Page 43 of The PTA President
“Beautifully said, you should write children’s books.” My room’s an absolute dumpster fire, and if Candace was serious about going away overnight, I’ve got some serious laundry to do. Thank goodness our dad sent us home with bags full of quarters because it’s going to be a long ass night.
Going away with a single mom is trickier than I imagined. Schedules have to be changed, babysitters have to be reserved and a whole host of other worst case scenario’s. Our Christmas date is earlier than expected, but I’d celebrate this holiday in June if that’s when she was available.
When she mentioned an overnighter, I didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this. The view from the penthouse is nothing short of amazing. I mean, holy shit, I can see the entire city from up here. Floor-to-ceiling windows cover the main room, giving a full vantage point of the booming city below us. The living area has a plush black sectional creating a cozy space, perfect for making out in front of the white brick fireplace. Once when we were younger, our parents splurged at Disneyland and got us a suite overlooking the park. This isinfinitelybetter than that.
“What do you think? Is it okay?” Candace asks as she heads into the bedroom.
“Okay? This is a little too swanky for me. I feel like I should’ve won a few Grammys to even be holding a key card. There’s gold everywhere. Like literally everywhere. By the looks of that eighteen-person dining table, I’d say it’s made entirelyofgold. Is an alarm gonna go off if I touch something?” I chase after her, hoping for some direction.
My free-with-purchase Victoria's Secret tote feels grungy making me wish I had real luggage. I know for a fact the duffel Candace brought is designer, the symbols are a dead giveaway, and I’ve seen like ten more displayed in her closet.
She’s finally at ease, in her element. “You can touch whatever you want. I thought this would be a fun getaway.” Her eyes sparkle as she takes in the main bedroom.
The bed is twice as big as hers and has a black and gold duvet that probably costs more than a new car. Thankfully, there are no windows, ensuring the vibe is dark and moody. The dresser is expertly carved with gold handles and an oversized mirror. We haven’t even made it to the bathroom, but I’m sure the water is from the finest mountains and purified to enhance my collagen production or some shit.
“You don’t like it?” she asks, her smile faltering.
“It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s that I feel like I'm a kid covered in jam at a museum. This is just not my style. I would’ve been okay staying anywhere, but this is just a little out of my league.” I bite my lower lip, taking it all in, trying not to guess how much it’s costing her.
When I finally set my bag on the ground, hoping my makeup doesn’t explode all over the pristine white carpet, I make my way to the bathroom, the place I’ve been dreading.What if the toilet talks to me or worse, power washes my ass?
“Holy hell. Where am I? Mariah Carey's house?” There’s a silvery-grey marble shower big enough to hold an entire sports team. The jet black claw-footed tub, stolen straight from a design magazine, is positioned in front of another massive window. Great. I can shave my legs and spy on people shopping– how luxurious.
“I didn’t mean for you to feel uncomfortable. All I wanted was to do something nice and make you feel special. Sorry if I went overboard.” Her frown is like a punch to the gut.
“You went overboard, but it’ll be okay. Next weekend we can find a pay-by-the hour motel in an abandoned part of town, and we’ll be even.” I wink.
“Deal.” She smiles and leaves two kisses on my back.
Walking back over to the bed, I pick up the black velvet package. Already I’m spiraling again, because why is even her wrapping paper expensive? “What is this? Seriously, Candace. This is too much. This fancy ass hotel is enough of a Christmas present. Your gift is going to cost the same as a kid's meal, so I hope you like chicken nuggets and fries,” I mumble, not wanting to get into an argument about money while I’m standing on a million-dollar carpet.
“It’s nothing crazy. Just a little something I saw while shopping downtown and knew immediately you needed it.”She’s bouncing out of her skin with excitement, watching me tear through this paper like I’m a kid.
Opening presents with a crowd easily tops my list of embarrassing moments. The gift-givers light up from across the room, eager to see your reaction. Candace and I don’tquitehave the same taste, and I can’t see her setting foot into a Hot Topic. If I unintentionally give off bad energy or say the wrong thing, the entire night is ruined, and Candace will spend the next twenty-four hours apologizing for buying the wrong thing.
“Holy shit,” I say, shocked, once I have fully unwrapped the present.
“Did I do okay?” She bites her lower lip and picks at a loose string on her dress.
She did more than okay. She got the right thing. More than the right thing, she gotthething. “This is a signed first edition, tome. How does that even happen? This author's been dead longer than I’ve been alive? I ask skeptically, wondering what kind of Oujie board situation she got herself into getting me this signature.
“So, I was walking through this antique bookstore, trying to get inspired. I’d find a book that looked like something you’d read, or flip through one by an author you’ve mentioned. After a couple of hours, I stumbled on this one, lodged behind some really beat-up encyclopedias. When I opened it and saw the inscription, I knew I had to have it.” Her cheeks are pulled tight as she smiles from ear to ear, beaming with pride. “The store owner said Natalie was the love of his life who died in a fatal accident two nights before they were set to marry. He vowed never to pick up a pencil again, but years went by, and he felt her presence push him to write one last book.”
Tucking the book under my arm, I kiss the top of her nose. “Thank you.” It’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got. To havesomeone truly see you is uncommon in a world so busy. No further words will express how much this means to me.
ChaptEr 31
Candace
Sharing the white marble vanity inside this gorgeous suite with Nat seems so natural. We’ve gotten ready a few times at my house, and it's now a comfort I’ve grown to love and look forward to. Having another woman here with me, chatting about makeup and fashion and all the things we have in common, reminds me there’s a friendship side to our relationship, something I didn’t have with my ex. Even if her routine differs vastly from mine, we have this flow and a natural chemistry. Each of us grabs a brush or a lip liner, occasionally bumping elbows or reaching for the other’s blush palette.
“The show starts in about an hour. How much longer do you need to finish your hair?” I ask, looking over at her unbrushed hair.
“I’m not doing anything fancy, probably throwing it up in a clip.” I’ve been curling my hair for the better part of forty minutes. It’ll no doubt go flat by the time we get there.Meanwhile, Nat will look like a supermodel who spent the day with a glam team.
“What? Why are you staring?” she teases, catching me admiring her.
“Just a little jealous. You casually throw on a perfect winged liner, put your hair in a messy bun, and throw on some ripped jeans, and you’re stunning, like runway-worthy. I have to put in hours of work to look semi-presentable.”
