45. Paige
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Paige
Crying stops the next day. At least that’s what I command my body to do, but my eyes have a hard time listening. Still, even when moisture forms in the corners of my eyes, I don’t let it fall. I blink it away, swallowing back the lump in my throat.
Instead, I focus on churning out two more columns. Then I delete both of them because they’re far too depressing and decide to try again on a day I feel better. Getting elbow deep in dirt and soil in my garden is my next attempt—anything to give me a sense of normalcy.
After a while of exhausting physical work, my mind finally relaxes. I’m replanting my dead flowers when my phone pings with a text.
My heart squeezes in my chest seeing Ryan’s name on it. It’s a photo. There’s three men in the photo, each one more handsome than the other. Ryan’s the hottest one of them, of course, but that doesn’t explain why he sent this to me. A text follows.
Ryan
These are my best friends. Parker is the one with the mustache, and Wes is the one in glasses. I’m the hot one.
I roll my eyes, even though I was just thinking the same thing. Why is he sending this to me?
Another photo arrives next, followed by a text. The photo shows him and a girl who can’t be over eight years old. They’re hugging each other, with bright smiles on their faces. She’s missing a few teeth, and she’s absolutely adorable.
She’s the kid I saw him drop off.
Ryan
This is Chrissy. She’s Parker’s daughter. Her mom left her a few days after birth, and Parker has been taking care of her on his own ever since. With a little help from his family and friends, of course.
A pang of sorrow pierces my chest. I know what it’s like to be abandoned by your mom. My phone pings again.
This time, it’s a photo of him and Chrissy on the couch, playing video games.
Ryan
We do monthly sleepovers. Once at my place, once at Wes’. We tend to compete on who she likes best, but it’s obvious it’s me.
A smile breaks through my teary expression. I’m aware responding could only cause more trouble, but my fingers type out a text of their own accord.
Me
Chrissy sounds great. Hopefully, she’ll learn to judge people better with age.
He responds with only a grinning emoji. I suppress the disappointment building in my gut, silence the phone, and carry it inside. I need to stay strong and texting him definitely won’t help.
Over the next few days, he continues texting me. Each time, his attention doesn’t last longer than maybe five minutes, and each day, he shares something about himself.
On Tuesday, he tells me he never had a serious relationship. He ends the thread with, “I never wanted one before… not until now.”
I drop the phone as if it’s on fire, hating how his words make me feel. Hating the way the butterflies I thought suffocated start flight in my belly once again.
On Wednesday, he explains that he doesn’t like disappointing people, which made his job in the city that much harder. It’s also why it took him so long to come back home after his body obviously couldn’t handle the stress of his job. He was afraid of disappointing his mom.
On Thursday, he shares that ever since his headaches started, any sign of conflict causes him debilitating pain. So he learned to avoid it.
Ryan
It’s why I lied to Isabelle.
Not that it makes it any better.
It was still a shitty thing to do.
Me
It was.
Ryan
There is one person I like arguing with…
You.
Me
I don’t know whether to be honored or insulted?
Ryan
Depends.
Does it insult you to be the only person I feel free enough to be fully myself around?
Me
So the real you loves to argue?
Ryan
I think you know the real me.
And that’s exactly it. Each day, he shares things about himself I hadn’t known before.
But somehow, I already knew everything about who he is.
I didn’t know Chrissy’s story, but if you asked me before, I’d tell you he’d definitely be involved in the lives of his friends’ kids.
I didn’t know the full story of his job, but I knew he isn’t the type of person to value money and power over people.
Day after day, he tells me who he is, but he already showed me that from the first day that we met.
By Saturday morning, I’m a nervous wreck. My hands are soaking wet as I try to make last-minute adjustments to my dress.
“I think it’s best you leave that how it is,” Emma says as she walks in. We’re getting ready at their place.
“The strap looks funny,” I respond.
“No, it doesn’t. You look amazing.”
She stands behind me, and I notice she got dressed, too. Her boho-style floral dress dips low into her cleavage, wraps tightly around her waist, and flows freely down her body.
“You look amazing, too.”
“I know.” She smirks. “Your sister gritted her teeth when she saw me.”
I let out a cackle.
“Are you ready?”
“No.”
Jordan walks in, fixing her cufflinks. “Maybe we’ll be ready by the next wedding.”
“Yeah, right.”
It’s a joke we made plenty of times before, but it’s different this time. Neither of us thinks there will actually be a next wedding. The thought is as comforting as it is frightening.
“We should go if we don’t want to be late.” Jordan checks her watch.
Emma places her hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Paige.”
I know it will be. I just need to survive tonight. Survive one night of him probably looking mouth-watering in a tux, without falling back into his arms.
After that, we can go back to not seeing each other. I can go back to my normal life, and he can go back to his. The thought that was supposed to motivate me fills me with grief instead. Even though I convinced myself I was perfectly happy living the life I lived, it feels empty now.
The wedding is held at Dad’s house, which is another detail separating it from the others.
It’s a small, intimate gathering in the garden, unlike the extravagant ballrooms previous brides demanded.
Servers in tuxedos rush to the back of the house to set everything up, while a woman wearing a strict pantsuit and a Bluetooth set approaches us.
She taps her pen on the clipboard in her hand before glancing at us.
“You must be the daughters.” Her smile is professional.
“I’m Tina, the wedding planner. Your father is waiting for you.
Follow me, please.” We struggle to follow the swift clicks of her heels on the marble floors, but eventually we reach the cigar room, Dad’s favorite room in the house.
“He’s in here. He requested to see you both before the ceremony. ”
“Thank you,” Jordan says before glancing at her wife.
“I’ll find something to do, don’t worry,” Emma tells her.
Jordan lightly raps on the door before opening it.
“Girls, you’re here. Come in, come in,” Dad ushers us in. He notices Emma not entering, so he quickly adds, “You too, Emma. I thought I was clear when I said I consider you a daughter.”
Emma dips her head and enters the room.
Though it’s officially a cigar room, I doubt a cigar was ever lit in here. The room smells of leather, courtesy of a large brown leather three-seater and two brown leather armchairs. Dark wood and expensive art pieces decorate the rest.
“Sit. Relax.” Dad reaches the dry bar in the corner and places four whiskey glasses on the small table.
Even though he’s wearing a flawless designer suit, the collar of his shirt is unbuttoned, and a bow tie hangs loosely around his neck. He takes the decanter and pours a generous amount into each glass. The three of us sit on the couch. Two by two, he brings the glasses to us.
With his own whiskey in hand, he sits in one armchair, swishing the amber liquid inside the glass.
“I wanted to apologize.” My eyes practically bulge out of my skull.
“I know you have a tough relationship with my weddings. And I’m the only one to blame.
I haven’t always made the best choices. And you were often the ones who paid the price. ”
“Dad…” I start to say, but he lifts his free hand to stop me.
“Please, sweetie. Let me say this.”
I nod.
“They might not be good women, but I was the one who let them into our house, let them near you.” He lets out a sigh, staring at his glass. “I was the one unable to be an adult when you deserved one.” Finally, he lifts his gaze to us. “And I’m sorry.” His eyes are misty, framed by deep wrinkles.
Tears prickle my eyelids.
“I should’ve known better. I should’ve done better. And I’m doing it now. Kim is the one. I know you might not trust me, and you have every right not to, but I hope over time you’ll see.”
“We trust you,” Jordan blurts out, shocking both Emma and me. “We know this is different. We’ve known Kim is different since day one. We just don’t want you to get hurt.”
His mouth forms a soft smile. “Living and loving and getting hurt is much better than not living and loving at all.” His gaze lands on me for a second too long, and goosebumps rise on my skin. “You’re my greatest pride. I love you.”
He lifts his glass, and the three of us do the same, while I swallow back tears. We clink our glasses before tipping them back. The whiskey burns its way down my throat, clearing the lump that was lodged there.
Dad checks his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get married.” His mouth hooks into a smile, and my chest inflates.
I help him tie his bow tie, while Emma fixes his tux, and Jordan handles any rebellious hair strands.
“We’ll see you soon,” I say as we exit the cigar room.
Emma and Jordan head to the bathroom, and I set out to find our spots in the garden. As one foot steps into the living room, a figure appears from behind the corner, running straight into me.
“Sorry,” he says, and the familiar voice stops me in my tracks. “Paige… hi.”
With a deep breath to collect myself, I lift my gaze. Not even a hundred deep breaths could prepare me for how devastating he looks in his tux. His beard is neatly trimmed, his hair styled, and the tux showcases his tall frame and wide shoulders before tapering at his waist. I suppress a groan.
“Hi.”
“Wow…you look amazing.”