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I take Lauren back into my hold. “Focus, now.”
“Take your own advice,” she hisses.
“How are you doing?” Page calls as she comes nearer. “Lift your chin, Mason. Remember. Imagine your Adam’s apple is the size of a tennis ball.”
A distorted snicker sounds from my nose. I lift my head and mumble, “She has interesting analogies.”
Page steps beside us, and I drop my mouth into a thin line like a distinguished gentleman.
“Mason, try the twirl again. And don’t swing her too hard.”
Lauren half-snorts. “Yeah, don’t break my wings, remember.”
“We should practice a dance from one of those old movies you always watch. Pride and Prejudice.” I swing her under my arm and back to face me. “Do they do the dip thing?” I circle her waist. Her eyes go wide as I angle her to the ground. Her foot slips, and I nearly drop her. I yank Lauren back to standing, and my face goes hot.
“Um. Maybe avoid that move.” Page offers.
Lauren smooths her hair. “Yeah. You’re no Mr. Darcy.”
“But you, my dear, are certainly like Lizzy.” I take her hand and resume position, accepting that I’m not coordinated enough to bust any tango moves. “And how old are you again, eight-score and twenty?”
“It’s eight and twenty, you dork.” She rolls her eyes. “A score is twenty.”
“Right.” I do a quick calculation in my head. “So you’re not a hundred and eighty years old?”
“No. A little younger.”
Page clears her throat. “Are you two—?” She flicks a finger between us. “Back together?”
Lauren drops my hand and steps back. “No. We’re just friends. And that’s pushing it.”
I clutch my chest in mock hurt, but the words stab at an old wound. I look at Page, her expression not convinced. “I would have her back, but Lauren has unrelenting standards.”
Her jaw drops. “Me?”
Oh boy, now I’ve done it.
Page taps her chin and looks about the ceiling like she sees something interesting. She slowly moves backward and turns around.
Lauren stamps her foot. “Explain unrepenting standards.”
My mouth twists to one side, and I lower my voice. “It’s called unrelenting standards.”
She huffs. “Don’t tell me. You’ve been hanging out with Clive again.”
“Yeah. We meet for lunch on occasion. I find it all interesting.” My friend is studying psychology, and we unpack some fascinating ideas. Then he dropped the mic and told me about schemas. Unrelenting standards. Clive was probably hinting at how I’m never happy when I reach a goal. I don’t stop to celebrate or take a break. I keep climbing to the next level. Maybe I should be looking in the mirror rather than trying to find fault with Lauren’s high commitment expectations. By the angry look on her face, she’s thinking the same thing. But I can’t help myself. Deflecting onto her is better than me having to make DNA changes. That’s what it feels like. Impossible to change something that my dad instilled in me from birth.
“Unrelenting standards is when you expect perfection from others or oneself. I could never live up to your ideas of what a husband should be.” I don’t tell her the other stuff I learned.
“But, we didn’t get married.”
“Because I wasn’t good enough for you.”
She crosses her arms and faces the windows. “Wrong. You were too good for me, except for one thing.”
I dare to approach her and place my hand on her shoulder. I turn her slowly to face me. “What’s the one thing?”
Lauren looks past me. I peek over my shoulder to find Page ducking into the commercial kitchen area. I face Lauren, and my heart squeezes. Her face softens, and she’s opening up to me.
