It pains me to say it, but Paul was right about that. I hadn’t done crap with my paychecks until two weeks ago. I’m guilty of the very thing I’d accused Paul of: living off my dad. We are pathetic, privileged monsters, and I, for one, am determined to change, even if he isn’t.
When this is over—whatever this is—I’ll get another job. And then another after that. There’ll be no more using my father’s credit cards, no more treating this as a little charity break from real life. This is my real life. And I’m determined to own every aspect of it. Even if that means wearing a lot more of my ugly NYU sweatshirt now that my clothing allowance is about to become nonexistent.
I find the dining room easily enough. It’s through a huge set of double doors I’m embarrassed to say I never bothered to open. The room’s about what I would have expected given the house: lots of dark wood, and a long wood table that’s the perfect combination of formal and rustic charm.
There is a stack of table linens on the table as promised, but wisely Lindy didn’t go all clichéd and formal with anything white and prissy. Instead there are merlot-colored placemats and cream-colored cloth napkins with contemporary silver napkin rings. Instead of fussy china, there’s a stack of the usual everyday dishware.
I set the table quickly and take a step back to make sure everything looks right. The table lacks a centerpiece. Flowers would be perfect, but since we don’t have any, I rummage around in cabinets until I find a bunch of pillar candles. They’re all mismatched in size and color, but I’ve arranged enough charity fund-raisers in my life to know that once they’re lit, it’ll look classy and modern, not hodgepodge.
I fuss with the candles as long as I can, knowing full well that I’m stalling. It’s decision time.
Am I going to play whatever game he’s setting up? Or am I going to do what he would do and lock myself in my bedroom, refusing to come out and be a pawn?
In the end, it comes down to curiosity. I’ll play along. But only because I’m dying to know who could motivate Paul to willingly end his own solitude.
It’s not likely his father—Lindy would have known if Harry was coming in.
So who?
Kali? No, she would have mentioned it. Wouldn’t she?
It had to be someone from his former life.
Oh God. What if it’s an ex-girlfriend? What if he’s trying to torture me that way? One hand flies to my damp ponytail as I glance down at the admittedly ugly sweatshirt Lindy frowned at. Maybe a little primping isn’t a horrible idea.
I race up the stairs, but once in the safety of my room, I take my time getting ready. My shower is long and hot, and I finally get around to shaving legs that have been just a wee bit neglected the past couple of weeks. I not only blow-dry my hair but also take a flat iron to it, giving it that extra bit of sleek shine. The ends are looking a little ragged, and I smile as I remember Bella’s concern about my hairdresser being inaccessible while I was on my Maine hiatus. It’s been only two months since my parents threw me that going-away party, but it feels like another lifetime.
My smile fades a little as I realize I haven’t heard from Bella in days. She’s dating some guy named Brian, who’s “a little short but makes up for it in every other way.” Apparently he keeps her very, very busy.
But as much as I try to tell myself that it’s just her new love life that has us drifting apart, I suspect it’s more than that. Our lives are never again going to overlap as effortlessly as they have in the past.