Page 89 of Pretty Please Me
It’s not a bad thing that Trent is so different than Sam. If anything, it’s good. Trent doesn’t play games. Trent doesn’t come with contracts, rules, and agreements. Trent is easy.
“This feels so natural, doesn’t it?” Trent tightens his grip and kisses the back of my hand.
I glance at the speedometer and try not to panic when I see we’re nearly going ninety. I force myself to smile through the anxiety. “Yeah, it feels good.”
“You know, I have that picture of your boobs set as my phone’s background.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
I don’t know if that means he thinks he’s going to get to meet my boobs in person tonight or if he’s just being flirty. Either way, I don’t know what to say, so I just laugh.
I cross my ankles and turn toward him in my seat, suddenly aware of my tense body language, and smile as a pop punk song plays on the radio.
Almost instantly, Trent changes the channel to a country station. “I hate that emo stuff. Those guys are all whiney, and all the songs sound the same.”
I deflate a little because it’s not that I don’t like country, too, but just another reminder of how different Trent is from Sam. That was one of Sam’s favorites, and he would’ve turned up the volume.
I have to stop comparing them because it isn’t fair to anyone to be compared to Sam. He’s not even real. Nothing we had was real, so it’s a losing battle to hold anyone to a standard not even Sam could meet.
I urge myself to relax as I sing along to the song, harmonizing with the female vocalist during the chorus.
“You sound great, Maggie. I didn’t know you could sing,” Trent says, impressed.
I pick at my fingernails with my free hand. “I love singing. I just never let myself do it in front of anyone until recently.”
“Well, I’m glad you decided to start.” Trent smiles and kisses my hand again before weaving through another line of vehicles.
I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut, my whole body tight with fear. Hopefully, the ride home won’t be quite sointense…
* * *
“Are you shitting me right now? You’re telling me this bombshell on your arm is Gaggy Maggie!” Alison Davis wolf whistles with her fingers and claps her hands. She’s drunk out of her mind. Everyone is, actually. Since I’m Trent’s date, I’ve had the privilege of sitting with Bramville High’s cool kids. It’s something I would’ve killed to do in high school, but as I look around at everyone reminiscing about the good old days, I realize they don’t really have anything new to brag about. It seems like all their accomplishments happened during their glory days.
Gaggy Maggie. I almost forgot all about that little nickname… I blocked out a lot of my childhood memories after moving away because it was easier to start fresh than dwell in the past. But leave it to Alison to reopen that wound.
I force a smile and curtsey before taking my seat in the plastic folding chair. It may not be the best delivery, but I realize she’s giving me a compliment, so I choose to focus on that rather than letting myself get upset. Trent and I are the only sober ones sitting at the two round tables that the guys pulled together.
The drinks are flowing, and everyone seems to be having a great time catching up, but if I have to hear one more recount of the football team’s game-winning hail mary or the senior pranks they pulled, I may actually injure my eyeballs from rolling them so hard.
It’s not that I’m not having fun. I am. I’m just tired from not getting enough sleep last night and the physical exertion of setting up all the tables and chairs in the gym.
We planned to have the reunion in a hotel conference room—I even set it up. But after Sam instructed me to stop helping so much, things sort of fell apart at the seams. Trent paid a DJ and booked a mobile bar to provide free booze, not realizing he went over budget. One expense led to another, and he decided to move the reunion to the high school gym and do the setup himself.
Translation: I carried over three hundred chairs across the gymnasium by myself when we got here because Trent needed to make a phone call to check on the catering.
I may be a teeny bit bitter as I look around at all the ex-football players bragging about their bench press records while my arms and upper back ache from the manual labor, but it’s not like they had any control over it. It’s just one of those things that happen. I’m happy I was here to help because this whole gathering would’ve been a nightmare if I hadn't been there.
Trent moves behind me, massaging my shoulders with a pinching motion and yanking a strand of my hair. I wince as he digs a finger into my shoulder bone, which he then pushes harder because he thinks my reaction was one of pleasure or relief.
I feel a little disappointed as I look around the space. I don’t know what I expected exactly, it’s not like I has a ton of friends in high school anyway, but everything seems to be falling flat. I haven’t genuinely laughed once, and even though I’m sitting at the most lively table in the whole place, I can’t help but feel like the lonely teenager I was all those years ago.
I’m starting to wonder why I wanted to come to begin with…
Originally, I wanted to come back to this space and create new memories to replace the old ones because I’ve changed so much since high school. I thought if they could just see the adult Maggie, who owns her own business and makes enough money to buy herself nice clothes and a decent haircut, then they’d accept me as one of them. But I still feel like an outsider.
“So, how about you, Maggie? I know you’re with this loser tonight, but do you have any kids yet? An ex-husband or two?” Malone, one of Trent’s best friends, asks, and the conversation dies as everyone looks at me.
I swallow a gulp, suddenly nervous about being put on the spot. “Well, no. I don’t have any kids or ex-husbands… I do own my own yoga studio back in Chicago, though. That takes up most of my time.” I press my lips together, hoping I said enough but didn’t ramble on too much about myself.
“That’s so strange you haven’t been married at least once by now,” Alison giggles and whispers loudly behind her hand. “Maybe she is still Gaggy Maggie…” She pretends to stick her finger down her throat and laughs.
