The Girl I Was Before (29 page)

But I’m weak.

And Houston stops three tables away from me, a very tall, very pretty brunette sitting across from him. She’s in scrubs, which means she probably has a job, which means she also probably has her shit together. I hate that a little…
a lot.

“I loves me a fish fry!” Ty says, pushing up to our table, Nate and Rowe carrying their own trays behind him.

He’s loud and recognizable, which makes Houston look in our direction. Our eyes meet almost instantly, and for a second, it’s just as it is every time we see each other through a crowd, through the windows of the library, across a street—we hold up a hand and acknowledge the other one exists, and then we continue being chicken shits and going about our pathetic lonely days.

I’m almost fine with that being how things go, until the laugh…and the hair-flip—then the girl with him says something she finds so unbelievably hilarious that she is compelled to grasp his arm with her hand.

I’m out of my seat before my brain has time to catch up to what I’m doing. I’m a fast thinker, though. At least when it comes to words coming out of my mouth. Somehow, I’ll say just the right thing.

“Pa…Paige,” he stutters. Great. He’s stuttering. This is so cliché.

“Hey, Houston. So, this your hot date?” That’s seriously what comes out of my ever-loving mouth. I bluff my way through, and pretend I’m chewing gum, when really I’m only gnawing at the inside of my cheek. I realize too late that I’ve started this act, so I need to keep it up. I’m standing here, forcing my lips into a smile, knowing I’ve lost most of my lip-gloss on my plastic wine cup, and I’m literally eating myself from the inside.

There’s a moment where his mouth actually forms an
oh,
and I can’t quite tell if it’s an “oh fuck!” or an “oh, no.” I’m not sure it matters. Either way, I don’t give him much time.

“Hi, I’m Paige,” I say, sliding onto the other end of the bench next to his…
date.

“Hi, Paige. I’m Tracey. It’s nice to meet you,” she says. Her shake is firm. Shit, she’s nice. And her teeth are really white. She has her hair pinned in the front in these really cute twists. I should try that with my hair. I hate that I’m noticing things about her hair—things I want to emulate. She can’t be around long enough for that to happen…for her and I to be friends. She needs to go.

“So, what brings you two out for Fish-Fry Friday?” I ask. I’m not even really sure if that’s what this is called. It is now.

“Oh, well…we sort of met…” she’s looking to Houston for confirmation, or maybe out of courtesy. I can tell she doesn’t want to rat him out. Houston is wincing, his eyes closed tightly, and eventually he pops one open, right when she finishes her sentence. “Online?”

Online. She says it like a question.

“Oh,” I say, not really sure what to do with that answer. “Oh.” I just said it again.

Houston’s doing that thing he does when he puts his hand on his neck and squeezes. My best guess is he’s trying to work his own head off his body so he doesn’t feel the pressure of this very situation. It’s maybe one of the cutest quirks he has, but right now I wish he’d just stop.

There are a few seconds that pass when I think Houston is about to talk, but eventually he shakes his head and covers his mouth. He’s as lost for words as I am. The longer I’m here, the more strange being here feels, and we’re all starting to focus on the country song being piped through the speakers; Tracey—
I think?
—even bothering to go as far as to bob her head in time to the music.

“Well, you guys have a good time,” I say, no longer able to bring my eyes up to meet anyone’s. I wave my fingers lightly at Tracey as I leave our shared bench. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she says, or at least I think that’s what I hear behind the swishing of air rushing over my ears, my head suddenly light. I stumble when I get back to our table, and I know it’s not because I’ve had a plastic cup of wine. Rowe catches me.

Everyone’s picking at the baskets of food, but nobody is really saying anything. They’re trying to be polite. I know they all probably understand more about me and Houston—and the fact that there’s something
between
me and Houston—than they say out loud. I kind of love them for pretending, but right now, I wish we could all just call a time out so I could feel sad and angry and pissed and hurt in front of my friends.

My friends.
These are my friends.

“I hate fish,” Rowe says. Nate doesn’t skip a beat and grabs her basket, placing it in front of him, and begins to eat her dinner along with his. Their distraction does its job, and the rest of us laugh.

Rowe scratches the tips of her fingers along my arm to get my attention, then nods toward the exit. I silently tell her it’s okay, but she silently insists.

“I’m gonna head back with Paige. We’ll see you guys in a bit,” she says.

“Peace!” Ty says, now fully invested in his dinner. I slide my basket over to him, and he glances up at me, one eyebrow cocked.

“You paid for it anyway. Might as well eat it. You do
loves a fish fry,”
I say. He winks at me, and as I pass he slaps my ass.

“Uhm, not okay!” Cass shouts behind me, slapping his arm. I keep walking away with Rowe, and when I turn back one last time to glance at Ty, he winks again. Fucker grew on me.

Rowe manages to fill our short walk home with random facts she’s recently learned about San Diego. Her parents just moved there, and spring break was her first time seeing their new house. I let her go on, and I feel kind of bad when the realization hits her as we walk into our dorm room that I was born and raised in California.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That was really lame. You pretty much know all of that stuff I just told you, huh?” she says, bunching her face. She’s one of those rare girls who can make that face without looking awful.

“It’s okay. You were telling more as therapy; I get it,” I smile.

She nods then tosses her keys on her bed.

“I forget that you and Cass are sisters sometimes,” she says. “You’re so…”

“Different?” I fill in for her, opting for that word rather than the millions of others she could say about me, like bitchy, unfriendly, cold, distant.

“Yeah,” she agrees. I smile. “It’s weird that you’re twins; that’s all.”

I kick my shoes from my feet and crawl up into my own bed, pulling my blanket around me, making a fort like Cass and I used to do when we were little. Rowe lies on her bed, her head flat along the edge as she blinks at me.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” she says finally. “Tell him you miss him, or that you…”

She doesn’t finish her thought, waiting for me to fill in the blank for her. I don’t answer, instead only blinking back. I don’t know how to get all of the things tangled between my head and my heart out of my mouth in a way she would ever be able to understand.

“Is it because of his daughter?” she asks.

I breathe in deeply and think about her words. When the news broke about Martin’s arrest and Chandra’s recklessness, Leah became a part of every sentence that included Houston. When Cass found out he was a father, her only reaction was “Wow.” Nate and Ty commented on how young he was to have a kid, but they moved on quickly, too. Rowe never said a word. Nobody’s breathed a word about the fact that he has a child since, and I’m not sure if it’s because it’s just not that big of a deal to them, or if it’s because they’re trying not to breathe a word about
anything
Houston-related around me.

“It’s…complicated,” I answer. Rowe sits up when I do, folding her hands in front of her and leaning forward, resting her arms on her knees.

“Complicated for you? Or for him?” she asks.

I pinch my brow, not really sure how to answer that, maybe a little defensive, too.

“Sorry, that sounded harsh. I only meant that Houston has a lot of things on his plate—daughter, trial, all that,” she says.

“Exactly,” I respond, my eyes big just at the thought of
all that.

“His world seems complicated,” she acknowledges, nodding at me, my head in sync with hers. “But he seems to want you in it.”

Does he? There have been days since that last conversation in his driveway where we’ve seen each other, where I’ve thought about pressing his number on my phone, calling him, running to him, and I was so sure he’d run to me just as quickly. But then there he was tonight…on a
date.
And as much as I wanted to brand him with my name—rip him from that table and carry him home as my own, I also couldn’t help but think of what Joyce said, about his capacity to love, and how much he deserves to have someone who can feel just as much loving him back.

“I’m not sure I know how to love him enough.” I breathe the words, my gaze getting lost on Rowe’s. For a girl who’s great at lying, I’m pretty terrible at telling the truth—at least when it’s about me. I don’t like the way it feels—self-reflection.

“His daughter…Leah…she’s…” I focus on Rowe’s eyes now, and I can’t help but smile, because they look a lot like Leah’s, ovals that dip on either side, lashes that bat slowly and a warmth that feels innocent. “She’s amazing,” I say. It feels good to say she’s amazing. That little girl
is
amazing.

“I’d like to meet her,” Rowe smiles. I’d like them to meet, too. I’d like everyone to meet Leah.

“She’s part of the reason I left,” I admit, realizing how negative that sounds when Rowe’s smile falls. “Not…not because of her, but for her. She has a trust that’s controlled by Chandra’s dad. And I…”

“You complicate things,” Rowe says, completely understanding.

“Like I said…it’s complicated,” I sigh, letting the weight of my body fall deep into my pillow and mattress.

“That sounds a lot like love to me,” Rowe says.

“I don’t know,” I respond, looking away, trying to find the words to explain the rest. “Maybe.”

Rowe stands, crosses the small space between our beds, and crawls up to sit next to me. Her hand moves a layer of hair away from my face. Her gesture is so simple, but it brings a tear to my eye. I wipe it away before it has a chance to grow.

“I think you know,” she says, leaning forward enough to catch my sightline, to bring my eyes back to hers. “You’re a little scared because,
hello,
he has a kid!” she says, waving both hands by her face. I laugh, catching the second tear in my eye before it falls. “But…I think you know. Leah’s amazing, because Houston’s amazing, and he made her that way. And you…you love the whole package.”

I do.

I love the whole package.

I love the way Leah smiles, and I love the way Houston makes her laugh.

I love the feel of her small hands around my waist and the tender touch of his hand on my cheek.

I love the way he looks at me when I say something kind to his daughter.

Houston and Leah are so far off the map of where I ever thought I’d go. They were never on a list—never a goal, never anything I thought I wanted. But I want to deserve them. And I love the girl I am when I’m part of
them.

“I’m really happy you and Nate are together,” I say finally, smiling at her as I sit up next to her. When Rowe and I first met, we competed for Nate. It was stupid. And even though it was only months ago, I feel like I’m years away from being the person I was then.

Rowe squeezes my hand against the mattress, then stands and walks to her desk, pulling out a few things and busying herself with schoolwork. She knows that my comment was really my way of saying
thank you.
And the fact that she doesn’t expect me to say anything else makes me like her even more.

H
ouston

T
racey understood
. It didn’t take long for her to piece everything together after Paige walked out of the bar. The only part I had to fill her in on was the fact that my boneheaded friend—the one whose door I’ve been pounding on for the last five minutes—was the one who filled out the online profile.

She said he sounded like a good friend, but I don’t know…right now, I kind of think he’s a dick hole.

“I’m not going to quit knocking, because I know you’re in there. And it’s after noon, so I know you are awake, and if you’re
not
awake, then you’re hung over, and the fact that I’m knocking is really irritating the shit out of you, and that REALLY fucking makes me happy!” I shout while pounding. Casey’s neighbor is a chain-smoking older woman whose hair is constantly in curlers. I wave with my other hand because she’s been watching me this entire time, and she finds my latest rant funny. She waves back, and I start to pound harder because I sort of feel like now there’s a team of us out here to piss him off.

“Dude!” he shouts, flinging the door open. I lose my balance and fall inside a step or two. “I mean, come on! Have some respect!”

He’s wearing a robe, and he looks ridiculous. It’s red velvet, like he just rolled in from the Playboy Mansion. That, on top of what he just said, has me in a fit of laughter. I have to bend over to catch my breath.

“Fuck,” he says, gripping his head with one hand. I had a feeling he was hung over. He slams his door shut behind me, wincing at the sound he made.

“Get dressed,” I say. He slouches on his couch, both hands on his head now, his hair wild and in all directions. He looks like a poor-man’s mad scientist.

“I am dressed,” he grunts.

“In clothes you can go out in. Come on, I’m hungry, and you’re buying me lunch. Then, we’re going to talk about all of the damned dating websites you’ve got me on, and then we’re going to take me off those sites,” I say. I refuse to sit down, instead pacing back and forth in front of his ugly plaid sofa.

Casey rubs his head for a few more seconds, but eventually peels one hand away, still shielding his eyes from light, and cocks an eyebrow at me underneath. “How was Tracey?” he asks, mustering enough energy to wiggle his eyebrows.

I grab his jacket from the hook by the door and throw it at him. “Dude, I don’t even care if you’re dressed. Put your coat on; we’re going out,” I say, holding the door open and waiting for him to poke his arms through his jacket. He keeps the red robe on underneath, a layer of T-shirts and sweatpants on under that. He looks like a hobo.

Casey finally shuffles out the door, his feet stuffed in sandals, the toe part pinching through his socks. Eli walks up just as we’re leaving, so I invite him along too, and tell him Casey’s buying. My friend is too hung over to argue, so Eli shrugs and joins us.

I could drive him, but the fact that he’s dressed like that, and I’m pissed at him, makes me opt to walk to Sally’s instead. The tables outside are still set up from the big fish fry, and I grimace at the memory, only refueling my anger at Casey for putting me in this bind in the first place. I can’t believe Paige was there…at that exact moment. I had planned on a half-hour dinner, tops, over which I would explain what happened. I wanted to buy Tracey dinner, because it’s the least she deserved. And I was relieved when I saw it was fish fry night, knowing there was no way Paige would be around for that.

No way.

Thank you, fucking upside-down land.

I lead Casey and Eli to a spot near the bar, and we grab a high top. There’s a decent crowd here for mid-afternoon on a Saturday. A Thunder game is playing on all the TVs; it’s near the end of the season, so play-offs are in sight. I’m half tempted to move our table so Casey can’t see the game, but I don’t want to be a dick to Eli.

His beard is gone, and I swear he had it yesterday.

“You shave?” I ask, rubbing my chin.

“Shit!” Eli says, grabbing his face in response. “No, why? Where’d my beard go?”

I hold his gaze for a few seconds, confused, until he starts laughing hard, slapping my shoulder with his big hand. “Of course I fucking shaved, douchebag,” he says.

I laugh with him because he’s right; that was a really obvious question. Casey scowls at me, though.

“What’s up your ass?” I ask.

“How come he can fuck with you and everything’s all well and good, but I go and get you a hot date, and it’s all
oh, Casey, you asshole, I’m gonna make you miserable when you’re hung over because you set me up with a smokin’ chick,”
Casey says, feigning what I think is supposed to be
my
voice during the last half of his sentence.

My smile drops fast. I place my hands flat on the table and take a deep breath before leaning toward him, backing off a little when I smell just how much he still reeks of last night.

“Because Eli is funny,” I say. “And you are, in fact, an asshole.”

He glares at me for a few seconds, then lets his head fall into his hands, giving up.

“Give me your wallet,” I say, knowing deep down Casey knows I’m right. Eventually, he reaches into his pocket and slaps his wallet on the table. I pull his credit card out and walk it up to the bar for our tab. I order us all burgers and a round of beers, then turn to head to our table so I can get back to lecturing and annoying Casey. That’s when I see her.

And she sees me.

She’s with Rowe and Cass, standing at the other end of the bar. Nobody is sitting, and I start to worry that they’re only stopping by, on their way somewhere…gone.

My initial step is in their direction, because I’m overcome with the need to explain everything to her, to let her know exactly what she saw in here last night. But then her first step is to turn her back to me, so I bail on plan
A
and return to the boys at the table.

Meg is standing at the table talking to Casey; I think she’s lecturing him a little for being hung over, which pleases me. Meg’s been waiting tables here since I used to come in with my dad on Sundays to watch football. My mom hated when we skipped church, but my dad promised her we’d pray at halftime. We never did.

Seeing Meg gives me an idea. As I step up to the table, I hand her Casey’s card, his eyes wide on it as he reaches for it. I smack his hand away.

“Hey, Meg. Can you do me a favor?” I ask.

“Sure, hun. Whatcha need?” she asks, pulling out her pen and tablet. Casey reaches for his card again, and this time she smacks his hand away. It makes me chuckle, because I know she’s mad at him for looking like he does—like a walking bottle of whiskey.

“See those ladies over there?” I ask, pointing to Rowe, Cass, and Paige. Rowe is the only one who notices me, and she keeps talking right through my instruction to Meg;
hopefully she’s not talking about me.

“Sure do. Those are lovely girls. You sweet on one?” she asks, the mint from her gum barely covering the stale smell of smoke on her breath.

“Whatever they ordered, charge it to that card,” I say. Casey’s mouth opens, but shuts quickly when I challenge his look with one of my own. “And buy them a round on us, too.”

“You got it,” she says, tapping her pen twice in front of me on the table. “You’ll be buyin’ them Cokes, though, ‘cause I know those girls aren’t twenty-one. I’m not helping this troublemaker out any more than he’s already helped himself out today.” She smacks the back of Casey’s head as she leaves, and he pushes the palms of his hands into his eyebrows.

“Fuck, why can’t a man be hung over without catching shit from his friends,” he mumbles.

“Because you blew my shot with the girl I love,” I say before realizing it was out loud. I can feel Casey and Eli both staring at me, so I resist the urge to look in their direction. I keep the serious expression on my face and my eyes on the TV just over their shoulders long enough for them to decide not to give me shit about what I just said.

After about a minute, I feel like I might get away with it, so I glance at my bum of a best friend. He’s still staring at me, and I’m mad at myself for not waiting him out longer. But he doesn’t make a joke. And he actually looks like he feels genuinely bad.

“So, is that her?” Eli asks, pointing behind me, while taking a sip of his beer.

I turn around and Paige is steps away, her hand playing with the stem of a cherry floating near the top of her Coke. She’s smiling, and my heart starts to beat a little faster with hope until she talks.

“You honestly think I’m going to let you buy me a drink the day after your date with hottie McScrub Pants?” she says. I’m not sure what to laugh at most at first—the name she just gave the poor girl Casey set me up with, or the fact that she’s so jealous.

“For the record, I bought the drinks,” Casey says, holding his glass up to toast her. She squints at him, then moves her eyes back to me.

“Why is your friend dressed like a pimp?” she asks. She pulls the cherry out of her Coke and eats it while she waits, and I get a little lost watching her tongue play with the stem.

“I don’t know,” I chuckle, just happy she’s decided to keep her drink, she’s not throwing it at me, and she’s still standing here. I take a deep breath, and she takes a long sip through her straw, both of us locked in this small little window of fresh air and happiness. I don’t hesitate to step through the opening.

“Casey bought your drinks, because
he’s
the one who was supposed to be on the date with…” I stop, shaking my head at her.

“Hottie McScrub Pants,” she fills in for me, still not convinced or ready to let me off the hook easily.

“Right. Or we could call her Tracey,” I say.

“You can call her Tracey,” she fires back. Okay, I still have work to do.

I smile at her with my lips tight, letting her have that one. She can have more, too. Whatever she wants. Just don’t leave, Paige.

“Okay,” I nod. “Point is, I didn’t have a date,” I start, and she interrupts again.

“Ah, not sure about that. I saw you. On one. A date, that is,” she says. I sigh with frustration, but when I look at her, I notice the right side of her mouth tick up, her smirk playful in her eyes, too. She’s messing with me.

“Fine, we’ll call it a date,” I say, and when I feel her try to cut me off again, I hold my hand up to stop her. “But not a date I made or knew about until minutes before I showed up to cancel. It was a date my very annoying friend…”

“
Best
friend,” Casey butts in. I smack his head just like Meg did, sending him back to the land of headaches so I can finish talking to Paige.

“My best friend decided it was time for me to get back in the game, not realizing there was only one place I wanted to be, one girl I wanted to go on a date with, one person who I would even consider.” I say these words to her, not caring if Casey and Eli are hearing them, and Paige works so hard to keep herself from giving anything away. But I know her tells. I see her breathing change. I notice her eyes react, and her lips tremble for just a second.

She takes another long sip through her straw, her lips slipping even more into a grin. I let mine go too.

“We’re going to Nate’s game later today. Scouts are going to be there; it’s suppose to be a big deal,” she says, her teeth chewing at the tip of her straw as her eyes flit to mine. “You should come.”

“I’ll be there,” I say. I have to work, but I’ll quit before I miss this game, this moment, this chance.

The smile on her face does me in.

Before she leaves, she glances to Eli, furrowing her brow. “Who’s this guy?” she says, pointing to him.

Eli shakes his head. “I’m Eli. We met. I moved, like, a shitload of furniture from one room to another for you,” he says.

“Oh, yeah. You had a beard, right?” she asks.

“I shaved,” he says, sitting up, almost proud that his beard has been the focus for two conversations today.

“Yeah. You should grow it back,” Paige says, completely deflating his ego. He slumps back down on his stool. “See ya at the game, Houston,” she says, turning away and never glancing back at me, even as she catches up with her friends and leaves the restaurant.

Her hips sway, though, and I know that she’s found her swagger. I’d take that any day over her making this—any of this—easy.

“Wow, man. Your girl-crush is a bitch,” Eli says, taking another drink of his beer, looking at me over the rim. I think he’s expecting me to hit him, which I might if he were Casey. Instead, I laugh, because yeah, she’s an acquired taste. But she’s also a flavor I’d gladly get drunk on.

“That’s girl love, dude,” I say. “Girl…
love.”

P
aige

W
hen he finally pulls up
, I breathe and relax my clenching hands, suddenly aware of exactly how scared I was he wouldn’t show. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted him here until I got to the stadium and didn’t see him waiting. I sent Cass in without me, telling her Houston was running late. I pretended to know, but really I had no idea if he was coming or not. It was all just hope.

Hope and fairytales.

He’s dressed nice, and I almost lean into him when he steps up the curb alongside me, but stop myself before crossing the line. Giving in would be so easy.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says.

“It’s okay. I got your ticket,” I say, handing it to him, our hands barely touching. I still feel it. I feel it every time.

We make our way into the stands, finding my sister and Ty near the front on the first-base side, Rowe leaning over the wall, talking to Nate.

“So, scouts are here today, huh?” Houston asks. I smile and nod. Apparently, there are some big scouts here, and it’s all really exciting, and I’m thrilled for Nate. But all I can think about—all I care about—is figuring out how to navigate these feelings I have crushing my chest and how to get his hand, which is swinging so close to mine, to give in, to reach over and touch me, to hold on and to shake away my fears.

Personally, I think Nate has it easy with the scouts.

“Hey, you made it,” Cass says, walking up and hugging me. I know she really means
Houston
made it. I can also tell that we’re what she and Ty are talking about when she moves back to sit next to him. Cass isn’t very good at subtle, and she looks directly at us at least a dozen times while whispering. When Ty does the full lift and turn in his chair to look at us, it’s confirmed.