“That’s what everyone keeps saying, but the only thing different is my hair.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. You seem…sexier.”
“What?” I practically shouted at her. Then, lowering my voice and leaning closer, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
Worrying my bottom lip, I said, “Something weird just happened in the breakroom.”
I told her about my encounter with Parker.
“Oh, my God. He was so flirting with you!” She leaned in her seat to get a better glimpse of him.
“Kristie, stop that!” I hissed. “Don’t call attention to us.”
“Too late,” she said. “He was already watching, and you should see the look in his eyes. OMG, he has it bad for you.” Her mouth twisted to the side. “I never took Parker to be into MILFs.”
“Kristie!”
“Girl, you’re hot. Own it.”
I was fifteen—okay, twenty—pounds overweight and had the boobs and tummy of a woman who’d had three kids—two of them at the same time. I had crow’s-feet around the corners of my eyes and an “eleven” appearing above the bridge of my nose. While I could at times—in the right light, with the right makeup and hair and outfit—say that I looked attractive, I was far from hot. But if Parker really was interested in me, I had to admit I felt a tiny bit sexy. It shocked me to realize I hadn’t felt sexy since before the twins were born.
“As long as no one’s comparing me to Nikki today,” I said as I turned on my computer. “What in the world is she wearing?”
Kristie giggled. “That’s her pole dancing attire.”
“Nikki’s a stripper?” I blurted out in shock. I heard several people giggling around me. Thankfully, Nikki was nowhere to be seen.
“No…well, kind of,” Kristie said with a chuckle. “She takes pole dancing classes, and apparently that’s all she had in the trunk of her car.”
“Oh, dear. I thought those looked like stripper shoes.”
“Why, Darcie Weatherby,” Kristie teased. “Have you been in a strip club?”
“Girl, please,” I said, just like I’d heard Harriet say to a friend. “When would I have time to go to a strip club?” I leaned closer and grinned. “I saw that Jennifer Lopez stripper movie.”
Kristie burst out laughing. “Darcie, you’re a hoot.”
I decided to take it as a compliment.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught view of Nikki on the prowl, so we got to work. I was so busy I forgot about everything until noon. I’d left the house without my lunch, so Kristie ordered something for the both of us from a nearby sandwich shop and had it delivered by Uber Eats.
We’d been in the breakroom for a few minutes, eating our lunch, when Parker walked in and sat at the table between us. Worry filled his eyes. “Darcie, can I talk to you when you get a moment?”
“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile, but my stomach had turned into one of those cement truck spinners that mixed the concrete. I felt like I was going to throw up.
He shot a glance to Kristie. “Um…alone?”
Kristie started to gather her things, but I reached over and grabbed her wrist. “No. You stay.” I turned to face him. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Kristie.”
“Okay.” His gaze darted to the side and a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He was nervous. But then he looked me directly in the eye. “I know this is forward, and it’s usually frowned upon in the workplace, but would you go to dinner with me tonight?”
“A date?” Kristie asked for clarification. “Not because you want her to help you with your laundry or something?”
I kicked her under the table, and she squelched a cry of pain.
“Well, yeah,” he said, confused. “Of course a date. Why would I want her to help me with my laundry?”
“Don’t mind Kristie,” I said with a forced smile. “Her blood sugar’s low and she’s talking nonsense.”
“No, I’m not,” Kristie said. “And she’d love to. What time will you pick her up?”
“No picking me up,” I blurted, astonished I hadn’t turned him down. “I’ll meet you there. Just tell me when and where.”
A bright smile lit up his face. “How about Figaro’s at seven?”
“Oh,” Kristie gushed. “Fancy.”
“I hope that’s okay,” he said, watching for my reaction.
I’d have to get a fancy dress to wear to Figaro’s, but maybe Cyn had one I could borrow. “Sounds fun. I haven’t dressed up in ages.”
After saying that, I realized I probably shouldn’t have admitted it.
But Parker didn’t seem to have noticed. “Great. I’m looking forward to it.”
And just like that, I had a date. With a man nine years younger than me.
I was turning into a cougar.
Chapter Five
At first I wasn’t sure I should tell the kids. I had no idea what kind of reaction I’d get out of them… Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Jack would want to chaperone, and Elena would launch into all the dangers of workplace romances and the crime statistics for first dates. It was Harriet I was most worried about. She could either freak out and think it was the most disgusting thing ever or get excited and want to help me get ready.
Thankfully, it was the latter. I decided not to ask Cyn about borrowing a dress because I wasn’t sure I’d fit into anything she had—I was heavier than her now—and I was starting to feel a little silly about the whole thing.
Me, going on a date? With a younger man?
It was utterly ridiculous.
But I’d agreed to meet him—I wanted to meet him—and the fact remained that I had nothing to wear. When I left the office, I sat in my car and texted Harriet that I’d be late because I was stopping by Ross Dress for Less to find a dress, but I planned to bring something home for dinner. It was no surprise that she texted back, wanting to know why I needed a dress.
I typed out the words I have a date, but my thumb hovered over the send button. Somehow, telling Harriet made this thing so much more real, and that freaked me out.
But change is good, something deep in my brain insisted. Don’t be a hypocrite.
The divorce had caused so much upheaval in our lives, but I’d encouraged the kids to consider it growth. Growth wasn’t easy, I’d told them—they weren’t called growing pains for nothing. Elena, of course, had pointed out that the term referred to physical growth, to which I’d replied that sometimes life wasn’t so literal. Growing sometimes meant taking leaps of faith. Our lives were in turmoil, but we had to believe we’d be stronger, better people on the other side.
So with that thought in mind, I pressed send.
And promptly freaked out.
“How do I unsend a text?” I muttered to myself.
Hopefully, Parker had already left and wouldn’t see me mumbling to myself like a psychopath in the car.
It was a full ten seconds before Harriet responded, and to my surprise, she called me.
“When you say you have a date…” Her voice trailed off, inviting me to clarify.
“A man asked me out to dinner. I said yes, and I’m meeting him at the restaurant at seven.”
“A man?” she asked as though she were interrogating a murder suspect. “What man?”
“A guy I work with. Parker.”
“So it’s a business dinner?”
Wait. Was it? But why would Parker invite me to a business dinner? “No, I’m pretty sure it’s a date. He said so.”
“Parker from work…” Her voice rose. “Oh, my God. Are you talking about hot Parker?”
I cringed. The kids had brought me lunch one day while they were off for fall break and I was stuck working. He’d made an impression on Harriet, to put it mildly. I’d told her to pick up her jaw and stop gawking, that he was a full seventeen years older than her and off-limits. But now her words sunk in deep. “You’re right. This is ridiculous.”
“T
he hell it is. Where’s he taking you?”
“Language, Harriet.”
“Please, Mother,” she groaned. “I hear so much worse at school.”
I was sure she did. I’d walked down those school halls, but that didn’t mean she needed to talk like a sailor too.
“Where’s he taking you?” she repeated.
Now was not the time to be arguing over her vocabulary choices. “Figaro’s. I’m meeting him there.”
“Figaro’s? Oh, my God, Mom.” She released a sound of frustration. “You are so not going to Ross to get a dress. Come home and pick me up. We’re going to Macy’s.”
“I don’t have time to go home, pick you up, then go to the mall.”
“Then I’ll have Jack drop me off. He just got home from basketball practice.”
I was about to tell her no, but she cut me off. “I’m coming, Mom. Meet you at the entrance to Macy’s in fifteen minutes.”
She hung up before I could object.
I almost called her back and told her I was coming straight home. I couldn’t afford to buy a fancy dress. It seemed ludicrous for me to think about dating anyone. My kids were already reeling over their father’s abandonment. They needed me to be fully present and available.
But a voice in the back of my head objected. Don’t you deserve love and happiness too?
It was that voice in my head that helped me find the fortitude to drive to the mall. I’d put my life on hold for sixteen years. It was time to do something for me.
But hadn’t Richard told himself the same thing? Was I abandoning our kids too?
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Darcie,” I told myself. “It’s one date. It’s not like you’re about to start hitting up singles bars.”
True to her word, Harriet was outside the department store, standing next to a pile of snow the plows had created after the six inches of snow we’d gotten the previous week. I was surprised Jack hadn’t hung around to give me the third degree.
“Did you tell Jack why you wanted to come to the mall?” I asked as I walked up, shaking my foot. When I’d gotten out of my car, I’d stepped in a dark brown puddle. Horrified, I hadn’t taken the time to stop and figure out what it was, vowing to burn my shoes and bleach my feet first chance I got.
“I told him I was meeting my friends and that you were bringing me home.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why do you smell like coffee?”
Coffee? I pushed out a huge breath of relief. I’d stepped in coffee.
But then it hit me that she’d felt the need to lie to her brother—and I was somewhat relieved she had—which made me question the whole enterprise.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Harriet said, looping her arm through mine. “I know that look. You are not changing your mind. Come on.”
“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I said, letting her drag me through the entrance. “I thought you’d be freaked out.”
She shrugged. “You deserve a hot guy, Mom.”
“Wow, Ettie. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me in ages.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out as a smart-ass comment, but it had a hint of it anyway.
Harriet just laughed. “I deserve that. Sorry about getting so upset with you this morning,” she said as she continued to drag me toward the cocktail dress section. “I was telling Irene about what happened to your hair, and she said her mom sometimes raids the fridge and orders things from QVC in the middle of the night when she’s on Ambien, and then I remembered that you take Ambien.” She turned to me, excited that her theory answered everything. “You colored your strip while you were on Ambien.”
“Wow,” I said, taken by surprise. “I hadn’t even considered it.” I nearly told her that I hadn’t actually taken the sleep aid the night before, but I could see how badly she needed to believe the mystery stripe had a reasonable explanation. Shoot, I’d just spent most of the day pretending I’d imagined the entire thing. I didn’t need to stomp all over her theory.
She stopped when we reached the special-occasion dresses and looked me up and down. “We could go with the classic little black dress, but I’m tempted to find something with color—either red or green to bring out your eyes.”
“If I’m spending money I can’t afford on a dress I’ll hardly use, it should be something I can wear on a different occasion. At least if I get something black and tasteful, I’ll be able to wear it to Grandma Emily’s funeral.”
Harriet giggled. “I suspect Grandma Emily will never die. She’ll be like one of those hags you see in movies who live forever, stirring up trouble for centuries.”
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t have shocked me if she were right. Richard’s mother loved nothing better than to create discord and drama, and she’d been in her heyday with the divorce, quick to point out all my faults—both real and imagined—and say she was never for our marriage from the start. Still…
“What I said about Grandma Emily was unkind and uncalled for,” I said.
“Mother, please,” Harriet droned. “We all have to die sometime. The odds of you needing a dress for her funeral are high, so one could say you’re just being practical.”
I couldn’t help laughing, not only because she had a point but because I’d missed this fun-loving side of our relationship. The way it had been before Richard left.
No melancholy, Darcie. Not now.
Bolstered by the thought of me wearing my new dress to Grandma Emily’s funeral, Harriet began to pull dresses from the racks—several black, a few in navy, and—“just for fun”—an emerald green one she swore she wouldn’t pressure me to buy. We couldn’t have Grandma Emily rolling over in her casket, but she wanted to see me try it on.
We headed to a large dressing room and I began to strip to my underwear. I didn’t parade around the house naked, but we weren’t modest either, so Harriet didn’t think much of it until I turned to unzip the first black dress hanging on the hook.
“Mom, what did you do to your back?”
I glanced over my shoulder in the mirror to see what she was talking about. The skin over my shoulder blades—from one side to the other—had a dusky tone, like it had been bruised. “I have no idea…”
Worry filled her eyes. “Did someone shove you when you were escaping the fire?”
“No…”
She was silent for a moment, then said, “It must have happened when you were on your Ambien sleepwalk. Promise me you won’t take it anymore. Please, Mommy.”
She hadn’t called me Mommy in ages, which revealed how much my weirdness had scared her.
“No more Ambien,” I agreed, still staring at the discoloration on my back. Did it have anything to do with the gold streak in my hair? Or the fact that my hand should have been burned not once but twice today, yet the skin of my hand was perfectly fine?
Snatching the dress off the hanger, she shoved it at me, saying in a brisk tone that let me know this discussion was over, “Here. Try this on.”
I stepped into the black sleeveless dress and tugged it over my hips, realizing before I slipped my arms into the sleeves it was too small. But I shimmied into it anyway, then reached behind and tried to zip it.
Harriet brushed my hand away. “Let me help.”
She grabbed the zipper and gave a hard jerk. I sucked in my breath and squeezed in my stomach, but the zipper got stuck halfway up my back.
“It’s too small,” I said, risking a look at the mirror to see my reflection. I was a hot mess. The dress clung to my hips, showing the outline of my panties and the fat roll over them. The dress was stretched so much over my bust that the dart seams were threatening to burst.
“I think this is just the wrong style for you,” she murmured, quickly unzipping it. “Your boobs are too big.”
“I’m not sure if it’s my boobs or my back fat.”
“Your back’s not fat,” she said, tugging the dress over my hips and dropping it to my feet. “I think we just need a different style. One that works better with your…”
“Matronly body.”
“Mature figure,” she countered as she picked the dress up off the floor. “I was looking for dresses that would work for me, not for you.” She snatched all the hangers off the hook and opened the dressing room door. “I’ll be right back.”
If she had truly been looking for dresses that would work for her, it was no wonder the black dress didn’t fit. Harriet had the body of a dancer—long and lean. I wasn’t obese, but I wasn’t in shape and my hips and abdomen still carried the weight I’d gained from my pregnancies.
What was I doing? This was madness. Why did I think I could hold the attention of a very attractive thirty-three-year-old man? He’d probably take one look at me in that restaurant and realize he’d only invited me out of a fit of madness caused by our near-death experience.
I was about to put my clothes back on when the dressing room door opened and Harriet’s face poked in.
“This nice salesclerk has offered to help.”
Harriet pushed the door open to reveal an older woman who had three dresses draped over her arms. She had snow white hair and piercing green eyes, and even though I guessed her to be in her seventies, she had an ageless beauty.
“I found some things that might be suitable for your dinner,” the woman said in a lilting voice.
She pushed her way past Harriet with such natural authority that neither of us questioned her. Once inside, she hung the dresses on the hook, then turned back to Harriet and said, “She’ll need a pair of black heels. Go get several options and bring them back here. Tell them Vee said it was okay.”
Harriet’s gaze lifted to mine with a searching look, probably asking if I was okay being left alone in my underwear with a stranger. A valid concern.
I nodded, and she hurried out the door.
“Now, let’s see what we have here,” Vee said, taking the first dress off the hanger. It was a long-sleeved black dress that looked like it would cling to my body—not a good thing.
“I can already tell that’s not going to work,” I said, holding up my hand. “And I don’t have a lot of time, so maybe we should see what else you brought.”
Let it All Burn: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (From the Ashes Book 1) Page 4