Willow
In Paulson’s English class the next morning, I slid into my desk beside Angie’s. Today’s T-shirt read Don’t read my shirt. She mimed pulling down a pair of eyeglasses to peer at me.
“You look different,” she said. “Bright and shiny. In fact, if I had to choose an adjective, I might say you look…orgasmic.”
The blood rushed to my cheeks and her eyes widened.
“Noooo,” she breathed. “Did you?”
“Shh.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “With Isaac?”
“No, with Chef Boyardee,” I said. “Of course with Isaac. But we didn’t have sex. We did…other things.”
Angie clapped her hands under her chin. “Oh honey, I’m so happy for you. And other things are underrated. Nash and I did other things for a year before the deed, and it was amazing. Like extended foreplay.”
“Angie…” I glanced around.
She shrugged. “C’est la vie, ma chère.”
“So…” I bit my lip. “You and Nash waited an entire year?”
“Not all guys are assholes,” she said. “In fact, most guys are distinctly not assholes.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “Of course, there are guys in between who don’t think they’re being assholes. But that’s because society has failed to educate them on what constitutes being an asshole.” She sat up straighter and rummaged for a pen. “I should write that down for my blog.”
I shook my head, laughing. “You’re going to save the world, Angie.”
“True fact,” she said. Her eyes gave me an up-down and squinted. “Christ, Holloway, you’re practically glowing.”
Because my light’s coming back, I thought.
“I swear to God, Angie I never thought I’d feel this way again.”
“Happy?”
“Normal. Like I have a future where I can be just like any other girl.”
Angie’s smile dimmed down a notch. “Does this mean Isaac’s plans have changed?”
I frowned. “No. And I don’t want them to.”
She gave me a look.
“I’m serious. Of course, it’ll suck when he leaves, but he needs to go. For himself. He’s going to be a huge success and we won’t be apart all that long. I’ll turn eighteen in July and then I can be with him as much as I want. My parents can take their horrible bias against him and shove it up their asses.”
“But he hates Harmony and you love it. Won’t that be a problem?”
“I don’t know, okay?” I said, feeling my hackles rise. “Can I just have this little piece of happiness right now? You know what it means to have a man touch and kiss me. I thought that part of my life was over but it’s not. I thought that Xavier was coming to Indiana in a couple weeks but he’s not. Things are going really well. I have no reason to think they can’t keep going really well.”
Mr. Paulson called good morning and started droning about the poetry assignment coming up next week.
Angie leaned over for a final whisper. “I think it is very forward-thinking of you to let him go. I respect that. I just don’t know if …”
“If what?”
“If you’re ready for how bad it could hurt.”
That afternoon, I sat on my parents’ king-sized bed while Mom laid clothes in her Louis Vuitton luggage. Dad paced in and out of their walk-in closet, arms laden with ties and dress shirts.
“The play opens on Friday, remember,” I said, plucking a thread on the duvet.
“Don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart,” Dad said. “We’ll only be gone a week. We’ll be back in time for your grand opening.”
“Opening night,” I corrected. “Why do you have to be gone for so long anyway? I thought the party was one night.”
“Ross Wilkinson asked me to stay an extra few days to consult on an important project.”
“And you just jump on a plane and go?”
“Your father is important and indispensable to Ross,” Mom said. “Indispensable people jump on planes.”
My mother’s tone had the barest hint of sarcasm and my dad caught it. The tension between them always ratcheted up when talking about Ross Wilkinson. To me, he was like a shitty dog owner who hated dogs. He yanked on Dad’s collar, dragging him around, dangling bones, taking advantage of his loyalty by uprooting him from New York. Maybe the salary was worth it. Still, I didn’t get the sense my dad was indispensable. More like he was at Wilkinson’s beck and call, and everyone in the room knew it.
My mother wagged a finger at me. “No parties. No boys.”
Both sentences slugged me in the gut. “No,” I said softly. “No more parties.”
My dad stood over me, tying his tie. “Have you spoken to Justin Baker lately? He struck me as a stand-up young man.”
The kind who flies into a violent rage and chokes his costars?
“I’m not interested in Justin,” I said. “I’m not interested in anyone.”
Dad grunted. “You know, part of my tasks here is to straighten out the lapsed franchise owners. A couple of them are behind on royalties, but Charles Pearce’s station out on Calhern is the worst I’ve seen.”
“Dad…”
“He’s so in debt to Wexx, not even bankruptcy could help him. Legal thinks we have a pretty strong case for a lawsuit.”
I tried to keep calm but couldn’t help myself. “Wow, Dad. A giant, multi-billion-dollar company smashing its fist on the little guy. You must be proud.”
I rose to go but my dad caught my arm.
“Hey. First, you don’t talk to me like that,” he said, his voice hard. “Second, it’s something I want you to think about. How bad choices lead to situations like this. No one forced Charles Pearce to drink his business—which is a piece of my business—into the ground. In this world, who you associate with says more about you than anything else. And in this town, who you associate with is a reflection of this family. Remember that.”
He let me go and twenty minutes later, my parents headed out the door.
My mother kissed my cheek. “Be good,” she said, then whispered in my ear. “Please.”
My father looked back from the front door. “I want to remind you, Willow, that your mother and I trust you. And to break that trust would be a serious violation of our relationship. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I said, rubbing my arm. “Loud and clear.”