Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(92)
“I will,” I say. “I just hope he’ll believe me when I tell him how much I love him.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“I still know I’m going to be okay.” It feels so good to say that out loud. I know in my heart it’s true, because every time I’m heartbroken, convinced I’ll never bounce back, I always do.
“Of course you will.” She places her wrinkled hand over mine and squeezes before adding, “My darling granddaughter deserves the best. No exceptions.”
“Thanks, Grandma.” A tiny seed blooms in my stomach, because for the first time in forever, I truly believe it.
? chapter thirty-three
PEOPLE ARE SERVING me some serious looks.
Then again, I am a human bumblebee in my massive Belle dress in the hospital elevator. A woman grumbles under her breath when I inadvertently bop her in the face with an obnoxiously large bundle of pink gift shop balloons. Along with the balloons, I’m also juggling a Flynn Rider pi?ata and one of Mel’s cast-iron frying pans to break it with—like in the movie when Rapunzel hits him in the face with a pan.
The party is scheduled to start in half an hour. It’s no Disneyland, but all the brightly painted whimsical cardboard structures serve as fuel for the imagination. Pink and purple streamers drape across the entire room, doing their best to mask the ugly hospital ceiling and walls. A long rectangular table sits in the middle of the room, draped in a hot-pink tablecloth, accented by sparkly confetti and princess plates, napkins, party hats, and gaudy plastic crowns.
Staff members are already milling about, assisting with the last-minute setup of the goody bags. Even Crystal and Scott are here, dressed as Snow White and Prince Charming, respectively. They’re the designated muscle, moving furniture and doing the miscellaneous heavy lifting. Trevor is nowhere to be seen, which is honestly making my anxiety even worse.
Angie spots me right away from the “window” of Rapunzel’s tower, which was a bitch to construct out of cardboard given its height. “It’s Belle!” She’s full of energy today, wide-eyed and giggly at the sight of the pi?ata in my arms. “And you brought the pan.”
Payton enthusiastically approves, dressed in a Princess Anna dress. “Oh my God. You look fantastic!” Something is different about her today. Usually, she looks weary, worn, and in need of a long nap. But today, she’s bright and lively. She folds me into a hug, although my hoop skirt prevents close contact. “I didn’t expect all of this. It’s above and beyond, honestly.”
“Believe it or not, Trevor helped with the cardboard construction. I did the painting,” I respond, setting the bundle of balloons in the corner of the room. I do my best to mask the somber look on my face as I mention Trevor.
“Where is Uncle Trev?” Angie asks. She tilts her head to see how far her braided wig extends to the ground.
“He’ll be here soon. He’s always early,” Payton guarantees, turning to me. “Thank you, by the way. For everything,” she adds.
“Don’t mention it. Honestly, I love parties. I told Trevor I’ll plan her party every year . . . if this one is up to Angie’s standards,” I tease, my voice cracking at the possibility of not being in their lives a year from now. Surely it would be strange for me to continue visiting Angie if Trevor and I are no longer a thing.
“No. It’s more than just the party,” Payton assures me. “Thank you for all the visits. And for keeping Trevor sane. He’s usually a nervous wreck whenever he visits her. More nervous than Angie, even. But you calm him somehow.” She glances at her daughter, and then back to me. “I’ve never seen him like this. Ever.”
I eye her sideways, hoisting the frying pan under my arm. “What do you mean?”
“He’s been sick over you, truly,” she responds.
“Who’s been sick?” Angie asks, her dark eyes darting back and forth between us.
“Uncle Trevor. He’s in love with Tara,” Payton explains, far too casually.
I nearly choke on my own saliva. Apparently, I’m the only one caught off guard by this statement, because Angie just rolls her eyes like this is last week’s news. “Oh. I already knew that.”
I’m about to launch into an interrogation when Angie’s stare moves past my face, over my shoulder. Her expression brightens instantly.
“Ange,” a deep warning voice grumbles.
Behind me is Trevor. In his Flynn Rider costume, filling out the vest and beige pants like a fantasy come to life. Except better, somehow. The tattoos embellishing his sinewed forearms peek from underneath hastily rolled shirtsleeves. I note that the buttons on his vest are buttoned unevenly, as if he didn’t bother checking his reflection in the mirror before leaving the apartment.
Similar to cartoon Flynn Rider, he’s generally disheveled. His hair is messy, like he’s raked his hand through it one too many times. His eyes are bloodshot, in desperate need of a good night’s rest. I idly wonder if he got any sleep at all last night.
Despite his obvious fatigue, his eyes still manage to ensnare mine, and the overwhelming sight sends my body into a state of shock. I’m at risk of flatlining from his mere proximity.
I barely register when Angie scolds him, ordering him to refer to her as “Rapunzel.”