She drops her bag on the floor and then marches into my kitchen, depositing the prosecco and orange juice on the counter. “You get the music going, I’ll make us drinks.”
I turn on our “getting ready” playlist and plug in both my curling iron and my flat iron.
After my second mimosa, I turn away from my mirror and look at Miranda. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately. Update me on everything with that guy.” When she spent the night a few weeks ago she mentioned she’s talking to a hot golfer from U of M. Apparently the night Will and I were making out and dancing at SixtyForty, she and the hot golfer were hooking up.
She locks eyes with me, curling iron in hand, wrapping hair around the hot metal. “Things are good,” she says. She doesn’t elaborate, justthings are good.Okay…not a typical Miranda response when discussing boys.
“What’s his insta? I want to look him up.”
She turns back to the mirror, “He’s not on social media.”
Okay…So I’m definitely not the only one hiding something about a boy.
I nod my head. “Got it.”I don’t push it because that’d make me a hypocrite and karma can be a real bitch sometimes.
“Enough about me. Tell me about the progress you’re making on your list. I’m sorry I haven’t been very involved.” She waves around the curling iron, talking in her typical animated Miranda way. “Golf has been really intense and I know that’s not a good enough excuse because golf is always intense. But we’re talking about the LPGA and it's kind of been taking over my life. I don’t want you to feel like I forgot. I didn’t, I swear.” She turns to me, eyebrows raised and it occurs to me she’s waiting on my answer.
“Um…” I debate telling her about how Will has tried to help me with my list, but then think better of it. “Not much progress if I’m being honest.”
“Isn’t dancing on there?” I nod my head. “Let’s go dancing this weekend, yeah? Like old times?”
I gulp, feeling guilty that I don’t want to go dancing with her, I want to go dancing with her brother. But instead say, “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Two hours later we’re both dressed for the gala and walking up the steps to the event room, heels clicking on the pavement. Miranda wears a yellow silk dress that reminds me of the dress fromHow To Lose A Guy in Ten Days.I’m wearing a deep green dress I got from Anthro. It’s corseted with about a million pleats on the skirt and really does wonders for me. I can’t even deny it, I look hot.
Tonight will be the fourth one of these hockey Gala’s I’ve gone to, and I have to admit they are kind of fun.
The players dress up in these strange rent-a-tuxes and act as the waiters all night. The tickets are crazy expensive but all the proceeds go towards buying gear for kids who otherwise wouldn’t have access to hockey. Hockey is an extremely expensive sport, and according to Will, this event provides gear for an entire youth league.
Will asked me to people watch for him tonight since he won’t really be able to. Last year someone got so drunk on the cash bar that they collided with one of the players holding a serving tray and sent the whole thing crashing to the ground.
Miranda and I find our table amongst the 35 or so tables spread throughout the hall. We’re the last to arrive, finding my parents, Will’s parents (weird that I thought of them as Will’s and not Miranda’s), and Will’s maternal grandparents. Lucy, Will’s mom, sees us first, jumping up from her seat and rushing towards us with my mom following suit.
By the time we break free of our moms, the whole table is up, exchanging hugs and greetings and you two look beautifuls. I take a seat between Miranda and my mom, trying to be inconspicuous as I look around the room for Will, and I hate to admit it, but for Carter too. I don’t see either of them.
Us girls talk fashion, gasping and fawning over our dresses and accessories. One thing about the Taylor/Brooks women is that wealllove fashion. Even Grammy dresses to impress every chance she gets.
Miranda’s phone is face down on the table and starts buzzing. She ignores it before it starts buzzing again. She picks the phone up and quickly silences the call, then turns the brightness on her phone all the way down, placing it again face down. Strange. I give her a look and she rolls her eyes, waving her hand in the air, “Stupid golf thing.” I nod, understanding. I’ve seen how intense her golf team group chats can get, which is to say they can get terrifying.
My dad stands, surveying the table. “Drinks anyone? This round’s on me.” I shake my head no. I’m way too anxious about seeing Carter or accidentally letting it slip that Will and I are doing whatever it is we’re doing to add alcohol into the mix. Paul, Will’s dad, joins my dad in the drink line.
I keep glancing around trying to catch sight of Will, but I haven’t seen a single hockey player yet.
Paul and my dad return with a drink in each hand, handing one to the moms and then one to Grammy.
“Honey,” Will’s dad, Paul, says to his mom, “has Will mentioned anything about hearing from the Panthers or Maurice since you last talked to him?”
Lucy shakes her head and the table launches into Will’s prospective pro career. I take a sip of my drink, not wanting to talk about Will or his lack of future pro career or how I know any of it.
I glance over at Miranda, hoping she might have something else to say, but instead of listening to the flow of conversation happening between the parents, she’s leaning back in her chair, phone clutched tight in her hands and close to her body, tapping away at the screen, grinning.
She closes her phone and places it face down on the table again before fluffing her hair. “What?” she says.
“Nothing,” I say, turning my attention back to the conversation at the table.
“You know, Paul,” my dad says, “if WIll ever changes his mind about hockey, I’d be happy to have him at my firm.”
Lucy throws her head back and laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll thrive as an actuary.”
