Chapter 3 #2
The questioning can pass for genuine concern for now.
Back in school, Puck was always the one most sensitive to Mia’s feelings, especially because Zander could be so reckless with them.
They lost track of the number of late-night arguments the couple had that were quickly forgotten the moment Zander texted an apology or an “ily” the next morning.
Meanwhile, Zander came to rely on Puck as a conduit for communication whenever Mia wouldn’t talk to him—a gay mediator in a never-ending battle of the sexes.
“Of course I’m OK with it,” Mia says, pressing the button for the fourth floor. “I know things got a little awkward last year, but we’re all on good terms now. Right?”
She sounds like she’s trying to reassure herself more than anyone else. “Good” is a laughable descriptor for how things feel right now. As recently as last week, Puck had to call Zander to convince him he should still come to the wedding.
“Right,” Puck lies, as the old-fashioned floor counter in the elevator dings away.
“That reminds me, though,” Mia says, sounding eager for a change of subject. “Do you really not mind being one of the bridesmaids?”
When Puck first came out as nonbinary, shortly after college, they might have bristled at being slotted into such a gendered category, and they certainly wouldn’t blame others for feeling like that.
But lately, when forced to choose, they prefer dancing on top of labels to avoiding them altogether.
And if there have to be groomsmen and bridesmaids at this incredibly upscale affair, they’d rather spend more time with Mia than with this new version of Damon they barely recognize.
“I’m fine rolling with the bridesmaids, so long as you don’t mind half of them being in love with me by the end of the week,” they quip.
Out-and-proud lesbians may not have been abundant in college, but that didn’t stop Puck from seeing action.
Mia and Zander liked to play a game with them at the few parties they managed to coax Puck into attending: The couple would point out the soberest, straightest girl in a crowd and Puck would secure permission to kiss her by the end of the night.
They were “a makeout wizard,” as an awed Mia once dubbed them.
But honestly, it didn’t take supernatural skill: A few minutes of eye contact, a little conversation, maybe a quick brush of the knee, and boom.
Women were a lot more bisexual than Mia thought they were.
“No seducing my bridesmaids!” Mia insists, only half joking, as the elevator door slides open on the fourth floor. “Be good, Puck.”
“‘Good’? I’m not sure that word is in my vocabulary.” Puck has been making up for lost time since graduation, and Mia is vaguely aware that they have slept with virtually half of the queer women in Decatur by now.
“None of my bridesmaids are gay anyway,” Mia says. “At least as far as I know.”
“And we all know how good your gaydar is,” Puck deadpans. “Remember when you thought I was just ‘artsy’?”
“No! I thought you were ‘alt.’”
“Yeah, I was just really into Vampire Weekend,” Puck jokes.
Mia laughs again. For a moment, as she leads the way down a long hall, it feels like the pair might be able to find their old groove again, even if in a very different environment than a dorm with concrete walls.
The carpet of the Athenian, like all the staff uniforms, is a deep shade of crimson.
Polished brass wall sconces, originally built for candlelight, now house faux-flickering bulbs, the late nineteenth century returning by way of the twenty-first. The whole estate, with its Gilded Age finishes, has a reassuring permanence compared to the flimsy McMansion where they film Homewreckers, which threatens to fall down around Puck, Buster Keaton–style, at any moment.
But despite the age of the hotel, there’s not a speck of dust on the baseboards.
It’s foreign seeing Mia in a place this well-maintained.
Puck’s old roommate has always taken great care of herself, less so her surroundings.
Back in college, she slept on hideous electric purple sheets from Target that were almost never washed.
Puck shuddered to think about how much of Zander’s DNA was in them by the time they moved off campus together senior year.
And their Brooklyn apartment was a wreck too.
Mia and Zander always offered their couch on Puck’s handful of visits to the city, and Puck always—respectfully—declined, choosing to stay in a hotel instead, though nothing as bougie as the Athenian.
Was Mia’s taste always this expensive, just waiting for the right checkbook to come along before it could be activated?
That can’t be the case—Puck couldn’t have misjudged her so badly—but it’s difficult for them to not wonder if her values have shifted, and for the worse.
Why else would she get with Damon, a guy who seems to have sacrificed his entire personality on the altar of his trust fund?
This past year, Puck watched in horror as Mia posted endless Instagram photos of her international vacations with the McLeod heir, seemingly oblivious to the risk that luxury could have rapidly diminishing returns.
Sure, Damon can take her to the Maldives, but at least Zander had the spark of life in him.
Puck barely recognizes this version of Mia, who can say a phrase like “wedding itinerary” without even hearing how staid it makes her sound.
As she leads Puck deeper down the hallway, the bride-to-be runs through the schedule: Tomorrow afternoon, there will be croquet for the bridesmaids and groomsmen, while the other early arrivals play lawn games: “Darts, bocce, the usual,” she rattles off.
Tuesday is a spa day for the bridesmaids while “Damon goes skeet shooting with the boys.”
On Wednesday, the divide between the sexes will collapse briefly for the duration of a chartered bus ride to Asheville, but once they get there, they’ll split up again for eleventh-hour bachelorette and bachelor parties: “Yoga, shopping, and tapas for the girls—and you, if you really don’t mind being lumped in,” Mia says.
Puck assures Mia that they’ll happily join the women that day, but that they draw the line at penis straws.
“Don’t worry,” Mia replies with a smile. “I can still return the crate I ordered.”
The celebration proper kicks off on Thursday with a catered picnic on the front lawn “for all one hundred guests,” Mia continues, and then Friday is the main event: an outdoor ceremony in the botanical garden, followed by a cocktail hour in “The Court,” a restaurant on the top floor of the Athenian, before ending with a glitzy reception in the grand ballroom.
It sounds expensive. It sounds exhausting.
And honestly, it doesn’t sound like Mia.
“Remember when our idea of a fancy night out was getting milkshakes from the Cook Out on Ponce?” Puck asks, hoping their old roommate is still in there somewhere. “Banana pudding?”
“You know, I actually wanted milkshakes as our late-night snack,” Mia replies.
That’s encouraging. But Puck notes the past tense: “Wanted?”
“Oh, we decided against it,” Mia says, which only raises more questions for Puck. She wanted them, but we decided against it? What’s the real story here?
“Damon shot it down?” Puck asks, trying to ascertain the truth.
“No, Damon would never—”
“So who?” Puck doesn’t let her finish, but after their years of living together, Mia should be used to having information wrung out of her.
She gives Puck a little side-eye but relents. “Damon’s family thought milkshakes would be tacky. His mom said late-night wedding treats were a ‘middle-class affectation.’”
Puck resists the urge to punch a wall. The ancient studs in this place would give them tetanus anyway. “The McLeods aren’t gods, Mia. You don’t have to do what they say. You know that, right?”
Maybe Mia has changed even more than Puck feared.
This girl used to be an untamable stallion.
That’s what made her relationship with Zander so powerful—and so tempestuous.
They both did exactly what they wanted, which worked wonderfully when they wanted the same thing, and horribly when they didn’t.
Mia may have grown up and mellowed somewhat, but it’s hard to picture her taking orders from anyone, let alone the baby boomer duchess of a boneless chicken fortune.
“I mean, Puck, they’re paying for all of this,” Mia says, lowering her voice. “I had to make some compromises.”
“Compromises?” Puck asks, matching the hushed tone. “Is this a wedding or a hostage negotiation?” It’s blunt, but they used to be able to call her out like this. Puck hopes Mia can stand up to an iota of friendly scrutiny.
“It’s an expensive wedding,” Mia whispers. “Maybe if I were paying for some of it, I’d stand my ground more, but you know that my parents are in no position to help. And I’m not exactly working right now.”
What? Puck assumed that Mia had found work after following Damon down to North Carolina—at least a substitute teaching job.
Even SAT tutoring would be a gesture toward financial independence, albeit a token one.
Mia loved her kids up in New York. They kept her grounded even when her life with Zander was in tatters.
And yet she’s trading thirty adoring faces for this? To become Damon’s housewife?
“But you’re looking, yes?” Puck asks, stopping just short of a bend in the hallway, failing to hide their judgment. “For work?”
“I’ve been pretty busy with the wedding.”
Christ. Mia was the last person Puck would have expected to get Stepford Wifed but now she is bending to convention, just like everyone else.
“I know, but afterward?” they press.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
The look on Mia’s face is equal parts angry and chastised. This was too much out of the gate, Puck realizes, but they can’t contain their disappointment. Mia opens her mouth to respond but before she can speak, Damon rounds the corner and almost runs headlong into both of them.
Mia goes pale.
“Oh, hey, Puck!” Damon says, a bit startled himself. “When did you get in?”
Before Puck can answer, though, a visibly anxious Mia stammers, “Damon, I—I thought you’d left already?”
“I was just heading out,” he says. “But I can’t find the fob for the Tesla. Do you know where it is?”
Damon was always handsome, but sometime after college he grew into his looks.
He abandoned all that pasta and started guzzling protein shakes instead.
He threw out his stained My Hero Academia T-shirts and adopted the uniform of most monied Southern men: boat shoes, polos, and shorts that frankly should leave more to the imagination.
Puck doesn’t need to know that much about the shape of Damon’s junk. No one does. Not even Mia, ideally.
But still, it looks like drag on Damon. Somewhere beneath all that salmon clothing, Puck hopes he’s still the same guy who used to shout, “No items, Fox only, Final Destination!” at two a.m. with the exuberance of a child on Christmas morning.
Sometimes he’d even play Smash Bros. one-handed, just to level the playing field with Puck, but of course he’d win anyway.
That endearing enthusiasm is gone from his voice now. “Hey, how’s the TV thing going?” he asks Puck with disinterest, turning toward Mia immediately afterward. It’s clear he was only looking for his fiancée and doesn’t actually want to catch up.
“It’s going great,” Puck reports, but they can’t resist adding a little barb: “I’m ending relationships every day!”
The sentence hangs in the air for a moment as the bride and groom both grapple with its implications. Mia laughs uncomfortably, but Damon is the one who tries to bat it down. “Well, hey, remember you’re on vacation, OK?”
Puck holds up their hands in mock innocence. “Don’t worry, lovebirds, I’m off the clock!”
“I was just walking Puck to their room,” Mia says. “Come with us, and then I’ll help you look for the key.”
A look of annoyance flashes across Damon’s face, but he agrees.
As they continue toward the room, Puck mentally reviews the conversation they just had with Mia before Damon appeared in the hallway like a Shining ghost. They notice she hasn’t yet said a single loving word about her betrothed: Nothing about how happy she is, or how excited she is to start a life with him.
Women are under no obligation to gush about their partners, but brides-to-be aren’t supposed to pass the Bechdel test. She’s giving up her career for Damon and she’s not even obsessed with him?
“Room 444” Mia announces, stopping in front of the last room. “Finally. God, this place is huge.”
“Ooh, it’s a corner suite,” Damon adds. “Nice.”
But the mood between them feels off. Puck suspects Mia’s still thinking about the job conversation.
No one likes to be accused of abandoning who they are, especially by the person who knows them best. Or used to, anyway.
It always seemed to matter to Mia that Puck didn’t see her as being like the other girls.
Their questioning must have gotten to her. Well, good. It should have.
“A corner suite, you say?” Puck jokes, taking a battering ram to the awkwardness with an obnoxious British accent. “Well, this calls for merriment indeed.”
Neither Mia nor Damon can muster the enthusiasm for a polite chuckle. Instead, Mia hands Puck the key card, also crimson, embossed with the Athenian’s logo: a white lowercase alpha symbol.
“Enjoy the room,” she says, holding on to the card a second too long before letting Puck take it.
It’s a pointed gesture: The McLeods are indeed paying for all this, including Puck’s accommodations.
Is it really their place to be questioning this wedding?
That seems to be the message. But years of working on Homewreckers have trained Puck to bring up the very subjects that contestants want to avoid.
It may feel cruel in the moment, but it’s beneficial in the long term; without some pushing, most people surrender to society’s expectations.
At least that’s how Puck justifies what they do.
And maybe this is all Mia needs: a little push.
“Oh, Damon!” Puck says, as the couple turn to walk back down the hall. “Mia was telling me about your late-night snack predicament. And I was thinking, I can always drive to the nearest Cook Out and sneak you both some milkshakes.”
Damon looks unsure of how or if to respond, trying to gauge the situation. Mia goes dagger-eyed.
“That could be cute,” she says, through a painful grimace. “Except not a milkshake. Damon’s keto now.”
Oh, God. It’s worse than Puck imagined.