Page 77 of Mr. Picture Perfect
It was my mom.
“We all think we got it the worst,” Jimmy goes on, “then you hear how bad someone else has got it, and you think, ‘You know what? Maybe things aren’t so bad.’ Anthony’s got some real shit. I hope he sorts it out.”
“Me, too,” I say, still thinking about my parents this morning and all the flying pillows.
“Anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time,” says Jimmy. “You’d better head out. My mama’s new assistant should be out there already. He’ll clue you in on the rest.”
I lift my eyebrows in surprise. “You mean Malcolm?”
“Yep, you gotta deal with him today. I heard he’s in a realmoodsince my mama brought him on. Phew, bet she’s runnin’ him ragged. Probably regrets agreeing to being her event coordinator guy. Once upon a time, he hated my guts. But also once upon a time, he was tryin’ to steal my man out from under my nose. Well, that was also my mama’s fault. Never mind, my head’s everywhere today except for where it needs to be. Hey, isn’t Malcolm basically your ex, sort of?” He grimaces at that. “Shoot, sorry. I just keep ruinin’ your day worse and worse, huh?”
Chapter 14
Cole
Dean sits in a cream-colored armchair by the front window overlooking a flowerbed and a statue of a naked cherub with curly hair preparing an arrow to fire—a statue I was insisted twice isnotCupid. In front of him on a slightly different maroon-upholstered armchair sits Anthony, whose phone died and who has nothing to occupy his mind except the sight of a peculiar plant with spotted leaves that look like thousands of eyes staring right back at him. Neither have said a word to each other except for an obligatory, “Hey,” when we first arrived here at the McPhersons’.
I’m standing a few paces away by a bookshelf, where at first I was busying myself scanning through the titles, but have since lost interest when I recognized none, and am now leaning against the wall under a painting of an old lady, gnawing on my lip.
The tension in the room is wire tight.
I wish someone would say something.
That someone comes in the form of TJ, the family’s son and my former schoolmate, who appears at the entrance to the study. He’s a charming guy my age with a slender build, short styled hair, and permanently sleepy eyes. At least that’s how I see him. Ever since our high school days, I always felt like TJ could be someone I could either lounge with for hours being lazy or scale the side of a mountain. He’s someone I never really got to know, always seeing him like an untouchable treasure of our small town—or at the very least our graduating class. Most of the rich families exude that vibe whether they mean to or not. Even the Strongs at times.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he says. “Malcolm had to step out earlier, but he should be back any minute. Can I get you guys something to drink? Water? Coffee? Raspberry sweet tea?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” says Dean—at the same time Anthony says, “I’ll take a sweet tea if you—” Then they both go silent, look at each other, and Anthony revises his response: “Nah, I’m good.”
TJ seems to sense the tension and wisely turns away from it, facing me. “What about you, Cole?”
I decide to grab hold of the rope TJ is throwing, assuming he’s throwing any. “I could use the boy’s room, actually. Can you show me the way so I don’t get lost?”
TJ chuckles. “Sure. Follow me.”
Being the smart guy he is, TJ knows I don’t need to pee; I just needed freeing from that suffocating study. “So what the heck is up with those two? Do you know?” he asks when we get to the kitchen at the other end of the house. It’s a considerable walk. The McPherson estate is a huge plot of land in the Spruce countryside, maybe three times the size of the Strongs’. “You could cut the tension in there with an axe.”
I come up to the counter where TJ is leaning. “I’m just here for the ride.”
“I hear you. Want some raspberry tea anyway?” he asks. “I’m fixing myself a glass, so—”
“Sure, why not. Thanks.” I watch him get out two glasses from the cupboard, set them on the counter, then go to the fridge. “So you’re home for spring break, right?”
He comes back with a jug of tea. “Yep, sure am. As much as I like campus life, I always miss home. Plus, I have my part-time job at T&S’s to come back to.” He pours, returns the jug to the fridge, then comes back with a bowl of raspberries, from which he drops a couple into each of our glasses. “Want any more?”
TJ never half-asses anything. “Two raspberries is more than the zero I was expecting.”
He chuckles, then lifts his glass to mine. We clink them, then take our first sip. As expected, it’s the most amazing glass of sweet raspberry tea I’ve ever had. Anthony and Dean are missing out.
“You always struck me as a college guy,” he says after we both enjoy another tasty sip.
I lift an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yep. All the time on campus, I’d stop and be like, ‘Cole should totally be here with me.’ I always wondered why you chose not to pursue a degree. You’d totally fit in with my friends, I think.”
He says this while we sit in his enormous house on his handful of acres his parents own. I think he might be ignoring the financial elephant in the room that separates us and our decision-making processes for attending universities.
I decide not to point it out. “Never really had a good enough reason to go. Everything I need’s right here in town.”
