Page 37 of More Than Pen Pals

“I think the point he was trying to make is he’sverysmart,” my brother quips.

Mom shifts her focus to him. “So are you—not that any of your teachers ever had an inkling of it. There’s no question we paid for every penny ofyoureducation.”

Randall has the grace to blush. Though I enjoy watching him squirm, I decide to help him out before Mom rakes him over any more coals.

“Are Nana and Pops able to come to Tonya’s graduation?” I ask my mother.

“We don’t know yet.” She sighs. Her parents retired to Florida a few years back, and my grandfather had open-heart surgery a couple months ago. His recovery has been slower than any of us would like.

Mom continues, “I’m hoping Daddy will feel like it. Your sister really wants them to be there.”

I want them to be there, too. I haven’t seen my grandparents since Christmas. There’s no good reason I haven’t gone down to Florida, though. I make a mental note to visit them soon if they’re unable to come to graduation.

“Do you boys remember Melissa Teague?” Mom asks us, and I nearly spit out another mouthful of Coke.

Randall gives me a shrewd look as he asks her, “Didn’t she used to go to school with us?”

“Yes, and church,” Mom replies. “She was in Ashley’s class, if I’m not mistaken.”

Her tone tells me she knows exactly how old Melissa is, and I get a sour taste in my mouth. I have a feeling I know where she’s going with this.

She continues, “Melissa’s mom is in Junior League with me. Anyway, she’s back.”

“Back from where? And why do we care?”

“You care because she’s a person, Randall.”

He holds a hand up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Well, you were. But to answer your first, non-rude question, she went to Columbia and then stayed in New York for a few years, but she recently moved back here. She has some job in the Cubs front office. I’m sure her father pulled some strings to make that happen.”

Randall says, “I’m not trying to be rude again, Mom, but I truly want to know why you’re telling us about a woman we haven’t seen in more than a decade.”

“Because she’s pretty, and she’s single, and she’d make your brother a great match. I’ve invited her and her parents to dinner Saturday night.” Mom points at me. “You will be there. If you have other plans, cancel them. And if you’re secretly dating that PR woman, this serves you right for lying to me.”

nineteen

Although I know I shouldn’t do anything different than normal to get ready for dinner with Ash, I can’t help it. Even if I can’t date him, I want him to want me. Although I’m annoyed at myself for that, I justify my actions because we might be together in the future. I don’t want to turn him off.

The restaurant I suggested is nice but nowhere near as formal as Chez Patrice, so I choose a black off-the-shoulder sweater and purple pencil skirt. I pull on black pantyhose and finish the look with the same purple heels I wore last night. I tease my hair a little more than usual and try not to feel bad about doing my part to deplete the ozone layer by spraying it all into place with plenty of Ultra-Hold Rave.

It’s still fifteen minutes before I need to meet Ash, and it will take me all of one minute to walk to the restaurant, but I feel like the walls of my tiny apartment are closing in on me, so I grab my chain-mail pouch and head out.

“Reservation for Ash Hamilton,” I say when I arrive. “I’m a few minutes early.”

“Not a problem,” the hostess says. “The other party is here and already seated. Follow me.”

I spot Ash at a table for two in the back corner of the restaurant. His entire face lights up when he sees me, and he stands. Butterflies fill my stomach, and not only because he looks like a GQ model in a form-fitting baby blue cashmere sweater and dark jeans. My determination wavers along with my smile. Can I really tell him we’re over before we’ve even begun? If nothing else, it seems presumptuous.

Ever the gentleman, Ash pulls my chair out for me. As he pushes it back in, I catch his scent, which has an alarming effect on my heart rate.

“You look amazing,” he murmurs in my ear. His hand brushes my bare shoulder as he returns to his side of the table, and I’m so lightheaded I’m unable to thank him or return the compliment.

How can I do this to him? To me?

Wendy’s voice echoes in my head, “Rip that bandage right off. No point in stalling.”

“Ash—”

---