by Erynn Mangum
At least, that’s the story I’m getting from Layla. And she’s probably outgoing enough for two people anyway.
“So. Two weeks, five days,” I say to them.
They both nod at me, stupid, silly grins on their faces.
That’s cute. Something in my chest gets a little more relaxed seeing them like this instead of the fighting, bickering people they were a few weeks ago.
“I’m not going to ask if you’re excited because frankly, there are a few things I don’t need to know about my best friend and her soon-to-be husband.”
Peter grins the widest smile I’ve ever seen on him, and it totally transforms his face. I used to think he was okay looking but not nearly cute enough for my super-gorgeous best friend.
He’s a lot better looking when he smiles.
All those etiquette books my mother fed me all through middle school were apparently right about how a simple smile can make a person attractive even more than nice clothes and fancy hair.
And yes. I had to read etiquette books. I used to chew my nails really badly, and Mom could only take so much, I guess.
She didn’t find my theory about just smiling more instead of stopping the habit of biting my nails to be a good one, though.
The music pastor gets on the stage and a few minutes later, he’s raking a pick down the guitar strings and asking everyone to stand. “Let’s praise God today for the good things He’s done, amen?”
Two people answer a hearty “Amen!” to him and everyone else just kind of nods. Sometimes I think our music pastor would be a lot happier at a more charismatic church.
We sing two songs and I’m so distracted trying to casually look over my shoulder for Tyler that I can barely focus on the words. It’s only after I’ve accidentally made eye contact eight times with the dark-haired guy about my age behind me that I realize this is getting a little ridiculous. I focus all my energy on keeping my eyes straight forward.
The music ends and Tyler isn’t here. I subtly dig in my purse while everyone is taking their seats and reaching for their Bibles and check my phone to see if I’ve missed any texts.
And there is one.
HEY. MOM WOULD RATHER NOT GO I THINK AND IT’S PROBABLY NOT A GOOD IDEA TO PUSH HER ON THIS ONE. I’LL PICK YOU UP FOR LUNCH ABOUT NOON—LET ME KNOW IF THAT STILL WORKS FOR YOU.
I write him back quickly, make sure the ringer is off, and settle back in my chair with my Bible. Layla catches my eye and shrugs questioningly, and I shake my head slightly, pursing my lips.
Bummer, she mouths to me.
I had high hopes that maybe Tyler’s mom would come to church, hear a fantastic sermon from Pastor Louis about salvation, and get saved today, but that’s not going to happen. So I start praying that He has another idea for how to get the good news to Tyler’s mom.
Pastor Louis preaches for about forty-five minutes on marriage, and Layla and Peter hold hands through the whole thing, letting go only to scribble notes in the margins of their Bibles. Timely message for them.
We sing one more song and then the general pandemonium that hits the church as soon as we are dismissed takes over. I’m standing, about to say something to Layla, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
I turn around and it’s the guy who was sitting behind me. “Hi.” He smiles, his face all friendly. “I’m Steven.”
“Hi,” I say because I’m not sure what else to say.
“So, I’m new in town and I’d love to get coffee with you sometime.”
Right then I realize he thought I kept looking at him throughout the music because I was interested in him and not who might be coming through the door, and I feel my cheeks flush and my heart stops beating. “Oh goodness, I’m sorry. I’m . . . see, I was waiting for my boyfriend and his mom to come in and . . . oh, this is awkward . . .”
He grins. “No worries. I was starting to get excited, though, that I’d met such a pretty girl my first weekend in town at the first church I visited.” He grins again, nods, and leaves, tucking a Bible under his arm.
Layla is dying beside me. “I love you, Paige! That kind of stuff only happens to you.”
What a lovely thought.
Layla and I make plans to work on the last of the wedding stuff on Tuesday night.
“What do you think about this outfit?” I ask as I’m getting ready to leave, second-guessing my choice. Not that I have any backups since everything else I currently own is in a wrinkled pile on the bed.
“It’s cute.” Layla nods.
“Cute how? Like Disney Channel cute or like People magazine cute?”
Layla squints at me. “I don’t know. I mean, some Disney Channel stars are in People, you know.”
“That’s helpful.”
She shrugs. “You look fine. I like the cardigan. I will probably be borrowing that in the nearish future, just so you know.”
Layla’s idea of borrowing is to somehow forget to return it, so I’m already trying to come up with places in my apartment to hide this cardigan before it disappears into her closet forever.
Natalie comes over empty-handed and both Layla and I start looking around her for the baby.
“Where is she?” I ask finally after searching all over Natalie’s person and the surrounding floor space.
“Well, hello to you two too,” Natalie says. “I remember when people were just overjoyed to see me. I remember when they would call me up on the phone and say, ‘Natalie, how are you today? Let’s talk about you.’ Now, everyone just wants to know about other things. Did Claire like her first taste of green beans? Did she pull up on her own yet? Is she crawling yet?”
Apparently there are a lot of unaddressed issues in Natalie’s life right now.
“Are you okay?” Layla asks her.
Natalie rubs her cheek. “I need a date night.”
I can hear a call for help sometimes too well, but this time, I’m not going to say no. “I will finish with my last girl at six thirty on Friday night,” I tell Natalie. “Be dressed. I’ll come watch Claire and you guys can go eat somewhere fancy.”
“Oh!” Layla says. “I’ll come too! We can paint Claire’s toenails!”
“No painting any toenails,” Natalie says. “I’m going to be the first one to do that, thank you. And thank you, thank you, Paige. You are a doll. I’ll even have dinner for you.”
I wave a hand. “No need. We’ll pick up Panda.”
“You know that’s right,” Layla says like Gus on Psych.
Natalie just shakes her head. “You guys are going to die from the sodium intake one of these days.”
“All the more reason to let us paint Claire’s toenails before we die.” Layla grins.
I look at my phone. I have thirty minutes before Tyler is picking me up from my apartment to go to lunch, so I should probably go. I give both girls hugs and then hurry out the door, trying not to be too nervous.
Right.
I drive home, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the white, fluffy clouds through the windshield, wondering if maybe by some miracle they are actually tornado clouds and we should probably cancel lunch and spend the day reading books in the door frames instead.
Any time there was a bad storm growing up, my dad would always wake up Preslee and me and make us sit under the door frames. Apparently it is the strongest part of a house.
Which never made sense to me because you’d think a big hole in the wall for an entrance would be the least safe spot in the house.
I don’t know. I was very little when I last watched Twister.
I get home with fifteen minutes to spare, so over the next few minutes I wear a nice little path in my carpet from my bedroom to the front door to look out the peephole.
“This is ridiculous,” I finally mutter to myself, sitting down on the couch.
I smooth my hands over my jeans. I was going for a fall look today since the promise of cooler weather is supposedly coming sometime soon. I found the lightweight cotton cardigan on clearance a few years
ago, and I just put it on over a looser blue-and-white-striped cami and I’m wearing my Sperry knockoffs.
I look like I’m about to jump on a yacht somewhere.
Now I’m second-guessing the outfit again. What do you wear to lunch to meet what could potentially be your future mother-in-law?
Right then is when there’s a knock on my door and I look at the clock on my phone, eyebrows raising.
It seems like Tyler’s mother makes him way more prompt.
“You’re actually on time . . .” I start and then the words fade into the slight breeze as I stare up at Luke Prestwick.
“Hey, friend,” Luke says, smiling all easily, his brown eyes crinkling up on the corners.
He and I have very different interpretations of the word friend as it relates to the two of us.
“Luke.” I try not to spit the word out. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I saw you at church this morning and I was going to try to come over and give this to you there, but you left so fast I didn’t get a chance to.” He hands me a white envelope.
I look at it like it possibly contains anthrax.
“It’s not full of crickets or anything.” Luke grins at me.
I take the envelope and start to pull open the back and he stops me.
“Read it after I leave.” He starts walking back down my stairs sideways so he can still talk to me. “And have a good day. And you look beautiful. You look like you’re about to go sailing.” He leaves.
I shut the door, mostly grateful that he didn’t stick around long enough to have that lovely first impression on Tyler’s mother.
“Oh yes, hello. So good to meet you. No, this beautiful man here is not my brother, he’s actually my ex-boyfriend.”
That would have been lovely.
I look at the envelope. It’s completely white except for my name scrawled across the front in Luke’s characteristic chicken scratch. In high school, I always joked that he was likely to become a doctor since he already had the handwriting for it.
I finger the back flap and then decide to just put it in my room and wait until later. It’s probably nothing, but I don’t want to read anything that might put me in a terrible mood for today.
Including a “Come to my garage sale” like it probably is.
Surely that’s what it is.
I set the envelope on my bedside table, and I’m just walking out to the living room again when there’s another knock on my door.
I check the time. Ten minutes late.
It’s got to be Tyler.
I open the door and find the cutest curly blond-haired boy grinning at me.
“Where’s your mom?” I ask when I look around him and don’t see a woman standing there.
“She’s in the car.” He shrugs at me. “No hello for me?”
I give him a hug. “How does this look?” I push myself away from him so he can approve the outfit.
He nods at it. “Nautical.”
Hopefully this is a good thing because I definitely don’t have time to change now.
“You look fine.”
“Just fine?” I bite my lip. I bet if I changed really fast, I could still be back to the car with his mother in a respectable time.
“Honey.” Tyler pulls me into another hug. “You look beautiful. Stop worrying. I wish you’d never talked to Stef!”
My chest gets all tight and warm, like someone has wrapped rubber bands around me and poured honey through my rib cage.
I take a deep breath, sling my purse over my shoulder, and lock my door behind us. He holds my hand as we walk down the stairs and over to his truck.
A woman with dark hair in a shoulder-length blunt cut is sitting in the passenger seat. Tyler’s truck is a crew cab, so he squeezes my hand and quietly says, “Mind sitting in the backseat today?”
“Not at all,” I murmur back as he opens the door behind the driver’s seat. I put on my most cheerful, friendly, non-threatening smile and look at his mom.
“Mom, this is Paige. Paige, this is my mom, Judy.”
“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” I say, inwardly wincing at the chipmunk tone to my voice.
“Hello.”
Well. I wouldn’t exactly say that warmth was running through Judy’s tone. Maybe annoyance, but definitely not warmth.
I hoist myself into the backseat and buckle myself in, racking my brain for the list of easy conversational topics I usually have in there. I am the master of making a conversation about nothing last an entire hour. I’ve perfected it over the summer with the girls.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, is coming to my mind right now. So I sit there in the back, smiling and nodding like a total dork.
“You do eat lunch awfully late, Tyler,” Judy says.
I look surreptitiously at my phone. It’s not even twelve thirty.
I usually feel like I’m doing good if I get lunch before two in the afternoon. And even then, with how many Frappuccinos I’ve been consuming lately, I usually just get a little snack like a cheese stick or a bag of cut carrots and call it lunch during the week.
“What sounds like a good lunch to you ladies?” Tyler asks, the picture of cheerfulness next to his grim mother.
Judy is not swayed from her line of thought with the happy question. “Somewhere that serves the food fast.”
“I’m okay with anything,” I say in a small voice from the back.
Tyler drives to Mimi’s Café. I’ve only eaten here once. One of my girls asked to meet here right before school since it was very close to her school, and the entire time I felt like I was out of place in the midst of all of the older people coming in for an early breakfast to talk about their grandkids.
Tyler parks and opens my door before running around and getting his mom’s door. Now that she’s standing, I’m getting a better idea of who Judy . . . Judy . . . It suddenly hits me that I don’t even know Tyler’s mom’s last name. Did she keep her married name or change it back?
She’s tall and on the slender side but in more of a bony way than a willowy way. I’m not sure exactly how to describe her. She’s wearing black pants and a white shirt under a red cardigan. Her face is angular, her skin pale, her jaw set. I can’t see her eyes behind her huge sunglasses.
She looks like she needs a good long cruise to the Bahamas and some sunless tanner.
Tyler must look identical to his dad because he looks nothing like his mother. I sort of want to ask if he’s adopted because Tyler’s the exact opposite of everything his mom is. Curly blond hair. Deep blue eyes that always crinkle up when he smiles, which he does often. He’s usually tanned and he’s tall and has big shoulders.
I have a serious curiosity about his dad now.
“Well, this is fun!” Tyler says, overly cheerful. He walks between us and opens the door. I let Judy go in first and then turn big eyes to Tyler before I walk in.
He winks at me. “You’re doing great,” he whispers.
Well, obviously I am because she hasn’t turned me into a frog yet.
That was mean.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I follow Tyler’s mom to the table. Lord, keep me sweet. And please, Lord, please give me topics to talk about!
I’m desperately trying to remember what Rick is always saying. He has a whole acronym thing going for how to talk to total strangers, but I can’t remember the acronym, which isn’t super helpful.
HAND? EYE? CLAVICLE? It’s something to do with a body part.
We sit down and Tyler’s mom finally takes her big sunglasses off and turns the most silvery gray eyes I’ve ever seen toward me.
It’s unnerving. I didn’t know an eye color like that existed in nature.
“So,” she says, looking for all the world like she is barely containing an eye roll. “Paige. Tell me about yourself.”
I am just staring at her eyes. They’re the exact color of the stainless-steel refrigerator I was drooling over in the last kitchen makeover show on HGTV. It had double French doo
rs and a slide-out tray where you could put prepared plates for parties.
Genius idea.
Tyler kicks my shin lightly under the table and I jump. “Oh! Right, sorry, um . . . Judy . . . about me. Well, I’m twenty-three and—”
“Well, that’s frightfully young,” Judy interrupts me, turning to Tyler. “You know I do not approve of serious relationships when you are that young, Tyler.”
The waiter isn’t even here and already we’re dishing up big spoonfuls of awkward.
I glance furtively at the couple behind Tyler’s head. It’s a young family. The man and woman are both laughing and talking about something, the two daughters are grinning and eating politely while dabbing their napkins in the corners of their mouths, their huge, adorable hair bows tipped just so on their heads.
Rick is always trying to tell me that God has put us in a world that is just one big salvation message after another. Apparently one of his college roommates came to the Lord after having a discussion with Rick about banana peels in old movies, and Rick brought up that another slippery thing was the road to hell.
You can’t make this stuff up.
I stare at that tiny aisle separating my table from the adorable family’s table and think about how small the chasm between heaven and way farther south than that can be. Jesus did say that the gate was narrow.
I suddenly realize that Tyler is talking to me. “So, Paige, Mom is really interested in interior designing. I was telling her about how you like to get ideas for your future house.”
Yes. By watching way too much HGTV in my jammies on my sofa in my crappy apartment. That does not seem like a good way to impress my boyfriend’s mother.
Judy sighs then and looks around. “Where is the waiter? If you can’t afford good help, you shouldn’t be open at all.”
Mentally, I’m yelling at the waiter, wherever he is. Stay away! Retreat, retreat!
The poor guy isn’t picking up my thought beams, though, because suddenly he materializes right beside my elbow. “Hello, sorry about the wait.” He looks a little flustered.
Lovely. Let’s start with one who is already feeling not quite there.
“Hey.” Tyler smiles easily at the poor man.
