Paige Turned Page 5

  “Luke. That night . . . at the end-of-the-year party?”

  He nods. “What about it?”

  I shake my head. Of course he wouldn’t think twice about it. I’d forgiven him for everything he’d done in the past, but then he reached out and pulled me into what looked like a very intimate embrace. Which was when Tyler saw us.

  Of course.

  “You said you forgave me. I thought that meant we could be friends.”

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “It does. No, it doesn’t. It . . . look I don’t know, Luke, okay? I’m frustrated and annoyed. I really think I might have something with Tyler and you keep messing it up.”

  He looks at me all innocently, eyes big. “Me?”

  I sort of want to hit him. But considering we just talked about me forgiving him, it doesn’t seem like the best example of my supposed new feelings.

  The door opens and Layla comes skipping out followed by a man leading about the ugliest-looking dog I’ve ever seen in my life. Luke and I both just stare at the dog while Layla starts chattering excitedly as she continues down the hall. “I found a dog! I’m going to meet her in one of their little get-to-know-you places and we are going to get to know each other! Oh I am so so so so so happy!”

  Her voice trails off as she gets farther away. Neither Luke nor I have moved positions. He finally clears his throat, looks at me, and bites his lip. “So . . . that was . . . interesting.” Then he makes this little face, and before I know it, I’m dying laughing.

  I can’t breathe. That poor dog. “Bless her heart, it’s even a girl dog,” I manage between giggles.

  “She was definitely a looker.” Luke is grinning, shaking his head and laughing. “Okay. Let’s go see how Layla and that beautiful dog are getting to know each other.”

  We walk down the hall and find a little area outside. There are about eight cinder-block cubicles scattered around, and we finally find Layla and the dog in one of the far ones.

  The dog, bless her heart, is even uglier than I remember. She doesn’t even have a color. She’s white, she’s gray, she’s black and brown. One of her eyes is brown and the other is this weird teal color. One ear sticks up, one ear lies down. Her fur looks wirier than anything and she’s short and long, like a dachshund, but bigger and curlier like a terrier.

  And she’s yippy. Oh my, is she yippy.

  If Layla gets this dog, the people who live in the apartment next to her are just going to love her forever.

  “Isn’t she a doll?” Layla giggles, attempting to pet the ugly dog while it runs in circles around her, yipping away.

  “Yeah . . .” Luke leans his arms on the cinder blocks and looks down at them. “She’s something, all right.” He grins at me.

  I do the best thing I can do right then and keep my mouth shut.

  Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday are the slowest days on the planet. I watch endless amounts of TV, I make a big batch of chocolate-chip cookies and tell myself it’s an incentive to go to the gym, and I get about 834 texts from Layla filled with pictures of the ugly dog she named Belle because it means “beautiful one.”

  I think I lost weight over the tears I cried while laughing after I found that out.

  Anyway, my phone is now full of pictures of this dog. Belle at her first vet appointment. Belle at the park. Belle going down the slide. Belle snuggled up on the couch sleeping. Belle in an apron helping Layla make dinner.

  It made me frightful for the days when Layla and Peter have a baby. I will know that child’s face better than my own. I’m already trying to figure out how to hijack her Facebook account so she can’t post two hundred pictures a day of the future child.

  I’m sitting there like a blob Thursday late afternoon, finishing off the cookies and debating whether to make more when someone taps on my door.

  I immediately look down at my outfit of choice. The only place I went today was the gym, and I came home, showered, and put on the same sweatpants and oversized T-shirt I’ve been wearing all week.

  I peek out the peephole and it’s a girl selling Girl Scout cookies. Well. That’s convenient. Now I don’t have to make more.

  I buy a couple of boxes from the vested girl and her tired-looking mom and sit back down on the couch and open the box of Thin Mints.

  Then I stop and look down at myself again. Cookie crumbs are stuck to my shirt. I haven’t styled my hair in days, and if I go any longer, I might forget how to put on my makeup.

  This is bad.

  I reach for the phone and dial the first person I think of who has a flexible job and isn’t my mother.

  “Hello?” Preslee is eating something.

  “It’s not polite to answer the phone while chewing.” It’s still weird to me that I can just pick up the phone and call my sister. After years of estrangement, it’s a welcome change.

  “It’s also impolite to call during lunch, but you don’t hear me getting all up in your face about it.”

  “Can you technically get in someone’s face on the phone?”

  “I guess that technically, you already are, considering where most people hold the phone.”

  “Against their ear?”

  “What are we talking about?” she asks.

  I grin. “What are you doing tomorrow? I’ve had the week off work, and if I go one more day without being in public, I’m going to turn into one of those Discovery Health channel specials.”

  “Ick. Have you seen the one where the lady had to walk backward on every city bus or she thought it would blow up like in Speed?”

  “Well, to give her the benefit of the doubt, I bet the bus never did blow up when she walked backward.”

  “Don’t ever go into psychotherapy, Paige. Now about your question. It just so happens that I have the ability to take tomorrow off.”

  “Yay!”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Preslee lives in Waco and honestly, there is not a lot to do in Waco. “Want to come here?” I ask her. “We can shop and get lunch and maybe catch a movie or something.”

  “Oh! Could we go to the Dallas Arboretum? I have always wanted to go there, and I’ve heard it’s beautiful in the fall.”

  That would not be on the top of my list. Last spring, that’s where Tyler asked me to be his girlfriend.

  It was such a happy day. I purse my lips thinking about Tyler. I haven’t talked to him all week. I sent him a text on Monday and told him I had the week off, and he only sent back a quick, HEY, THAT’S GREAT, PAIGE. Nothing like let’s get together or let’s hang out or let’s cut all this ridiculousness and just talk for Pete’s sake.

  It’s like the sweet moments at the karaoke party never even happened.

  I don’t know what to do about him.

  “Paige?” Preslee cuts into my thoughts.

  “Oh. Sorry. Yeah, we can maybe do the arboretum.” With any luck, we will find incredible sales and just not have time to go there tomorrow.

  “Yay! Perfect. I’m glad you called! I’ll try to leave here around eight tomorrow morning so I can get there around . . . what, like nine thirty?”

  “Assuming traffic is good, that sounds about right.” I sigh. Tomorrow is already looking better.

  * * * * *

  I climb in bed that night, not tired but needing to sleep for tomorrow’s activities, and pull my Bible over. I’ve not been doing very good at reading through a book. I’ve just been grabbing for a quick verse before turning the light off. The summer was exhausting.

  This week, though, I’ve been trying to get back on track. So I started reading Ecclesiastes. It has been making for some depressing reading on a few nights when I’ve already started out kind of depressed. I guess Solomon and I had that in common.

  I start reading in chapter 2. “Thus I hated all the fruit of my labor for which I had labored under the sun, for I must leave it to the man who will come after me. And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? Yet he will have control over all the fruit of my la
bor for which I have labored by acting wisely under the sun. This too is vanity.”

  There’s a tiny italicized letter under the word vanity and according to the footnote, the word could also be translated futility.

  Lots of talk about labor in there.

  I start thinking about my work, or lack thereof, this week. I had the week off and what did I do? Nothing. Sat here and watched mindless hours of HGTV and Friends. I was no use to anyone. No help. I could have done so much, but I just sat around eating cookies.

  I didn’t even spend that much time reading my Bible or praying or doing anything worthwhile.

  The old me, the one who used to run herself ragged trying to serve every place it was needed, pipes up. Yes, but remember: I had to learn how to rest!

  Resting and vegging are two very different things, I think.

  I turn off the light and my chest feels a little like there are three rubber bands wrapped around it, squeezing.

  * * * * *

  Preslee knocks on my door at exactly nine forty-five, right as I am sliding on my shoes. It’s September and still hot and humid, but the idea of walking around in flip-flops all day doesn’t sound that good for my feet, so I opt for ballet flats today.

  I open the door and she grins at me. “Hi, sis!”

  I smile. This is so weird in such a good way. Preslee looks beautiful. I still can’t get over how much she has grown up over the years. Her dark hair is long, long, long and curly today. She’s wearing a black shirt and white shorts and red ballet flats.

  We apparently think alike.

  She’s got a little bird tattoo on her ankle, and I’ve always meant to ask her about it but have always forgotten. She’s got another tattoo on her shoulder blade. That one was traced there during the awful years and was more of a way to tick off Mom and Dad than anything, I think.

  Every time I see her, she’s wearing black and white. This is good to know that my sister’s clothing tastes aren’t too complicated.

  “Let me grab my purse,” I say, letting her in.

  “Can we stop by Starbucks? I made coffee before I left, but I forgot to grab my Thermos.” She makes a sad face.

  I nod. “You drove all the way here with no caffeine?”

  “Shocking I made it here alive, huh?”

  “Kind of.” I find my purse, throw my cell phone in there, follow Preslee out of the apartment, and lock the door behind me. Preslee drives a little silver sedan that is so tame considering what she used to drive and how she used to act.

  We go to Starbucks first and I get my customary caramel macchiato. Preslee orders a cinnamon dolce latte with extra shots, and we are good to go.

  “Mm. Much better.” Preslee massages her head after a few sips. “Where to, Paige?” She’s driving and I’m busy licking the caramel off the green little stopper sitting in the top of the lid.

  We decide on Stonebriar Mall and spend the rest of the morning discovering that we had apparently just missed all the good back-to-school sales.

  “Well, this stinks,” Preslee says at eleven thirty, hanging up yet another very cute but very full-price shirt back on the rack. “Too bad you didn’t have the week off two weeks ago.”

  “True.” I found a pair of boots but considering it is hot, hot, hot outside, I’m just not sure I’m in the mood to buy a pair of boots I won’t wear except for two months out of the year.

  “Lunch?” Preslee asks and I nod and put the boots back.

  “You aren’t going to get those?”

  “I’ll think on them.” That’s my code for no. Wearability is too important to me. If I don’t think I’ll wear it more than thirty times in a year, I don’t buy it.

  A holdover from my poorer days. When I first moved here, I was completely broke. I didn’t shop for new things. I didn’t even shop for fairly new things like at those “barely worn” boutiques.

  Goodwill and I were friends way before it became cool to shop there.

  “Paradise Bakery?” Preslee suggests and I nod. It’s cheaper than my first choice of the Cheesecake Factory, and it’s got chocolate-chip cookies to die for.

  Maybe that’s where the Paradise part came in.

  All these theological questions before lunch.

  We get in line, I order a turkey sandwich, and Preslee decides on a salad. “So I found a bridal gown,” she says offhandedly as we sit with our trays at a table in the echoing food court.

  I just look over at her. I never even considered she would be going wedding-dress shopping.

  I am officially the worst maid of honor ever.

  “By yourself?” I ask, worried.

  She looks up at me, sees my expression, and starts waving her hands. “Oh no, not in a store. I just found one I really liked in one of those wedding magazines. I haven’t tried it on or anything.”

  “Oh.” Whew. I was about to feel very guilty.

  “I am planning on going some weekend with you and Mom soon, if you can make it.”

  “You probably should go very soon. Your wedding is November 25th, right? You haven’t moved it back or anything, have you?”

  She shakes her head. “Let’s pray so we can eat, and then I’ll talk about the wedding.”

  She ducks her head and holds out her hands. I hold her fingers and she prays. “Lord, thank You for this precious time with my sister and bless our delicious-looking lunch. Amen.” She looks back up, spearing a thick piece of lettuce with her fork. “I really need to get moving on it. It’s just that with the house stuff and the work stuff and everything else, I haven’t had a lot of free time. And the free time I’ve had, I haven’t wanted to deal with things that just make me depressed. Do you know how much a wedding costs these days?”

  “Aren’t Mom and Dad paying for it?” I guess I didn’t know. I just assumed.

  She nods. “They’re giving us a lump sum and anything we don’t use on the wedding, we can just keep. So, obviously, we really want to keep wedding costs down so we can use the rest to work on our house.”

  Wes and Preslee had bought a fixer-upper in Waco during the summer. The only thing I really remember about the house is the bright orange shag carpets.

  Flooring is expensive.

  “Honestly.” Preslee drops her voice into a conspiratorial tone. “And you can’t breathe a word of this to Mom, but Wes and I have even considered maybe just doing like a family only thing in someone’s backyard. I don’t have a lot of friends I care to invite, and Wes’s parents will want to make it huge since his dad is a pastor and all.” She winces. “I’m worried Mom will freak, though.”

  She has good cause to worry. When we were little girls, Mom would always talk about the day when we would get married. “I promise, sweethearts, I will give you the prettiest wedding we can afford,” she’d always say. I think at one point she told me that on the day they found out we were both girls, they started saving for our wedding days.

  Mom was nothing if not a hopeless romantic.

  “I don’t think you should mention the word backyard,” I say after chewing a bite of my amazing sandwich. “That might send her over the edge. At least you’re looking for dresses. That might placate her a little bit.”

  “Well.” Preslee shrugged. “My first stop was going to be one of those used bridal stores.”

  I swallow another bite. “Please make sure I am not there when you tell Mom that.”

  She laughs.

  * * * * *

  After we get a quick dinner at In-N-Out, Preslee leaves at seven to drive back to Waco. It’s way early and I try to talk her into staying and watching a movie or something with me before she leaves.

  “I have to get home and go to bed at a decent time,” she says. “Wes wants to work on the house tomorrow morning.”

  “Like what time?”

  Preslee sighs and rubs her forehead. “When Wes says morning, he means he’s going to be there at five.”

  “A.M.?” I gasp. There have been precious few moments in my life when I’ve seen that numb
er on the clock in the middle of the night. I believe the last time was during a bad bout of food poisoning over the summer.

  I will not be eating at a certain deli here ever again.

  Preslee nods. “He’s a morning person.” She says it in the same tone as saying that he has a collection of belly button lint.

  I grin.

  “Bye, Preslee.”

  “See you Sunday afternoon, Paige.”

  We decided over dinner that it would probably be best if she went to look for a wedding dress this weekend. We called Mom and she is going to pick up Preslee on her way up from Austin, and we’ll go shopping here.

  I think all of the customers at In-N-Out could hear the joy in Mom’s voice when Preslee called her.

  She grins and waves, then slides her glasses on her face and walks down my apartment steps.

  I close the door, still smiling. Today was good for us. We have not done that enough.

  I sit on my sofa and yawn, then consider turning on the TV for a few minutes before heading to an early bedtime. I want to read more in Ecclesiastes but at the moment, I kind of want cookies.

  Maybe I could do both. I mean, if everything really is meaningless, what’s a few extra calories?

  Probably would be good if I didn’t always use that logic. Oh, the examples of taking verses out of context.

  I pull my mixing bowl out of the cabinet, and my phone buzzes on the counter in a text.

  It’s from Tyler.

  HEY. HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD WEEK OFF.

  It’s like overflowing with sentiment. I just look at the text for about five minutes, conjuring up a MISSED YOU THIS WEEK or a THOUGHT ABOUT YOU OFTEN or even an exclamation point for goodness’ sake, but nothing.

  I finally write him back, pausing after typing every word.

  THANKS. IT WAS A QUIET WEEK. HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD ONE AS WELL.

  It’s like we are business associates or something for the lack of affection in our communication.

  Now I really need cookies.

  I start dumping the ingredients in the bowl and plug in my beaters. I’m scraping the bowl, gnawing on my lip, and praying.

  Seriously, Lord. What is really going on here? Tyler has never been like this before.