Page 128 of Goalkeeper
After greeting everyone, the guys and I head for the bar and it hits me how much I’ve missed them. It kind of stinks that Trevor’s in North Carolina right now, but it’s good to be with them. Hopefully that, and a few vodka tonics, will make the night considerably less awkward than I anticipate.
Turns out, I’m wrong.
Either my dad didn’t get the memo that my mom already talked to me about my LSATs and my grades, or he figures it bears repeating. Apparently, Underwoods don’t get B’s, even though I’ve been happy with them for years. Delighted, even.
Nothing has changed since I talked to my mom, so my response is the same. “Dad, I’m doing my best, and—”
“Sweetie, I’m afraid your best just isn’t good enough, at this point,” my dad says, and it’s a good thing I went with fake lashes instead of mascara, because I’m about two seconds away from tearing up. I mean, I know I never live up to their expectations, and I joke about being the one who doesn’t belong, but to hear it spoken in so many words? Ouch.
Dinner hasn't been served yet, so we’re all milling about the dining area and the balconies that overlook the gardens, as we enjoy hors d'oeuvres and drinks.
“Phil, now’s not the time,” my mom interrupts. “Paige, your dad and I want to have brunch with you before we head home tomorrow. We can talk about your future then, okay?”
“Sure.” I nod, taking a sip of wine to stop my lips from trembling. What the hell? I don’t tremble. I am brave and fearless and…
“Are you giving Paige the bad news?” my sister asks as she takes a seat at our table, and it’s clear she’s been helping herself to the champagne. As the bride-to-be, she’s been making the rounds, but lucky us, we’re her next stop. “You better hope those makeup videos bring in the money, baby sister, because you’re officially being cut off.” Sophie punctuates this news by pretending to slice her finger across her throat.
My first thought is, who is letting her drink this much at her engagement party? My second thought is, if I were engaged to Dr. Dickhead, I’d be hitting the sauce, too. And my third thought is, what the hell?
And I’m pretty sure I say that last part out loud because my mother sighs and my father reaches for his whiskey glass, only to find it empty.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow, dear,” my mother tries to placate me.
“I think I want to talk now,” I say.
“Well, that’s not an option, Paige,” my dad says, truly losing his cool. “You can’t always get what you want. You’ve been living life as you please for years and I’m sorry, but time’s up. Sophie’s right. If you don’t buckle down and earn a minimum of 160 on that test, we’re no longer paying for your education. We’re not throwing money at a university degree just so you can make videos teaching people how to put on lipstick.”
The petulant part of me wants to point out that we actually are talking now, even though he said that wouldn’t be an option, but I’m not sure that would be a helpful statement at this point. I’m also not sure I could make any comments without bursting into tears, so I just nod.
“We’ll talk more at brunch, honey,” my mother says, as though that’s a comforting thought. “Come with me, Philip,” she says to my dad. “I see the Burtons and I know you wanted to ask Dave about that Alaskan cruise they took.”
And off they go. They pretty much just shattered my life plan, such as it was, and now they’re off to talk with Dave Burton about Alaskan cruises.
What the actual fuck?
I don’t even think; I just go in search of Jake and Trevor. They’ll help me make sense of all this, make a plan of some kind. A quick scan of heads tells me they’re not in the dining room, so I head out to the largest balcony.
They’re not there, either. I search for a few more minutes, and I’m about to give up when I spot an alcove off to the side. I peer around the corner, only to see Dr. Dickhead and a woman whose name and face I don’t know. And they are not just having a chitchat. Unless that’s a thing people do topless now.
Jesus. I mean, Jake and Trevor and I joke about what an ass he is, but everyone else thinks he's perfect. The scene in front of me clearly says otherwise. And I can not let this go. Sophie and I may not be super close, but no way am I letting Dr. Dickhead get away with this.
Luckily, my wine glass is still in my hand, and half-full. It’s a waste of good wine, but it needs to be done. “You’re an asshole, Dr. Dickhead,” I say as I toss my drink in his face. He sputters and coughs as the wine hits him, but I don’t stick around for any of the aftermath.
I take another quick look for Trev and Jake, but they’re gone. I’d guess they’re in the bar. I don’t have time to find out. I need to get out of here. Between my parents’ ultimatum and my run-in with Dr. Dickhead, I am emotionally spent and I can’t stay here a minute longer. I’ve got my clutch, which includes my phone and my credit card and the $40.00 cash I have to my name. I don’t have a wrap or a cardigan, but that just can’t be fixed.
Shoulders back, head held high, I walk out of the resort like I know what the fuck I’m doing.
Half an hour later, in the freezing rain, and nowhere near the bus station, I realize just how wrong I am.
Spencer
I’m restless and on edge, though I really shouldn’t be. It’s been a good day all around.
We won our second game of the season. Dinner was great. Mom and Ted are getting a dog. Well, two. They showed me pictures of two tiny golden retrievers and I’d never tell Westley this, but those two puppies are the cutest pets ever.
And, predictably, my dad texted me a veritable outline of the why and how all my saves were lucky. They got one goal on me, and he dissected that in a series of text bubbles.
But, I stopped every other shot, and my boys put the biscuit in their basket three times, so we took the win.
