Paige Rewritten

  “How about that pancake place over by that pet store? They’ve got brunchy stuff.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He drives there, talking the whole time about how busy work is and how sorry he is that he missed seeing me on my birthday.

  “Really, Paige. I felt terrible. What a way to make a good impression, right?”

  I shrug. My birthday wasn’t all awful, but it wasn’t great. I am not sure Tyler could have changed any of that, though. Odds were that Luke would still have shown up.

  And then Preslee this morning.

  I rub my forehead.

  Tyler looks over at me. “All okay?”

  “Hmm? Yeah. Sorry. I’ll explain later.”

  We get to the restaurant and Tyler pulls the truck into a parking space. I first discovered this place when I was in the middle of my first midterms here. It was the only nonscary-looking place open late and it smelled like heaven inside. And another heavenly attribute, it was cheap.

  I came here a lot through college. Most of my Freshmen Fifteen was thanks to the peach pancakes with a side of bacon.

  Which is why the day after I graduated, I started running.

  We get seated at a table in the corner and I look around at the Saturday late-morning customers. Families who are visiting over ice-cold pancake remnants and likely their umpteenth coffee refill while babies and kids play goofy games with each other. Men reading the paper alone. Ladies chatting over some of the lunch options.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever actually eaten here before.” Tyler opens the menu. “I think I came in here once with Rick, and it was packed to the rafters so we headed to IHOP instead.” He shrugged. “Rick was apparently in a pancake mood.”

  “Those moods are hard to shake,” I say, feeling Rick’s pain. The need for pancakes struck often after I vowed to stop coming here. I tried to shut the need up with celery sticks, and it rarely worked.

  I will never understand how some people can exist on diets of fruits and vegetables. I have a deep mix of sympathy for them and envy of them.

  “So. What’s good here?”

  “Peach pancakes,” I tell him decidedly. I’ve already eaten my semihealthy breakfast of Raisin Bran, and I am still thinking of ordering the peach pancakes.

  I always thought there was no cereal more healthy than Raisin Bran until I was sleepily reading the cereal box one morning and realized that sugar was listed twice in the ingredients.

  Now I am not sure, even though in my brain the word bran is pretty much synonymous with lover of all things healthy.

  Tyler makes a noise deep in the back of his throat. “Mmm. Burritos. Ever had the meat-lover’s burrito?”

  “You do not know me at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Tyler, there are peach pancakes here. Peach. Pancakes. As in, the best ever. Why would I trade those in for something I could get at any truck stop in the city?”

  He shrugs. “I figure this burrito is probably made with real bacon. That’s one up on the truck-stop burritos.”

  I just stare at him. “Please tell me you are joking.”

  “No, I’m serious. I bet this place uses real pork.”

  I make a face and the waiter comes over. “Good morning. Can I start you off with some coffee? Or perhaps one of our cinnamon rolls? Are you feeling okay, ma’am?”

  I look up at the waiter, and if I have to guess, he is right around my age. And he is calling me ma’am.

  That doesn’t sit well for some reason. Probably because I just turned another year older. “I’m fine, sir.”

  Tyler smushes his lips together and stares very intensely at his menu.

  “Coffee?” the waiter asks again.

  “Yes please. With cream for mine.”

  “You, sir?”

  Tyler shakes his head. “Just orange juice for me, thanks.”

  “Are you ready to order?” he asks, scribbling our drink order on a notepad. We both order our breakfast and Tyler hands the menus to the waiter.

  “Happy birthday, ma’am.” Tyler hands me a small wrapped box across the table.

  I didn’t see him carrying anything in, so it must have been in his pocket. I smile. “Thanks, Tyler.”

  I rip off the wrapping paper, a little worried that it’s jewelry or something way beyond where I think we probably are in a semirelationship. I mean, we haven’t even defined anything yet.

  To me, that equals way too early for jewelry.

  I get the last of the wrapping paper off. It is a jewelry box. A blue velvety one.

  I look up at him and he grins cheekily. “Will you open it, slowpoke?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek and squeak the tiny box open.

  Two tickets are propped in the box, and I look up and squint at him. “You’re not telling me that you sleep on Red Sox sheets, are you?”

  “No, but Fever Pitch was a great movie. Read the tickets, Paige.”

  “Frisco RoughRiders,” I read slowly and then look up at him. “It’s a rodeo?”

  “It’s baseball, Paige. It’s the minor league team near here? Please tell me you’ve heard of baseball. Batter up? Home runs? Strikeouts? Hot dogs?”

  “Easy there, Tyler.” I hold up a hand. “I have heard of baseball.”

  “Ever been to a game?”

  I nod. “My dad took me to a few when I was little.”

  Tyler beams at me. “Great! Then you know it’s tons of fun.”

  I just look at the tickets, at Tyler, and then nod, smiling. “Oh yes,” I say, closing the jewelry box. “Thanks, Tyler.”

  It’s not that I have something against baseball. Like I said, my dad is a huge baseball fan. I just like the freedom to wear my pajamas and change the channel to more important things like finding out what color cabinets the Kitchen Cousins are going to install on that episode while watching baseball. I’m not a fan of the whole go-to-the-park-and-eat-artificially-flavored-nachos thing.

  There is a place for artificial flavors. It is usually in cough drops.

  “Well, anyway, the tickets are actually gift certificates so we can go whenever it’s a good time for you,” Tyler says. “I mean, they play 140 games. I figure, surely we can find a time that works for the two of us one of those nights.”

  I suddenly feel very sorry for all of the wives and girlfriends of those players. That is a major time commitment for something that only serves to be entertainment while eating hot dogs.

  “So, Tyler.” I drop the box into my purse, preparing to tell him all about Luke and Preslee. The Luke part will likely be awkward. Actually, so will the Preslee part because I haven’t shared very much of that with Tyler yet.

  Some things just shouldn’t be shared in detail for a little while.

  The waiter comes right then, and I stop while he situates our drinks and food on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  I barely hear him because I am distracted with the plate of steaming hot peaches, pooling peach syrup, and melting whipped cream all piled on top of four of the largest pancakes I’ve ever seen.

  This is much bigger than it was when I came here in college.

  Unless it is one of those perspective things like teenage drivers. When you are one, you and everyone else your age look very mature and capable. When you are older, all teen drivers look like they should still be in booster seats.

  Tyler whistles at my plate. “Now those are pancakes.”

  I glance up at his burrito and shake my head. The thing is larger than Tyler’s torso. And Tyler is not what I would call small-chested.

  “Why don’t we pray? I’m worried now for our arteries.” Tyler grins.

  I fold my hands under the table to avoid the whole awkward “should we hold hands to pray yet?” thing, and Tyler says a quick prayer.

  “Thank You, Lord, for this meal, for this day, and for the beautiful company. Please bless this year of Paige’s. Amen.”

  “Amen. And thank you,” I say, smiling up at him.


  “Okay. Let’s eat!” He grabs his fork.

  I take a few bites and then decide it is now or never. “So, Tyler, I actually — ”

  “Hi, Paige.”

  And there is Luke, standing right next to my chair.

  Timing will never be my strong suit.

  Chapter

  4

  I was never the girl in school who always had a string of boys around her. If anything, I was the opposite. I barely went out unless it was to Layla’s house, and I didn’t even know I was on my first date until it was over, seeing as how a “bunch of us going to the movies” turned into me; Layla; Layla’s high school crush, Tim; and Tim’s cousin, Daniel.

  After the boys left the theater, Layla burst into a happy monologue about how excited she was that our first double date was with each other and how we could just marry Tim and Daniel and be cousins-in-law and have all kinds of cute babies that had the same last name.

  Tyler looks up at Luke and smiles a polite smile. “Luke, right?”

  “That’s right. And you’re … uh …”

  “Tyler.”

  “Right,” Luke says, looking back at me.

  I, meanwhile, am praying like crazy.

  Please, Lord, don’t let Luke say something that will ruin this whole breakfast with Tyler.

  He must see something because Luke smiles once at me, lays a hand on the back of my chair, and nods to both of us. “Well. Y’all have a great time. I’ll see you later, Paige.”

  I manage one of those “mm-hmm” faces at him and he leaves, picking up a to-go cup off of a table on the other side of the restaurant and waving at a few guys. I recognize their faces but can’t remember their names.

  “Luke is Layla’s brother, right?”

  “Right. Listen, Tyler …” I say, starting again.

  “Paige.”

  I swear the insides of my cheek are going to be just a mass of overworked flesh in the very near future.

  I look at him, at his sweet expression, at his bright blue eyes, and chicken out.

  “Never mind,” I say quietly, then shovel another bite of peach pancake into my mouth.

  He looks at me for a second and then shrugs it off. “Okay then. So I’ve been meaning to ask you, I heard a rumor you like that awful Chinese place with the three-dollar General Tso’s chicken. That can’t really be true, right?”

  “Oh, of course, no,” I say, pulling my best impression of Zorro.

  He keeps talking about how he went there one time with some coworkers and three of them got food poisoning. I’m trying really hard to pay attention, I honestly am, but my brain keeps wandering away from the table.

  Luke is moving here. Permanently. The running into him at restaurants is going to end up becoming a common thing, I think. We both like the same ones. It always made date night easy because we both liked the same four restaurants.

  Preslee was in my apartment today. In my apartment. Mom must’ve given her the address. I talked very briefly with Mom yesterday when she called to sing happy birthday, but she called last night after the Cheesecake Factory fiasco and I was just too emotionally exhausted to hear Mom’s new constant conversation killer.

  “Have you talked to your sister yet? She really wants to talk with you, Paige.”

  Tyler is still talking, and I am sad to realize I didn’t hear a word of the last thing he said. He’s grinning and talking and obviously enjoying his burrito while my peach pancakes suddenly taste gritty.

  I believe that’s because they are mixing with a good dose of Frustration and Annoyance.

  Not the best of spices.

  I swallow a bite, mentally corralling my thoughts. Focus on Tyler, head. Focus! Tyler is here. Tyler is sweet. It seems like there could potentially be some sparks with him.

  “Anyway, what did you end up doing for your birthday?” Tyler asks. Ah, the segue into the I-got-kidnapped-for-dinner conversation.

  I finish another bite and try not to feel guilty over something I probably could have controlled better. “I worked. And then I went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory with Luke.”

  Sometimes it’s best to just say it. At least, I hope that’s the case.

  Tyler just looks at me, chewing his burrito, the faintest glint of something — sadness? curiosity? worry? — in his eyes.

  I immediately keep talking, waving my hands for emphasis. “It was ridiculous, Tyler. He showed up at my work right when I got off and told me how lame it was that I was going to dinner by myself on my birthday, and he was really persistent, and I was just trying to get him off my back. We sat there for an hour and it was the worst hour of my life.”

  Tyler smiles then. “It’s okay, Paige. You don’t have to explain anything.”

  “Well, I just need you to know that Luke and I dated years ago, but it’s over. Okay?”

  He stares at me for a minute, searching my eyes. “Does Luke know that?”

  “Yes.” Especially after last night.

  He just nods. “Okay.” He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he stops.

  “Preslee came by today.” We should have asked for a bigger table with how much stuff I’m unloading at the moment. All of these issues aren’t going to fit with our huge plates.

  “Preslee, your sister?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  Obviously I haven’t shared a lot with Tyler about Preslee yet. But we are still just in the getting-to-know-you stage. We aren’t officially dating.

  I take that issue back off the table and try to swallow it along with my now-soggy pancakes.

  Eleven o’clock. And Galatians.

  I stare at the words swimming on the page in front of me, wishing I were one of those people who could do their devotional times in the morning. I’ve tried. I end up forgetting everything I’ve read and focusing on the coffee beside me.

  Coffee is a big motivator in the mornings.

  I read the same sentence for the third time. “For through the Law I died to the Law, so that I might live to God.”

  It sounds like one of those this-is-my-grandmother’s-third-cousin’s-son’s-wife sentences. I need a pencil to figure the sentence out.

  I’m too tired to go get a pencil.

  I look at it again. “For through the …”

  I rub my eyes and shake my head. Never mind. I’ll try again tomorrow night.

  Chapter

  5

  This is my one week out of the month when I teach the two-year-old Sunday school class. I used to teach it more often, but I’m working on not working too much.

  Like Dad told me, “Grace is free, but therapy is expensive.”

  I never really understood that until recently.

  I shower and pull on a pair of faded jeans and a black nicer top. Two-year-old Sunday school is not the time to pull out the fashion stops. Not that I pull out the fashion stops very often. The older I get, the more I cling to comfort.

  I never expected that to happen so soon.

  I mess with my hair for almost fifteen minutes and finally just pull it back in a sloppy, low bun. I’m teaching. I’ll use that as my excuse for everything today. I pour my coffee into a thermos and run for the door. I took too long on my hair today so there is no chance for breakfast.

  Maybe someone will bring doughnuts to church and feel sorry for me.

  I get to church and into my classroom right as the other teacher arrives with her son, Ben.

  “Morning, Paige,” Rhonda says all singsongy. “Beautiful day today. Benjamin, how do you say hi to Miss Paige?”

  Ben pops the three fingers he was chewing on out of his mouth and the drool crests over his chin. “Gwud mownin, Mwiss Paid.”

  “Good morning, Ben,” I reply, somewhat thankful now that I missed breakfast.

  There are weeks when I have definitely sworn off future children of my own after working in here. I just don’t have the gag reflex for parenting. Or the grime tolerance. Everything these kids touch is blackened
afterward.

  “Ben learned a new trick,” Rhonda says, her smile proud as she looks at her son. “Want to tell Miss Paige what you learned how to do?”

  “Um. I kin count.” Ben holds up four fingers.

  “Oh yeah? Let me hear it,” I say.

  “Um. One, two, free, four, one.” Then he cheeses at me, eyes squinty. “Yay Bwen!” he yells, applauding himself.

  Rhonda smiles as Ben runs off to play with the toys we keep in the corner of the room. “They just change so fast, you know?” She gets all misty-eyed.

  This is Rhonda’s constant mantra. Every time I see her, she’s bemoaning how quickly her son is growing up.

  Whenever, or if ever, I have children, I will not be able to wait until they are old enough to blow their own nose and go to the bathroom and wash their hands unassisted.

  The kids slowly trickle in, and by nine fifteen, Rhonda and I are surrounded by twenty-one two-year-olds. I do believe it is time for our church to find a third teacher for this classroom.

  “All right!” Rhonda yells over the chaos abounding in the room. “Time to clean up the toys and sit down for our story! Benjamin Wilder Matthews, if you don’t let go of that truck right now, you have got another thing coming!”

  Ben immediately lets go of the truck and goes to sulk in the story corner. A few of our more obedient children head that way as well. It takes some coaxing and finally some demanding before everyone leaves the lure of the toys.

  I will never buy my potential future children Duplo blocks either. Too many pieces. Too much mess.

  “All righty,” Rhonda says again once everyone is seated on the floor, including both of us. “I think Miss Paige has prepared a fantastic Bible story for us today. Everyone needs to be quiet and listen.”

  Nothing like the pressure of forty-two eyes staring at you, waiting for entertainment that will very likely not measure up to Sesame Street, or whatever kids are watching these days. “Today we are going to learn about a blind man,” I say, trying to instill some drama into my voice.

  One little girl who I think is about the cutest thing in the classroom interrupts. “What’s bwind?”

  “Blind means they can’t see,” I say. “All of you can see me, but if you were blind, you wouldn’t be able to.”