I rub Honey’s ears and look up to see my dad standing there. I love my dad. “Hi there, Pip,” Dad says, all smiles.
When I was a little girl, my favorite way to wear my hair was in pigtails. Dad called me Pippi because of that for a long time, and then it got shortened to Pip. I don’t think he’s ever said my real name since.
“Hi, Dad.” I give him a big hug and try to relax.
“Glad you could make it.”
“I didn’t really have a choice.”
Dad smiles at me sympathetically.
I follow him into the house. Mom’s making her famous honey-glazed ham and sweet potatoes. I can smell the sugary sweetness all through the house. That means Dad’s going to make his rolls.
The only thing in the entire world that my dad can make are dinner rolls. But if you’re going to only be able to make one thing, Dad’s dinner rolls are a good one to make. They are insanely delicious. A couple of years ago, he started making extras and giving them to widows in the church for Thanksgiving. Mom’s always telling me how she has to fight off all the old ladies around Dad now.
The house looks identical to when I lived here. A huge river-rock fireplace. Two large couches. Lots of throw pillows. When Preslee and I were both in high school, we would have friends over almost every weekend to watch baseball, football, and just hang out. Some weeks, we had to use the throw pillows for extra seating.
Mom is in the kitchen slicing up a bunch of carrots into a bowl of shredded lettuce on the island. “Hi, sweetheart.” She smiles brightly at me. I can see the excitement in her eyes about today and try to force some of my own.
Dinner with my sister who broke our hearts and abandoned us. Yay.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How was the drive?”
“Long.”
“How was the Blizzard?” Dad grins at me, leaning back against the counter behind Mom.
“I tried the Snickers. I won’t be doing that again.” I am an Oreo Blizzard person all the way. A part of me has just always been curious about the Snickers Blizzard.
I hate when I give up something I love to try something new and get disappointed. It’s why I consistently order the exact same thing at every restaurant I ever go to.
“How’s Tyler?” Mom asks, pretending to be all interested in the carrots.
I roll my eyes at Dad, who is smirking. “He’s fine.”
“Is it official?”
“Officially what?”
“I don’t know. Official. Whatever you guys call it these days. Going steady. In a relationship. I don’t know.”
I just laugh a short laugh and sit at one of the stools at the island. “I don’t know either, Mom.”
Right then Preslee walks in.
“Hi, Paige.”
“Hi, Preslee.”
Then we just look at each other.
I’m still shocked by how old Preslee is. I guess when you haven’t seen someone in a while, you just naturally assume she is going to stay the way she was. She’s wearing jeans and a loose, vintage-style cream-colored sleeveless top. Her dark hair is long and straight today.
She looks like she needs a few of Dad’s rolls. She’s too thin.
“Well, isn’t this just wonderful?” Mom sighs and leans back into Dad’s chest. “Both of our girls under the same roof!”
Yes. Just peachy.
“Preslee was telling us that she’s been living in Kansas City, Paige,” Mom says all cheery, like Preslee has been keeping in touch with her for the last several years.
“Really.”
“Yes. Oh, why don’t you tell Paige about it, sweetie?”
Sweetie. The word leaves a sting somewhere on the back of my shoulders.
Preslee, to her credit, looks like she feels awkward. She meets my gaze briefly and then pulls the other stool out, a couple of yards away from me, and sits. She folds her hands in her lap. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve been living there about two years.” She seems quieter, more reserved, sorrowful almost.
I fight the pity. I didn’t march out of here leaving my mother sobbing, my dad angry. She should feel sad.
“How’s Spike?” I am pretty certain that was his name, the final nail in the coffin that was Preslee’s former good-church-girl life.
Once he entered the picture, things went downhill fast.
“We broke up,” she says quietly. “A while ago.”
Good. I don’t say it. Anyone named Spike should just be steered clear of, I’m pretty sure.
Mom and Dad are looking at each other, then looking at me and Preslee, then looking back at each other, pensive.
“What?” I ask them.
“Paige,” Preslee says, quietly. “I came back for a reason.”
I look at her, biting my tongue, a sudden rush of panic flooding into my stomach. She has cancer. She’s pregnant. She’s got seven days to live and I wasted four of them.
Her eyes are dark, concerned. She finally takes a deep breath and then twists a ring on her left hand.
“I’m getting married.” She folds her hands together. I can see the huge glittering diamond she’d turned into her palm.
I just look at her.
Preslee’s story falls out in a rush. “After Spike, I was just there, stuck in Chicago. I had no money, no job, I lived in a women’s shelter. The people that ran it ended up becoming good friends of mine, and they took me to church with them.” Her eyes get all teary. “I became a Christian, Paige.”
Mom is sobbing softly.
“I started going to church with them every Sunday, got involved in as many Bible studies as I could find, and the pastor of the church introduced me to his son, Wes, who just started up his own realty company.” She touches the ring on her finger absently, and I know before she says it that Wes is now her fiancé.
“Anyway, Wes gave me a job, I started working and got an apartment and a car and Wes … Oh Paige, he’s so wonderful. He wants to move here. We’re actually going to be opening a branch of his company in Waco and moving right after the wedding. We’re getting married in six months.”
I don’t know what to think. What to feel. I’m staring at her and I feel like I should be happy.
Or at least happy for her.
Instead, all I feel is this sinking feeling deep in my stomach. It sounds like everything has just worked out great for Preslee, despite the pain she put us through.
“That’s great,” I say, trying to force the smile. I push myself off my stool, walk over, and give Preslee the most awkward hug in the world.
She latches on to me, though, like I’m Leo DiCaprio and about to drown in icy waters. “Oh, Paige, the second I met Wes, the first thing I thought was how much I just wanted to tell you about him. He’s wonderful. Really, really wonderful.” She lets go and looks at me and then Mom and Dad. “I told him we were having a family dinner tonight. Mom, this is so last minute and I know you want it to be the four of us, but seeing as how we’re getting married and he’s in Waco right now on business …”
“Oh my gosh!” Mom says, a blubbering mess. “Invite him! Can he make it here in time?”
Preslee smiles a mischievous smile that sends me right back to elementary school when she and I would conspire to stay up past our bedtimes. “He’s actually on his way. I figured you’d say yes.”
“Oh my goodness and just look at me,” Mom says, sniffling, swiping at her running mascara. “Lyle, take over chopping the salad. I’m going to touch up my makeup.” She hands Dad the knife and then squeezes my shoulders as I sit back on my stool. “Isn’t this just the most wonderful news?” she whispers in my ear.
“Mm-hmm,” I hum.
Thirty minutes pass very slowly. We move to the living room and I try to rub Honey’s ears and stuff down the growing sense of frustration as I listen to Preslee tell us all about Wes, how he’s so gentle, so sweet, so compassionate, so every other desirable trait.
“Oh, and he’s a big coffee drinker, Paige,” Preslee says to me from the oppos
ite couch, all smiles, like somehow this will make me and him best friends.
For the record, I like lots of people who don’t like coffee.
“That’s great,” I say for the fortieth time.
The doorbell chimes at four, right as my phone starts ringing. It’s Layla and thank God, she’s prompt for the first time ever in her whole life.
I mumble something about needing to take it, but no one hears me because Mom is excitedly squealing over the door, Dad’s smiling, and Preslee is throwing her arms around someone still standing on the porch. I duck down the hallway and into my old room that Mom left exactly as I left it the day I moved to Dallas.
I cried the whole drive there.
I take a deep breath and answer the phone. “Hey.”
“So I hate to tell you this, but we’ve been under attack from aliens and one of the missiles hit your apartment building. I think you’ve lost everything.” Layla’s voice is monotone.
“Watching Independence Day?”
“For like the eightieth time. I do not see the appeal of this movie, Paige. How’s it going?”
I sigh and rub my forehead, looking at my reflection in the mirror over my dresser. I look old.
Not something I want to look like as a twenty-three-year-old.
“That wonderful, huh?” Layla says to my silence. “Well. Feel free to use the missile excuse.”
“Somehow, I don’t think they’ll buy that.”
“How’s Preslee?”
“Oh, she’s great. She’s a Christian now. Got a great job. She’s getting married to the perfect man.”
“Huh. Times are a-changing. His name isn’t Spike, is it?”
“Wes.”
“As in ‘as you wish’? Wow. Good for her!”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound so happy.”
I don’t want to get into a discussion of my current feelings over the phone. “I’m fine. He just got here. I should probably go meet him.”
“Well, don’t go like that. You might scare him off with your enthusiasm.”
“Bye, Layla. Thanks for calling.”
“Love you, friend.”
I hang up, look at myself once more in the mirror, and then plead another quick prayer.
Seriously, God. Help!
The living room is full of happiness when I walk out. A tall, very cute blond guy is standing with his arm around Preslee’s shoulders, a smile wider than a long-bed truck covering his face.
I need to not listen to country the three-and-a-half hours home.
“Paige!” Preslee says. The sad, sorrowful girl of forty-five minutes ago is gone, replaced with a bright, glowing, all-smiles woman.
A knot hardens in my stomach.
“Paige, this is my fiancé, Wes Millerman.” Preslee is shining, her eyes never leaving Wes’s face.
“Hi there.” Wes smiles a friendly smile at me. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Paige.”
Here’s what I want to say: “I wish I could say the same, Wes.”
Here’s what I do say: “It’s nice to meet you.” Then I paste the fakest smile ever on my face, sit on the couch, rub Honey’s ears, and listen to the love story and the proposal story and the what-we-hope-our-wedding-will-be story for the next two hours.
Mom’s honey ham and sweet potatoes look and smell delicious but taste like a peach that isn’t quite ripe — bland and grainy. Everyone else is praising the meal to the skies, though, so I’m assuming it’s just the knot in my stomach making everything taste weird. Even Dad’s rolls have a funny texture they’ve never had before.
Wes is adorable and charming and Preslee is all smiles and flirtation. It’s odd to see my sister like this. The last time I saw her, she was sullen and angry, ready with a biting response to anything anyone said.
This is like Preslee from elementary school. Carefree. Happy.
Mom and Dad spend the evening enraptured by everything Wes and Preslee say. They laugh, Mom cries at sad parts, and then they laugh some more. In light of their obvious joy at their youngest being home, I feel even worse.
At six o’clock, right as I’m about to say my good-byes, Wes stops laughing and looks over at me. “We are being so rude,” he says to Preslee. “We’ve dominated the whole conversation. Paige, I really do want to hear more about you.”
I wave a hand. It is far better that I didn’t have the chance to get a word in edgewise, not that I would have taken the chance anyway. “No big deal. I’m actually about to head out. I’ve got a long drive home.”
“Oh, not already, Paige,” Preslee says, her face falling. “Mom made dessert. We haven’t even pulled it out yet.”
I stand and shrug. “That’s okay. Some other time. Wes, it was nice to meet you. Good to see you, Preslee.” I give Mom and Dad a hug.
“I made cinnamon cake though, honey,” Mom says as I hug her. “Are you sure you can’t stay? Just thirty more minutes?”
I shake my head and slip my purse over my shoulder. I have reached the limit. If I don’t leave now, I will say a lot of things I’ll wish I hadn’t tomorrow. Besides, cinnamon cake is Preslee’s favorite.
Not mine.
“Next time. I’ll see you guys soon.” I pat Honey on the head and run out the door before they have a chance to formulate another excuse for me to stay.
I hurry to my car, unlock it, slide in, turn the key, and back out. I’m halfway to the interstate before the tears come.
They slide out one at a time at first. Hot and heavy, tracing down my face before dropping into my lap.
I stayed. I was here. I was the one who followed all the rules, heard all the complaints, and dealt with the aftermath of Preslee’s behavior. It was me who held Mom the years that Preslee hadn’t even bothered to call on Christmas or Mother’s Day.
And now she is back. Happy. Healthy. Beautiful. Engaged. Right back to living in her old bedroom like nothing ever happened.
And somehow, I suddenly feel like the outsider.
I get home a little before ten, completely physically and emotionally exhausted. I climb the stairs, unlock my door, lock it behind me, and walk through the dark apartment to my bedroom. I put on my pajamas, brush my teeth, and climb into bed.
I look at my Bible but don’t pick it up. I just know it will have some verse about loving your enemies or praying for those who hurt you, and I just can’t read that tonight.
Then I cry myself to sleep.
Chapter
10
Monday and Tuesday are rough days. By Wednesday, I’m wound so tight I’m worried about sitting in my swivel chair at work.
Peggy stops by my desk on her way in. “You okay, Paige?” She’s carrying a coffee thermos that most likely has green tea in it by the acrid smell wafting from the open lid.
“Fine.”
“Well, you don’t seem fine. Are you sure you’re —?”
“I’m fine, Peggy.”
She holds her free hand up. “Okay, okay. I won’t push.” She leaves to go to her office.
“Peggy …” I sigh, rubbing my forehead.
She smiles and shrugs it off. “No harm, no foul, Paige. I’ll be in my office.”
My phone buzzes then and I look at the text from Tyler.
WHAT ARE YOU UP TO AFTER YOUTH GROUP TONIGHT? WANT TO GO GET DESSERT?
The last in a long string of texts from him. He sent me a message right after I got home Sunday night asking how it went, he asked if we could do dinner on Monday, then dinner on Tuesday …
I don’t like this side of me that I am seeing. And I like Tyler.
A lot, if I have to be completely honest.
It’s best that I work through these emotions without putting him through the wringer while I am doing it.
I type a quick one word reply. MAYBE.
Somehow I get through the day without injuring anyone. I run home, change clothes, consider calling Rick to tell him I’m not coming tonight, and then decide to just go.
Better that than Natali
e showing up at the house with baby Claire demanding what’s wrong and not leaving until I tell her.
I am jealous of my sister.
Not a pretty thing to say to anyone. Even just putting it into thought form makes me wince.
And here I think I am such a strong, sensible Christian.
I walk into the youth room at 5:34, but one look at my face and Rick doesn’t shoot the marshmallow gun he has aimed at the door to fire on latecomers. Tyler walks in and looks at me, concern spreading over his whole face.
Rick prays, says a few things about the lessons that I don’t hear, and then everyone stands. I start for the door as well.
“Wait for a second, Paige,” Rick says, not moving from where he’s straddling his chair. He leans over, tucks the gun on the floor under the chair, and then sits back up, leaning forward to rest his arms on the chair back, just looking at me.
The door closes behind Tyler and Rick nods to my chair. “Have a seat.”
I sit, making sure Rick hears my sigh.
“Theatrics aren’t going to help here, Paige. What’s up? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so mellow.”
“I’m tired,” I say. And I am. I’ve spent the past three nights tossing and turning half the time.
This should not be upsetting me as much as it is.
Rick just looks at me. “And?”
“And what?”
“That’s what I just asked. I know you, Paige Alder. You are not just tired.”
I sigh again and rub my face. “I don’t know, Rick. I don’t want to talk about it. I feel petty.”
“Someone steal your favorite parking space?”
“Preslee is back to stay.”
Rick and Natalie know how much Preslee hurt me. Right after everything happened with her, I spent about three days crying on their sofa. They’ve had to hear me gripe every year about how Preslee didn’t come home for Christmas or whatever the major event was.
“I remember,” Rick says.
“She’s back and she’s completely changed and she’s engaged.” He already knows some of this, but I can’t help the repeat. “She’s a Christian, she’s beautiful and stylish, she’s marrying this guy who’s equally beautiful and stylish, and she’s happy and I just feel …” I let my voice trail off, covering my eyes.