Page 7 of Forever & Always You
“No, but I’d like to discuss the possibility of becoming one,” I lie, stepping closer to the desk and smiling politely, fully aware that it must be obvious I have no business being here. I’m wearing jean shorts and a tank, for God’s sake. I’m clearly not their typical clientele wishing to invest in index funds.
I pathetically lean my wrist on the desk, flashing the Rolex my parents gifted me when I graduated high school. Maybe that’ll convince her I have money. And in one way, I do. Lots of money. Too much money. But it’s also money I don’t touch, so on the surface I’m just a loser with no job and a flooded apartment and a mother who expects me to spend my Sundays at the country club.
The receptionist clicks away at her computer. “Alison is available right now for a free consultation. Let me grab her for you.”
“No,” I abruptly interject. I whip a perfect smile back onto my face. “I mean, I’d really prefer to work with Austin. He comes highly recommended to me. If he’s busy, I’ll wait.”
“He’s with a client right now, but he’ll be available in fifteen. Take a seat and make yourself comfortable! Can I take a name?”
“Um. Carly .?.?. Carly Buck.” Screw Carly and screw Buck. I hope they have the worst shift of their lives running the bar without me tonight.
I sit down on the black leather couch facing a giant glass table covered in finance magazines. I could have been a normal person and, you know, asked old high-school friends for Austin’s number and justtextedhim. But no, of course I’m sitting in an office building pretending to be in need of financial advice. Thisis a pattern with me. I make everything ten times more difficult than it needs to be. Maybe I like to punish myself. Maybe I lack forward-thinking skills. Most likely, I’m just an idiot.
I help myself to some free bottled water after five minutes when my throat turns painfully dry from nerves, and I begin to space out as my mind tortures me once again with more vivid flashbacks from the night of senior prom.
*
As I’m making my way to the restrooms to touch up my lipstick, a gentle hand clasps my wrist. “Gabby.”
I freeze on the spot, my heart dropping in response to his soft, anxious tone of voice. I take a quick moment to compose myself before spinning around to face him. “Austin. Hi.”
Austin stands opposite me. He’s wearing a suit that’s a little worn and oversized on him, with gel in his hair and an old leather watch on his wrist, most likely borrowed from his father. He scans me quickly and his cheeks taint with a rosy hue as he offers me a shy, crooked smile. “You look .?.?. Um, well, you look really nice. But I thought you said your dress was red?” He subconsciously fumbles with the red tie around his neck and my chest heaves.
“Oh, I changed my mind at the very last second,” I lie, but I can barely keep my focus on him in between scanning my peripheral vision for any of my friends. If I get caught even mingling with Austin, I’ll never hear the end of it. “I’ve never seen you in a suit before.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s not a perfect fit, but it was the best we could find at the thrift store,” Austin explains sheepishly. For as long as I’ve known him, he has never shied away from being completely honest with me about how tough things are for his family, and the thought of his parents scrimping together somecash to find him even a secondhand suit for prom makes me feel wildly nauseous.
Bile churns in my stomach and a lump forms in my throat, because I know, deep down, this may just be the cruelest thing I’ve ever done. I should have just hurt his feelings and let him down gently when he asked me to prom in the first place, but no, of course I had to make everything worse. How am I supposed to survive the next few hours, dashing between two different boys?
“Hey, I’m going to go pee real quick. Would you mind grabbing us some drinks and I’ll come find you?”
“Sure,” Austin says.
I brush past him and disappear into the restrooms, where I manage to fill fifteen minutes chatting with other girls about their dresses, their hair, their makeup, but eventually Sasha and Nicole hunt me down and drag me out of there. We work our way into a prominent spot in the center of the dance floor and begin to dance.
“So, I overheard that Austin Pierce weirdo tell someone he’s here as your date,” Nicole says over the music, followed up with a duet of laughter with Sasha, and my blood instantly runs cold.
“Oh, c’mon. Don’t panic. No one will ever believe that,” Sasha reassures me.
A hand trails its way across my hip bone as Mark scoots up behind me, pressing his body close to mine. From over my shoulder, his breath tickles my ear as he asks, “No one will ever believe what?”
“Not only is Austin Pierce actually here, but he’s telling people he’s here with Gabby,” Nicole repeats with another snicker. “Better be careful, Mark. That loser is trying to steal your date.”
Mark cackles, because he knows Austin is not a viable threatto him. He sways his hips to the music, guiding my body in sync with his, his chin still resting over my shoulder. “Like he’d ever get a girl like you. What a delusional freak.”
I spin around in his arms to face him and plaster on a smile that’s so forced it hurts. “Right? He can keep on dreaming. I’m here with you andonlyyou.”
“But aren’t you going to set the record straight?” Sasha asks, exchanging a perplexed look with Nicole.
My panicked eyes remain locked on only Mark, willing myself to sink into a dance with him and push Austin completely out of my mind. “Don’t care enough to set him straight.”
“But he’s on his way over here.”
I stiffen in Mark’s embrace and snap my head to my left, praying with everything in me that Sasha is only pulling my leg, but of course she isn’t—Austin weaves awkwardly through the packed dance floor, two glasses of fruit punch in his trembling hands.
Not one person at school has ever treated him with kindness and it breaks my heart to see him navigate the crowd of bullies just to reach me. That’s how much he cares about our friendship. He’d walk through hell for me, even though I’m the one who sent him there in the first place.
“Hey, I got you some .?.?.” He glances up from the drinks in his hands and his gaze lands on Mark Lowitz’s hands on my waist. The confusion that crosses his face is unmistakable, and he swallows hard. Mark’s tie matches my dress. “Um. Gabby?”
