When she uncovers his plan to lead an entirely uneventful life, Mia Evian is determined to teach Preston Maddox how to stop living like a ghost, but Mia and Preston have history, tension, and a lot of complicated feelings.
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Preston's next week becomes the week after, but curiously, our plan to meet up includes a nightclub, Margot, Joe, a few of our Typewriter Magazine comrades, and Nick. I therefore don't think I'm making a bold assumption when I say he might be avoiding the contents of his dad's letter, and by default, me. There's no way I'm going to bring it up in front of everyone who knows nothing about his past, and he knows that.
I'll find a way, though. By God, I'll find a way.
If Preston had it hisway, he wouldn't even be here tonight. He's still determined to play this nothing character, but I'm as equally determined not to let him. Displaying concern over his well-being is Preston's kryptonite, so after a lengthy text conversation–he refused to answer his phone when I called–I convinced him to join us on the night out via strong I'm worried about you undertones.
I meet Margot, Joe, and Preston outside Clapham South tube station, and I spend the walk there awkwardly pulling at the sparkly dress I regret picking for tonight. I didn't realise it was quite this skintight, or quite this short. It's too late for regrets now, so I lift my chin, think fuck it, and keep walking.
'You've called in the big guns for Nick,' Margot shouts, then wolf whistles as I approach the station, which naturally makes me want to die. 'If he doesn't propose to you tonight, I will.'
Mine and Nick's dinner date, which was planned for the weekend just gone, was called off after one of his flatmates set fire to his kitchen. He sent me unprompted evidence of this, and that shit looked bad, so I wasn't the least bit offended. It resulted in me inviting him to tonight because it was the only other date we could both do—or semi-do, in my case. I wasn't expecting him to say yes, but it was a welcomed surprise.
'Ew, no. Name a bigger red flag than being proposed to by a guy on your second date,' I argue as I stop in front of Margot, Joe, and Preston.
'Being proposed to on your first date,' Joe validly counteracts.
'Thoughts?' Margot chimes in, then spins on her heel to look up at Preston beside her.
Preston, who's remained characteristically silent throughout our exchange, is looking at me in–surprise, surprise–a way that's impossible to decipher. It takes him a moment to feel Margot's eyes on him, and I'm convinced he wasn't listening to a word anyone just said.
'Hm?' he queries, glancing down at Margot.
She rolls her eyes. 'Every time I think you're, like, your own species, you do something so typically guyish.' She reaches up to ruffle his hair. 'Listening skills. Work on them, P.'
'This Michael guy, it's his birthday, right?' I question the group as we begin walking into the station, and Margot and Joe nod. 'Who is he again?'
'So he's–Wait, he's a friend of the guy from that French students society you go to?' Margot muses to Joe, who nods, and she turns back to me. 'He's, like, French aristocracy or some shit and has booked the whole club. It should be a good night.'
