many times I've had that whole conversation replay in my brain. The expression on your face tortured me.”

He left that very same night, less than an hour later, spouting something about how if God really existed and really cared about us, He wouldn't have forced us to have such ridiculous standards. “It's not biological,” he told me right before I closed the door on him. I opened it once, only to tell him to stop ringing my doorbell, get off my front porch, and take the promise ring he'd given me two years before with him.

The contrast to Tyler — who barely kisses my cheek — is startling.

I lean back in my kitchen chair, looking at Luke now. In appearance, he hasn't changed too much. Luke has always looked like he belonged in some kind of soap opera. I was always amazed he ever was attracted to me.

We never belonged together.

Lord. I know that now.

“Luke,” I say quietly.

He looks at me, eyes bleak.

I take a deep breath. “You're right. You can't change it.” Somehow, though, his apology soothes a wound that stretched deep in my heart. “But thank you for saying you're sorry.”

“I was an idiot.”

I shrug. “It wasn't meant to be.”

“Then.”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “It wasn't meant to be
then
,” he emphasizes.

I narrow my eyes at him, open my mouth to talk, and he slaps the table lightly with his hands and stands.

“All right. I'm going to head out. Keep the rest of the doughnuts. They reheat well. I'm glad I was finally able to apologize.”

“Luke.” I stand and follow him to the front door.

“Bye, Paige.” He leaves without giving me a chance to tell him that there doesn't need to be a
then
attached to the sentence as much as an
ever
.

I watch him walk down the stairs and out of sight and I go back inside, shut the door, and let out a big huff.

So much for my uncomplicated morning.

My phone rings at eleven right as I'm getting out of the shower. Lazy Saturday mornings like this were never a part of my week even six weeks ago. But I've gotten very attached to them since then.

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“So.”

I wait but Mom doesn't keep talking. “So what?” I ask, swiping at the wrinkles that are starting to form beside my eyes. I always hope that it's just extra makeup that somehow didn't get washed off in the shower that leaves me looking wrinkly, but it never is.

It's a sad day when I need wrinkle cream and acne solution at twenty-three.

“So. How do you think last weekend went?” I can tell by the excitement hiding in Mom's blasé tone that she's been waiting for me to call all week.

I haven't wanted to tell her that I wish Preslee would just move back to Ohio or Idaho or wherever she was living.

“Yeah, uh, it was fine,” I say, lying through my teeth. Some lies should be allowed, though. That's what I tell the Jiminy Cricket who is poking me in the heart, anyway. “How did
you
think it went?” This is a very smart question to ask because the focus will be off me and Mom can carry on the conversation by herself.

And it totally works.

I end up putting her on speakerphone and propping my phone on the bathroom counter so I can do my makeup while I'm listening to her talk.

She goes on and on while I try to decide whether the smoky eye-shadow look would be overkill for a double date at a steak house where people throw peanut shells on the floor.

My mother thinks that's the grossest thing in the world.

The lighting isn't fabulous at the steak house, though, so maybe I'll want the extra attention on my eyes. It will definitely be overkill for the six hours before the date, especially since I'm planning on spending a couple minutes of that at the grocery store. I'm not taking another shower before tonight, so I've got to do my makeup now.

“I just love, love,
love
Wes!” Mom gushes. “He is
just
the sweetest thing! He ended up driving back down for dinner on Wednesday night again, and he brought me this bouquet of daisies. Isn't that the sweetest thing?”

She doesn't wait for an answer.

“And Preslee, oh Preslee just
lights up
whenever he's around. It's like watching a strand of Christmas lights or something. It's just amazing.” Now Mom is getting teary. “I just never thought this day would happen for Preslee, Paige. I always knew that God had a plan for her life, but I always feared it was not the one we prayed for over her when she was little. And oh, I'm so happy God answered our prayers! My baby girl has finally come home!”

I think I'm going to go with the brown-toned smoky eye. Apparently it works nicely on people with brown eyes. I listen to Mom choke back sobs as I dab on the first layer of a metallic tan shadow.

Part of me feels bad that I don't feel overjoyed that my sister is home. The rest of me just wants to achieve the perfect smoky eye for my double date tonight.

“Aren't you just amazed at the goodness of God?” Mom asks me, voice full.

“Yeah, Mom,” I say when she actually waits for an answer this time.

“And that He provided a man like Wes for her! I am overwhelmed. We are having another family dinner, by the way. Tomorrow. In Waco.”

I gape at the phone on my bathroom counter. “Tomorrow?”

“I knew if I gave you enough notice, you'd come up with some reason why you couldn't go.” Apparently my amazement at God's goodness didn't come across very strongly. “Preslee wants to make amends, Paige. And it's only to Waco. They found a house they want to show us and then we're going out to eat.”

Waco is still almost two hours. I don't see why Preslee wants to show me this house anyway. I'm sure she mostly just wants Mom and Dad's approval. Now I'll have to go and pretend to be stoked about whatever beautiful house Preslee is about to buy and then go home to my old apartment.

I sigh at myself in the mirror.

“I heard that.”

“Fine,” I grumble.

“I'm glad you're so excited about it!” Mom says, all sarcastic and cheery. “We're going to meet at the house at two thirty. I'll text you directions. Have a lovely day, honey!”

She hangs up.

I bite my bottom lip and look at my one made-up eye and my one not. The difference is striking. Probably a sign I did the shadow correctly.

Another dinner with the glowing Preslee and the ever-popular Wes.

Hip hip hooray.

I finish my makeup, pull on jeans and a fitted white T-shirt and flip-flops. This is my typical weekend summer outfit. I used to be all into shorts back when I was in school, but that's mostly because I had more time to make sure I had a decent tan on my legs.

Those days ended the moment I graduated.

I drive to the grocery store, park, get a cart, and go straight for my normal haunt, aka the frozen section.

I have a very hard time cooking for just myself. Which typically means I survive on frozen pizza and bagged salads.

And cheese sticks.

Every so often, I go through a phase where I bake huge lasagnas, big pots of spaghetti and meatballs, and baked chicken with roasted potatoes. Then I'll portion it out, divide it into freezer containers, and eat those for a while.

Usually I do all that after watching the Food Network.

Those phases never last long.

Probably because I usually stick with HGTV.

I load my cart with two pizzas, three bagged salad mixes, and a few of those soups that are already in the microwavable bowl for lunch at work.

Then I buy a package of Oreos, just because I'm an adult now and I can.

The total is higher than I expect, which is always true at the grocery store, and I drive home to put the food away. I don't even bother putting the Oreos in the pantry.

I just leave them on the end table. They'll be gone in three days anyway.

I should really look into some of those workout DVDs.

Chapter

13

I
spend the rest of the afternoon doing stuff around the apartment. I straighten up and while I'm straightening, I find a book I haven't read in a couple of years and get distracted.

By the time I look up from the book, it's five o'clock and Tyler will be knocking on my door to pick me up for the double date in fifteen minutes. I gasp and run for the bedroom.

Layla always dresses up, so I have to look semipresentable. I've already decided on a cute deep-red sundress and flats and I'm going to bring a denim jacket with me in case it gets cold in the restaurant. Give me enough sweet tea and I'm immediately freezing.

Tyler knocks at 5:20. I got ready in record time so I could finish the chapter I was on.

“Sorry I'm late,” he says in his typical hello, looking nice in dark-rinsed jeans and a button-down blue-and-white pinstripe shirt over a white undershirt and boots.