Paige Torn

by Erynn Mangum

  Maybe I’ve been waiting for this.

  “I don’t know,” I say, taking the easy way out rather than trying to put all my jumbled thoughts into words.

  “Wimp.” Tyler grins over at me.

  “Wait, can I change my answer?” Layla asks.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “I’m waiting for the new Panda Express entrée to be released. I’ve been seeing the little hints on their Facebook page for the last two months.” She squints at the sky. “Chicken. Tangy. Spicy and sweet.” She shakes her head. “I’m voting it’s something with pineapple.”

  I start laughing.

  “I’m waiting for home-cooked meals.” Peter grins. I am fairly certain this is the first time I’ve ever heard him make a joke.

  “Hello? Did you not hear how excited I am for Panda’s new entrée?”

  “I’m waiting for Starbucks to start a delivery service,” I say.

  “Pineapple. Tangy. Spicy,” Layla repeats, ticking the points off on her fingers.

  “I thought you were only guessing the pineapple.”

  “It’s an educated guess, Peter,” Layla says.

  I look up. At some point, it got dark. I squint up at the sky and see a couple of stars starting to make their appearance.

  “Tomorrow is going to be a crazy day,” Layla says quietly a few minutes later.

  “But tonight is nice.” I smile over at her.

  She grins at me and nods. “Tonight is perfect.”

  At ten o’clock, Layla and I finally stand up and say our good nights. “We’ll be here first thing in the morning,” Layla tells Peter. She gathers up the blanket we were lying on, and Peter walks her back to her car.

  I pick up the leftover bread from dinner as Tyler grabs the cooler I brought for the leftover meat and walks with me over to my car. “Well,” I say, looking at Tyler. This is awkward. Peter and Layla are a couple. Tyler and I are just friends, but something about the starlight makes everything seem more romantic than it actually is.

  “Well,” he says, smiling at me. “I hope you sleep well.”

  “I hope you sleep well.”

  “Me too.” He grins. “I think I’ll be fine. I can usually sleep anywhere.”

  “Air mattresses?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Backseats of cars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Airplanes?” I ask.

  “Yep.”

  I sigh. “I’m jealous.”

  “It’s a gift.” He shrugs. “With great sleeping talent comes great sleeping responsibility.”

  “You are very strange, do you know that?” I ask him with a smile.

  He looks at me for a second, smiling, though it is dark and I can’t really make out his expression very well. Then I feel his hand on mine, squeezing it gently, lightly rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand.

  “Sweet dreams, Paige,” he says softly. He drops my hand and waves, walking over to his truck, then opens the passenger door and pulls out a sleeping bag.

  It is best if I ignore the ten million grasshoppers suddenly residing in my stomach. I wave at Layla. “I’ll pick you up at six forty-five.”

  “Okay. Night, Paige.”

  I drive home, climb the stairs to my dark apartment, change into my pajamas, crawl into bed, and flick on my lamp on the bedside table, pulling my Bible over. I stare at my hand.

  Surely Tyler held my hand tonight out of friendliness.

  Surely.

  Even so, the grasshoppers are still there.

  I open my Bible to the Psalms. Psalm 40 catches my eye.

  “I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry.… He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord.”

  A new song.

  I like the idea of a new song to God.

  * * * * *

  Six o’clock comes much too early. I squint at my alarm clock and groan. But then I stop groaning because at least I am waking up in a comfortable, warm bed and not in a sleeping bag on the hard ground.

  I need to do something nice for Tyler to tell him thank you.

  Since we are coming back to shower after we set up, I skip showering this morning and just yank my hair into a sloppy bun. I pull on jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, add a little bit of mascara, and grab my purse and the bag of stuff I’m thinking Layla will probably forget, like scissors, tape, twisty ties for securing the twinkle lights, and stuff like that.

  I leave my apartment at 6:20 and go to Starbucks. I am fairly certain Caramel Frappucinos are a universal drink, and it is still pretty cold outside, so they’ll stay semicold in the car for the next twenty minutes. I buy two venti Frappucinos for the boys, venti caramel macchiatos for Layla and me, a couple of apple fritters, and four of their bacon breakfast sandwiches.

  My car smells like I imagine heaven will. I get to Layla’s apartment, and she is already out front with six boxes of stuff on the curb next to her.

  “Good morning!” she says all cheerfully when I pull up.

  “Hi, Layla.” I smile. Sometimes I hate that she looks so cute so effortlessly. She doesn’t have any makeup on at all, her hair is in a long braid over her shoulder, and she is wearing jeans and a teal long-sleeve shirt.

  “Trunk or backseat?” She points to the boxes.

  “Probably both.” I pop the trunk and help her load. She opens the back door and inhales deeply.

  “Oh wow, I am moving into your car.”

  “You might get a little cramped after a while.”

  “What on earth did you buy?” She keeps sniffing. “Coffee? Caramel? Bacon?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes. Goodness. You should start fighting crime with your nose.” I grin at her over the box I am carrying as she slides another box in the backseat.

  “I’ve been asked by the FBI a few times.” She nods. “But you know, it’s one of those mixing-business-and-pleasure things for me. I just like to smell recreationally too much to ever consider doing it for a job.”

  I laugh. “You are way too awake this morning. I’m debating whether I should give you this macchiato.”

  “This is totally adrenaline.” Layla climbs into the passenger seat. I slide in behind the wheel and hand her the coffee cup. “I barely slept at all. Come tomorrow, I will be a zombie.” She grins at me. “Thanks for the coffee, friend. And for everything you’ve done for this party. I owe you a million times over.”

  I wave a hand. “You’d do the same for me.”

  And she would.

  We get to the park right at seven. It is completely bright outside, the birds are chirping, and there is not a cloud in sight.

  Perfect day for a party.

  Peter is awake, but Tyler, miracle of all miracles, is still in his sleeping bag. He has a pillow over his head to block the sun, so I imagine he is probably just dozing.

  Layla carries one of the Frappucinos over to Peter, and I guess their talking wakes Tyler up for good because he pushes the pillow off his face and sits up, stretching. I hide my grin behind my coffee cup. His hair is a complete mess. His face is all scratchy, his eyes bleary.

  I walk over and hand him the Frappucino. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, Paige,” he says, his voice rough and an octave deeper than usual. He smiles at me and takes the Frappucino. “Thanks.”

  “How was it last night?”

  “Good.” He nods and sips the drink. “I really need to find a place to brush my teeth.”

  “That would probably be good. Y’all can head home now if you want.”

  “What are you guys going to do?” He slides out of his sleeping bag and stands up, stretching again.

  “I’ll need to check Layla’s spreadsheet.” I roll my eyes.

  “I saw that, Paige. The spreadsheet is a brilliant idea.” Layla pulls it out of her back pocket and hands it to me.

  I give her the bag of breakfast, and she digs through it to get an apple fritter. “Come to mama,” she whisp
ers to it.

  “I have never understood that expression.” I open the folded spreadsheet. “Kind of implies cannibalism. And not just cannibalism, but cannibalism of your own flesh and blood.” I make a face.

  “You think too much,” Layla says.

  Peter walks over, rubbing his short dark hair. “Hi, Paige.”

  “Hi, Peter.”

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Thanks for spending the night here,” I say.

  Tyler pulls his phone out of his pocket and squints. “Seven fifteen. How about I run home, change clothes, brush my teeth, and I’ll be back in about thirty minutes to help?”

  “Nope.” Layla shakes her head. “You can go home and take a nap and then come back around two.”

  “I don’t need a nap, Layla.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Layla, I’m a big boy,” Tyler says to her. “I think I can tell if I need a nap or not.”

  He doesn’t say it meanly, just matter-of-factly. Layla looks at him for a minute and then hands him a bacon sandwich. “At least don’t argue with me about eating.”

  “I never argue about eating bacon.” He takes a huge bite.

  Both of the guys end up leaving around nine and Layla turns to me, hands on her hips, sunglasses covering her eyes. “All right. Go time.”

  We unload all the boxes from my car, finish our Starbucks drinks, and have just started working on the lights in the gazebo again when Tyler pulls back into the parking lot.

  Layla stands on one of the benches while I hold a huge mess of twinkle lights and slowly feed them to her. We watch as he unloads a ladder and a toolbox from the back of his truck. Then she nudges me with her foot.

  “Um, ow.” I rub my rib cage.

  Layla nods to Tyler walking over. “Nice. Helpful. Pretty darn cute in the morning. And I guarantee he’s not here for me.”

  I hate that I blush.

  Layla laughs.

  “What?” Tyler asks, walking up the gazebo steps with the ladder.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly before Layla opens her mouth. “You brought a ladder,” I say, trying to distract them both.

  “Yep.” Tyler nods to the top of the gazebo. “We can string the lights all the way up now if you want to, Layla.”

  “Yes, please.” She smiles sweetly at him. The second he looks down to step up on his ladder, she nudges me in the rib cage with her foot again.

  “Will you stop that?” I hiss at her.

  “What’s that?” Tyler asks.

  “Nothing,” I say again. “What time are the tables getting here again, Layla?”

  She looks at the clock on her cell phone. “Anytime between now and noon, I think.”

  We are just about finished with the gazebo when the people with the tables show up, and Peter arrives right after that. To be honest, I am amazed that there hasn’t been anyone else at the park yet. The day is gorgeous, and while this park doesn’t have a playground like a few of the other ones in the neighborhood, it has huge willow trees all around it, rustling in the slight breeze.

  It is going to be a great party.

  It takes the two men with the table company about forty-five minutes to set up the sixteen tables and all the chairs around the gazebo. Then they start in on the dance floor. That takes another hour because each piece has to be puzzled into the others. That and apparently they can only work one guy at a time on that while the other guy tries to talk to me.

  “So, what’s the party for?” both of them start the conversation with.

  I finally make an excuse to walk back over to the boxes and try to dig through for the tablecloths.

  “You have a yes face,” Tyler says, coming over, backhanding his shiny forehead.

  “What?”

  “Your face. It’s too nice.”

  It sounds like a compliment but not necessarily with the tone he is using. I mash my lips together for a minute. “Um. Thank you.”

  He grins. “No, I meant, you just have a friendly face.” Then he frowns. “And a nice face. Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice and friendly.”

  Layla comes over and hefts one of the boxes holding sixteen lanterns on her hip, groaning slightly. “Oh my gosh,” she mutters.

  “I got it.” Tyler takes the box from her and carries it to the gazebo.

  “That was not what I was talking about,” Layla says, rolling her eyes. “You two are ridiculously cute.”

  I ignore her comment and focus on the tablecloths. “All blue?”

  “Blue on the bottom. White lace on the top.”

  “Pretty.” I nod.

  “They were Mom’s wedding colors.”

  “Where do these go?” I look through a box with framed pictures of her parents through the years.

  “I’m going to scatter them around. Think that would be too weird?”

  Somehow I know that even if I think it is weird, it won’t matter at all in what Layla ends up doing. So I shrug. “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  The table guys leave at noon, and we spend the next two hours getting the tablecloths and table settings done. The same florist I talked to from At First Sight shows up at one thirty with all of the centerpieces and two huge arrangements for the gazebo.

  By the time three o’clock comes around, I am exhausted and I have no idea how all of us are going to make it through the party and then clean up afterward. Apparently, another stop at Starbucks is in my future.

  Layla comes over and rubs her forehead. The day is unusually warm for the end of February.

  “Ready for a shower?” she asks me, handing me a bottle of water.

  “Are you?”

  She squints at the park. Somehow between this morning and now, the plain white gazebo has been transformed into a stage. Yellow roses tumble out of different pots and huge white lanterns on the steps of the gazebo. The light blue tablecloths flutter gently in the soft breeze, small squares of white lace are turned so the corners barely fall over the edges of the tables. Layla has arranged different sizes and styles of white lanterns on the tables with the yellow roses, daisies, pictures of her parents in antique-looking frames, and lots of candles.

  It is going to look like a spring fairyland tonight.

  I start getting excited for her parents to see it.

  Layla is smiling.

  “Like it?” I ask her, elbowing her gently.

  “Mmm,” she says, still smiling. “It’s exactly what I hoped for.”

  I sling my arm around her shoulders and give her a hug. “You realize that you are showing up every daughter on the planet tonight.”

  She nods. “As it should be.”

  I laugh.

  “Shower time.” She pats my hand. She waves to Tyler and Peter. “We’re heading home for a bit. Back in an hour!”

  They both nod, talking by the gazebo. I have never seen Peter talk to anyone as much as he’s been talking to Tyler today.

  Tyler is special.

  I drive to Layla’s apartment, drop her off, and drive straight to mine since I have to be back there in an hour and I am in desperate need of a shower and some makeup. I run up the stairs, lock the door behind me, jump in the shower, and start scrubbing.

  I blow-dry my hair straight, add some curls with the curling iron, and take my time doing my makeup. Makeup has always been a challenge for me, unlike Layla who takes to it more naturally than milk chocolate takes to almonds.

  I finally get my eye shadow looking the way I want it to. I am going for a slightly smoky look since it is a nighttime party. I found a dress a very long time ago that I’ve never had the occasion to wear, and tonight seems like a great night for it. It is a light gray dress, knee-length, sleeveless, fluttery, and super soft. The dress is maybe a little summery for the end of February, but I pull a white cardigan over it, which makes the dress look like a springtime outfit.

  I am at Layla’s apartment fifteen minutes later. She is again waiting for me by the curb, looking gorgeous as always in a blue gauzy d
ress with a brown belt and heels. She curled her long dark hair into ringlets.

  “Wow,” I say when she opens the door.

  “Same to you. You clean up good, Alder.” She grins. “I’ll text Tyler and let him know he’ll need an extra pair of socks tonight, seeing as how you’re going to knock the ones he has on right off.”

  I roll my eyes but my cheeks warm. Again. All this blushing is not very characteristic of me.

  Layla looks at the dashboard clock. “Four thirty. Perfect. The caterer should be showing up in thirty minutes, guests in an hour.”

  “Hopefully the boys have enough time to shower and get back to the park.”

  Layla waves a hand. “It seriously takes Peter fifteen minutes to go from absolutely disgusting to good-smelling and adorable. Sometimes I wish I were a man.”

  “No, you don’t.” I pull into the park’s parking lot.

  “Sure I do. No shaving the legs, no wearing makeup, no curling the hair.”

  I look over at her as I park. “No wearing makeup, no curling the hair,” I echo her. “No wearing dresses, no good excuses once a month to binge on chocolate.”

  She looks down at her dress. “You win.”

  “Thank you.”

  We get out and head back over to the gazebo. Peter and Tyler are sitting on the steps, talking. They look up when we walk over.

  “Wow,” Peter says, smiling at Layla.

  “Thank you.” She grins.

  Tyler just smiles at me, but it isn’t a smile I’ve seen on him before. This one is softer, sweeter.

  I’m pretty sure my toes are blushing.

  This is getting old.

  I quickly try to change the subject. “Y’all need to go shower so you can be here before Layla’s parents get here.”

  They both nod. “We told off a group of little kids trying to have soccer practice,” Tyler says.

  “Oh, now I feel bad.” Layla bites her bottom lip.

  “Don’t. They are fine. There’s another park two minutes away. They just went over there.”

  While Tyler is talking, the band shows up. The guys say their good-byes and hurry out so they have time to be back before Layla’s parents get here.