Page 49 of How to Date a Younger Man
“Sure, I’ll check on her, but I’m sure she looks amazing. When I get back, I expect you to put me to work.”
I leave Donna aligning champagne flutes to wander through their massive Spanish-style home, the kind of place I used to gawk at while I was still dreaming of my own place years ago. All the warm tones and beautiful tile are making my home-crazy brain light on fire, but I tell myself it’s time to focus. Time to make sure Kristen is okay, and not, like, about to pull her eyelashes out from nerves or something.
“Knock, knock,” I say when I reach the bathroom.
I poke my head through the doorway to find Kristen leaning over the sink to see herself better in the mirror as she applies mascara. Even with her version of the silly mascara face we all make, she looks gorgeous in her cream-colored lace dress with delicate off-the-shoulder sleeves and mid-calf hemline.
“Oh, Layne, thank God. This is a disaster. Help me,” she says, turning to reveal a gray streak running down one side of her face, presumably from the dreaded mascara tears she cried earlier.
“Okay, first things first. You look amazing. And second, this is totally manageable. You know I have firsthand experience at dealing with mascara tears.”
She gives me a halfhearted smile as I join her in front of the mirror, using a tissue to gently dab at the streak until the color is gone. Then I get to work, using her foundation to lightly cover over it, and within minutes, Kristen is back to her gorgeous self.
“You look really pretty,” she says, her gaze flitting over my dress. “I haven’t seen this before. Is it new?”
I shrug, dusting a soft layer of blush over the apples of her cheeks. “Picked it up last week. Just felt like refreshing my look a little.”
“Well, I love it. What sparked the revamp? Anyone new I should know about?”
Damn, I wish I were a little less predictable. I didn’t expect to have to tell a bald-face lie to Kristen anytime soon, but I guess this is how life just has to go today.
“It’s not every day your best friend has an engagement party. I had to look good for my Krissy,” I reply with a wink, a little surprised with how easily the lie slips out.
“Oh God. Please tell me my mother didn’t hug you. I’ve been trying to teach her about boundaries with strangers.”
“She definitely hugged me, but it was sweet. Besides, even if this is the first time we met, I’d hardly consider the mother of my best friend a stranger.”
“Okay, if you keep that up, I’m going to cry for real this time,” Kristen says, her brows scrunching together and her eyes threatening to well up again.
“Fine, fine. I hate you, and this friendship means nothing to me,” I tease, throwing my hands in the air.
We laugh, and Kristen checks her reflection in the mirror one last time before making her grand entrance.
“You really think I look okay?”
“You look incredible,” I assure her, slipping my arm around her waist as we walk out of the bathroom. “Max won’t know what hit him. And this party? It’s going to be the best engagement party anyone’s been to in years.”
I wasn’t wrong. By the time all the rest of the guests arrive, Kristen’s parents’ house is as packed and lively as LA’s most popular brunch spot at eleven a.m. on a Sunday. But, if you ask me, the champagne here is even better.
After putting out a couple of small fires with the caterers, I convince Kristen and her mom to relax and have a good time—which means I can finally have a good time too. While chatting with a few friends I haven’t seen in a while, I find myself scanning the backyard for any sign of Griffin. I find him by the drink table, chatting with some people I’ve never seen before.
As if by instinct, he glances over at me, his eyes meeting mine with the kind of knowing intensity that makes my stomach do somersaults. After holding his gaze for a few seconds, I have to look away, doing my best to look normal and casual in front of my friends. Even though, deep down, I’m totally freaking out like a high school girl on prom night, waiting for her crush to ask her to dance.
“So, Layne, I heard you bought your own place last year. That’s amazing! And so brave of you to do it all on your own.”
Liza Friedman and I have always been more frenemies than friends, and comments like that are exactly why. She’s one of the women from the spin class where Kristen and I became friends, and while she wasn’t always this outwardly catty, I’ve always had a feeling she wasn’t quite as sweet as she first seemed. Luckily for Liza, Kristen’s a more forgiving friend than I am at times. Plus, Liza’s husband, Tom, is one of Max’s best friends, so it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting rid of Liza anytime soon.
