18. Crickets #4
Don’t get me wrong. Vanessa knows how to throw one heck of a party, but doing so takes time .
Time she doesn’t have. Seventy percent of her life is focused on ballet, twenty percent likely on sleeping, and the rest is spent with friends.
I’m surprised she has the time to even coordinate Derek and Lauren’s wedding.
On any occasion I’ve seen Vanessa eating over the past three years, it’s essentially been her shoveling protein bars into her mouth as she’s running out the door.
How the hell is she managing to organize multiple high-profile events and her brother’s wedding with her schedule?
And don’t you usually need a bachelor’s degree to get those kinds of gigs in the first place?
I know Vanessa has helped one of the event coordinators in town a few times, but it seems like a pretty big leap of faith to hire her on that alone, especially given how much money the people around here spend throwing these kinds of parties.
Thankfully, I don’t need to ask, but the answer only begs more questions as the women gush about how Vanessa somehow “saved” Emily Draper’s wedding back in March.
My sister is still in college, so her only free time would have been during spring break, which is impossible since she has attended the same ballet program for the past four years.
As if to twist the knife deeper into my back for how painfully uninformed I am, Trent adds, “I heard about the injury. Are you going to be performing again?”
Vanessa opens her mouth, and, for the first time in my life, Blythe cuts her off.
“That remains to be seen, but we are hoping for the best.”
Further chattering ensues along the table, and I hear phrases like “labral tear” and “physical therapy” and even mentions of surgery.
What the hell?
No, seriously, what the fuck ?
Trent Easton knows more about my sister than I do?
To say everyone has kept me out of the loop is a painful understatement.
I understand why Derek didn’t mention it.
He saw firsthand how Vanessa treated me last summer, so he knew bringing her up would be a sore subject.
And he had likely assumed Dad would have said something, which he evidently didn’t .
Neither had Blythe. Hell, with that kind of news, I’m surprised my stepmom didn’t hold a full-blown funeral service at the mere thought she may not be able to live vicariously through Vanessa anymore.
My sister hasn’t been limping or showing any signs of stiffness, apart from when she first saw Trent, and I haven’t seen crutches anywhere in the house, so it’s safe to say this happened a while ago…
…which meant everybody had more than enough time to mention this life-altering event for my sister.
The very same sister that apparently slept with the fucker who ruined my life now sitting across from us.
The only way to make me feel less like a member of this family right about now would be to find out I’m literally not related to them.
“My mother’s birthday is coming up, and it would mean the world if you helped us with the party planning,” Trent says, so sweetly it’s enough to make my teeth hurt.
I’ve never known my sister to be the blushing sort, but her face is turning an alarming shade of red, at least for her. Once again, it’s with good reason.
Because Luke is heading back inside.
“My schedule is pretty full right now,” she’s quick to say, looking back and forth between Luke and Trent, as if trying to silently communicate to the latter to follow her line of vision.
The “this isn’t the time” message is pretty much stamped across her eyeballs, but the jackass won’t take the hint.
And neither is Blythe when Vanessa looks to her for help. Instead, our stepmom stares back at her like she must be crazy. “Meredith’s birthday isn’t until August. You’ll have plenty of time.”
The instant Luke rounds the table and sees Trent, every muscle in his body goes taut, and his fists clench at his side as he takes his seat beside my sister.
“Can we help you?” It may technically be a question, but it comes out in a growl, sounding more like it belongs with a mouthful of expletives.
“Nope.” Trent’s all too happy to vacate the seat now, winking at Vanessa once more. “I got what I came here for. Or at least, I will .”
Vanessa’s eyes slam shut, and I swear it looks like she might scream.
Given my history with the Untouchables, I have made a habit in school of watching every last one of them like a hawk anytime I knew they were near.
While most people wrote off Trent’s behavior or missed it entirely, I witnessed everything.
The fucker had—and still has— two particular setups that float his metaphorical boat.
The victim and the pigeon.
His favorite is establishing his dominance over weak, little, pathetic people like me, but he’s still quite fond of playing the role of Prince Charming to seduce some gullible halfwit.
He whispers all the sweet nothings and convinces her that she’s a unique and beautiful snowflake he utterly adores, only to rip the rug out from under her feet.
Once he gets what he wants, he laughs in their faces and tosses them aside like yesterday’s garbage.
And he only does this to girls he knows are in relationships.
Why? It probably makes the game more exciting, but there’s also a practical application.
The so-called pigeons are all too embarrassed and ashamed to call him out for his behavior, and now he has something to hang over their heads.
I’ve never seen him go back for second helpings, but I have an aching suspicion his renewed interest in Vanessa has everything to do with me and our encounter at Castelli’s earlier.
Based on Luke’s reaction, it’s clear he knows something has happened between them. The guy looks ready to jump over the table, tackle the asshole, and beat his face into a pulp, and it takes everything in me not to start chanting, “Do it, do it!”
Sadly, Luke manages to stay in his seat after Vanessa whispers something to him, allowing Trent to walk out. However, his composure slips a few minutes later when her cell vibrates with an incoming text.
It’s not like I’m trying to be nosy. She tips her phone screen away from Luke, inadvertently showing it to me. Trent’s name is at the top of the screen with the message, “Can’t wait to taste you again,” accompanied by a picture of my sister that I never, ever wanted to see!
Thankfully, the snapshot only shows her from the waist up, but she’s lying down and not wearing anything!
Luke doesn’t miss the look on her face (or mine) and tries to snatch the phone away.
Vanessa yanks it out of his reach, almost hitting me in the process as she shoots up to her feet and excuses herself for the restroom.
Is everybody blind or just that clueless here?
Because nobody else at the table seems to be paying attention—not to her previous behavior, not to her abrupt exit, and not to Luke looking five seconds away from turning green and Hulking out.
He stays in his seat for a whole thirty seconds, clearly trying to calm down enough to politely excuse himself as well.
It’s not terribly convincing, yet no one still seems to notice except Lauren and me.
When Dad and Derek make it back to our table a few minutes later, I’ve reached my breaking point as well.
Why? you might ask.
Between Jase and Patrick and then Trent, I want to run out of here screaming, and any smidgeon of joy I had from Wes’s dinner invitation gets popped like a lead balloon when Blythe’s friends tell my dad and brother all about how I know one of the illustrious Holbrookes.
Again, I have no idea what that means, but it seems like a pretty big deal in their circles.
You’d think me being asked out to dinner by someone of this stature would have Blythe putting this in the “Win” column for the family, but she just can’t resist herself.
I’m too far away to hear what she whispers to my dad, but I can still read her lips quite clearly as they form the words, “just being polite.”
I don’t mean to, but I jerk back my seat just enough to make a sharp, scratching sound against the floor, finally earning everyone’s attention.
Crap.
I make the same excuse as my sister, asking Derek to order me a cheeseburger and another Coke before exiting the restaurant.
Everybody’s still picking at the appetizers, so by the time they all decide on what to order, I’ll have at least a half hour to kill.
Enough time to calm down and get a hold of my shit.
I consider hiding out in the same place as last time, but with my luck, that’s where Jase took Patrick and the mystery woman, and I have no desire to walk in on their little threesome.
Ducking into the bathroom would normally be a good option, but I spot Vanessa and Luke at the end of the hallway, right in front of the door.
My sister’s back is to me, so I can’t gauge her reaction, but Luke doesn’t look like a happy camper.
He isn’t yelling or getting into her face, but his expression says enough.
He looks like he’s ready to tear off a certain someone’s head, and the fact he’s actually whispering only makes the expression more unsettling.
Vanessa has more than enough space to walk around him or turn back down the hall, but she does neither. Her shoulders are slumped, and she has her arms crossed, looking more and more like she’s trying to hug herself the more he speaks.
I’m tempted to go over and ask if she’s okay—give her an out if she needs one—but I can already picture how that would go. The second she’d see me approach, her walls would shoot up a hundred feet high, and she’d bite off my head for butting into her business.