Chapter Eight
234 days until graduation
The end of September came and went, and homecoming is quickly approaching.
Logan, Jameson, and I picked the theme A Night in Paris, and have been busy getting all the final touches prepared.
“Have you found a dress yet?” Winnie asks me.
It’s lunchtime, and for the first time in almost two weeks, I don’t have a Class Officer’s meeting, and can sit with Winnie and Eloise.
“I haven’t even thought about it,” I groan, running my hands through my hair.
“You need to start,” Eloise tells me. “Almost everyone has theirs.”
“I’ll have to ask my mom to make it for me.” Perks of having a fashion designer as a mother.
“Well, you should probably do that soon, Evie,” Winnie says.
“I’ll talk to her tonight and figure it out, don’t worry.”
“You don’t even know if she’s going to be home tonight,” Eloise says, as if she’s reminding me of my mother’s whereabouts. “Why don’t you text her and ask?”
“Yeah, she’s in Paris right now. I’ll text her tonight.”
“Now,” they say in unison. Eloise grabs my phone off the table, attempting to shove it in my hand.
“It’s fine. I don’t want to bother her.” I take my phone out of her hand and place it back on the table.
Mom and I text periodically when she’s away for work, sometimes we even call or FaceTime while I’m doing my homework. She likes to hear about my day-to-day life, and I don’t mind telling her.
Dad is more distant, and I like to believe it’s not because he wants to be. It’s mainly because he’s busy with work and doesn’t really have time to give unless it’s urgent or of utmost importance.
The thing about having parents like mine is that they teach you to prioritize work like most would the people they love. They’ve never been ones to sacrifice time with their goals, therefore, he strictly allocates the time he spends with his family.
In turn, I have become the same way. School work always takes priority, and I can’t say whether I’m thankful for it or not.
My parents always managed to make it to the important stuff, though. Award shows, school dances— they were always there. In their minds, it probably makes up for the fact that they are missing a majority of the everyday moments with Gwen and I.
Their love has never been a question, but it’s hard when your parents don’t have the best work to family ratio, and spend your childhood passing the everyday parenting tasks onto nannies.
Winnie stays silent while Eloise grabs me by the shoulder and says, “She’s your mother, Evie. You’re not bothering her.”
I hate feeling reliant on other people, my parents included.
Even though I would love to have them around all the time, they would be miserable, and I’d rather let them I’ve their lives—running their businesses—without having to worry about me.
I haven’t gotten to the point in my life where I’ve been able to accept the fact that it’s a parent’s job to care for their children because my parents never traditionally did so. Eloise and Winnie know this all too well.
“Your parents love you, Evie,”Winnie says.
“Text her,” Eloise encourages. “She would love to hear from you.”
I say nothing, but I pick my phone up off the table and begin typing.
Hi Mom, I know you’re probably
busy in Paris, but Homecoming is
next week, and I was wondering
if you could help me design and
make a dress. Love you, see you
soon. XOXO
Her reply is almost instant.
Genny! I would LOVE to help,
I’ll be on the next flight home
tomorrow morning and we
can start working on it!
“See! I told you she would want to help!” Eloise exclaims, reading the text over my shoulder.
Thank you, Mom. Seriously. I’ll
be at the house when you get
home.
Lovely. Call me tonight when
you get home from school. I
miss you too much to wait
another day.
Are you sure it won’t be too late
there? I don’t want to wake you.
Depending on when you call it
might be a little late, but more
than likely you’ll catch me on
my way to bed.
Don’t worry about it, though.
I would love to lose some shut
eye if it means I have a chance
to talk with one of my daughters.
I’ll let Gwen know that you’re
coming home. Talk to you
tonight, mom.
Talk to you tonight,
sweetheart3
“Your mom is the sweetest,” Winnie says when I put my phone down. “Remember in sixth grade when I was feeling sick and neither of my parents could pick me up, so your mom did.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I laugh at the memory of Winnie texting me on her iPod Touch when we were twelve years old, asking if I would text my mom. It was a week my mom was home and not traveling for work, so of course she dropped what she was doing to be there for Winnie.
“She took me to get food, and when we got back to your house, she painted my nails while we watched Pretty in Pink.”
My smile grows at the thought, but sinks at the realization. My mom was more a mom to Winnie that day than she usually was for me.
I plaster a smile back on. “That sounds like her.” My mom loves the movie Pretty in Pink. She claims it’s one of those movies that when you see it on the TV guide, you just cannot pass up.
“Anyway,” Eloise says. “Now that that is settled, you need to come up with ideas for this dress.”
“I’m definitely doing black,” I say, already looking through Mom’s online store for any fabrics that stick out to me.
I send her one I like, a glittery black tulle material.Even though I hate glitter, the fabric is gorgeous.
I know you might not have
this EXACT fabric, but is
there any way we could get
something similar?
She doesn’t answer, and I figure it’s because she went back to working once we ended our text chain.
Winnie looks at the picture I sent my mom, putting her hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, that is so pretty.”
“I know,” I groan, placing my forehead against my phone screen, as if I’m willing my mother to respond. “I hope she has something similar.”
“That would look so pretty with a corset top!” She smiles.
Almost all my other dresses have been either super tight fitted or bodycon dresses, so I’m considering going with a more traditional A-line design for something special my senior year. A corset top would be the perfect touch.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Logan’s voice carries across the table as he sets his lunch tray down. “What are you girls talking about?”
Winnie looks up with a delighted smile. “Gen’s homecoming dress.”
“Ah.” He doesn’t elaborate, choosing to tuck into his food instead.
“Where’s your posse?” Eloise asks him.
He looks around the lunchroom, his mouth still full of food. When he swallows the gargantuan bite, he shrugs. “They’ll be here eventually.”
Winnie looks at him with a horrid expression when he takes another bite, this one bigger than the last. “Stop eating so fast,” she says. “None of us are going to take your food, you can take normal sized bites.”
“Hey, I’m a growing boy.” He sets his sub sandwich down on the tray.
“Yeah, a growing boy who acts as if his mother doesn’t feed him,”I joke.
“Speaking of my mother,” Logan says. “She told me to have all of you over to the house tonight.”
“Tonight?” Eloise asks. “Why would she want us all to come over on a random Tuesday night?”
“Don’t question her motives,”he replies while Winnie, Eloise and I look back and forth between each other.
The three of us are equally confused, but who are we to say no to Wren Callaghan?
“I guess we’ll be there then,”I say.
If my parents ever want to talk, it’s usually in the middle of the school day, right around their dinnertime.
Mum calls more than Dad, and that’s because Dad hasn’t called at all. This morning, she texted me letting me know she would be calling during my lunch.
So, while my friends are in the cafeteria, I have occupied an empty classroom, waiting for my mother to call.
Bianca Beaumont has always been young at heart, which led her to move to Italy almost directly after her and my father’s divorce.I love my mother, I truly do, but not as a parental figure. I love how fun and free-spirited she is, but not how it deters her from being wise enough to properly raise a child.
Living in Italy has changed her, condensing the mother I once knew into a woman who is living in a body too old for her.Bianca Beaumont is not for the faint of heart, but neither am I.
“Hi, Mum,”I answer once my phone rings.
“Jameson, how are you?” Mum asks. “I’ve been having so much fun that I haven’t even been looking at my phone!”What she’s really saying is: “I’ve been having so much fun jumping off cliffs and swimming with sharks that I’ve basically forgotten about my only child.”
“I’m glad, Mum.” I lean back in the rolling desk chair I’m sitting in. “Really glad.”
“How’s school? Every time I call, you barely tell me anything.”
“It’s fine, my classes are grand.” I keep it simple, knowing if I dig too deep, Mum will too.
“Are you having fun? Be honest.”
“Yes, I am.” She asks the same questions every time she calls, and gets the same answers. “Logan is good. I’m getting along great with the Callaghans, and no, I don’t need you to convince Dad to let me come home.” I answer the rest of the questions I know are coming.
“Okay, okay,” she laughs. “Have you heard anything about being Valedictorian?”
This is a question she hasn’t asked before, and I’m assuming it’s because at my old school in London, I was top of my class.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “There’s a girl in my class who has similar stats, so we’re not sure if one of us will win, or if it will be a draw.”
“Wow, I had no idea other kids worked themselves to the bone as much as you have.” She has no idea what she’s talking about.
Even if I worked myself to the bone, which I don’t, my mother wouldn’t have a clue.
“Yeah, we’re more than likely both going to be Valedictorian.”
This is how conversations with my mum always go. She asks me questions, I dutifully answer, and then we go on with our days.
There’s a sudden rustling through the phone, and a person yelling from afar. “Jameson, I have to go, we’re leaving for the beach,” Mum says.
“Okay.” Finally. “Have fun. I’ll talk to you soon, Mum.”She hangs up abruptly.
The classroom that was once merely quiet and empty, now feels profoundly silent, a stark contrast to the lively background noises that accompanied her call.
Alone again, I stare at the phone, the weight of our stilted conversation settling heavily in the empty room.
How lovely.
Wren Callaghan is standing on the porch when Eloise, Winnie, and I pull into the driveway.
“El, did you know your mom was going to be here?” Winnie asks, noticing Chrissi is also on the porch.
“I did not.” Eloise waves at her mom with a questioning look as we all approach.
Usually, she’s busy running the Taylor’s diner in town, so oftentimes we only see her when she’s in an apron or waiting tables.
“Eloise Ila.” Her mom smiles.
“Mom…” She trails off as her mother pulls her in for a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Am I not allowed to visit a friend?” Chrissi asks.
“No, I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“Is my mom going to pop out too?” I ask.
Winnie, Logan, Luke, Eloise, and I were all born within a year of one another. First Logan, then Winnie, Luke, me, and Eloise last. We like to joke that they did it on purpose so we could all be best friends like they were.
They’ve always denied our theory.
To this day, they are still the best of friends. All their best and worst moments have been shared with one another, and I can tell they wanted us to have that same experience.
Throughout my entire childhood, I always imagined that would be our future—that the four of us would be best friends for the rest of our lives. We would see each other get married, have kids together, the whole nine yards.
But then, Winnie’s mom died in a car accident, and it was the worst thing to happen to our friend group.
That’s when I started to doubt whether I wanted a life like our parents’. I couldn’t possibly watch what happened to Winnie’s mom happen to one of my closest friends.
We were fifteen, and it hit everyone hard. Harder than any of us could have imagined.It was hard to see my best friend go through losing her mom, obviously, but it was even harder when I was also feeling the pain of her death.
For our parents, losing their best friend was an enormous struggle. Susan was the driving force of their friendship; she was what kept them together. Our moms had already been bonded for life, it had seemed, and Winnie’s mom dying caused a momentary rift in their friendship.
“Where is your mom now, Gen?” Chrissi asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
“She’s in Paris, she’ll be back tomorrow morning,” I tell her.
Even if my mom is detached from the group more than the others, her friends are proud she’s doing it to pursue her dream.
It is what my dad had been begging her to do for years, and while it’s the reason Gwen and I grew up with more days with our nannies than parents, it doesn’t take away from her accomplishments as a businesswoman.
“Oh, that’s so fun!” She exclaims, bumping her shoulder with mine. “You need to start convincing her to take you with her.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Wren, where’s Logan?” Winnie asks.
“He should be inside somewhere.” She points to the partly open front door. “You guys can go look for him, we’ll be there in a minute.”
“L!” Eloise calls through the foyer. “Where are you?”
“I’m coming!” He shouts from the top of the stairs. “Give me one minute!”
“He sounds like he’s in a frenzy,” Winnie jokes, making Eloise and I laugh when he descends the stairs with Luke behind him.
“Wow,” I say.
“I feel like every girl in a rom-com who’s about to go to prom,” Logan jokes as we all gawk at him from the bottom of the stairs.
“What…” Winnie clears her throat. “are you wearing?”
“Have you guys never seen cashmere, or something?” He asks, smoothing his hands down his chest. “It”s a sweater.”
Indeed, it is a sweater; a red cashmere one that’s clinging to every notch in Logan’s torso. I think Winnie’s drool is dripping on the floor like a dog waiting for dinner.
“You don’t like it?” He asks, and we know he’s directing his question toward Winnie.
The thing about Logan and Winnie is neither of them will ever question the possibility of being together. They both like each other—that much is obvious—but they are not desperate enough to risk the friendship they’ve been building for years.
“No, no, it looks good on you,” Winnie says in a rush. “It’s just not something I would imagine you normally wearing.”
“Oh,” Logan’s voice trails off. “Okay.”
“Why are we here?” I ask him.
“We’ll talk about that in the kitchen,” Wren cuts in. She and Chrissi walk past us in the foyer and into the kitchen.
Eloise, Winnie, and I take seats at the barstools, while Logan and Luke lean against the island in front of us.
Wren looks around quickly, then directs a question at Logan. “Where is Jameson?”
Dear God, no.
“I’m here.” Jameson rushes in before leaning against the fridge.
“Mom, why are we all here?”
“I have a proposal.” Wren sets down trays of snacks in front of everyone. “Except it’s not really a proposal, more so a demand to please your lovely mothers.”
“We have delegated homecoming!” Chrissi smiles, taking a sip of the iced tea she’s holding.
I look toward Winnie and Eloise, and they are both exchanging looks of horror.
“What do you mean by delegated?” Eloise asks, looking at her mother.
“You are all going in pairs,” Wren says.
“No,” I say, my brows furrowing. “Absolutely not.”
“Your mother is in full agreement,” Chrissi chimes. “We have word that a dress could be on the line.”
“Are you seriously blackmailing me using the dress my mother agreed to make me?”
Chrissi holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Take it up with your mother, I’m just the messenger pigeon.”
Everyone else in the room doesn’t seem to mind who they get paired with, but my apprehension is taking over.
“Luke has already agreed to go with Eloise,” Chrissi says.
“Mom.” Eloise grids through her teeth, almost in warning.
“I am well aware, and happy, with the fact that you are attracted to women, Eloise Ila,” Chrissi says. “We’re not saying you guys have to get married and have an empire of children, but it’s your senior year, and it’s fun to have a date to take pictures with and to buy corsages and boutonnieres for.” She’s directing that last statement at all of us.
“It’s perfect!” Wren is practically jumping with excitement. “Logan and Winnie can go together, and so can Gen and Jameson.”
That’s my last straw.
“I’m sorry.” I stand from my barstool. “I don’t feel comfortable—”
“Come with me.” Wren grabs my wrist, already pulling me out of the kitchen and into the sitting room that is off of the dining room.
It’s only when I lean back into the leather chaise lounge that I feel the weight of the panic settling on my chest. My eyes and the back of my throat are both burning. I’m breathing heavily.
Everything is going wrong.
“Breathe, honey.” Wren sits next to me. “You’re okay.”
This room feels messy. It’s probably not, but I still have the overwhelming need to re-fluff the pillows behind me and fold the blanket hanging over the armrest.
I give into these vices, and once I’m done with that, I reorder the magazines on the coffee table in front of me. I’m moving at a million miles a minute, feeling my brain shut itself off to the world when Wren grabs both of my forearms again, reeling me back to reality.
“I know this is hard for you, but I would really like it for you to have a date for homecoming. I think you would have so much fun.” She tries to sound positive, but I know she feels at least partly responsible for putting me in this situation.
I would have expected her to set Winnie up like this, but not me.
Our parents have been trying to set Winnie and Logan up since they were born, same with Luke and Eloise, until Eloise came out.
“I don’t…” My voice breaks out of pure exhaustion. “I don’t like—”
“Who cares if you don’t like Jameson? Homecoming is hardly a proper date, and at least if you agree, it can give you the satisfaction of knowing that he paid for your corsage, your dinner, and your portion of the party bus.”
I think I shiver at the idea of a party bus. I’m too logical to ignore the amount of germs that linger on those.
“If it makes you feel any better, I will order Jameson, as his fill-in mother, to be at your every beck and call. I’ll even make sure he wipes everything down with disinfectant wipes before you touch any of it.” Wren’s reassuring smile relaxes my nerves a bit.
I lean back further in the chaise lounge, trying my best to steady my breathing. “You are not a good influence on my mother,” I joke.
“Oh, she loves me.” Wren smiles. “And you know she wants you to have a date too.”
I nod because she’s right. “You don’t think this will blow up in my face?” I trust Wren’s honest opinion, and even though I have a good idea of what she’s going to tell me, I’d still rather hear it from her.
“How could it?”
I could think of a few ways, but I decide against saying something. There’s no use in bringing any of the parents into the personal issues between Jameson and I.
Instead, I concede. “Fine.”