“Easy going?” I repeat. “I’m guessing you’re not talking about Lacey.”
“My ears are burning,” Lacey’s quiet voice sounds from behind my mom and we turn to see her stepping out of the house.
Wow. It’s weird to see her after so long, even though I see her on social media all the time.
Lacey is five inches taller than me, getting the “height” from dad, though she got the skinny physique from my mother. Her style hasn’t changed much either, sensible sandals, jeans even though it’s fairly hot out, a black blouse that looks a little too stuffy on her. Her bright blonde hair is in a long bob and to my surprise she’s wearing magenta lip gloss, perhaps her attempt at dressing up. She’s always worn glasses but these new ones are a little more cat-eyed, like a sexy secretary.
Lacey is beautiful. She would fit every guy’s fantasy of a blonde bombshell, except her resting bitch face is some pretty powerful stuff and I was witness to a lot of guys in high school being scared of her. They’d confide in me that they thought she was hot but too smart for them, too intimidating, too serious. Add in the fact that my parents were super strict with her, and she grew up never really knowing how pretty she was.
That, or she didn’t care. All she cared about was school.
It’s worked out well for her.
“Hey,” I say to her brightly. “I made it!”
She scurries over to me—that’s Lacey’s thing, always spry, never has time to lose—and brings me into a quick hug. She smells like Pantene Pro-V, and I’m immediately transported back in time to when I used to share a bathroom with her. Feels like another life.
“You made it,” she says. Her voice is still quiet, controlled, but there’s a hint of accent now. “I was worried, but now I can see I had no reason to. You always land on your feet, don’t you Daisy? Like a cat.”
I give her a stiff smile. There is a hint of resentment in her words. I glance at my parents to see if they’ve noticed, but they both look happy (or maybe just in shock) to have us here all together.
“So, I met Tai,” I tell her, skirting over her tone. “Did you purposefully send me the grumpiest man in New Zealand?”
Her lips pinch together and I notice her lip gloss is feathering a little. She should have worn lipliner. Beginners makeup 101.
“It was Tai or the bus.”
“I would have rather taken the bus,” I tell her.
She folds her arms, the ring on her finger flashing. “Well had you told me the right date, I would have arranged for someone more suitable to pick you up.”
“Holy crap, is that your engagement ring?” I ask, reaching down and picking up her hand.
She stiffens. The ring is much bigger and more sparkly in person.
“Richard did well,” I tell her. She blushes and looks away, taking her hand out of mine.
“He’s been great,” my father says. “When Lacey has her little meltdowns, Richard is there to rein her in.”
“I don’t have meltdowns,” Lacey snaps, and my father and I chuckle in unison, because Lacey always has to be in control, and if she’s not, a meltdown ensues. “Weddings are stressful for anyone. I would have rather eloped.”
“Don’t say that,” my mother scolds her. “This was a great excuse for all of us to get together.”
“Yeah, because you all need an excuse to come visit me, not because you want to,” Lacey says.
“Hey, this is a two-way street, you haven’t come to visit us,” I tell her. “It’s been five years and you could have come back to the States at any time.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” a voice says cutting through what was sure to be an epic argument. “Let’s not start off on the wrong foot here, folks.”
Richard appears behind Lacey.
Dr. Dick Boner.
I have to chew on my lip to keep from laughing.
I’ve obviously seen Richard’s face all over Lacey’s social media, and I even spoke to him on the phone after he proposed to Lacey, but I have to say he looks as dorky in person as he does in photos. I thought perhaps the man just wasn’t photogenic, but that’s not the case.
He’s sort of cute, in like a Jon Cryer kind of way. Someone you’d put in a headlock and ruffle up his hair. He’s got thick glasses and is wearing a polo shirt, tan slacks, and brown loafers, like he took a page from Bill Gates’s style book.
That said, he also strikes me as someone who has money. Like Bill Gates. That ring didn’t come from teaching about plants, that’s for sure.
“So glad you decided to pop by, Daisy,” Richard says to me, extending his hand. His Kiwi accent is very strong and very high-pitched. “I know time zones can be flabbergasting to the novice traveler, but I think you might need to take a refresher in maths.” He starts laughing.
Dear lord, don’t make me hate him. He used the term “maths.”
“I know, I know, silly me,” I say with a forced laugh, smacking the side of my head to indicate that I’m an idiot. “But I’m here now.”
He doesn’t seem like he’s going to drop it. He puts his arm around Lacey and gives her a squeeze. “You made my little lingerie here all worried. I had to remind her that things always seem to work out for you.”
“I’m sorry, lingerie?”
He kisses her on the top of the head, and her cheeks grow redder while avoiding our eyes. “It’s my nickname for her. Lacey…lingerie. Lacey lingerie.” He laughs again, slapping his thigh as if it’s the funniest thing.
Okay, I can’t handle this.
“And what’s your nickname?” my dad asks him. “Little Dicky?”
I burst out laughing, wanting to high five my dad, especially as Richard stares at us in confusion.
“I’m not sure I understand the context, Mr. Lewis,” he says.
My father sighs. “Never mind.”
“We should probably go back,” Lacey says. “Daisy, you can put your stuff away upstairs if you like and then please join us in the backyard for a cocktail.”
Please join us in the backyard for a cocktail? I feel like I’m at a timeshare presentation or something.
I watch as Lacey and Richard walk back inside the house, arm-in-arm.
What a bunch of dorks.
My dad claps his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, better do as your sister says or she’ll have another meltdown. I’ll make sure to get you a glass of sauvignon blanc when you’re done.”
Once inside my father tells me to go upstairs. It’s a nice house and it feels really weird that I haven’t met the owners yet, and that the owners are Tai’s parents. It’s like I shouldn’t be here.
But when I get to the second floor, most of the doors are open and people’s suitcases are piled in. My parents’ suitcases are in what looks like a study, I see the shape of Lacey’s wedding gown hanging in a guest bedroom, and then I spot my suitcases in the room right across.
This has to be Tai’s old room because it’s as if I’ve walked into a museum exhibit devoted to showcasing the inner workings of a teenage boy.
The walls are covered from top to bottom with posters, I can’t even find an inch of drywall. It’s all surfing shots, big waves, or boxers in a ring, or the All Blacks rugby team, or sailboats, and the occasional pin-up girl is thrown in for good measure, often posing beside said surfboards. This room tells me everything I need to know about teenage Tai. Hell, it might tell me a lot about grumpy adult Tai.