Miss Behave (The Anderson Family Series Book 1)
Page 27
Well, that’s a good sign.
Geez, thank goodness she doesn’t study voodoo or I’d be in all kinds of trouble.
Brave.
I am going to be brave. Taking a deep breath, I step out onto the floor and keep my eyes on Hunter. He doesn’t see me. His head is turned, engaged in conversation with that woman.
One step. Then the other. My foot wobbles, oh no! Steady, girl, I can do this.
But I walk and overhear him say, “I want to live here. I want to raise kids here. Not in the city, you know this. And leaving Jules in a shelter is out of the question.”
“You’re just not seeing reason.” Sissy huffs, her beautiful face marred by an eye roll that would make any thirteen year old proud. “Look, we can talk about this later, there’s Glen. Your mother and I are going to go grab some drinks and say hello. We can talk about this later.”
She grabs the arm of Mrs. Brookes and they saunter over towards the bar.
Perfect! Now he’s alone, I just have to get up the courage to say something.
His back is to me. He’s watching Sissy and the SheBeast. What if this is a mistake? What if he really loves her?
I take a step backwards and catch a glimpse of Mom giving me a thumbs up. Right. I’ve got this. I clear my throat.
Hunter turns, surprise making his face look oh-so-kissable. God, those lips. Plump and wet and-
“Piper. But… aren’t you supposed to be in Chicago?” His words are airy, like he’s stuck in a dream, too.
“I couldn’t stay. It was, um, loud.” Loud? Tell him you couldn’t stay because it wasn’t right, you needed fresh air, your family, him, you loser! Do it now!
“Oh? That’s, well, not usually what I hear about Chicago.”
“Well, I mean, the pizza was good. And the sausages. Though they had these weird names for them and the cold was terrible.” Am I for real? The sausage? Feelings, I need to talk feelings, not street food! Geez.
“Ah.” His eyes drift down to the floor. Oh no, I’m losing him, I have to say something quick. Something smart, something catchy!
“And the pizza wasn’t just regular pizza. It was really large, not like the thin crust that we have here but like this-“
“Why are you back, Piper?”
A glass breaks on the other side of the room and I see Sissy crunching the wreckage with her foot as her eyes narrow into sharp little points and she strides across the room to where we’re standing. Oh no.
I say, “Look, Hunter, I’m sorry about Dad. I’m sorry about the way things ended. But when I got to Chicago I realized that I didn’t want that city or that job or that life. This is what I want, right here, you. I love you.” The words leave my lips in a magical sort of way, like they’re suspended in time, all of my hopes and dreams and everything pinned on his answer.
His mouth drops open but he recovers quickly and his lips quirk up a bit in a crooked, goofy smile. Sissy moseys on up beside him and grabs his arm. She heard me, didn’t she? Great.
Come on, Hunter. Say something. Please.
He’s staring at his feet.
Anytime now.
My heart hammers and I wipe my palms on the front of my dress. Maybe marching on in here and declaring my love for him in front of his current girlfriend was maybe not the best move.
She clearly doesn’t think so, either.
Her face pales. She raises an eyebrow, taking Hunter’s silence like I do, as a rebuke. “You need to leave,” She hisses, a sadistic grin on her face.
I look at Hunter one last time, black hair hiding his eyes as he stares at his feet. Silent.
I can’t go, can’t lose him. “I’m working at the new sports stadium doing media relations, so if you need me-“
“Great. Got it. Bye now,” She grabs Hunter’s shoulder and turns him away.
My hopes deflate, peeling from me like layers of skin, leaving me raw and exposed.
But that’s it. She’s leading him away and he’s going.
Going in the wrong direction.
My throat tightens and my forehead is seized with sudden, acute pain. This can’t be happening. It just can’t.
Wandering through the floor, I greet people I know with half-hearted smiles and listen to their tales with half-tuned ears. It’s like I’m home but not, like I belong but don’t. Caught in some awkward limbo that I can’t break free from.
The apartment I rented is near the new stadium and even though I’ve barely had time to unpack anything, the television sitting on the empty floor and the beanbag chair I borrowed from Mags is calling my name.
I came to tell Hunter how I felt.
So technically, the night was a success.
I really should have been more specific in my goals.
But I know deep down that moving back to Pendleton Falls was still the right move. I’m going to love the new job at the stadium.
Mom approaches but I wave her off. The first thing I need to do is get out of these shoes. Going back to the coat check, I give the girl the tag in exchange for the cute hobo bag that has my flats. I slip the flats on and the heels into the bag. Leaving so soon would just be too pathetic, especially if Gennifer is here. Placing my small clutch inside the hobo, I put the bigger bag over my shoulder and walk back into the party.
But the sounds and the smiles just make my stomach turn. I love him, I do, and now I’ve lost him.
I’m going to be fine, maybe some cold air will jump start me back to life. Hunter, his mom and that girl aren’t in my line of sight, so I walk out through the sliding doors to the back deck overlooking the lake.
Enormous space heaters blast warmth into the night, positioned like giant steel mushrooms on the far reaches of the deck, away from the fire pits. The pits spew roaring flames that do battle with the falling snow.
The snow sticks to the branches on the shoreline, forming pockets of white over the blackness of the lake. I stand against the railing and as a tuxedoed waiter offers me a glass of champagne. I take it.
The sparkling wine is bitter, not at all as uplifting as I need it to be, the magical quality of the night shattered.
Why didn’t he say anything? A rejection would at least be something.
No matter, that woman doesn’t get him and even if he doesn’t want me, I hope that he finds someone better.
Who the hell am I kidding? Even the thought of Hunter with another woman sends searing pain through my chest.
Raised voices down below the deck draw my attention, and I walk to the side near the staircase leading back to the parking lot. I open the little gate and slip onto the first step unnoticed.
It’s a gaggle of older ladies, clustering around Hunter’s mom. Probably congratulating her on that evil wench her son is dating again…
“Oh, that’s right, I’m sorry, your last boyfriend is in jail now, isn’t he?” One lady says, the nasty words stinging and sharp through the night air.
“Boyfriend? What does it say about you if your lover tries to rob you blind again, Heather?” The next one asks, just as the valet drives up in Hunter’s mom’s car.
“It says you’re too old to be dating.”
Another one chides, “Really? I’m pretty sure the takeaway is that nobody likes you.”
The words burn through me. So I can only imagine what they’re doing to Hunter’s mom. No one deserves to be treated like this. Why is it that the further away I get from middle school, I realize that nothing has really changed?
Hunter’s mom shakes as she opens the door to her car.
I don’t know who these other nasty biddies are, but they seriously need a muzzle. I rush down the stairs, oversized hobo banging into my hip with each step until I am standing with the three of them on the sidewalk next to the circular drive.
“You girls have it completely wrong,” I say, somewhat out of breath from the race down the stair as I attempt to casually stroll into the throng. “Attractive, successful, self-sufficient women attract all men, good with the bad.”
Surrounded by angry hens, I give them my very best bitch face until they back away, gradually disappearing into the darkened recesses of the parking lot. I wait all of two seconds after they leave and then I deflate, falling in a sobby heap on the bench by the valet stand.
Oh my God, the seat is so cold it’s burning my butt right through the dress and I bet I’m ruining it and just like I’ve ruined my chances with Hunter and now-
“Isn’t it a little cold to be out here without, I don’t know, a parka?” Hunter’s voice rings out through the chill and my skin goes on high alert. “I mean, at least a big knit hat or maybe some mittens.”
“You didn’t say anything.” I stammer, shaking, every inch of me frozen and disheveled-feeling. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I watch as he appears from the bottom of the stairs and strolls over where I’m sitting. He shrugs off his suit jacket and holds it towards me.
“I was trying to figure out how to get rid of Sissy without hurting her.” He says, his voice calm as he wraps the coat over my shoulders and sits beside me, cradling me against him. “I love you, you goofball.” He whispers against my hair.
“Really?”
He nods.
“Good,” I say, content.
Cold, very, very cold, but content.
Ann
“The black or the green?” Ann asks as she holds up the two sweaters.
“The green. Black makes you look dead.” Elise sifts through the shirts at the Macy’s, clearly not enjoying the shopping day at the mall idea. “Annie?”
“Yes?” Ann folds the sweater over her arm to take it into the changing room. If she is going to go see that play directed by that cheeky Ambroos fellow then she refuses to show any kind of cleavage. Hence, the high-neck sweater in her arms.
“I just want you to know that I think you’re a great mother. I’m really proud of Piper, and you should be, too.”
Ann’s chest swells as she meets her sister’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Pendleton Falls Herald
This Week in the Berkshires
YOU ARE NOT ALONE, a play by local playwright Leslie Marks has won a Magnus Award for best first play. The play, which deals with the complicated, dynamic relationships between mothers and daughters, has enjoyed a successful four-month run at UMASS Oakhurst. If you can’t make it out there for the final performance at UMASS Oakhurst this coming Sunday afternoon at two, be sure to check it out when it moves to Broadway this spring.
Chapter 26
Why Hating Mushrooms is Patently Not Recommended
Dear Miss Behave,
It’s about damn time you’re back running this stupid column. My question is simple, do you think my former roommate will be wise and let me wear a suit to her wedding, or by picking me to be in her bridal party has she cemented my fate and will make me wear some crap dress with poofy sleeves?
Sincerely,
Gennifer, You-Know-The-Right-Answer-Here, Smith
Dear Cutie-Pie Angel-Face,
No need to get ugly there, cupcake! My husband-to-be and I have decided that we would like a rather low-key affair with a pig-roast and lots of cookies. He is threatening to give away shelter kittens as party favors, but I think he is mostly joking. So, you know, you can wear a suit if you want, but jeans would be fine.
Love and Jack Daniels,
-Miss Behave
Piper
The drive down to Cheshire Correctional Facility is a long, silent one. Mom’s eyes never once veer from the road, and as we pull into the lot and walk through the various forms of check in, she’s there, a silent, strong presence.
I’m here because she asked me to be. She asked that I speak with him, not that I cement for myself whether he knows about my being Ted’s biological daughter or not, just that I show up, for me, and she’s right. After all, I know that he won’t be disappearing again for a very, very long time.
My throat’s in a vice grip as I see him waiting for me at a table. Just a normal old table, no wall of plexiglass, nothing to make our conversation seem anything but real.
“I don’t think I can do this, I can’t-“
“You can.” Mom leads me to the table and sits. “Philip, you’re looking well.”
He’s lost weight and his cheeks have gained this sallow color that doesn’t do him any favors. “Ann, thank you for bringing her.”
“Don’t mention it.” Mom’s smile is tight, and after she inquires about the food and the reading material, she gets up, “Well, I’m off to the vending machine. Can I interest either of you in a Snickers?”
Dad nods but I decline, hissing, “You should apologize to her, to us, to- everyone. How could you?” Angry words boil out of my mouth and my eyes sting.
He looks at his hands, “I never meant to hurt you, BabyGirl.”
“Well, you did. You’re a thief. All of these years I’ve idolized you, based my entire career around impressing you, I thought that if I could just write better or get a better job then maybe you’d love me, maybe you’d stay-“
“You didn’t need to-“
“I did. You never even noticed, did you? Have you ever seen anyone other than yourself, ever cared, even just a little?”
“Of course. When you girls were born, I knew I had to give you something more, something other than the life I had, I’m sorry.” When you girls. Does he know? Does he suspect that anything other than his chromosomes helped make me?
I look at him through the plexiglass and realize that it doesn’t matter. Family isn’t blood. It’s the people who helped make you who you are. And Phil will always and forever be Dad, and Ted will always be Ted. The two of them making me the sloppy imperfect person I am today.
I cry and cry and mom returns with the Snickers bars, all of us just staring at the wrapped candies in the middle of the table.
The guard comes over and motions that our time is up. Dad grabs the Snickers and whispers, “Just don’t forget me, locked away in here.”
“I’ve never forgotten you.” I sigh, wiping my eyes, “I don’t intend to start now.”
We watch as he’s led away from the table, Mom slipping her hand in mine. We walk out of the jail, gathering our things and blinking against the sunshine in the parking lot.
“So,” she asks as we pull onto the highway towards home. “Ted, Elise and I plan to be at opening day for the Mud Dog stadium. Anything in particular that I should bring?”
I shake my head as I wipe away the remaining tears. “No, Mom.” I reach out across the car and grab her hand, feeling lighter than I have in a long while. “Being there is enough.”
She blinks over watery eyes and adds, “Please just don’t hold me responsible if Elise rushes the field to get a closer look at that Jeremy Rodriguez. She Googled pictures of the team and I guess he’s her favorite.”
I laugh. “Are you kidding? Jeremy would love it. Wanna grab some coffee?”
She grins, “I don’t know, if you think Jeremy and Elise are going to get along, it may be best if we stop at a bar. Buy your mother a glass of red?”
Chest expanding, I ask, “Garnacha or Cabernet?”
Dogs and cats do not always get along. This shouldn’t be news to me, I know, but still. Seeing sweet puppy Jules cower in fear and hide behind the couch every time my Maleficent walks into the room is kind of unnerving. I hope they can learn to get along.
I finish typing my latest Miss Behave letter and save it before sending it off to Abigail. I’m freelancing them now, technically, and absolutely love my job at the stadium. I couldn’t write the wrap-up piece about the New Canaan Cassanova. Gennifer can cover the investigative pieces from now on, I think I’ve had my fill. Standing up from the desk in Hunter’s, well, I guess, our office, I make my way over to the kitchen and check on the lasagna.
Well, it doesn’t look crooked, or burnt, so that’s good, right? I go to the cabinet and pull out some wine glasses and set them on the table. The noise of running water stops as I hear Hunter rummaging around in the bedroom as he gets dressed.
I stare at the clock. Five minutes. What if he doesn’t get dressed in time and I have to face his mother all alone? Mom and Ted have been coming over once a week so I figure it’s only fair that I invite his mom over, too.
She’s been trying to be nice to me ever since I saved her life but I can tell that it hurts her.
And now she’s coming for dinner. I check my reflection in the glass of the oven door and pat down some curls. The wedding. She’s coming over to discuss the wedding. My legs shake and I preemptively open a bottle of wine.
To let it breathe, of course.
“Is mom here yet?” Hunter asks as he rushes into the kitchen and pours a glass of water, looking adorable with his wet, disheveled hair.
“You don’t have any pants on!” I shriek as I point to his boxer briefs.
“What? She’s not here.”
“Get dressed now,” I say as the doorbell rings. He laughs and rushes away, his footsteps soft on the wood floor.
I can do this. I refuse to go through life living in fear of my mother-in-law. She is going to love me, gosh-darn-it, and the first step to making her love me is by opening the door and not leaving her out in the cold. And by making Ted’s famous lasagna. I hear that helps.
I close my eyes, take a nice long inhale, and put on my very best smile as I open the door. “Samantha. Come in. We’re so happy to have you.”
Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating a tad, but I have to give a hundred percent here, because so far she’s given me nothing but a few sickly, lopsided attempts at smiles and has been typically keeping to the whole, If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all rule.
Like now, her face, which is beautiful, twists as her lip curls. It curls in a vaguely upward motion, though, so I assume it counts as a smile.