Page 59 of The Hookup Situation

“Dig in,” Pam says, and we eat.

“Wait for it,” Preston whispers in my ear.

“So, Jackson, tell us about yourself,” Pam says, and Preston nudges me with his foot under the table. “What are you majoring in?”

I tell them about my major and my minor, what I hope to do after I graduate, and where I’m from. They ask me about California because they’ve never been and I take the opportunity to gripe about the freezing cold weather in Colorado, but add that it’s beautiful enough it makes up for most of it.

When she asks about my parents, I keep it simple. Tell them what they do and leave it at that. “Well, we’re sorry you couldn’t see them this year, but we’re glad you could spend the holiday with us.”

She asks me about my theater experience. I mention some of the plays I’ve been in in the past, includingAnne of Green Gables, which has her putting her hand to her chest and saying how much she adores the movie, and what part did I play, and oh goodness I must have been an adorable Gilbert Blythe. Her smile is wide when I tell her about playing Gaston inBeauty and the Beast.

“Oh, you would just be amazing in that role, I can tell,” she says.

“Pam, honey, let the boy eat before his food gets cold,” Phil chimes in, and I’m grateful because I am starving, though I really don’t mind answering her questions. It’s honestly really nice to have someone be curious about me and the things I love. Someone who’s a parental figure, I mean. She’s shown more interest in me in half an hour than my parents have in twenty one years, and I’m soaking it up. I’ve noticed that Phil is just as engrossed in my answers but tends to sit back and watch it all play out, which is fine. Their dynamic makes me smile.

When I’ve had a few minutes to eat, Pam starts up again, and I can’t help chuckling as Phil shakes his head fondly at his wife.

“Okay, my turn,” Paris pipes up, setting a hand on his mother’s arm once I’ve finished telling her about my love of jazz music and the dance lessons I took when I was younger. “This question is far more important than the rest.” He looks at me. “Do you do your own makeup, and can you show me how? Because I love your eyeshadow. In return I can do your nails. I’m really good at it.” He holds his hands up, showcasing the pink fingernails that I missed until now. They really are stunning. They look professional.

“I’m fine with that,” I tell him, and he beams.

“Yay!”

“I don’t want pink, though.”

He grins. “No worries, gorgeous. I’m sure we can find something that will work for you. Maybe you can convince Preston to do it, too.”

Preston coughs. “Uh, I’m good.”

Paris bats his eyes at his big brother and then turns it up a notch with a pout, his eyes getting bigger.

Preston groans. I grin and nudge him under the table.

He tosses his head back. “Fine.”

Paris squeals and dashes off.

“You boys go ahead,” Phil tells us. “I’ll help Pam in the kitchen.”

I feel a little rude, leaving my dishes there for them to pick up, but Preston ushers me away from the table and I follow.

We gather in Paris’s room. He has a white bedspread with a pink tulle canopy over it, that’s attached to the ceiling. On the canopy are fairy lights, and pink tulle curtains decorate his windows as well. There’s a white dressing table in one corner with makeup scattered across it and even more nail polish than what’s on his dresser. There’s more fairy lights blinking all along the edge of the dressing table. A giant pink bean bag chair sits in another corner and there’s stuffed animals surrounding it. On the walls are black and white photos of shoes, lips, and of course, Paris. It’s honestly one of the coolest rooms I’ve ever seen and he beams when I tell him.

After he shows me his eyeshadow and primer, I tell him to select something in a matte or satin finish, and he goes for two different shades of pink and a white, all that have a light shimmer. I tell him which brushes to use and where to put each shade, as well as how to look down into a mirror so he can better see what he’s doing, and to use circular motions instead of swipes, all while he sits at his dressing table.

When he’s finished he squeals in delight and hugs me.

“You’re my new favorite person,” he tells me.

I let him do my nails after that. And while it takes a while, they look incredible when he’s finished, with a black base and orange and red flames on top.

“Told you I was good,” he says, and then gestures for Preston to take my place. He groans but does so, and we flip through our phones trying to find something we think will work for him.

“How about this?” I say, and show it to him.

“Do you have volleyball decals?” Preston asks his brother, who smirks at him.

“Please, big bro, I have decals for everything.”

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