21. Rage Quit My Heart
It had beena week since the “Great Cinnamon Roll Peace Offering” at the office, and let me tell you, the vibe was buzzing like a live wire zapped by a Red Bull. Everett was laying it on thick with charm, and honestly, he was about two steps away from bringing me a pony to work. Each morning greeted me with his bright-eyed, coffee-fueled smiles and breakfast treats that made my stomach forget about the previous day’s lunch. Every evening was an excuse to try a new dinner spot, turning my usual Netflix-and-takeout routine into a distant memory. Surprisingly, he hadn’t texted Huntra since that night we split a pizza. Totally suspicious and… kind of refreshing?
My train of thought derailed when my phone vibrated. Oh, it was Mom—cue the eye roll and a deep breath for patience. I braced myself and answered, plastering on a mental smile that I hoped would translate through the phone.
“Hi, Mom,” I greeted, trying to sound more chipper than I felt.
“Rachel, darling, have you sorted everything for Nashville?” Mom’s voice, as ever, carried that blend of excitement for my sister Whitney and a subtle reminder of the expectations laid upon me. She launched into her usual monologue about Whitney’s pre-wedding festivities without waiting for my answer.
“Oh, and don’t forget, Whitney insists everyone must look absolutely fabulous, darling. She’s picked out the most adorable outfits for all of you! Hot pink boas, sparkly cowboy hats, and those little boots! Did you pack them? You know how particular she is about her themes. It’s going to be so stylish!”
“Yes, Mom,” I muttered, barely hiding my sarcasm. “Got the boas, the hats, the whole rodeo. I’m all set to gallop down Broadway.”
“And the gifts?” she continued, steamrolling over my attempts at humor with the precision of a practiced wedding planner. “Whitney was very clear about wanting thoughtful, personalized presents. I hope you didn’t just grab something last minute.”
The mental image of me, draped in hot pink and feathers, prancing around Nashville like a misplaced flamingo, was enough to make me want to dive under my desk. “Yep, gifts are ready too. I put a lot of thought into them,” I assured her, though my mind flashed to the still unwrapped items sitting on my dresser.
“And you’ve coordinated with the other bridesmaids, right? Whitney wants this weekend to be perfect. She’s been planning it for ages, you know.” The way she said perfect made it sound like a life-or-death requirement, not a party prep detail.
I sighed, pushing a strand of rebellious hair back from my face. “Yes, Mom, everything’s coordinated, synchronized, and practically choreographed. We’re ready for Broadway or a Broadway show.”
Her relentless parade of reminders clarified that in the world of Whitney’s wedding events, there was no room for error—or comfort.
Mom’s voice took on a sharper edge, slicing through any pretense of casual conversation. “I just hope you’re taking this seriously, Rachel. Whitney has put so much effort into this, and we wouldn’t want anything less than perfect. You know how she can get.”
I nodded silently, though she couldn’t see it. “I know, Mom. I’m fully committed to making sure Whitney’s weekend is as spectacular as she envisioned.”
There was a brief pause on the line—a rare moment of silence from Mom as she likely pondered my level of sincerity. “And your outfit choices, dear, make sure they’re up to standard. Remember the last family gathering? That dress was a bit… well, let’s just say it was a choice.”
I winced at the memory. “That dress was vintage, Mom.”
“Vintage is one word for it,” she scoffed lightly. “Just try to blend in more this time, darling. It’s Whitney’s big moment, after all. We don’t need any… distractions.”
Her words stung more than I cared to admit. Was I really such a outcast in our perfectly manicured family? “Right, no distractions. Got it.”
“And try to put on a pleasant face, will you? Smile more. You always look so serious in photos. It’s a celebration, not a funeral.”
I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, a practiced smile stretching across my face as if she could see. “I’ll be the picture of joy, don’t you worry.”
“Good. And, Rachel, dear, try to mingle. Maybe you’ll meet someone. It’s high time you settled down, and this could be a perfect opportunity. Don’t be afraid to pick up someone cute at the bar.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I choked out, the implication clear as day—my life needed fixing, and what better place to start than at my sister’s bachelorette party?
“Alright then. Have a safe flight tomorrow. And remember, Whitney is counting on you.”
“I won’t let her down,” I assured her, though the weight of her expectations felt like a boa constrictor around my neck. As we said our goodbyes, I hung up the phone, feeling the faux cheer drain from me.
Hanging up, I caught Everett’s concerned look. “What was that about?” he asked, leaning against my desk.
“Just my mom,” I muttered, trying to shake off the annoyance. “I’m heading to Nashville this weekend for my sister’s bachelorette party. It’s going to be… interesting.”
“Oh?” Everett’s eyebrows rose, his interest piqued. “Family stuff?”
“Yeah,” I sighed, looking away. “It’s not just a bachelorette party. It’s a showcase. My sister wants us in hot pink boas, cowboy hats, and boots. And my mom… well, she has her own set of expectations.”
Everett’s face softened. “That sounds tough. So, you’re going alone?”
I nodded. “Yes. Just have to survive the weekend. And then the wedding.” My voice trailed off, a hint of sadness threading through.
“You know,” he said gently, “you shouldn’t have to just ‘survive’ anything. You should be able to enjoy it.”
I smiled weakly. “Thanks, Everett. I guess I’m just used to dealing with it. You know, making sure I don’t disappoint anyone.”
Everett pulled up a chair, his posture open and attentive. “Tell me about your mom and sister,” he prompted gently, sensing there was more beneath the surface.
I exhaled a shaky breath, appreciating his interest but wary of unpacking family drama. As Huntra, I always skimmed the surface of my family dynamics, never telling him the truth. He knew I didn’t get along with them, but Huntra was confident in herself. I felt like I didn’t want him to see that side of me.
But I felt safe to do that now.
“Well, Whitney, my sister, she’s always been the golden child. Perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect job. Now, a perfect wedding.” I managed a wry smile. “And my mom, she’s the director of this perfect little play. Everything and everyone has to fit her script, including me.”
“And you don’t feel you fit that script?” Everett asked, his tone neutral yet full of understanding.
I shrugged, a little embarrassed by how exposed I felt discussing this. “I’ve never really fit, no. I’m the ‘other’ daughter. The one who went into gaming, dyes her hair pink, lives across the country. To them, I’m like a constant… deviation from the plan.”
Everett nodded slowly, absorbing my words. “Sounds like a lot of pressure. To be something you’re not.”
“It is,” I admitted, feeling the weight of years of expectations pressing down on me. “That’s why this weekend is so stressful. It’s not just a party; it’s another test I’m bound to fail.”
His expression was earnest. “You know, Rachel, it’s okay to just be yourself. Even if it’s not what your mom or anyone else expects. You’re incredible just as you are.”
Hearing that from Everett, someone who I knew appreciated me for both my Rachel side and my Huntra persona, meant more than he could know. His words, simple yet sincere, offered a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed.
“Thank you, Everett,” I said, my voice soft.
He smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. “Anytime. And hey, if you need a break from the pink boas and cowboy hats, just text me. I’ll be your virtual escape hatch.”
Laughing, I felt a bit of the tension ebb away. “Deal. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring back a pink cowboy hat for you. You’d look pretty cute in it.”
Everett chuckled, standing to leave. “I’d wear it with pride. Just for you.” He paused at the door, turning back with a more serious look. “You’ve got this, Rachel. Don’t let them dim your shine.”
As he walked away, I sat back, feeling oddly fortified for the weekend ahead. Maybe, just maybe, I could handle this after all.