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“Oh my god, you still have the tag on your dress, Paisley.” She laughs like this faux pas is the funniest thing to ever happen. “Were you going to return it?” She laughs harder.
I look at the dress, lifting my arm to see the appalling tag still clinging to the fabric. In my defense I was so nervous when I got dressed I didn’t even remember the tag, or anything really.
The three of them laugh while I burn with mortification. I open my mouth, but instead of talking, I turn and leave, cursing my stupidity.
Farewell, Vaughn James.
One
Paisley
Ten Years Later
* * *
I have a short list of things I dislike more than what’s about to happen at tonight’s family dinner.
1. Star Wars. How anyone can sit through twenty plus hours of absolute misery is beyond me. Spoiler alert—The hero falls for his sister? And then, she falls for Han, a bad boy who talks to a giant teddy bear? Puh-lease. I’d rather watch paint dry than any of those ridiculous movies.
2. Pumpkin spice. At the beginning of October, when the air chills, and the leaves change from green to gold, around here in Colorado, most people sprout vines and turn orange as they sip on pumpkin-spiced lattes and eat pumpkin-spiced bagels. I don’t understand it.
3. Pea haters. They’re really a misunderstood vegetable. How can you not love peas? Peas in a pod. So cute.
4. Vaughn James.
“Paisley, will you check on the roast for me?” my mother, whipping a mound of potatoes, asks.
A spiral of dread coils in my stomach. “Sure.” As I move to the oven and open the door, the appealing scent of roasting meat does nothing for my nonexistent appetite. “I think it’s ready.”
“Perfect timing.” She scuttles to the cabinet and grabs the white china bowl reserved for Sunday mashed potatoes. “Take it out, please.”
I slide the pan onto the stovetop as Mom becomes a whirling dervish, plating all the fixings. Maybe I’ll just take the meat and run. Normally, I’d be happy to be here. Mom is the champion of moms when it comes to cooking, and my dad is a great guy. I’m one of the lucky ones who grew up with an enviable set of parents. No skeletons in the closet there. And sure, Spencer was a jerk to me when he was younger, but he’s grown up to be quite a good friend of mine. It’s all very sympatico when it’s just us four.
But, it’s not just us four tonight. When I was informed Vaughn would be joining us, I'd like to think the twitch in my eye went unnoticed. I’ve spent ten years pretending I’m unaffected by him. Pretending I don’t even know him. Which, for the most part, it’s been easy. I rarely ever run into him. I’ve seen him a few times on major holidays, but hardly ever speak to him. And now, I get to put the pretending I’m unaffected to the test. I don’t want to fail.
Mom loads my reluctant arms with baskets of fresh baked yeast rolls, and I follow her into the dining room with lead feet because I know that in mere minutes Vaughn will walk through the door.
“Smells delicious,” Spencer says, snagging a roll as I place the bread on the table. “Found the hardwoods you liked within your budget, Paisley.”
“No way.” I side-eye him. “Seriously?”
My budget is pitiful, but Spencer has connections within his construction business, so I’d like to believe he really found a bargain and didn’t foot the bill just to get me what I want.
“Yep.” He smiles. “That run-down place you call a home is going to be unrecognizable when it’s finished.”
I laugh. “I prefer ‘house with character.’”
I don’t even know what possessed me to buy the battered farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Something about the wraparound porch and view of the mountains entranced me. Instead of peeling paint and problematic plumbing, I saw potential.
“Speaking of character, Vaughn should be here soon.”
“How’s he doing?” Dad asks, bracing his hands on the back of a chair. “Still doing good in the city?”
Yes, he is, I say internally. Spencer and Vaughn went into business together the moment they graduated college. Two Ordinary Guys Construction has been booming since they started. Shameful to admit, but I occasionally look him up from time to time. From what I’ve seen, he’s your typical bachelor that doesn’t deserve space in my head. I should be glad he rejected me a million years ago.
As Spencer and Dad have a mini love-fest over Vaughn’s keen eye for valuable property and the massive success of the business due to him, I debate whether to sneak out the back door. Instead, I leave the room and retrieve my phone from the coffee table and send a text to Gwen.
Yes, we’ve remained best friends since high school. And she’s the only one who’ll understand what seeing Vaughn means to me.
