Page 17 of Faking Forever 1
Rich wasn’t some bachelor. There wasn’t a clue of class in his get-up. He had always been a man who didn’t care to impress a single human. I couldn’t name one time I’d ever seen him posted up in a suit—foranyreason. Not other than his wedding photos. Which dates back to before Josh or I was even born.
“Yes, Paisley.” my mom gives me haunting eyes as if to tell 42
BRING ME FLOWERS
me to accept her demand, “It’s a banquet. I’m only telling you now because he might ask for you to help cater with another girl named Darcy for certain events. Josh is working with her sinceherdad is running.”
You have to be fucking kidding me.
“I’m—I’m sorry, who?” my eyes enlarge as her words wake me up fully.
“You’ll be working with a girl named Darcy—honey, how tired are you?” she furrows her eyebrows, watching me as she finishes her coffee.
Don’t worry, I’m wide awakenow.
“Darcy Evens?”
“She’s got red hair. I also saw her with Nick the other day.
Are they dating now?”
“Please don’t remind me…”
My words fizz out into a distressed mumble. How is this summer getting progressively worse, and it’s only been a few weeks? Even if Darcy weren’t a home-wrecking, floozy man-eater, we would never get along. We come from two extremely different backgrounds. In our cases, opposites didn’t attract, and I had no intention of changing that.
“Why are you making that face?” my mom watches me, twisting my lips into something fierce, “Play nice, would you?” she points her finger at me as she gathers her purse.
“Mom, I’m not a mean girl. I can’t say the same for her, though.” I cross my arms, sitting back in my seat.
“No, but you are an honest girl. And you’re bad at faking.
So can you atleasttry?” she gives me sincere eyes.
“I’ll be good. I swear.” I finally admit, after seconds of her desperate look.
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FAKING FOREVER
She pretends to zip her lips, throwing the imaginary key away, causing me to crack a smile. Tate then shoots up, picking up his backpack as he heads to the door.
“Going to Abbey’s house,” he states.
“Be home by ten this time, Tate.” My mom now directs her attention to him.
“Abbey?” I ask, looking at him.
“New girlfriend.” my mom informs me.
“Like Abbey Mitchell? The girl who’s obsessed with performing show tunes?” I spin around to face him all the way now, his legs finally stopping in their tracks.
“Would you shut up?” he becomes fed up with my bullshit.
It’s decent entertainment for me.
“She doesn’t like that stuff anymore. She’s different now,”
he says, attempting to belittle my comment.
