Paige Torn

by Erynn Mangum

  “Waterskiing with Layla’s family,” Candace adds.

  I wince. I hate water. And I hate skiing. And yet, somehow I found myself strapped to the heaviest skis in the world, grasping onto a handle tied to a rope that was attached to a boat. I had to have my arm set back in the socket and wore a brace for three weeks afterward.

  And none of my cute summer outfits looked cute with an Ace bandage brace.

  “What’s-his-face from your Sunday school class who needed help moving,” Peggy says.

  I’d shown up to Gavin’s all set to help and found him and three guys playing Xbox in an apartment that hadn’t even started being boxed up. So I spent the rest of the day boxing up his closet while he and his friends tried to kill each other in whatever the horribly violent game was.

  I can concede that one.

  “That friend of yours who, thank the good Lord, finally moved back home to Michigan or wherever she was from, who kept asking you to go to dinner and forgetting her wallet,” Candace says.

  Aubrey Benterly. Once she finally moved, I had to eat rice cakes for every meal for four months just to get money back into my savings. She called me up at least three times a week with some crisis she needed to talk about. “Let’s just meet at Olive Garden,” she’d say in tears.

  “And then the winner of them all, Luke Prestwick,” Candace says.

  I sigh.

  Luke Prestwick. I cried over him for two months.

  A few months after getting this job, I’d confessed the whole Luke saga to Candace and Peggy. And then I decided that maybe his moving to California was a blessing in disguise.

  Maybe.

  I try not to think about him.

  “Look, Paige,” Peggy says in a more gentle voice. “I’m not against you helping people. In fact, it’s one of the qualities I love best about you.”

  “And it totally comes across in your work here,” Candace says. “That’s why you’ve got a drawerful of thank-you cards and pictures from all of our clients.” She pulls open my top drawer as Exhibit A. I have stacks and stacks of cards, letters, and pictures in there.

  “What did you do last week?” Peggy asks.

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’ve seen your planner. Get it out. I want to see what you did last week.”

  I pull my planner out of my purse, open it to last week, and set it on my desk. Peggy and Candace read quietly for a minute.

  Candace shakes her head. “Good gracious, girl. When do you even have time to eat?”

  “Or shower?” Peggy asks.

  “Or sit and watch a movie?” Candace says.

  I sigh again. “I don’t know what you guys expect me to do.” I close my planner and shove it back in my purse. “Nothing in there is bad. It’s church stuff or best-friend stuff or work stuff. I can’t cut out any of it.”

  “I’m just suggesting that maybe you look into the mirror and practice saying the word no,” Peggy says gently.

  “And I’m seconding that suggestion.” Candace nods. “It’s a lesson I had to learn, and it’s one I’ve always been thankful for.” She looks at me for a long minute and then pats the top of my hand. “A need does not constitute a call, sweetie.”

  Peggy smiles softly at me. “We’ll let you do your work. Just think about it.”

  I nod. Candace walks around my desk and gives me one of those awkward hugs when one person is seated. “I love you, honey. It’s the only reason I’m giving you a hard time.”

  I nod again. They both walk down to their offices, flipping through their voice-mail slips. I look at my computer, pulling up the banquet spreadsheet I created, and bite my lip.

  Do I really have that big of a problem saying no?

  I shake my head. They are overreacting. I can say no. I mean, I’ve said no to Tyler asking me out like eight times by this point. Which maybe is a bigger issue I have. Apparently, I can’t say no to needy, weird guys, but a normal, sweet Christian guy I have no problem turning down.

  Maybe I do need help.

  * * * * *

  At First Sight is about fifteen minutes from the office, but since it’s a work-related visit, Mark agreed that he and Peggy would cover the phone. I love work-related errands. They are like a field trip.

  The day is absolutely beautiful. Sunshine, blue skies, probably seventy-five degrees, and low humidity, which is something of a miracle in Dallas.

  The florist is in a little strip mall right next door to a tailor. I park in front and walk in.

  Some days, I wish I’d gone into floral design. The place smells amazing.

  “Hey there.” An older lady who looks a lot like the actress Kathy Bates smiles at me from behind a long worktable and rubs her hands on a towel. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Paige Alder. I called you this morning from Lawman Adoption Agency.”

  She nods. “I am expecting you. I’m Sandra. Come on in to the back room. Can I get you anything? Water? Coke? I think I’ve even got a pitcher of sweet tea in there.” She waves for me to follow her.

  “No thanks.” See? I can say no.

  “It’s my famous sweet tea.” She leads me into a small white room with a wicker coffee table and two wicker chairs. She nods to one of the chairs.

  “Okay then,” I say. “Sweet tea sounds good.”

  Sandra leaves and I nod to myself. Sweet tea does sound good. So it’s fine.

  “Here you go.” She comes back in with a tall glass a minute later. “And I’ll be right back with your arrangements. I just finished the last one a few minutes ago.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me until you’ve seen them.” She grins. She comes back holding two different arrangements. “Let me grab the last,” she says and then is back a minute later.

  She sets them all on the table in front of me, and I feel myself relaxing. They are absolutely stunning. The smaller one is too small for what I am thinking, but I will have a hard time deciding between the larger and the middle-sized one.

  “And all of these are within my budget?” I ask her.

  “Yes, they are.” She pushes a pair of bifocals up on her face. “Now, you said you need eighty-four of these?”

  “Right.”

  “Totally doable.” She nods. “You just let me know which one you like or if you want any changes made to them.” She sits back in the other wicker chair and smiles at me. “Is this a fancy event?”

  “Yeah. It’s as close to black tie as you can get,” I tell her. She nods.

  I study the flowers, thinking. “Okay, another question. If I get the medium-sized ones and we make it this size but with fewer flowers, can I get two extra-large arrangements for the stage?”

  She purses her lips, thinking. “Red roses as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mmm. We can probably do that. I might have to add some filler greenery in there, but that will bring the price down a little bit so it’s a comfortable fit for your budget.”

  I like this lady. I sip her sweet tea and can see why she is famous for it. “Are you guys open on Saturday?”

  “Until noon.”

  “My friend is planning an anniversary party for her parents. I might have her come by.” It would be much easier on us both if someone else was making the centerpieces for Layla’s party. Particularly if she really wants us to sleep in the park the night before.

  I am still praying she’ll change her mind on that one.

  I leave the florist feeling a little more relieved about the banquet. Sandra says she’ll get to the Marriott at two o’clock on the last Saturday in February. Which gives us four hours to get the arrangements on the tables and stage before the banquet actually starts.

  Surely that is enough time.

  I get back to work and check the florist off my list of things to do. Mark comes over to my desk around four.

  “Paige, did you already confirm with the speakers?”

  I nod and flip through my file on the banquet. “Yes, sir. Al
l of them should be there at five, and I’ve already arranged with the Marriott to have three wireless microphones for them, as well as one on the podium as a backup.”

  Mark looks impressed. “Very thorough.” He smiles at me proudly. “And when is the band getting there?”

  “I think they’re coming at three to rehearse. I told them they’d go on at six fifteen.” The way the banquet is set up, Mark will open the evening, say grace, and then we’ll serve dinner. The Marriott is giving us a great discount on their catering service, so we are using them. When dinner starts to wrap up, the band will take a break, we’ll hear from Owen Roberts, the TV guy; Alexa Thomas, the lady from March of Dimes; and Camilla Carson, the beauty pageant girl. Then the band will play again, and they’ll have an open dance floor until the night ends around ten with the silent auction winners.

  It will be a big night.

  “And the auction items?” Mark asks.

  Again, I flip around in my file folder. Mark spent the past year going to different businesses and asking for donations for our auction. All of the proceeds go straight to helping lower-income families adopt. Add the auction money to the ticket sales and we usually exceed $20,000 to $30,000 in one night.

  The biggest item he got to auction off is a seventy-two-inch flat-screen TV. Which just seems ridiculously huge for a TV. And it makes me feel sad for the poor news anchors on television these days. I would be horribly self-conscious if I knew my face was seventy-two inches and in high definition in someone’s house.

  I tell him which businesses are bringing the auction items and which ones we need to pick up from the day before. He nods and then smiles at me again. “You’re a great secretary,” he says and goes back to his office.

  I think he means it as a compliment. But as he leaves, I just sit there and stare at the banquet file.

  I will most likely never be a counselor at Lawman Adoption Agency.

  I am a good secretary. Too good for my own good.

  There is a text waiting from Tyler when I finally call it a day at five thirty.

  JUST WANTED TO APOLOGIZE FOR WHAT I SAID YESTERDAY AFTER LUNCH — I CAN BE TOO BLUNT SOMETIMES. HOPE YOU ARE HAVING A GREAT DAY, PAIGE.

  I write him back.

  NO BIG DEAL. YOU ARE MOST LIKELY RIGHT. THANKS FOR BEING HONEST WITH ME. I’LL SEE YOU WEDNESDAY NIGHT.

  I drive home. I am planning on going home and changing before heading back to the grocery store. I decided to dress up today, and my heels are killing my feet.

  I climb my apartment stairs and find a white envelope taped to the door.

  I am half creeped out. First, because that means someone has been on my porch and stuck a note to my door without me being there. Second, because it doesn’t have a name or anything on it.

  I pull it off slowly and open it. It is a card.

  Paige, thought you could use this.

  Inside is a Chili’s gift card. And it isn’t signed. I turn the card over to check. Even the handwriting is indistinguishable. All caps.

  Great. Now, how am I supposed to write a thank-you note? I smile though and walk inside. Looks like ribs are in my future tonight.

  I call Layla.

  “Hey, Paige,” she answers, sounding busy.

  “Did you leave me a Chili’s gift card?”

  “Did I what?” Her voice gets muffled. “Peter, no, I don’t like that there. Hang on a second, Paige.”

  She starts talking to Peter, and I decide to change my clothes. I kick off my heels, find a pair of ratty jeans, and grab a TCU T-shirt.

  “Sorry, Paige. Peter went with me to the grocery store, and he hasn’t quite gotten my pantry system down.”

  “You have a pantry system?” Layla’s pantry looks like a canned-good donation stash. Nothing is grouped together that I can tell.

  “Sure I do. I organize by expiration date.”

  Only Layla would do that.

  “Now, what do you want?” she asks me. “We can’t go to Chili’s tonight. Mom and Dad want to take us out to dinner. Though, they’d probably love for you to join us, so you should just come along.”

  “No, no, I’m fine.” I can indeed say the word no. Twice today, as a matter of fact. It isn’t my fault that Sandra seduced

  me into saying yes to her sweet tea. I am looking forward to telling Peggy and Candace tomorrow about my victories.

  “Anyway, I don’t think we’re going to Chili’s. Mom said something about Panera. But if you’re craving Chili’s, I can probably convince them to go there.”

  Suddenly, I am craving macaroni and cheese. “No, Layla, really. I don’t want to invite myself to your dinner tonight. Someone left a Chili’s gift card on my door, and I’m just calling to say thank you, if it was you.”

  “Oh, well, it wasn’t me. Though I probably owe you more than a Chili’s gift card for all the work you’ve done for Mom and Dad’s party. Speaking of which, I finally bought all the stuff to make the invitations.”

  I frown. “Wait, what?” Last I’d heard, she was going to just send e-vites. And that was after her other brilliant idea of having them made by some lady she’d found at an online craft fair.

  “Yep. I got cream-colored paper, some burlap and muslin, and some blue lacy accents that match Mom and Dad’s wedding colors.” She sounds proud of herself.

  I rub my forehead. “How many people are you inviting again?”

  “So far, I’ve got a hundred and twenty. But those are individuals, so probably around …” She blows her breath out. “Oh I don’t know, maybe seventy invitations?”

  Seventy invitations. All handmade.

  I sit down at my kitchen table.

  “The party is in two weeks, Layla,” I say quietly.

  “Right. I figure we can crank them out this weekend and have them all ready to be mailed on Monday. That’s still plenty of notice for a party. And I’ve already been talking to all our out-of-town relatives and Mom and Dad’s best friends for like the last four months.”

  “I can’t help this weekend, though, Layla. Remember? Rick is going out of town, and Natalie asked me to come stay with her and the baby.”

  “Oh.” Layla gets quiet for a minute. “I bet Natalie wouldn’t mind if we worked on invitations at her house. I’ll text her and see if that’s okay. And we’re meeting Mom and Dad at Panera in like fifteen minutes, so I’ve got to go. Are you going to come?”

  “No, thanks though,” I say quietly.

  “All right. See you later.” She hangs up, and I rub my forehead.

  Sometimes Layla has no idea how much work goes into things.

  * * * * *

  The week alternates between crawling and flying by. I spend every day working on the banquet stuff at work and Layla’s party stuff at night.

  The one bright spot is when I tell Rick and Tyler about the gift card on my porch. Rick just says, “That’s cool,” and leaves.

  “Well, hopefully you like fajitas then,” Tyler says nonchalantly, following Rick.

  I did not mention that the gift card is to Chili’s.

  Since he left, I didn’t follow him. But it does make something deep in the pit of my stomach get a little bit warmer.

  Friday after work, I drive straight to Natalie’s house and get there about five fifteen. I’d brought my duffel bag with me so I could head right over there. Rick left at seven this morning for the retreat, so Natalie has been home by herself for a while.

  I don’t totally understand why she needs my help. Claire is only four weeks old. How much trouble can she be already?

  Natalie opens the door looking like a truck ran over her, backed up, and ran over her again. Her hair is greasy and pulled back in a ponytail. She is wearing sweatpants and a pink ratty T-shirt that says Anybody Want A Peanut? and has a picture of Fezzik on it.

  “Thank God!” She grabs me in a hug.

  I hug her back with one arm since I am holding my duffel bag with the other. She lets go and rubs her eyes. “She hasn’t slept at all in the last thirty
-six hours,” she moans. “She sort of napped for about ten minutes today after nursing, but the second I set her down in her bassinet, she woke back up.”

  “She’s quiet now,” I say, walking inside.

  I haven’t been over to their house since Claire was born. Natalie usually kept a house that looked like it belonged in a Pottery Barn catalog.

  Today, pillows are strewn everywhere, there is a huge pile of laundry on the couch, and random blankets, pacifiers, and diapers are all over the floor.

  Claire is propped into a corner of the couch, looking at me, sucking on a pacifier.

  “See what I mean?” Natalie yawns. “She just stares at me like that.”

  “Hey, precious,” I croon, sitting down on the couch next to her. She doesn’t even blink but just stares straight at me, pacifier moving up and down in her mouth.

  It is a little disconcerting.

  “I have read every single article online about getting your baby to sleep.” Natalie sits down on the pile of laundry. “And nothing works. I’ve tried the swing, I’ve tried the bouncer, I’ve tried the Moby wrap, I’ve tried singing, and I’ve given her three baths with that lavender-y baby soap.” She shakes her head slowly. “And still she stares. Or cries.”

  “Maybe Fezzik’s head is scaring her.” I nod to Andre the Giant’s head on her shirt. He does have kind of a creepy expression.

  “No way. My daughter cannot be scared of The Princess Bride. No way.”

  I look back at Claire, and she is still staring at me. “Maybe she’s hungry?”

  “I’ve been nursing her for an hour every three hours,” Natalie says, exhaustion straining across her face. “She can’t be hungry. And I’ve changed her diaper eighteen times today.”

  “She’s had eighteen dirty diapers?” Rick is going to need to get a second job just to pay for diapers.

  “No, she’s had two. But I just thought maybe she wasn’t comfortable, so I kept changing her, hoping she’d go to sleep.”

  I grin. “Well, when was the last time you fed her?”

  “Twenty minutes ago.”

  “Okay. Go take a shower and a couple-hour nap. I’ve got Claire. And we’ll have dinner waiting when you wake up.”

  I am pretty sure I’ve never seen Natalie so happy. “Really? Really, Paige?”