Page 38 of Iron Will
“All the Lords signed it,” she says proudly, holding it out. “Yoda drew this! I’m coloring it.”
I have to laugh as I look more closely at the design. It’s a picture of a little girl with long hair and a superhero cape. Paisley’s only gotten as far as coloring her hair a vibrant shade of purple.
“That’s totally cool!” I enthuse.
I pick up a green marker and find a rare bare spot on the plaster, then sign my name. As I cap the marker, I notice Rourke’s signature a couple of inches away, and redden at the fact that it actually makes my stomach do a little flip.
Paisley goes back to coloring and listening to her music. I turn to the adults. “She seems like she’s doing really well today.”
“Thank God,” Bethany sighs. “I’ve been so worried that the concussion would have longer lasting effects. I made the mistake of googling severe concussions, which led me to traumatic brain injuries…” She shudders. “I really feel like we dodged a bullet.”
“She’s tough,” Yoda says. “Tough and beautiful. Like her mama.”
Bethany looks down and blushes. “Flatterer,” she murmurs.
“It ain’t flattery if it’s true, darlin’,” Yoda grins.
Hmmm.Interesting development.The two of them seem like they’re enjoying one another’s company quite a bit.
“Oh!” exclaims Bethany, glancing at the phone on Paisley’s bed. “I have to get going. I’ll be late for work.” She looks at Yoda with a shy smile. “You sure you don’t mind taking me?”
“Havin’ you on the back of my bike, darlin’?” he banters back. “Are you kiddin’ me? That’d be any man’s dream come true.”
Bethany turns to me with a sour look. “Mickey took off with my car,” she explains. “The jerk. And he’s not answering my texts to bring it back.”
Bethany takes her phone from Paisley, who complains a little but doesn’t fuss too much. She kisses her daughter on the forehead, and hands her the remote so she can watch TV.
“I’ll be back after work, baby,” she croons. “You need anything, you know you can call one of the nurses. And the Lords are right outside.”
As I walk out of the room with the two of them, my own cell phone buzzes in the pocket of my blazer. I pull it out to see my sister is calling. I wave goodbye to Yoda and Bethany and turn in the direction of my office as I answer it.
“Hey, Linds.”
“That’s the future Mrs. Harris to you,” my sister jokes.
“So noted. Congrats, by the way.”
“Thank you! Did you see the pictures of the venue I put on Instagram?”
“No, sorry,” I reply, grimacing. “Haven’t been on Instagram a lot lately.”
‘Well, I added them to my stories, so you can see them there.”
“Great. I’ll do that,” I lie. I keep walking past my office, toward the atrium at the center of the building.
“So, anyway,” she continues. “I’m calling to ask you a favor!” Her tone of voice sounds more like she’s about to domeone. “I want to invite you to be one of my bridesmaids! Kelly and I are fighting because she called me a bridezilla, so I’m replacing her. Screw her, right?”
Kelly. I can call up a picture of her in my head right away. She and Lindsay have known each other since middle school. She’s the mousiest of all Linds’s friends — the girl just a little less stylish, a little less pretty than the others. It occurs to me to wonder whether my appearance-conscious sister might have been fretting about how Kelly would look in the wedding photos Lindsay will inevitably be posting on social media — and whether she’s been looking for an excuse to kick her off the lineup, so to speak.
For just a second, I consider saying no. But she’s my sister, after all. And besides, I’d never hear the end of it from either her or my mother if I declined.
I take a deep breath, squinching up my face at what I’m about to do. “Sure, I’d be happy to, Linds,” I say.
“Great!” she chirps. “So, I’ll add you to the group chat. If you could try to get up to speed pretty soon, that would be great. We’re working on nailing down dates to go dress shopping right now.”
“Will do,” I mutter, already regretting my decision.
“Awesome! Oh, one more thing. I’m putting together my first draft of the guest list, and I wanted to know whether you want me to include a plus-one for you.”