Chapter 7 Misty
MISTY
“Why didn’t you let him kill Austen?”
“I’m not going to let Austen get assassinated,” I hiss at Sienna.
She’s helping me cart the boxes of decorations from the party around the back of my stepfather’s mansion to the storage room in the basement.
We dump a box of decorations down.
“Why? He deserves it. Ooh! You should have asked him how much more to get rid of Brielle the bitch.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Talbot says he doesn’t do rich white girls. Guess it’s a liability thing, too much press. I already asked,” I admit.
“There it is!” Sienna keels over laughing.
“What?”
“Your backbone. Ooh, I like this Talbot. He’s good for you.”
“No, he’s not. He’s literally the worst decision I have ever made, including asking Aiden Thomson to the 70s dance in sixth grade.”
“If Brielle hadn’t spilled paint all over you and yelled to the whole hall that you got your period, I think that he would have said yes.”
I follow her outside to grab the last red and green containers. “I wasted all that money.”
“I’ll say! Especially since we’re not planning a funeral for Austen right now.”
I eye the boxes. “Oh shoot! I was going to reuse this garland in the foyer.”
“So, you didn’t see his dick at all before he started pulling out bazookas and nunchucks and—what else does an assassin carry?” Sienna puffs as we haul the stack of boxes up the flight of stairs that leads to the rec room.
“He prefers the term hitman,” I grunt, trying not to miss a step.
“There was a pretty strategic rip in those jeans up near the—” she tries to point to her crotch and almost loses her grip on the boxes.
“Shit,” I curse, catching the load. “No. I’m not touching him without his consent.”
“I bet he’s an animal in bed.” Sienna growls and shimmies her shoulders.
My stepdad pokes his head into the stairwell. “Girls, I can get that for you,” he offers.
“No, no! Your back,” I tell him cheerfully as Sienna and I haul the containers down the last few steps.
“My back?” Ryan seems confused.
“You have to coach that big game against the Direwolves in a few days,” Sienna says. “We need you shipshape, Mr. West.”
“Jaxon! Caleb!” Ryan bellows.
Two teenage boys appear, lugging a yawning Cocoa wrapped in a blanket, right as Sienna and I step onto the landing.
“Go get the rest of the boxes.” He bats them lightly on the backs of their heads. “All you do is watch TV. You’re not on winter break yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got them all in,” I tell my little half brothers.
“They can take those where you need them,” Ryan assures me.
“They’re heavy,” Jaxon whines as he picks up one of the boxes to take it to the foyer.
“Gosh, they are heavy.” Ryan grabs the third. “You girls really should have asked us.”
“Ryan!” Grandma Pam calls, rushing over. “Make Misty do it. Your back! Also, the boys shouldn’t be lifting all of that. They have a big game tomorrow.”
“My—you mean when I crashed into the boards in game six of the playoffs fifteen years ago?” Ryan raises an eyebrow.
“Are you going to make the holiday pinwheels for the party, Misty?” the boys complain, slumping behind me into the kitchen. “The ones with pepperoni and pesto?”
“Cocoa wants them too.” Caleb picks up the corgi, who grunts at me.
“She probably needs to start her New Year’s dieting early.” The dog jerks away when I try to pet her.
You let Talbot pet you, I silently remind her. And he didn’t even feed you.
“No, she’s hungry.” My little brother holds up Cocoa in front of his face. “I’m hungry, Misty!”
The dog squints at me. She is only tolerating my siblings for the promise of food.
I give her a piece of cheese that she inhales.
“All you boys do is eat,” Ryan jokes.
“Of course, Misty will cook you anything you want.” Grandma Pam pinches their cheeks. “Misty, why isn’t the oven preheating?”
“Do you need them to help decorate?” Ryan asks me.
“Of course not!” Grandma Pam laughs loudly. “The boys work so hard in school. Let them have a break. Misty’s not employed. She can do it.”
“I work at Granny Keagan’s café… along with doing a lot of unpaid work for Austen that I am very, extremely happy and honored to do.”
Though in light of the fact that I’ve got all of five bucks in my bank account, maybe Sienna’s right and I should start to rethink that dynamic.
Grandma Pam is rummaging around in the fridge. “Didn’t someone go grocery shopping? Those poor boys are going to starve.”
“There’s food in the downstairs fridge,” my mom calls, coming into the kitchen with sacks of food from the Tinsel & Toast.
Ryan gives her a kiss.
His mother gives him a pointed look.
“Is the GrandPam giving you a hard time, Misty?” Granny Keagan bustles in with a trolley full of beer.
“You let her call me that in my own house?” Pamela demands.
“You don’t live here. You’re like a bedbug, uninvited and unwanted, especially if it crawls out of your—”
“I’m getting started on the food, Mom,” I say loudly.
Pamela wipes her hands. “I believe your parents had something to say to you. About the disaster of last night.”
Ryan coughs uncomfortably.
“All of us,” my mom begins haltingly, “are just worried about you lately. Talbot doesn’t seem your type.
He’s not the type of boy my sweet Misty likes.
And are you sure you’re even in the right headspace to be dating?
What with it being Christmas and all, maybe this is a cry for help. We’re all here for you.”
My mom is clearly regurgitating her mother-in-law’s words.
I sigh.
“Misty…”
It’s performative parenting, I remind myself. That’s what the therapist said. She’s insecure and anxious, and she doesn’t mean it.
Ryan winces. “I think that it’s good she’s dating. I know the last year has been hard for you, kiddo…”
“She can’t date the likes of that Talbot.” Pamela sniffs.
“Hot? Good in bed?” Granny Keagan waves a bottle at Pamela. “Just because you have low standards doesn’t mean my granddaughter has to.”
“He was drunk. In the hallway,” Pamela huffs.
“I’m not going to judge,” Ryan laughs. “I’ve done my fair share of embarrassing overdrinking when I was in my early years in the NHL. You’re always so tight-laced, kiddo. Live a little.”
“Of course he’s saying that. She’s not his daughter.” Pamela’s nose is in the air.
Ryan’s jaw tightens. “Mom…”
“It’s fine,” I say loudly. “Everything’s fine. Talbot’s gone, never to return.”
“He ran away?” Ryan raises an eyebrow.
“Um, well, no, I told him to leave. He was a mistake. Grandma Pam is right.”
Mom looks relieved.
Ryan’s frown deepens. “That’s too bad. He seemed like he could loosen you up a little bit.”
“I’ll say!” Granny Keagan cackles.
“That is where she gets it from!” Grandma Pam thunders, pointing.
“So, let’s talk about the party plan for tonight.” I clap my hands.
“I don’t think it’s a party. I’m just having some of the boys over.” Boys meaning his former hockey-player buddies and their families. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious. I’ll take care of it. Maybe put some burgers on the grill.”
“I’d never have people over in December without the house decorated, but I understand that this isn’t my home.” Grandma Pam sniffs, clasping her hands.
Mom looks guilty.
“Misty, I need you to iron the table runners,” Rachel snaps at me. “And why isn’t the garland up on the stairs yet?”
“After that disaster of an engagement party, I’m not so sure she can manage another.” Aunt Kathy—appearing like the ghost of Christmas judgment—wipes a finger on the stove, rubs her index finger and thumb together, then goes to the sink for a sponge. “There was dancing on tables and rap music.”
“No rap music today, just good ol’ fashioned Christmas carols,” I promise. “And I’ll put some decorations up. There are only so many days of December. Let’s enjoy them.”
“Precisely.” Rachel nods, wringing her hands as her sister-in-law passive-aggressively cleans her stove.
My mom, let’s say, did not get an A+ in home economics. I was the homemaker of the two of us when we were still Gilmore Girls-ing it up.
Like for example, the table runners. They are washed and ironed and organized by holiday theme because I don’t just shove them dirty into the back of the linen closet.
However, we don’t need them. We need a dark-red tablecloth with small, tasteful centerpieces—I’m thinking ornaments, pinecones, a little garland—because I’m setting up snack stations for grazing.
“Grab the other end of that?” Lucy takes the corner of the burgundy tablecloth, somehow managing to do all that while texting on her phone. “How was your date?” she asks in an excited whisper.
“Keep it down!” I look around.
I don’t just have a lot of siblings. Ryan also has three of the rookies from the team living here. Not to mention, he and all his hockey buddies have open-door policies. Which is why Sienna basically lives here half the year.
I don’t need them to hear that I hired Talbot.
“Date was fine.”
“Boo! I want details.”
“You’re too young for details.”
“Mom already had a boyfriend when she was my age.” Lucy sticks her tongue out.
“And look where it got her.”
“Hmm… hot hockey player husband, nice house, doesn’t have to work, doesn’t even have to cook, clean, decorate, or take care of her kids because you do it all. Sounds pretty sweet. Sign me up.”
“Look, can you send me that video with the you-know-what service?”
“Are you rebooking? Can you get me a spicy boyfriend too?” Lucy taps rapidly on her phone.
“You spend way too much time online.”
Downstairs, across the hall from the finished basement apartment where the rookies live, I sit in the storage room filled with color coded oversized plastic bins and scroll on my phone.
The number on the video and the number that I called? They don’t match. Completely different area codes.
Fuck my life.
Just for shits and giggles, I call the escort service.
“Hi, I’m interested in booking a reasonably attractive male as a date for a party… What are your rates? Five thousand a day? Thanks.” I hang up.