Bailey
It's Christmas Eve, and everybody is in good spirits – even Laurel, it seems. We've spent a leisurely day eating, playing in the snow, and hanging out. There's been no drama, and no tension. It's been utterly glorious.
I've spent a lot of the day hanging out with Holly, Paige, and Katie – Laurel, though she hasn’t been unpleasant or anything, has chosen to remain separate from the four of us. She's been spending most of her time with the boys, drinking, and reminiscing about their shared past. Something I can't share or take part in.
There's some small, obsequious part of me that thinks she keeps dredging up memories of the past to remind Colin how much they all meant to each other. Just another means of trying to drive a wedge between us – a wedge large enough for her tall, blonde, leggy ass. And I hate her more and more with each passing hour because of it.
Yeah, you can call me Tom Petty – or just Petty for short, if you prefer.
“Don't let her get to you,” Paige says. “That's what she wants, you know. She wants to make you look like the psycho, unhinged one.”
“Classic gaslighting,” Katie says. “She excels at it.”
“It shouldn't bother me,” I say. “I know it shouldn't. But she really gets under my skin.”
We're sitting in the kitchen, having a cup of coffee and some pastries out for us. The two small kids are sitting in a playpen set up off the side, entertaining each other. I watch them play for a few moments, a faint smile touching my lips.
“Uh-oh, I know that look,” Holly says.
I turn to her and cock my head. “What look is that?”
The three women exchange a look and a laugh. “It's the look that says you hear your biological clock ticking,” Holly says.
I laugh. “You're crazy,” I say. “I'm only twenty-three. My biological clock is hardly ticking. I'm barely more than a baby myself.”
Paige waves me off. “These two weren't much older than you when they got knocked up,” she says. “I think you two were both, what, twenty-four?”
Katie and Holly nod in agreement, and Paige looks at me with a bemused little grin.
“I'm the old spinster of the group here,” she says. “I didn't get pregnant until after I turned twenty-six.”
“Something you need to know is that the Anderson boys have magic sperm,” Katie says. “They can impregnate anybody, at any time.”
We all burst into laughter, the sudden eruption of mirth making the two kids join in with their goofy grins, and cooing sounds.
“Not to get too personal or anything,” Holly says, “but, are you and Colin – you know – sexually active?”
My mind flashes back to the rug in front of the fireplace just last night, and I feel the heat flooding my cheeks.
“I think we know the answer to that,” Katie laughs.
“Have you gone to see if you're pregnant yet?” Paige asks.
I laugh. “We always use protection,” I say. “I don't think either of us wants any happy little accidents.”
Katie and Holly share a look and a laugh between themselves. I look over at Paige, who's grinning like a fool.
“What?” I ask.
“We were always safe too,” Holly says. “Yeah, like we said, that magic Anderson sperm – somehow, it finds a way.”
A ripple of nervousness passes through me at the thought of being pregnant. Colin and I haven't actually discussed being together – like a real couple – when this weekend is over. Which means, we're nowhere close to discussing having children. I suddenly feel a little lightheaded, and don’t want to freak out about the possibility.
“Oh, God,” I say.
Paige scoffs. “Don't let them freak you out,” she says, a knowing smile still on her lips. “They don't actually have magic sperm –”
“Pretty sure they do,” Katie says.
“I'm pretty sure any one of the Anderson boys could impregnate a brick wall.”
I giggle and shake my head, but I'm still freaking out on the inside. I'm that duck on the pond all over again, thinking about the possibility of being pregnant. But, what are the odds of two different women, married to two different men of the same family, experiencing condom failure? Astronomical, right?
The thought only freaks me out that much more.
“I haven't had any symptoms,” I say. “I mean, I'm not late, I don't have morning sickness –”
“Chances are, you're probably not,” Paige says. “These two are some kind of statistical anomaly or something. I mean, look at me. I didn't get pregnant until Liam and I were ready.”
“It just freaks me out,” I say. “I mean, I don't even know if Colin is going to want to be with me after this. I can't imagine what he'd do if I turned up pregnant.”
“Oh, trust me, sweetie,” Paige says, “that boy is off the market.”
“Head over heels for you,” Katie adds. “The fact that he didn't bang that skank in the bathroom should tell you all you need to know.”
I was going to ask her how she knew about that, but I answer the question for myself – the brothers. They must share everything. Holly takes my hand in hers and gives me a gentle smile.
“You'll probably want to have the discussion about kids with him at some point,” she says. “Because, based on what I see? There's no way he's going to let you go once this is over.”
“When what's over?”
We all turn to the sound of Laurel's voice as she enters the kitchen, mimosa in hand.
“Coffee hour, apparently,” Katie says. “I should probably change Charlie's diaper.”
“Yeah, I think Jace needs to be changed as well,” Holly says.
“I'll help,” Paige says.
All three women jump up, take the kids, and beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen. I see a flicker of sadness and anger flash across Laurel's face. She silently walks over to the table and sits down across from me. She looks down at the pastries and takes a glazed donut from the platter, setting it down on a plate. She picks at it for a few minutes, tearing off small piece and popping it into her mouth. She chews slowly, her gaze fixed on me.
“Aren't you going to leave too?” she asks. “Make it a clean sweep?”
I shrug, but say nothing, and take a sip of my coffee. I know I should probably leave. Even just sitting here, I can feel the open hostility radiating off of the woman. But, there's a part of me that wants to talk to her. Part of me thinks, if she can see who I am as a person, she couldn’t possibly hate me. We've never had a conversation before, so she doesn't know the first thing about me. Maybe, if she knew –
“He deserves better, you know,” she says, taking a long swallow of her mimosa.
“Excuse me?”
“Colin. He deserves better than you could ever give him,” she replies so casually, I want to slap her across the face.
“You don't even know me,” I say.
“Don't need to, and don't want to,” she replies. “I know your type.”
“Oh? And what type is that?”
“That's a nice dress you have on,” Laurel says. “Did you buy that yourself?”
I look down at the vintage-style, cream dress with black polka dots, the sudden detour in the conversation giving me a case of whiplash. It's a cute dress, and one that I fell in love with, the moment I saw it.
“I don't think that's any of your business,” I say.
“I think that says it all,” she replies, a malicious grin on her face. “Tells me a lot about you. Like the fact that you're low-class, low-rent, poor, white trash. Oh, and that you're a wannabe artist too. Which is so cliché. Honestly, I have no idea how you and Colin hooked up, but he's a good man, with a good, generous heart.”
“Yes, he is,” I snap. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
She shrugs it off casually. “Girls like you see a man like him, and they automatically see dollar signs.”
“That is not true!” I object.
She scoffs. “You know it is,” she says. “You're using him for his money.”
“You’re a real bitch.”
“The truth hurts,” she says. “I can see you trying to worm your way into his life –”
“Yeah, I am, because I care about him,” I snap. “And I didn't have to try to do it by offering to suck his dick in the fucking bathroom of some shitty bar. What kind of a slut does that, I wonder?”
She looks for a moment like I slapped her across the face. She didn't expect me to know that, apparently. Laurel quickly recovers though and clears her throat.
“You could never offer him what I can, little girl,” she says.
“Little girl? Who in the hell do you think you're talking to?”
“A gold digger,” she says flatly. “A low-rent piece of human garbage who's looking for a sugar daddy.”
“Fuck you!” I shout.
“Exactly,” she says. “You can never be the refined, classy kind of woman he needs. The kind who understands the world he exists in. He doesn't move in the soup kitchen, dumpster diving circles, dear.”
“My God, how in the hell did Colin ever get mixed up with a judgmental, evil bitch like you in the first place?”
“Because Colin and I understand each other,” she says. “We grew up together. Share a lot of the same views, same morals –”
“Morals?” I scoff. “You really shouldn't be talking about things you have no idea about.”
A faint smile touches her lips. “You do realize you're just an amusement to him, don't you?” she says. “That you're merely a plaything he's using to keep himself entertained for a while? He’s never going to marry you.”
“That's not true,” I say, my voice low, but lacking any sort of real conviction.
“It's very true, actually,” she says. “You forget, I know him better than anybody. I know when he's really into somebody, and when he's just getting his rocks off. Sad for you, you're in the latter category. Poor little Bailey.”
“You're a liar,” I say. “You're nothing but a manipulative, jealous, bitch.”
“Perhaps,” she says. “But, that doesn't make what I said untrue. If you really stop and think, it kind of gives my words a little more weight. Colin, according to you, hates me. If that's true, he's never going to give me the time of day again. So, why would I tell you that he's just not that into you? It wouldn't benefit me at all.”
“Because you play games. That's what you do,” I hiss. “You play games and ruin people's lives for fun. And you do it because you live such a sad, pathetic, lonely existence that nobody even wanted to spend Christmas with you, and you had to beg Colin's brothers to bring you along. That's how much of a rancid bitch you are, Laurel. That you had to use somebody's compassion and pity for you, just so you didn't have to spend the holidays all by yourself.”
My words seem to hit her a little hard. She winces, and looks away for a moment, and I swear I see a shimmer of tears in her eyes. Clearly, my words were a direct hit. Good. I want her to hurt. I want her to feel low. Worthless. I want her to feel just how much everybody hates her. She deserves it.
A few silent, tense seconds later, Laurel seems to gather herself. Her face hardens and her eyes narrow, and she clenches that strong jawline of hers. When she looks at me, it's with nothing but contempt and hatred.
“You will only drag him down, you know,” she says. “Turn him into something he's not. If you care about him, you should let him go. Let him be with somebody who actually understands his world and can walk with him in it as his equal.”
I stand up so quickly, I knock the chair over behind me, not bothering to stop and pick it up. I glare daggers at Laurel, my stomach roiling, the rage inside of me building to a crescendo. It's been a long time since I last threw a punch, but I'm really considering breaking that streak.
No. She's not worth it. It's Christmas Eve. Brawling with Laurel will only cause drama for everybody, and this day is supposed to be about family. About fun. The last thing I want to do is ruin the day for everybody – no matter how much an evil bitch Laurel is. She's just not worth it.
“By the way,” she says. “I saw some of your so-called art. It's cute. I guess. But, I'm pretty sure Jace and Charlie in there could probably put together something just as – profound.”
I bite my tongue so hard, the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. I will not cry. I will not let this woman see me cry. She's not worth my tears. She's not worth anything.
I turn and stalk out of the kitchen, my mind whirling a thousand miles a minute, my heart sinking into the bile in my stomach, and my gut churning. Her throaty laughter follows me all the way out, seeming to echo louder in my head with each step I take away from her.
Bounding up a back staircase so nobody can see me, I run to my room, and shut the door. I throw myself down on the bed and let the tears flow.
* * *
About an hour later, the tears have dried up, and my stomach has stopped doing somersaults. I'm sitting on the daybed, my knees drawn up to my chest, staring out the windows at the winter wonderland beyond the glass. There's part of me that longs to go running out into the snow back there and disappear. Never come back.
I hate to admit it, but Laurel's words got to me. They burrowed deep beneath my skin. I mean, I know I shouldn't let them. On one level, I know she said what she did just to get to me. Just to make me start to doubt myself, and what Colin and I have. I know she's trying to drive a wedge between us.
On the other hand, though, because there's still so much I don't know about Colin, what if there's some small kernel of truth to her words? What if this is all just a game to him. An amusement? What if she's right, and I'm nothing more than a plaything to him?
I know I shouldn't listen to her. I shouldn't give her words one ounce of credence. In my head, and intellectually, I know that.
But, in my heart, I hear something else. All of my own insecurities have come out to play. My own self-doubts. My own fears. I hear them loud and clear, and they're louder than anything else.
I lean my forehead against the glass, and stare out into the backyard, my heart heavy, my mind buzzing. There's a soft knock on the door, and it swings inward. Paige steps in and spots me sitting on the daybed.
“There you are,” she says. “We were looking for you.”
I give her a weak smile. “Here I am.”
She sees I've been crying, and a look of concern flashes across her features. She sits down in front of me and takes my hands in hers.
“What did she do?” she asks, her tone cold.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I say. “It's fine.”
“The hell it is,” she says. “Look at you.”
“It's Christmas Eve,” I say. “I'm not going to stir up drama and ruin everybody's holiday.”
Paige sighs and lowers her head. She knows I'm right. After a few minutes of silence, she looks back up at me.
“Tell me anyway,” she says. “Get the poison out of your system, then we'll figure out how to best deal with it.”
I hesitate, but finally tell her everything. With each word I speak, I see her expression growing darker and darker. When I finally finish, she blows out a long, exasperated breath.
“That bitch,” she says.
“Tell me about it,” I say. “But, this is between us. I don't want to ruin the holidays for anybody. Please.”
Paige looks at me, her dark eyes that look so much like my own boring straight into me. I see her mind working, trying to find a way to get rid of Laurel, but not ruin Christmas. Eventually, I see in her eyes, she comes to the same conclusion I did an hour ago – it’s impossible to get rid of her without causing all kinds of chaos and drama. And nobody wants that.
“We’ll sit on it for now,” Paige says. “But you better believe that she's going to get what's coming to her.”
I give her a small, wavering smile. “Thank you,” I say.
“Nobody screws with my sister like that and lives to tell the tale,” she says. “She is going to pay a heavy price for what she did. Just you wait and see.”
Leaning forward, Paige pulls me into a tight hug. I wrap my arms around her, letting her embrace me. I draw strength from her touch – I'm just glad it's not a naked, mud-covered hug this time. It's way less awkward this way.
She lets me go and sits back, a lopsided little smile on her face. “Come down and join us,” she says. “And don't worry, I'll keep that evil whorebag away from you.”
“Thank you, Paige,” I say. “You and the girls have been so good to me from the start. I just – I can't put into words how much I appreciate that.”
“Hey, you're family now,” she says. “Nobody screws with family.”
Family. Not a word I’ve heard much in my life. But, one I definitely wouldn’t mind getting used to hearing.