The setback, p.19
The Setback, page 19
“And?”
“They were doing the same line dance they always do, to ‘All I Want for Christmas,’” Will says, just arriving, but clearly also in on the joke.
“You can line dance to that?” I can’t even imagine it.
“Oh yeah,” Donna says. “In another five minutes, they’ll be line dancing to ‘Last Christmas.’ Just wait.”
“Uh, okay.” Maybe we can escape before then. If I get roped into that, I’ll never be able to live it down.
“Anyway,” Steve says, clearly unhappy with how slowly the story’s being told. “He did that part where you kick and twist-turn, and his pants split right up the back.”
“That sounds. . .unfortunate,” I say.
“Oh, it’s better than that,” Abby says. “You told it all wrong.”
“I was saving that part for you.” Steve’s beaming at her, which is annoying, but also kind of cute. He does it all the time, like he thinks she’s a movie star or something.
“To squeeze into the suit, Mr. Crenshaw had to get rid of everything that wasn’t strictly necessary,” Amanda hisses. “Everything.”
Donna snorts.
Will barks a laugh.
“We were on the front row,” Abby says, “because Steve’s a judge this year.” She makes a gagging sound.
“Let’s just say, at first, I thought he was wearing hairy pants,” Amanda says. “And we all got a new appreciation for what his wife deals with.” She pulls a hilarious face.
And that’s when I can’t help it. I start laughing, too.
I wasn’t even there.
I don’t know Mr. Crenshaw, or his wife, and I don’t care what she has to deal with. But the idea of all of them standing around and staring while some poor man’s pants split up the back? It’s pretty funny.
“Sounds like my work call really ruined the night for me.”
“Oh, we’re just getting started.” David reaches for my hand right as I hear the opening bars of “Last Christmas.”
“No way,” I say.
“Yes.” He’s smiling broadly when he takes my hand.
Everyone’s smiling by the end of that song, including me. The people here may not be business moguls. They may not own very much at all, but they are much happier than most of the people I’ve met in New York City, and to be honest, I have a lot more fun dancing with them and gossiping than I ever did back there.
Or at least, I do right up until David’s taking me home and his phone rings. I happen to glance at the caller ID. It says Noona.
I’m not an expert at Korean, but I know that word means older sister. I wonder whether he’s told her that I told him about our plan. I’m assuming she watches his social media closely enough to have noticed that we’re now dating. Does she know it’s fake?
“Hello?” David answers it, to my shock, on his car phone.
She says something in Korean that I don’t understand. I catch one word. Oma. It means mom.
“We just started dating. Tell Mom not to be too excited yet.”
“You have me to thank, you know.” His sister switches to English, which makes it way easier for me to be nosy.
“I’m sorry. In what way did you have anything to do with me finally getting a girlfriend?”
“She called me. Your girlfriend, I mean.”
My heart skips a beat. He clearly didn’t tell her that I already came clean.
“I figured that out when you randomly filled out papers for the sale of the Ellingson ranch.” He exhales. “Tell me something else, or I’ll stick with my position that you didn’t help me get the girl at all.”
“I made her think that you were being cut out—I told her Dad’s choosing a successor soon, and that I needed her help to make sure it’s not you.”
“And how did that help me?”
I can practically hear Ji-Hye’s smile through her tone. “Oh, Ji-ho, you know nothing about women. She’s one of the richest women in the world. Do you think she got there by flirting? No, she takes people down. So when she called me, that meant you had done something right. You had attracted her attention. I just made you more desirable, by telling her you were a viable option for running the family business.”
“But I would never take that from you, as you know.”
“But she doesn’t know that.”
“She does now,” David says.
I can’t help laughing. “Hi, Ji-Hye.”
“You have me on speakerphone?” She switches to Korean then, and she speeds up a lot. I’m pretty sure she’s bawling him out.
“Calm down,” he says. “Whatever you did, it worked. Because things are going great. Tell Mom that, okay?”
“I wasn’t actually trying to trick you,” Ji-Hye says. She starts muttering in Korean again. “When are you coming home for a visit?” She drops her voice. “Because when you do, Ji-ho, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.” She hangs up.
“Pretty sure your family now thinks we’re dating for real,” I say.
He shrugs. “You have your reasons to say we’re dating, and I have mine.”
We pull into the driveway before I can ask any other questions, but as I head back into my room, I can’t help thinking about how many things I thought I knew about David Park that turned out to be totally wrong. He’s pretty competent about business, even if he’s not as aggressive as I am. He’s a good brother, and he doesn’t want to go home and take over their company. He has a decent sister, and she likes him. He fits in with the small-town people in Manila, including Amanda and Eddy, who had to dislike him at first, based on how he pursued her.
I’m beginning to feel a little bad about this fake-dating thing. For a split second, I consider. . .but no. That’s not me.
I don’t date people for real.
17
Amanda
Sometimes I can snap a photo at just the right time and in just the right lighting, and I immediately know it’s magical.
That’s how I got started on IG, to be honest.
I had these two darling girls, and I took a gazillion photos of them. When I would feel really proud of one, I’d post it on IG. At first, only my friends followed me. But then, one day, in a very un-photo-worthy moment, I came into the room and saw that Maren had opened most of my nail polish.
And painted it all over the wall.
Blobby flowers.
Streaks.
A heart.
And the word Mom.
Before I started to cry, I whipped out my camera and snapped a photo. Maren looks half deer-in-the-headlights, half proud-as-peaches, and Emery’s in the corner, looking very nervous.
But the central focus of the photo is the messy, toddler-painted word, Mom. I put that photo up with just one hashtag. #Momlife. It went viral. I wasn’t the only mom out there whose kid had made a tremendous mess. It’s frustrating—and expensive—to clean up after something like that.
Those moments are fleeting, too.
The sweet little word she painted contrasted with the epic amount of work that her mom was about to have to do in order to deal with her cute moment. It sort of encapsulated what we all struggle with. The messy joys of motherhood.
In the best of times, Instagram is like that photo.
It highlights the beauty in the mess. It focuses on the things that matter. It makes us laugh. Smile. Cry. And feel.
But since making my account into a business account, the more common type of post I make is not effortless. It’s not super insightful. It’s just one more shiny, bright photo in a line of shiny, bright photos.
It’s a slog.
That’s how this wedding feels, to be honest.
When Eddy arrives, I practically sprint for the door. “Ah, you’re here. Tell me what you think about these invitations?” Snuggles is just as excited as I am. She races round and round the room with Roscoe—we call the excited racing their laps.
“Didn’t we already send the invites out?” Eddy’s eyebrows rise. “Because we’re getting married in like two weeks.”
“Two weeks and three days.” I may be a little frantic about the time. It feels like sand escaping through a hole that’s clearly too big.
“Okay.”
I shake my head. “They all went out, but the invitation company wanted three shares on social, remember?”
Eddy blinks.
“This is the last one, and now I can’t think of an angle to take the photo. Or maybe the background’s no good.”
“They don’t want it to be super Christmassy, I assume?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Now my heart’s picking up. It’s going to be really hard to make them not look Christmassy. I can’t include all our invitation details, because I want those to be private, but I need to have some part of the invitation visible. “It has poinsettias on it!”
“Oh, no,” Eddy says. “I don’t know. I was just asking.”
“It’s resting on a stack of Christmas cards,” I say. “I hope they don’t mind if it looks Christmassy!”
Eddy drops a hand on my shoulder. “Amanda.”
“What?” I bat it away.
“Amanda.” He grabs my shoulders with both hands, and then he waits until l finally meet his gaze.
“What?” I do not have time for this. “I need to get a post up this morning, so that I have time to do another one this afternoon. I’m running out of time to post all this junk, and they complain if their post is made too close to someone else’s.”
“You need to calm down,” he says. “It’s great that we got all this stuff for free, but we have plenty of money. Maybe you just tell these people that you’ll pay for the stuff.”
“It’s too late for that now,” I say. “I’ve already signed the agreements.” My voice sounds a little frantic, even to me.
Eddy drags me in for a hug. “I love you.”
He does? The woman who’s shrieking and who just slapped his hand away?
But he must.
He keeps me like that, pressed against his chest. His breathing isn’t fast. His heart rate isn’t elevated. He’s clearly not stressed. Probably because he doesn’t have to do any of this stuff, and the holidays are a notoriously slow time for large animal practices. The horses and cows are mostly inside barns, eating hay and doing nothing. Other than some lameness exams, he’s got nothing to do.
“Is it safe for me to release you yet?” I can feel his chest shaking a bit as he chuckles. “Or will you fall back into panic mode?”
That’s why I love him. When I’m frantic, he calms me down.
He releases me slowly, and then he turns to the invitations. “I love this. The last two you did were stylized, with Christmas-themed items by the invitation, but this one looks like it just arrived at someone’s house, along with these other cards, all of which look just a little shabby next to it.”
“Right?” I inhale and exhale slowly. “I’m going to tag it #luxe. It looks luxe, right?”
He brushes a hand down the side of my face. “Just like you, yes. It looks deluxe for sure.”
“Ew.” I nip at his hand. “Not deluxe. That sounds like you’re saying I’m big. Luxe is short for luxurious.”
“Did I mention that I’m a vet?” He shrugs. “I don’t know fancy words.”
“That’s why you need me.”
Jed’s scratching on the door. Both dogs are pretty good with him, but he gets a little anxious when they’re both here, racing around. I open the back door and let him out. He’s been staying inside more with the cold weather and the construction that’s moving ahead on the retreat building behind us in fits and starts, so it’ll be good for him to get out on a nice, sunny day like today. Maybe he’ll even go rummage around in what’s left of the garden, under the nasty old piles of dirty snow.
If we get really lucky, the last of it will melt today.
I duck back inside, once I see that Jed’s happily rooting around, and focus long enough to snap a few photos. I manage to edit one and post it in under five minutes, which feels like a huge win.
“Let’s do something fun today,” Eddy says. “We could drive down to Vernal and catch that new movie Maren was talking about.”
“Without the girls?”
Eddy shrugs, and then he smiles that devilishly handsome rockstar smile I can’t ever seem to resist. “They don’t have to know.”
“Know what?” My mom pops out of her room.
My cute fiancé nearly stumbles backward into the wall. “Oh. You’re home.”
Mom swallows. “Where else would I be?”
“I’m here too, champ.” Mandy breezes through her door and into the family room. “Did you think you had her all to yourself?”
“And I invited your parents over too,” I say. “We have to finalize the seating chart.”
“It’s a wonder that so many people get married,” Eddy says. “You’d think the wedding would sour more people on it.” He drops into an armchair. “Fine. Let’s talk about the seating chart, but tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow you’re choosing the gifts for the guests.” Mandy looks like she’s having way too much fun.
“Wait, why do we have to give them anything?” He frowns. “It’s our wedding.”
“Abby and Steve gave us those cute painted horseshoes, remember? They had little gems on them and they said, ‘Thanks for coming to our special day.’”
“That was a gift?” Eddy snorts. “I thought Steve was just trying to clear out his old horseshoes. And mine looked like it was painted by Gabe, who does not have a future as an artist. Just saying.”
I kick the bottom of his boot and sit down next to him. “Be nice.”
“Great, well, if that’s our measuring stick, I’ve got a huge pile of horns near my dumpster. Had to dehorn a bunch of goats last week that Old Ulysses never got around to doing. We could have Emery paint those, and they’d look way better than those dumb horseshoes.”
My mother looks ill.
“He’s kidding, Mom.”
“Am I?” Eddy shakes his head. “We’re giving these people dinner. We’re entertaining them. We’re the ones getting married. If you don’t think they’ll like painted horns, maybe we just skip getting them anything at all.”
Mandy says, “Or you could give them all a bag of cookies. I bet you even have some cookie labels left around here somewhere.”
“You, shut up,” I say. “Neither of you are funny.”
“Why’s that funny?” Mom asks. “I bet they’d love her cookies.”
Luckily, before I have to kick both of them, the doorbell rings. As I open it, Eddy’s mother’s already fussing at her husband.
“—told you not to ring the doorbell. It’s rude. Someone might’ve been sleeping.”
“No one’s sleeping,” Eddy’s dad says. “Her kids are at school.” He’s glaring.
“Come on in,” I say. “Not a single soul’s asleep around here, no matter how much they might need a nap.” I glare at Mandy and Eddy.
“Wow, everyone is here,” Eddy’s mother says. “I didn’t realize.”
“It made more sense to have us all here together to do the seating chart,” I say. “As you may already know, we have about three hundred people coming to the wedding, if the RSVPs can be trusted.”
“Three hundred?” Eddy’s mother’s eyes widen. “Is every single person in Manila coming?”
Sadly, that would be the right number of people if every single occupant turned out.
“I have a few friends from New York City who are flying out,” I say. “Eddy has some friends and co-workers from his tour, as well as a few buddies from vet school.”
“Okay,” his dad says. “Can’t you just kinda group them in together?”
“I have two friend groups,” I say. “I have one group of friends I know because of my first husband, Paul. They don’t work, and they mostly like to gossip about one another.”
“And?” Mom asks.
“The other group is mostly influencer friends, and you can’t seat them all together, either. So I’ll need to kind of sprinkle my people around. But we should make sure they’re not sitting by people who will. . .” Hmm. How do I say they need to be by people who aren’t totally rural without being offensive?
“Basically,” Mandy says, “we need to put Eddy’s fancy friends by Amanda’s fancy friends, but not all together, or they’ll fight. Like two roosters thrown in a box.”
I nod. “Something like that, yes.”
“Great.” Mandy grabs a piece of paper, and she starts drawing rectangles on it. “So you have the tables on the right side here, here, and here.” She points, and then she grabs another piece of paper. “Then the tables in the front.” And one more. “And the ones on the other side.”
“I think the family should be front and center,” Eddy’s mom says.
“Great,” my mom says. “This table seats ten. How many people are in your family?”
Eddy’s mother turns to look at her husband, sending him a meaningful glance I don’t quite understand. “Well.”
“The two of us,” Eddy’s dad says. “And Eddy’s sister and her boyfriend. My brother and his wife and their three kids. One’s married.”
“I think that’s ten,” Eddy’s mom says.
“Oh.” Mom sighs. “Well, you could have that front table, I can sit just to the right of that.”
“Abigail will be there.” I feel a little bad sticking her with my mom, but she seems to do fine with everyone. “We could have her, Steve, her four kids, Beth, Donna, and Will.”
“But then there’s Aiden,” Mom says. “And I’m out of room again.”
“You and Dad and the boys can take this table,” Eddy points at the third in the front section. “I have a few friends who can get a little rowdy, but I bet you and Mandy can keep them in line.”
Mom shakes her head. “Your dad and brothers can’t come. They’re running behind on the contract cuz of weather, and there are penalties. They asked me to tell you.”
That’s a little surprising, since they’ve been so gung-ho, but it’s not really a shock. It’s more bizarre that Mom’s still here. Even so, I’m surprised by how disappointed I am. It’s not like I really even wanted them here. Mom’s constantly saying embarrassing things, and it’ll be even worse when my New York City friends arrive. But. . .
