27. Scoring an Extra Life with Love
The lobbyof the upscale Oklahoma hotel buzzed with the hum of arriving wedding guests and the clink of luggage wheels on marble as Everett and I approached the front desk. It was weird bringing him to my home state, and under different circumstances, I would have wanted to show him around.
But I hadn’t spoken to my mother or sister since the disaster of the bachelorette party, except for a terse text from my mom reminding me that my absence at the wedding would be “unacceptable,” and that I needed to “put a happy face on and apologize since it was most likely your fault.” My stomach churned at the thought.
My mom, a Midwest weather woman, could give any storm cloud a run for its money with her towering big hair and a smile so practiced it could only be described as meteorologically calculated. She was all gloss and hairspray, armed with a radar for social slip-ups and charm that was both dazzling and slightly terrifying. Whitney was her perfect blonde echo, though slightly less polished—a bit like a weather forecast that promises sun but delivers a sneaky hurricane. She hovered near our mother, a cocktail in one hand, her demeanor radiating tension that said she was more used to sipping sweet tea on a veranda than wrestling with guilt.
My mom’s disapproval was tangible as she sized Everett up, then turned her gaze back to me, clearly not satisfied with his brief introduction. “Well, that’s surprising,” she murmured, barely concealing her skepticism. “I had no idea you were seeing someone, Rachel. I was just discussing with Mrs. Ellis here about setting you up with some suitable young men from our church. There’s Jonathan, the lawyer, David, the doctor, and—oh, you remember Martin, don’t you? He just finished his residency.”
Her words came out in a rapid stream, each name delivered with a hopeful gleam in her eye that dimmed slightly with Everett’s calm interjection. “That’s thoughtful of you,” Everett said with a polite smile, “but Rachel and I are quite happy together.”
The clerk at the front desk handed us our key cards at that moment, announcing loudly enough for my mom to hear, “Mr. Beckett, your suite is ready.”
My mother’s expression flickered, caught off guard by the mention of a suite. “A suite?” she echoed, her tone mixing surprise and newfound respect. “Well, isn’t that something?”
Everett kept his arm securely around me, a silent show of solidarity. “I wanted to make sure Rachel had everything she might need this weekend. It’s a special occasion, after all,” he explained, turning to me with a smile that suggested he’d do it all over again if needed.
My mother’s demeanor shifted from skeptical to opportunistic as she realized Everett might not be the lightweight she’d initially marked him as. “Well, we didn’t have you on the guest list, but I will add you,” she said more warmly, perhaps envisioning the potential prestige of having a well-heeled guest.
She then pulled me aside, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Rachel, why didn’t you tell me you were bringing someone? He certainly stands out.”
“He’s my boyfriend, Mom,” I replied, not bothering to mask my frustration. “And honestly, you never ask about me. When would I have told you?”
My response seemed to take her aback, but only momentarily. “Well, I suppose we’ll need to make some adjustments for the reception,” she conceded, eyeing Everett with a new, interest.
As Whitney and her fiancé approached, I felt a blend of emotions swirling inside me. Her fiancé, with slicked-back hair and a too-sharp suit, extended his hand to Everett with a grin that seemed rehearsed. “Name’s Brad,” he said, his voice smooth like he was closing a business deal rather than greeting a person.
Then, turning to Whitney, he gave her a pat on the rear, possessive and casual as if marking his territory. “This beauty here is my future wife,” he boasted, his smile wide but not quite reaching his eyes, which darted around the lobby.
Whitney’s smile was strained as she met my gaze, a flash of sadness passing over her face before she masked it with a bright, practiced grin for the sake of the onlookers. “Yes, and we’re so excited, aren’t we, babe?” she chimed in, her voice a little too cheerful.
Brad chuckled, whispering loudly enough for us to hear, “Can’t wait for the wedding night, right, honey?” His wink was as oily as his hair, and Whitney laughed—a hollow sound that didn’t match the worry in her eyes.
Everett’s hand tightened around mine, his body tensing subtly as he responded with a forced smile. “Congratulations to you both,” he said, the politeness in his voice belying his discomfort. “It’s always great to see happy couples.”
Meanwhile, my mom, forever the social butterfly and matchmaker, chimed in with her approval. “And Brad here just got promoted to branch manager at the bank, didn’t you, darling?” she cooed, her eyes sparkling with the kind of pride usually reserved for a prize-winning pie at the county fair.
Brad straightened up, his chest puffing out slightly as he accepted the compliment. “That’s right, Mrs. Balenchique. Just trying to provide the best for this little lady here,” he said, squeezing Whitney’s shoulder a bit too tightly. Whitney managed a weak smile, her discomfort obvious as she took a large sip of her drink, perhaps hoping it could drown more than just her thirst.
“Rachel should find someone ambitious like Brad, don’t you think?” my mom continued, her gaze sharp as she turned it on me, the unspoken criticism hanging heavily in the air. “Someone who really knows how to take charge.”
Whitney shot me a pained look, her eyes pleading for understanding. She was trapped in this performance, playing the part of the happy fiancée, while her drink seemed to be her only solace. I squeezed Everett’s hand, grateful for his presence next to me, a silent bastion against the storm of familial expectations swirling around us.
Everett caught the subtle undercurrent of challenge in my mother’s voice, and his response was calm but assertive. He shifted slightly, giving Brad a polite nod before addressing my mother’s unspoken challenge.
“Well, I’ve had a pretty varied career,” Everett began, his voice steady. “I served in the military, which I’m immensely proud of.” Smoothly, he lifted the hem of his pant leg to reveal his prosthetic leg, a move that garnered a sharp intake of breath from those around us. “After my service, I dedicated myself to working with a nonprofit focused on veteran affairs, helping others who faced challenges like mine.”
He then shifted the topic to his current endeavors. “Now, I’m involved in game design, specifically working on developing VR simulations that help with PTSD therapy. It’s work I’m really passionate about.”
Not missing a beat, Everett added, with a hint of a smile, “And if we’re talking prestige, I also own a series of vacation properties with my brother. Plus, my mother is a partner at one of New York’s most well-known law firms. Oh, and I might add, I run a gaming stream that pulls in over ten million views weekly.”
Everett’s confidence didn’t wane as he continued, seamlessly weaving his narrative to paint a broader picture of his family’s involvement in philanthropy. “And it doesn’t stop with law and real estate,” he added, catching the fleeting looks of surprise and interest from the small crowd gathered around.
“My family is also actively involved on the boards of various charities. We’re deeply committed to several causes, from environmental conservation to education for underprivileged youth.” He paused, his expression modest yet proud. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Beckett Foundation? We donate millions annually to support these initiatives. It’s all about making a real difference, you know?”
His mention of the Beckett Foundation—a name that carried weight in philanthropic circles—clearly struck a chord. A few nods of recognition and murmurs of respect followed his statement, and even my mother’s eyebrows rose in acknowledgment, her earlier condescension softening into what could be perceived as grudging respect.
“Really, this weekend is about family and joy, and I’m here to support Rachel,” Everett concluded, bringing the focus back to the reason we were all gathered. His demeanor was the perfect blend of humility and assertiveness, leaving little room for anyone to doubt his sincerity or his significance.
“I see,” my mother managed, her tone cooling somewhat as she reassessed Everett in this new light. “Very impressive, indeed.” The pride and nonchalance in his voice was perfectly pitched, and even my mother seemed momentarily taken aback by the breadth of his achievements. Everett’s mention of his streaming success seemed to particularly impress—or perhaps intimidate—Brad, whose earlier bravado seemed to deflate slightly.
Everett gave a modest nod, then turned to Whitney and Brad with genuine warmth. “But today isn’t about comparing resumes. It’s about celebrating Whitney and her upcoming marriage. That’s what’s truly important.”
Whitney’s smile faltered as she glanced at me again, her expression a juxtaposition of apology and resignation before she turned back to entertain her fiancé, who seemed to want to go where he was the most successful person in the conversation again.
The moment lingered awkwardly until my mom redirected the conversation with a pragmatic tone. “Well, will you be at the rehearsal dinner tonight?” she asked, her eyes flitting between me and Everett.
Everett’s response was immediate and firm. “I’ll be wherever Rachel is for the weekend,” he declared, his hand squeezing mine reassuringly.
My mother raised an eyebrow, appraising Everett for the first time. “I suppose we can add you to that,” she conceded. “I’ll make sure the caterers are informed.”
Everett nodded, his voice smooth. “I appreciate that, thank you. I’d be happy to cover my plate if that helps. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
The corners of my mother’s mouth tightened slightly, a clear sign of her disapproval being held at bay. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, her tone clipped.
The conversation took another turn when my mom turned her attention back to me with a look of determination. “Tomorrow is your makeover, Rachel. Five in the morning. They say it’ll take a while to get the pink out of your hair.”
I opened my mouth, about to resign myself to her plans, but Everett was quicker. “Actually, I’ve arranged for a hair and makeup artist to come to our suite,” he interjected smoothly. “I wanted my girlfriend to be comfortable on her sister’s big day.”
The surprise—and irritation—on my mom’s face was palpable. Yet, she managed a stiff nod. “Oh, okay,” she said, her voice strained. “That’s… thoughtful of you.”
The moment felt like a minor victory, not just in standing up to my mom’s traditional expectations but in solidifying us as a team. As we turned to head towards the elevator, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude and relief. Everett was more than just my boyfriend; he was my ally in a battlefield I’d been navigating alone for far too long.