Page 50 of The Paradise Problem

“They got sponsors? For a wedding?” I push the tissue paper aside. “West,” I say, and pull out the iconic white box. “There’s an iPad in here.” Next to it is an envelope with a crisply folded sheet of stationery. “Oh my God. Ten shares of Samsung stock… a week at a luxury Canadian resort…” It goes on and on: a canister of hand-harvested gourmet dates, Belgian chocolates, a year’s supply of vitamin supplements, luxury bath salts, several vouchers for skin-care products and… my excitement deflates. “A gift card for liposuction?”

West lifts one weary shoulder, leading me farther inside.

Across the room, Charlie and Kellan greet guests as they arrive, and she looks so genuinely happy that my heart grows four sizes. I want that for West so much. I want him to take what he loves in his family and leave the rest, to build a perfect combination of chosen family and given and finally find some relief from whatever the history is with his father.

He leaves me to grab us drinks, and I scan the seating, knowing Janet will not have left something like a seating chart to chance. I set my gift bag next to the place card with Dr. and Mrs. William Weston embossed across it. Married to a doctor, well done, Past Me.

Mother would be so proud.

I look around, hoping to find Jake, but he doesn’t seem to have arrived yet. Nearby is a banquet table heavy with desserts, each accompanied by a tiny silver label. Saffron poached pears with gold leaf and spun sugar cages. Sheep’s milk mousse, pandan curd, and caramelized puff rice. White chocolate mousse with cardamom espuma and clementine sorbet. Papaya curd with black currant jelly, oatmeal, and mint glass.

I think of the last wedding I went to, of a friend from high school who was married at the Los Angeles County courthouse and had the reception at Level Up Dance Studio in Signal Hill. She ordered Domino’s, and afterward we all shared a chocolate sheet cake she got for free because the bakery accidentally piped Congratulations on Your Weeding. Best cake I’ve ever had.

I reach for a plate, filling it with everything I can carry, and turn to see West on his way back. But he doesn’t just have drinks. He has an older red-haired man with him. “Anna, this is Patrick Lemon. Pat, this is my wife, Anna.”

I set down my plate and shake his hand enthusiastically. “Pat is the chairman of the American Dairy Farmer Coalition,” West adds.

“Mr. Lemon, it’s such a thrill to meet you. I am a huge fan of your work.”

He smiles at me, unsure. “Thank you.”

“I personally think a mixing bowl is the correct serving size for breakfast cereal,” I say, winking at West. “And my best friend, Vivi, is lactose intolerant but will happily polish off an entire pint of ice cream as if she won’t be in my bathroom for the next three hours.”

West looks like I’ve just pushed him off a cliff, but Mr. Lemon tilts his head back and laughs. “There’s nobody more fearless than people who can’t have dairy,” he says. “My wife can’t tolerate cheese but she’s always the first to suggest pizza.”

I lean in conspiratorially. “Make it good enough that they’re willing to pay the price, am I right?”

“That’s the idea,” Pat says with a nod.

The two men chat for a few minutes before Pat wanders off and Liam turns to me, an amused smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t think a conversation about lactose intolerance could be charming, but I stand corrected.”

My cheeks are still warm from his praise when he introduces me to Danielle Xiu, the congressional aide and avid Barbie collector. As luck would have it, my former boss Barb kept old issues of Fashion Doll Quarterly in the back office of the Pick-It-Up, which I, of course, devoured. Dani and I talk vintage gown re-creations, the brilliance of the Barbie movie, and BarbieCon.

I note the wedding ring on her finger. “Where is your Ken? Or your Barbie?”

She laughs. “My Ken is back home with our kids. He’s a litigator, so he’s thrilled to get some downtime playing Dad this week.”

I wrap my arms around West’s torso. “My Ken’s job this week is Beach.”

“And Drinks,” he says, taking our empty glasses with a charming smile and leaving to get us refills.

The night goes on like this, easy and surprisingly fun, and it’s only after West and I say good night to Nicola Ricci, a vitamin corporation CEO and new emu farmer (thank you to the r/Emu subreddit for all of the amazing intel) that I realize how chatty I’ve been, while West played the part of bemused bystander.

When we’re finally alone again, West puts his hand on my lower back and leads me to the edge of the party. “Okay,” I start, “before you say it, I know I’ve been talking too much.” It doesn’t seem fair that I should get the giant, warm, sexy hand on my back when my entire job here was to smile and be polite, not chitchat and stand out.

West frowns. “Are you kidding? Everyone was completely charmed. Where did you learn all that anyway? Like emus having double eyelids and all that shit about Barbie legs?”

I shrug. “I read a lot. My old job at the Pick-It-Up stocked every magazine ever. And Reddit is both a trash fire and an invaluable resource.”

“I’m impressed, Green. You’re doing amazing.”

These words make my ocean-dwelling ovaries incinerate, but then a shadow looms over the sunshine: this is easy for me. Too easy. The realization makes me feel icky inside, because I suddenly can’t imagine my dad at all, let alone him laughing easily with these people, some of whom have never personally delivered their vehicle to a mechanic. Maybe I’m more like my mother than I thought.

But I don’t have more time to spiral, because the sound of clinking glasses rises in the room all around us. Over near the bar, Charlie and Kellan lean in, coming together in a kiss that is so perfect I wonder if she learned it in finishing school.

When they pull away, they do an adorable “gazing into each other’s eyes” move before Charlie gasps, clapping. In her tiny micro minidress, she attempts to jog-shuffle in her spiked heels—so much for no stilettos on the beach—over to the microphone. “Alex reminded me earlier today that our sweet Liam has been married to Anna for five years this August!”

A knowing smile pulls at Alex’s lips, and he lifts his glass. Fucking Alex.

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