How I Lost You (15 page)

“You must be pumped to meet the Grinders,” James said.

I nodded happily. “Yeah, but I still wish you were coming along.”

“Not my thing.” He glanced at Kya, but she'd pulled down the mirror in the visor of the passenger seat and was wiping lipstick from the corners of her mouth.

“Have fun,” he called. “And good luck! Dazzle 'em with your charm.”

“We will, James!” Kya called, and flipped up the visor. She smiled and it was actually genuine. My heart did a happy skip.

“Thanks!” I said to James. “I'm pretty nervous.”

“Nervous.” Kya made a loud hmmph sound from inside the car. “They'll be signing up for the Grace Black fan club.”

“How could they not love you, Grace?” James said. “You're the real deal.”

“Thanks. Hey, did I tell you I found the perfect girl for you?” I asked him.

“You're already taken,” Kya called from the car.

We both ignored her. “Her name is Chantelle. She plays paintball, and she's super cute. And smart. Really, really smart.” I had no idea if that were true, but it seemed like a good selling point for James.

“I don't need you to set up sympathy dates for me,” he said, and turned his attention back to his dog still in my mom's arms.

“No sympathy. She's awesome. I think you two would hit it off.”

“Sure. Whatever,” he said as he petted his dog's head.

I glanced at my mom. “Come on, Mom, let the dog breathe. It's time to go.” She reluctantly put Brian on the ground. “Can I set it up?”

James shrugged and I took that as a yes.

“You want to drive?” Mom asked. “I'll sit in the back and read.”

“Sure!” I smiled at James, waving, and then wobbled in my heels toward the driver side.

“See ya,” I called, and slipped inside the driver's seat. “Hey!”

James turned around.

“We're still on for the Lavender Festival next weekend, right? The three of us.”

Our annual tradition. My favorite event of the year. A hokey little carnival with local crafters and musicians. A small town event but I loved it. Dad had given all three of us the whole day and night off.

James shrugged.

“James Edward McTavish,” I yelled. “You are coming and that's final. Or I will kick your butt.”

He smiled. “My butt quivers with fear, Grace. We'll talk. Have fun. Good luck.”

Mom slipped into the backseat and fastened her seatbelt.

Kya groaned. “I have no idea why you love that stupid festival so much.”

“Don't let her fool you,” Mom said. “Grace is a softie.”

I turned my head to glare at her and she laughed. “Sorry, Grace. It's true, honey. You came out nurturing. And you're not nearly as narcissistic as the rest of us.”

“Thank God for that,” I said.

“Much more like your dad.”

“She's not nearly as hairy though,” Kya said. “And she looks better in a skirt.”

“Whatever,” I said to both of them. “We are going to the Lavender Festival and you'll like it,” I told Kya.

I started the car and glared at Kya, waiting. She stared back and finally rolled her eyes and did up her seat belt.

“Thank you,” I said, and slid my own on and backed out of the driveway. James stood on the side of the driveway with his little dog and waved as we drove off.

“Aww. He looks like one of your dad's sad little monkey pancakes,” Kya said, watching him in her side-view mirror.

“Poor guy,” Mom said. “He's probably feeling left out of the girls-only weekend.”

“I asked him to come,” I said.

“I told him we'd be talking about our periods and bloating and cramps the whole way,” Kya said with a laugh.

“You're evil,” I told her.

Mom leaned forward to give me instructions on where to turn to get to the highway and provide me with driving tips, as if I'd never driven on the expressway before. I rolled my eyes at Kya but she grinned, her head back against the seat, enjoying herself a little too much.

“Are you sure you can drive in those shoes?” Mom asked.

“We should send her back,” I said to Kya.

Mom laughed and leaned back. “I trust you but I have to fulfill my motherly obligations. At least some of them. And without me, you wouldn't be going.”

I turned to give her a quick smile. She may not be the mom who gave out hugs like sunscreen on a sunny day but I didn't question her support, as bossy and weird as it might be at times. I focused back on the road. And here she was now, sacrificing her weekend so Kya and I could go to Seattle.

“I can't wait to meet the Grinders.” I reached to turn on the radio. A pop song blasted from the speakers and I turned it down, checked for cars in the rearview mirror, and then moved into the next lane.

Kya nodded. “The party is going to be epic. We're going to be the hottest girls there.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Mom called from the back. “You'll be like little lambs going to slaughter. Turn left up there, Grace.”

“I know,” I called, and put on my signal.

Kya turned to my mom. “So not a lamb. I'm the wolf in lamb's clothing. But I promise to give a tongue-lashing to any boy who looks at your daughter the wrong way.”

I made a choking noise as I steered onto the highway. “They'll be too busy looking at you. You inhale attention the way Indie inhales asthma meds. As if you need it to breathe.”

Kya pretended to be offended for two seconds. “I don't need boys' approval. Besides, I have a boyfriend.” She grinned at me and then glanced back at my mom. “So does Gracelet.”

“She does?” Mom said, sitting forward in her seat again.

“I do not have a boyfriend.” I frowned and checked my rearview mirror as a semitruck came roaring up behind us.

“Don't let those big trucks intimidate you,” Mom said, turning her head. I did my best to ignore the truck trying to drive right up my ass.

“What about Levi?” Kya said in a singsong voice. The truck moved to the left lane to pass me and I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. “He hasn't kissed her yet, but she wants him to,” Kya told my mom.

“Oh my God, you are not talking about this with my mom.”

“Why not?” Mom called from the back, her voice singsong happy.

“Let's talk about your love life instead,” I said to her.

“Okay!” Kya said and turned to my mom. I caught the wink with my peripheral vision. Kya and Mom giggled under their breath.

“La la la la, not talking about this,” I said, and turned up the music louder.

We drove for a while, bopping our heads, singing, and listening to my mom belt it out from the backseat. When a commercial came on, I turned down the music. “So number one goal is to meet Betty and the Grinders and show them how awesome we are,” I clarified.

“Of course.” Kya turned to stare out the window at a field of horses. Her favorite animal. She'd taken riding lessons when she was a kid and still talked about it.

“Not to flirt with paintball boys.” I put on my signal to pass a slow-moving tractor in the lane ahead of us.

“Maybe a little?” Kya said.

“I'm already visualizing putting duct tape over your mouth.” I smiled and she stuck her tongue out.

“Nothing says love like a little duct tape,” Mom called. “Ask your father.”

“I do not want to know about that,” I said.

Mom snorted and she and Kya laughed and laughed and laughed until I was forced to join in.

When we finally arrived in Seattle, the GPS talked us to the hotel next to the convention center. We checked in and went straight to the room to freshen up. I ran to look out our window and discovered a lovely view of the back parking lot and trash bins.

Kya and I dropped our stuff on the floor, pulled out our makeup bags, and hogged the mirror in the bathroom to fix ourselves up. When we came out, Mom had changed into her bathing suit and put on an oversized cover-up to head to the swimming pool. As much as she complained about getting old, she looked great.

She stood and tucked a book under her arm. “Try not to come back too late, okay? Not past midnight?”

“How about one?” Kya asked.

“12:30,” Mom said. She sighed. “I haven't been sleeping well lately, another lovely side effect of menopause besides horrifying cramps and fits of rage. I might take a sleeping pill.”

“Way too much info,” I told her as I slid on my shoes.

“You might as well hear about it. It's your destiny,” she said.

“Our cue to go,” I said to Kya. She laughed as she put on her heels and we did last-minute checks of each other as we headed to the door.

“You have your tickets?” Mom asked. I patted my purse.

“Good luck!” she called. “Be good.”

“Depends on your definition of good,” Kya whispered as we headed down the hallway.

I frowned at her back as I tried to negotiate the floor in my shoes. She better not have any ideas of getting into trouble. But history wasn't really on my side.

 

The VIP party was held in a ballroom in our hotel, with a formal dinner followed by an after-party in the same room. On the main floor, we asked the concierge for directions and he walked us to the nearby party room, intrigued when he found out we were paintball players. When we reached the noisy hall, the concierge nodded his head and left us. “Have fun.”

I took a deep breath to collect myself. The room was huge, much bigger than I'd imagined, and the noise level already high. We walked into the crowd. I peeked inside the gigantic ballroom and my stomach flipped. White flowers spilled from oversized vases placed at entrance doors to the ballroom. Colorful balloon centerpieces rose up from tables around the room. At the front was a head table decorated with fresh flowers and cool ropes that looked like they were made from paintballs. Beside the head table was a huge screen and beside it a podium with speakers. Off to the left, a DJ was set up and at the other side of the room, I saw a portable bar that people were buzzing around.

The party spilled out into the hallway. Portable bars were set up in two corners in the wide hall, and all around us people chatted and laughed. I gawked around at good-looking girls in short-shorts and tight shirts with Spyder logos carrying trays of food and stopping to serve people around us. The walls of both the ballroom and the hallway were covered in paintball sponsor banners.

I walked slowly behind Kya who cruised the area, smiling at strangers as if she were the guest of honor. Without her experience in heels, my movements were slower. The ambiance of the crowd and the excitement in the air sucked some life from me, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Kya, energizing her. Lots of eyeballs checked us out, and Kya lifted her head higher and strutted harder.

“We should find our table,” I whispered to her, glancing around and recognizing some faces from paintball tourneys and waving, but everyone looked so much more glamorous in dress-up clothes.

Even though it was a player's party, there were obviously sponsors and spouses attending too. Some older women in cocktail dresses and older men who couldn't possibly be players milled around, mixed in with the obvious players, some with dates on their arms, but many grouped with their teams, traveling solo.

“Oh my gosh, this is like being on the dessert bar at a buffet,” Kya said with a happy smile as eyes passed over us. “The best-looking desserts.”

I ignored her, pulling my dinner ticket from my zebra purse and glancing at the table number listed on it. I peeked inside the ballroom, spotted some table numbers, and figured out the proximity of where we would be sitting. “Come on, we're that way.”

“Wait,” Kya said. “We have almost half an hour before we eat. Let's wander a little more. Oh. Check out those hot guys checking us out.” I glanced over and saw a group of twenty-somethings gathered in a circle in front of another portable bar. Two girls in the group wore dresses as short as ours but had noticeable ink on their legs. I didn't recognize them. Four guys stood by, wearing dress pants and dress shirts. Two had face piercings; the other two were more conservative and they were the ones checking us out.

“Let's get a drink,” Kya said, stopping on the spot.

I almost crashed into her and frowned, but she tugged my arm, pulling me in the direction of the bar. “Just get a soda or something, Grace. Relax. Come on.”

The sudden movement threw me off-balance and I tripped completely out of one of my shoes. It flipped onto the rug like roadkill and I hobbled for it, lopsided. Kya threw her head back and laughed a deep, throaty laugh, watching guys noticing her.

With warm cheeks, I bent down, trying to slide my shoe back on without giving everyone a free peep show of the underwear I was wearing. Mom would be proud. By the time I stood up, the two guys were approaching.

“Be cool,” Kya whispered in my ear. “Here's our story. We're college students. We can say we work at Splatterfest, but we don't live at home.”

We used to play this game all the time. Making up stories to tell boys we didn't know. But that was at the mall or movies and with boys our age.

“We can't do that here,” I whispered back. What if they knew the girls on the Grinders? The girls standing with them could be players. I didn't want to end up looking like an idiot.

The first to reach us, an older dude with slicked-back hair and a button-up shirt that needed one more button, beelined straight for Kya. “Hey,” he said. “You ladies work here?” He practically wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

God. Did he think we were the entertainment?

“NO!” I said. Loudly.

His expression changed and he grinned, but I could almost read the words forming in his head.

Paintball groupies.

“NO!” I said again.

Kya widened her eyes and gave me a stern look. “Actually, we're ballers.”

He and his friend who'd stepped beside him and was eyeing me up and down laughed a little too hard, like she'd made some really funny joke.

“Seriously. We play,” I told them. I opened my mouth to trash-talk a bit, but Kya put her hand on my arm and interrupted. “We also work at Splatterfest. In Tadita,” Kya told them, and grinned as if she'd revealed winning lottery ticket numbers. “I'm Kya, this is Grace.”

At least she used our real names.

“The place the cop owns? I've heard of it. Some good ballers have come out of there,” slicked-haired guy said.

Kya nudged my side with her elbow, so I pressed my lips closed and said nothing.

“I'm Michael. This is Richard,” the slicked-back hair one said, not taking his eyes off Kya. I glanced at the other guy with his tight, curly hair, rather beady eyes, and facial hair that should have been shaved off. In my humble opinion. He grinned at me a little too lasciviously.

“We're reps for Dirty Paint. The best paint in the biz.” Michael leaned down and said something in Kya's ear and she grinned at him like he was a delicious piece of chocolate cake and not some old guy with greasy slicked-back hair and a perverted slope to his mouth.

Richard stepped closer to me and stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

I forced a smile, feeling uncomfortable and self-conscious and wishing they'd go away, but reached out my hand. “Ditto.” He lifted my hand to his mouth instead of shaking it and kissed my fingers. His lips were rough and sloppy wet and I pulled my hand back quickly. Awkward. I attempted to smile, like his gesture wasn't wet, creepy, and contrived.

I tugged down on my dress, glancing to Kya for help but she was already in her element, flirting up a storm with Michael. They walked away, and feeling stupid, I followed like a kid being dragged to the dentist. Richard matched his steps with mine.

“So. What do you do?” Richard asked in a pinched voice. Great. I'd been paired up with my socially inept equal. “When you're not playing paintball?”

Is this how older people interacted with each other. Really? I silently cursed Kya and fake smiled at Richard.

“Um, I'm a student,” I said.

“State University?” he asked.

No. High school.

I smiled and shrugged noncommittally.

“What year?” he asked.

“Coming up on my last,” I said, trying not to technically lie or dig a hole too deep.

“My alma mater. I graduated a few years ago.”

Not from my high school. I smiled, thinking about how old that made him. 26? 27? Way too old for me. Way too old for Kya to be flirting with his friend.

“Huh,” I said, looking around the room, trying to spot Betty Baller. I saw a couple of other women who had the look of ballers, but didn't recognize them.

His gaze stayed on me. Staring.

“Uh. Are you in a league?” I asked to be polite.

“Nah. I played when I was younger but I travel a lot now, with my job. Sales, you know.”

“Huh. I thought this was a party for players only.” I tried not to make it sound as rude as it did in my head.

“There's a lot of corporate here, since we pick up most of the tab.” He chuckled as if it came out of his pocket personally. “Those girls work for Alpha Wear.” He nodded toward the girls they'd been standing with and I pretended to smile along with him.

“Huh,” I said again, keeping sight of Kya and Michael ahead of me at the portable bar, still head to head in an intimate conversation like they'd known each other forever.

I pressed my lips tight and tugged on my earring.

Richard turned to me as we reached the bar. “Drink?” he asked.

“Um. Coke? Thanks.” I wished he would take his friend and disappear. This was supposed to be my night. My night to find the Grinders, not two random sales dudes.

“She's not a drinker,” Kya said. I glared at her, sensing mocking in her tone, but she kept her eyes on Michael.

“So. Do you go to many shows?” Richard asked me. God. He sounded seriously lame.

“I wish,” I said. “This is my first and only because it's so close to Tadita. I'm here to meet the Grinders. Betty Baller. I really want to play for her team.”

He rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes. “But they're a college team.”

My cheeks warmed and I glanced around the room, trying to think of a response.

“Gracie would switch schools for them,” Kya cut in. “She wants to play for the Grinders because they're all-female. She secretly wants to be a contract killer,” Kya said as Michael handed her a martini glass. Filled with something bluish.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Apparently not so secret anymore.”

She winked as she sipped her blue concoction. I had an urge to flick it from her hand. Watch it splash all over the floor.

“After you graduate from college?” Michael asked me.

Kya opened her eyes wider and then lowered them to her drink. “Of course.”

“And what about you?” Michael turned to Kya, nodding at her drink. “Careful, that's a double.”

“Perfect.” Kya flipped back her hair and took another sip. “Career-wise, I'm keeping my options open.”

“You should go into sales like us. Get a job with Spyder or something. The perks are great.” He grinned and lifted his drink in the air. “Free drinks!”

“Totally.” Kya put her glass down on the table by her hip. I stared at it. Empty. I'd had two sips of my Coke.

I glanced over at a huge clock on the wall by the bar.

“This is so much fun,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Kya. “But we should find our seats.”

“We still have twenty minutes or so.” She didn't look at me and she giggled. Not an entirely sober giggle. Sparks shot out from her pupils as the alcohol kicked in. She was a fricking lightweight who liked to pretend she was hardcore.

I pulled on her arm. “Come on, Kya. I'd like to see if we can find the Grinders before the after-party.”

Michael grinned but slid his hand over mine and pulled it away from her. “I heard Betty Baller is going to be late. Her plane got held up or something. I'll introduce you after dinner if you like. Don't worry. We'll get you to your seats before they serve the first course.”

He turned his back to me and stepped up to the bar, leaning forward to put in an order. Great. He knew her. If I had to explain to Betty why two sales guys thought I was in college on another team, I would strangle Kya. I needed to think about the choices I made for my friend.

Kya turned to Richard while his friend got her another drink. “So you get lots of free stuff?” Not exactly a beater around the bush, my friend.

“Sometimes,” he said.

Kya giggled as if he'd delivered the punch line to a great joke. “Free paint? Awesome!”

“Yeah. But I don't play, so…” He took a sip of his drink.

“Well, I know some players who would love free paint.” Kya winked and Richard glanced around the room, apparently finding her as lame as I found him. Michael handed Kya another blue martini. She missed my dirty eye and slurped half of it back.

I steamed as Michael stepped even closer to Kya and the two of them flirted harder. I gave up even trying to make conversation with boring old Richard and we awkwardly watched the crowd while Kya and Michael carried on. When he handed Kya another drink, I got fed up and walked to the dining room by myself. Kya and Michael followed and Richard dragged behind them.

At our table, a couple of younger guys sat with older men. I sat in my assigned seat, smiled, and said hello, ignoring Michael, who pulled out Kya's chair and placed a blue drink on the table in front of her. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and whispered back in his ear and then laughed overly loud.

Richard excused himself and left for their table, which thankfully was on the other side of the room. The people at our table watched while Kya flirted. I died a little inside, smiled apologetically, and then pretended the contents of my purse fascinated me. Finally, Michael reached down to give Kya a good-bye hug and she hung on a little long.

“What's their problem?” Kya asked in an overly loud whisper when she noticed everyone staring at her as Michael strutted off to his table.

I shushed her as she giggled and gushed too loudly about how hot Michael was. Two older men joined our table, taking the last seats. One man sat beside me, the other to his left. They had on golf shirts with matching logos on the chest pocket. I wondered if all the sponsors would stay for the party afterward.

“These are great seats!” I said to the man beside me, determined to ignore Kya's already half-drunken state. “So close to the head table.”

He politely agreed and introduced his friend. I introduced myself but ignored Kya who was babbling to the man on her other side.

“I'm starving!” I said with too much enthusiasm. “I'm looking forward to dinner.”

He asked who I played with and it turned out he knew my dad. Great. He told me about a video demo that would play after dinner, before the speeches and awards, about a new generation of paintball guns his company made.