The Truth About Happily Ever After

  When our server returns, Miller orders the Smithfield Ham biscuit. I order the My-Oh-My omelet. With a few small revisions.

  “And if they could possibly make it as a two-egg omelet rather than three. With egg whites, please. And instead of the sausage, green peppers, please. Oh, and if I could possibly have the reduced-fat cheddar instead of the Swiss.” I flash an apologetic smile as I close my menu and hand it over to her. “Thank you.”

  This morning, before power hour at the gym, I’d stepped back on the scale for the first time in weeks. My weight is back up; one pound over, actually, but I’m going to blame that one pound on muscle mass that I’ve surely put on over the course of those torturous Friday mornings. At any rate, I guess I’ll be keeping my log again.

  It was kind of nice to … not.

  And this time, Miller does comment. “Why didn’t you just not order the omelet? If there was more wrong with it than right?”

  I shrug. “I like omelets.”

  Miller tears the edges of my empty Splenda packet. “Seems like it takes so much energy, being a pretty girl.”

  “It does,” I answer honestly. “And I know people think a lot of it’s silly.” I point to my coffee straw. “But you know I care about this job. Respect Enchanted’s standards.”

  “If that’s what it’s about, then whatever. People do a lot of things for their jobs—move across the country, chase tornadoes, run into burning buildings. A straw’s no big deal.”

  Miller’s so great about all of it, it makes it easy to open up to him. To tell him more.

  I inhale sharply. “There’s probably more to it than just the job,” I admit. I feel kind of silly, and I stare out the window instead. “My family went through some pretty hard times that came out of nowhere. Felt like the rug got yanked out from under all of us. I guess … it made me crave stability and security in some way.”

  My eyes dart to Miller’s before returning to the window. “I guess … in some ways … it’s a control thing, too. So many things that happen in life are beyond your control. It’s always been like … looking my best, staying in shape … that was something I could control.”

  “I don’t know.” Miller’s regarding me seriously, pondering it. “It seems like there’s a thin line between it being something you control and something that controls you.”

  “You’re probably right,” I acknowledge. I chuckle once. “This suddenly sounds like a therapy session. I don’t have an eating disorder. I really don’t.”

  “I know.” He grins. “I’ve seen you chow down big-time in the past few weeks.”

  I stick my tongue out at him.

  He leans across the table and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “Ah, princess problems.”

  “Right?”

  Two loaded plates are plopped down before us, and Miller wastes no time diving into his homemade biscuits covered with melted cheese and thick slices of ham. I start trying to scrape some of the extra butter off my whole wheat toast because I forgot to ask for it dry. But after a futile moment, I put my knife down.

  Miller was right. It’s indeed a thin line, and this morning I guess I’ll try not to let it control me.

  “So what’s this big conversation with Chrissi about tonight?” he asks, mouth full of biscuit.

  “Oh, apparently she just met this guy. She wants to give me the details, decide if it’s weird to ask him to the Character Ball, such a big event, so early on.”

  Miller nods, still chewing, eyes on his plate.

  I stare at the top of his head, eyes narrowed.

  A few weeks ago, when I told the girls the Character Ball no longer held any appeal for me, I’d meant it. I hadn’t really anticipated that changing. But …

  “And I guess…” I take a deep breath. “… I should probably fill her in on the guy I’m thinking of asking to the ball.”

  He glances up, the look on his face undeniably crestfallen. It’s so damn cute, I have to bite back my smile.

  “That guy being you, obviously.”

  Crestfallen changes to surprised. He takes a moment to wipe his hands on his napkin. He finishes chewing. “You want to go to the ball with me?”

  “Yes. I do. I think it would be a good time.”

  Miller stares out the window for a moment. Then he looks back at me. “All right, Alyssa Callahan. I accept your invitation to the ball.”

  I’m grinning at once. Miller’s always a blast; I know he’ll actually dance with me at the party.

  I have a date for the ball! The reality of it sinks in, and instantly excited, I start gushing at once. “We have to sign up the first day, you know.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Figured as much.”

  I fork a large bite of egg whites into my mouth, feeling much better about life in general, now that I’m no longer trying to convince myself I have no interest in the best event in the world. “I’m just sayin’, I’m way behind in the costume planning department. No time to waste!”

  Miller groans as he stabs his fork into a piece of ham. “What exactly have I gotten myself into?” he wonders aloud.

  I lean toward him and wink, satisfied smirk on my face. “You think you know, but you have no idea.”

  * * *

  WHEN WE WANDER out of Dixie Daisy’s half an hour later, I lean against the side of his truck, lifting my face toward the sunshine. “Where you off to now, sir?” I ask.

  He glances at his watch. “I have to work later this afternoon. But I told my buddy Jay I’d swing by the outdoor courts at the gym for a pickup game.”

  “So you really play basketball, huh?”

  “Yup.” Miller smiles. “For a short guy, I run one hell of a point.”

  I consider. He does have those amazing calves. He can probably really jump.

  I tap the cab of the truck. “Feel like giving me a lift first? As soon as I stood up, I remembered that my legs are entirely useless after Friday classes.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He nods. He starts to open the door for me but pauses. “Better yet…”

  “Better yet…”

  “Come with me.”

  “And do what?”

  “Watch.” He smiles. “Cheer.”

  I smile back at him. “Cheer for the cheerleader?”

  “I’m one hundred percent athlete today, baby.”

  I giggle.

  He senses his advantage and presses it. Miller grabs my hand and swings it back and forth in the space between us. “C’mmmmmon. It’s a beautiful day. Sit outside, get some vitamin D. Keep me company.”

  I glance down at my attire. “I’m still in my gym clothes. I need to shower.”

  “Showering is overrated.”

  I raise an eyebrow dubiously. “Yeah, well, I smell. And I’m still all sweaty.”

  Miller actually has the gall to pull me closer and pat my butt, just quickly, releasing me before it even registers. “D’you have any idea what your tush looks like in yoga pants?” he asks. “Please. You don’t need to shower or change.” He shakes his head. “There’s no improving on that perfection.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, because the fact is, I always end up grinning like such an idiot in his presence. I have no desire to go home. I want to go sit in the sunshine and watch him.

  “Fine,” I hear myself agreeing. “I’ll come be your cheerleader.”

  And fifteen minutes later, there I am, camped out on the bottom bleacher, feeling very high school as I watch a group of guys goof around on the court. Well, a group of guys plus Daniella. She’s good, one of the best of the bunch. Tall and muscled, girlfriend can definitely hold her own. During a time-out she says hello, tells me she plays for the women’s team at Maryville.

  The afternoon sun warms my skin, and the light breeze coming off the lake makes it bearable and pleasant. The remaining perspiration on my skin glistens, and I shake my head at what’s become of me. At the beginning of the summer, I fastidiously applied foundation, powder, and mascara before going to the gym. These days I don’t
even bother to shower afterward.

  I sneak a glance at Miller.

  And it feels okay.

  The casual game is well into its second half, I think, when my phone, sitting on the bleachers beside me, starts vibrating. I glance down and see Blake’s picture beside a FaceTime request. I smile and swipe the screen.

  “Hey, Blake.”

  “Hey, girlfraaand,” she drawls. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  There’s a rowdy eruption from the court in front of me, and Blake scrunches up her face on the screen. “Where are you?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” She glances down, and I hear her ruffling through some papers. “I just needed to call and check in because Marianne’s up my butt about room assignments. Do you want to keep your triple in the basement or move up to the third floor with the big girls this year?”

  “Oh, I’m happy to stay put,” I answer immediately.

  “Really? Why? You’re officially a junior now, Alyssa. Upperclassman. You can have a double, even a single if you really want.”

  “I like my triple,” I say. “All of us get along, and I like the company.”

  Which is true. What is also true is that there is no way I can afford a more desirable room within the Zeta house.

  “If you say so,” Blake answers. “I don’t get it, but…”

  “I grew up with three sisters,” I remind her. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with a room to myself.”

  “Again … if you say so. Makes my job easier. I basically had to pull Natalie and Lauryn ‘Y’ off each other last night during a fight over room 302.”

  I giggle at the mental image.

  “Anyway…” Blake’s face grows serious. “How are you doing? Like, how are you really doing?”

  I’d talked to Lauren “E” several times in the past few weeks. I’m not surprised word about the breakup had made its way through the sisterhood. I’m actually grateful for the gossip network for once; it prevents me from having to tell the story time and time again.

  “These days, I’m fine. I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t doing so well with things for a while there, but I’ve pulled it together. I promise.”

  “I knew he was a creep. I just knew it. I want to kill that guy. Should I kill that guy?”

  I put my hand up to halt her threats. “No killing necessary,” I say quickly. “He’s just not worth it.”

  “I just can’t believe his nerve,” she goes on. “He so never deserved you.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t have to keep reassuring me. I know that now. And I’m in a much better place.” I glance around, then start giggling at the place I’m actually at. “No, seriously … do you want to know where I’m at right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m watching a pickup basketball game at my complex. Well, I’m watching Miller in a pickup basketball game.”

  “Miller? You mean that cutie patootie from the bar?”

  I tuck a piece of hair back into my ponytail. “Yup.”

  Blake is silent for a minute. “Because, like, you have something going on with him?”

  I press my lips together to keep from smiling outright. “Yeah. Kind of.”

  Blake squeals a moment later. “That’s perfect.”

  I tilt my head, waiting for her to elaborate. I just … hadn’t expected her to be so enthusiastic.

  “I mean, Miller is, like, the perfect type of guy to take your mind off Jake. Perfect summer fling. Easy. Uncomplicated. Probably treats you like a goddess, am I right?”

  “Yeah, uhh…”

  I mean, he is. Easy. Uncomplicated. But …

  “So it’s perfect. Then in a few weeks, when you get back, you’ll have your pick of the guys from Alpha. You know they all have hard-ons for you. Hate the fact that you were always so damn loyal to Jake. They’ll literally be foaming at the mouth when they hear you’re up for grabs.”

  I force a little laugh, but I’m no longer smiling. I don’t really like the picture she’s painting. I turn to watch Miller again, half wishing she’d never called.

  “Anyway…” Blake holds up a stapled packet of papers and shakes them in front of her screen. “I gotta run. Like I said, Marianne’s up my butt and I need to get this list to her pronto. I’ll keep you in the basement if that’s what you truly want.” She beams. “And I can’t wait for you to get back here. You’re gonna get so much quality ass!”

  With a flourish she blows me a kiss, and the screen goes black.

  I stare down at it for a minute, feeling a bit displaced, a bit lost.

  Just when I was sort of feeling like I’d found myself again.

  That’s when I hear someone clear her throat behind me. And even though it seems like my stomach couldn’t sink any lower, it suddenly goes crashing down another story.

  I glance over my shoulder and see Yael, perched on the top row of the bleachers, presumably also cheering on her love interest. I have no idea how long she’s been there. How far Blake’s voice carried. How much she heard.

  I hope my hand isn’t shaking as I wave to her. “Oh … hey, Yael. How are you?”

  She nods curtly, her hair nearly fluorescent in the sun. “I’m good.”

  She glances down toward the phone in my hand, then toward the court. “So. You did stay over the other night, didn’t you? I found Miller asleep on the futon, but he claimed he just crashed out there.” Yael narrows her eyes behind her glasses. “I had another theory, but of course he wouldn’t cop to confirming it.”

  I say nothing. I don’t know what to say to her.

  Yael smiles at me, and for a second I’m naively hopeful that she’s going to be nice. Instead she gestures with her head toward the court. “So why on earth aren’t you out there with them, then?”

  I shake my head, still smiling, still hoping. “What? I don’t…”

  We watch as Daniella leaps into the air, from right below the backboard, and easily nabs the ball after someone’s missed shot.

  “Rebounding.” She smirks. “Seems like you’re even better at it than Daniella is.”

  The smile melts from my face.

  Yael shrugs. “So ya know … figured you might as well get out there, too.”

  I stare at her evenly. “Why would you say something like that?” I ask quietly.

  She doesn’t answer me right away. She takes a long pull on her straw, staring into space as she considers. Then Yael turns and meets my eye. “You want to know why?”

  I nod meekly.

  “I just came out last year. And before that, for twenty years, I got really, really good at keeping things inside, not speaking the truth. Now, for better or worse, I’m gonna tell it like it is. Because it gets really tiring living life the other way.”

  She shrugs again. “So maybe you don’t like my bluntness, but these days I just put everything out there for people. Just be honest, man. It is what it is. And Miller is nothing more than a rebound.” Yael nods toward my phone again. “Your little friend knows it. In your heart you probably know it, too. And Miller … if … when … if he ever comes to his senses, I’m sure he’ll know it, too.”

  That sinking feeling in my stomach turns to pure dread.

  Because ultimately she’s the one going home with him, and she seems pretty invested in laying out this version of the story. Even if it’s one that doesn’t feel at all accurate to me.

  “I’m not rebounding,” I protest. But my voice lacks assertion, because she’s gotten under my skin.

  That’s what she thinks? That’s what Blake thinks? Is that what … Chrissi thinks, too? Is that what all her worry was about? When she mentioned my hurting Miller?

  “Sure.” Yael shoves her straw into her mouth. “Talk to me in three weeks when summer’s over and you’re back at school. Getting all that … what was it? Quality ass from the Alpha boys.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “They sound awesome.”

  Then she returns her full attention to the game
, even pumping her fist in the air and screaming, “Yeah, babe!” when Daniella makes a shot. It’s clear our conversation has ended. On her terms.

  The game ends ten minutes later. Miller’s team wins, and he comes right over to wrap me up in a sweaty bear hug and lift me to standing. I manage a weak smile for him, but despite the sun’s presence in the clear sky above, a dark cloud has drifted over the day, and I’m wishing I never came.

  Because I know after he takes me home, he’ll be going back to his apartment. And that if she gets a chance, Yael just might try to “put everything out there” and get under his skin the same way she just got under mine.

  chapter 23

  Someone is knocking on my door. I’m deep in a REM cycle, in the midst of a pretty disturbing dream that can only be described as Cinderella conceptualized by Tim Burton. In which the stepmother has maroon hair and wears glasses with thick black frames. I have to swim through the hazy sea in my mind back to reality. Pushing at my satin sleep mask, I turn toward my clock. It is 5:14 a.m. I roll over and tug the covers tight. It must have been part of the dream. No one is actually knocking on my door at 5:14 in the morning.

  Yet as I come all the way back to consciousness, I still hear it. I toss aside the covers and pad toward the door in the loose Cinderella T-shirt I wear as a nightie, and only at the last minute does fear kick in, reminding me that I’m a female living by herself who should seriously consider the wisdom in opening the door at this early hour. I bend to squint through the peephole. What I see on the other side—a bearded male wearing sunglasses—in most circumstances would be considered far from reassuring.

  “I hear you breathing,” he hisses. “Let me in.”

  Shaking my head and biting back a smile, I open the door for Miller.

  His eyes instantly go to my bare thighs, and I tug at the bottom of my T-shirt. “Umm, what are you doing here?”

  “Park opens for employees in forty minutes. It’s August eighth, which means that the Character Ball is exactly seven days away, and the costume request log is officially available.” Miller raises an eyebrow. “I kind of assumed it would be you beating down my door.”

  “It’s just entirely too early for beating on doors.”