Chapter Twenty-Four
Tyler
My mom is in one of her moods. Every little thing she considers to be out of place is pissing her off to the point, I just want to leave the house and never return. My father must have the same thought because he adjusts his necktie once again and glances at the door. I predict we’ll have about five seconds of peace before she starts screaming at the two of us.
“What the hell is this? I asked for five white and five red poinsettias. Tyler, didn’t you pay attention when you picked this up?” she snaps while her hands rest on her hips.
“I didn’t know what you ordered. You said, ‘Pick up the flowers,” I say to her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father shaking his head. I don’t care at this point if it makes her angrier. She’s wrong. I’m right. End of story.
“Well, I didn’t think I had to tell you there was supposed to be an equal amount of each color. Instead, I have eight reds and two whites.”
“Honey, it’s going to be fine. No one is going to comment on the floral arrangements,” my father says.
She throws her hands up in the air. “Oh yes, they will. That damn Marcy Bennett gossips about everyone’s parties.”
Marcy Bennett? Wait a second, I thought this party was just for family and the firm, not mom’s snotty country club friends too. Oh hell. I can’t bring Layla here. I won’t. Those people are animals. They make high school and all the social cliques look like a cake walk.
“You said it was family and some of Dad’s firm,” I say.
My mother looks over at me. “What was that?”
“You told me that some of the firm was coming and family. I’m not bringing my girlfriend here now. Forget it.”
“Tyler, don’t talk to your mother like that,” my father grates.
My mother makes an offended huff. “I don’t see what difference it makes. If you like her so much, she’ll eventually meet these people anyway. Does she not have any manners? Class?”
“Our definition of ‘class’ and ‘manners’ isn’t the same. Those people you call ‘friends’ have about as many manners as a donkey.”
“Tyler! Don’t you say such things about the people who work at your father’s firm.”
“I’m not.”
She gasps.
My father walks over to the bar and starts pouring himself a drink.
“All right, Mom, I got the desserts from the bakery,” my sister calls out as she enters the house carrying three big boxes.
I take this chance to break away from my family and head out the front door.
I arrive at Layla’s house thrumming against the steering wheel. I need to go in. She needs to know who the hell she’s about to walk in on if she decides to come with me.
I step out of my Cherokee and walk toward the front door. It’s decorated with a brightly lit wreath I hung there early this morning. Lifting my knuckles to the wood, I take a deep breath and tap against the grain. It was a moment later the door opened.
“Tyler, hello. Come on in,” Ms. Valentine says.
“Thank you, Ms. Valentine.” I step inside.
She scoffs. “None of that Ms. Anything, you hear me? You’ve been over here and have eaten with us more than enough times. Please call me Angela.”
I nod. “Is Layla upstairs?”
“She is. You can go on up.”
“Thank you.” I go up the stairs to her room.
I knock a few times, and her door springs open. “Hi! Oh, am I late again?” she asks with a frown.
“Not in the least. I’m early.”
She lets me into her room and goes over to her vanity. I take a seat on her bed. “I want to talk to you about the party.”
Layla looks back at me with one eyelash coated with mascara. “What about it? You sound odd.”
I swallow hard. “My parents invited more guests than I expected.”
Layla shifts back to her mirror. “Well, that’s okay, right?”
“No. Not really.” God, how the heck am I going to explain this to her? These people are ruthless jackasses. “They’re a bunch of rich assholes. I don’t want to put you through that. How about we just not go?”
She frowns. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“What? No.” God, this was turning into a disaster and we haven’t even gotten to the worst of it. “Babe, I’m ashamed that my parents associate themselves with a bunch of jackasses.”
She blinks at me. “Okay. And?”
“And I don’t want to put you through their judgments.”
Layla cocks her head. “Judgment? The only one who seems to be judging me is you. Do you think these people will see me and feel sorry for me? Call me unworthy of you or something?”
“No. Damn it! Layla, these people are soul-sucking leeches.”
“I get it. Why are you so worried?”
I sigh. “Forget it. You look beautiful by the way.”
She lifts her brow. “Only part of my makeup is done, Ty.”
Yeah, and she’s still hot as hell.
“I know you’re worried. But I can handle myself. I’ve had dinner at Rachel’s house a few times.”
“I guess.” She tries to cheer me up with her Rachel comment but it’s not working. The first person to say anything terrible about or to my girl will get knocked the hell out. It wouldn’t be the first time I let my temper get the best of me in front of my parents’ snooty friends. But if I’m being honest with myself, I’m worried about Emelia. Emelia is my mother’s best friend’s daughter. Both of our mothers have been trying to scheme and get Emelia and me together since birth. Shared birthday parties, picnics, vacations, and every function imaginable. I’d like to say Emelia hasn’t been on board with this twisted plan of our mothers, but she has. Hook, line, and sinker. She has this idea in her head that I’m somehow her boyfriend or will be with a little time and convincing. I never talk to her. I’ve never held her hand. I always ditch her as soon as I can. And yet, everyone refers to us as “Ty and Em” like we’re the greatest couple since Edward and Bella.
Emelia has a tendency to make her opinions known. Her tantrums as a kid were always over the top. If someone ticks her off in the slightest, she can be the most vengeful person. One time, my sister took the last chocolate chip brownie. Not a big deal. Emelia tackled my sister to the ground and ripped a huge chunk of her hair out because she wanted that brownie.
Yet, my mom still wants me to end up with that as my wife. No-freaking-thank-you.
I cringe at the thought of Emelia showing up and making a scene. “I need to warn you about something,” I say.
“What is it, your Jeep will turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” Layla teases, still doing her makeup.
“Not exactly,” I deadpan. “Layla, there is this girl my mom has been trying to set me up with for years. She might be at the party. I have absolutely no feelings for this girl. Never have. Never will.”
Layla drops something on her vanity and looks at me. She smiles. “Ty, I will never let some girl your mother chose for you come between us. If she starts anything, I will have to warn you, your family might never like me because I will beat the crap out of her. If you’re okay with that, we won’t have a problem.”
“It sounds perfectly fine to me. My sister might even help you. So, there will always be one of my family members who won’t hate you.”
She walks over to me, leans in and presses her soft lips against mine. I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer to me. I wish we could stay here instead all night.