by S. Nelson
He walked back to his seat without another word, and it was only when he was away from earshot did Naomi lay into me.
“Why are you so mean to him all the time?”
“Did I not just tell you earlier what he did to me?” I swore if my eyes widened any more, they’d fall out of their sockets. “What he put me through?”
“I understand you being sour about yesterday, but from the day he started, you’ve done nothing but complain about him. I don’t know why you just don’t accept the situation and find some common ground with the guy.” She peered around the booth to look in his direction. “He doesn’t seem that bad.”
“Says the woman who can’t make up her mind when it comes to her own life.” Naomi gasped and I instantly regretted my comment. “Sorry. I’m just… I guess I don’t…. Fuck! I don’t know.”
“Trust me. Been there.” We shared a smile before taking care of the bill and getting up to leave. Ford was behind me before I took a step toward the exit.
* * *
Ford
The past week was filled with tension, more so than usual, only this tension was uncomfortable. I realized tension, by its very definition, was uneasy, but ever since my “lesson,” Cara had been different around me. Distant. All of it sounds redundant, but trust me, something was amiss.
I wasn’t a man who typically paid attention to shit like this, but I couldn’t help it. Was it because I only half regretted setting her up? Or was it because I had a feeling what happened had changed her perception of the situation? Of me, perhaps?
I wasn’t making any sense and I made even less of it when I tried talking to Owen. He told me I was overthinking it, something I’d only done one other time I could recall, with my sister Julia.
“I’ll take the upstairs this round.” Owen and I often switched the areas of the house and grounds we checked, which happened multiple times a day to ensure everything was safe and sound. Maybe it was overkill, but I’d rather be prepared in case anything happened. The last thing I wanted was to be caught off guard.
“Nothing in Common” by Frank Sinatra popped into my head for some reason, so I busied myself humming the tune while I checked each of the rooms on the second floor. My mother often called me an old soul, telling me I was born during the wrong decade. My tastes in music gravitated toward the classics, like Sinatra, Crosby, King, and Cole. I believed that I enjoyed their sound because it comforted me, eased me when I felt out of control. Hell, I blared Crosby right after Owen left my place the day he told me about this job. I was drunk but I was content listening to the sounds of his voice.
All rooms were clear except for the last one I had to check. Cara’s room. I believed her to be inside as she wasn’t on the lower level, and seeing how it was cloudy outside and looked like rain, she wasn’t out by the pool either.
I rapped on her door and waited. After five seconds there was no answer, so I knocked again, louder the second time. Still nothing, so I turned the handle and entered.
“Cara? You in here?” Any other time I would’ve rushed inside without a thought to her privacy. Okay, maybe that was a stretch. I’d been somewhat considerate but nothing like right then. Something needed to change in our working relationship, and I urged myself to extend a proverbial olive branch. And although I had nothing specific to be sorry for, I could, at the very least, alter my interactions with her so they weren’t as unpleasant.
Her bathroom door was closed, so I assumed she was inside. I commenced with my check of her room, and as I turned to leave, a gust of air from her half-opened window blew a pile of paper that was resting on top of her bed all over the room.
Bending down, I gathered the mess when Cara suddenly appeared behind me. I never heard the bathroom door open, but there she was, in her short silk robe and a white towel on her head.
She rushed over and snatched the paper from my hands. “What are you doing?”
“The wind blew them all over the place. I was only trying to pick them up.” A simple and true explanation, but one she didn’t believe.
“I think you were snooping again,” she accused. “Much like you did the last time.” Cara referred to the time I snuck a peek at some of her work while she’d been engrossed in watching a home movie.
Sarcastic remarks formed in my head, but I released none of them. Instead, I nodded, a simple acquiesce, a refusal to argue over something I couldn’t win.
“They’re quite good. You should do something with them.” I hadn’t realized I was going to say such a thing so her shock at my compliment was a mirror of my own. I didn’t lie; she was talented. Too bad she couldn’t spend more of her time and energy on something that mattered. Developing her talent would take her far, but she would rather laze about and party than think about her future.
I had to stop thinking of Julia whenever I thought about the comparisons between her and Cara. Hard to do because I saw many similarities in them.
“Contrary to what everyone thinks, I will do something with my life. I just have to figure out a few things first.” She spread the drawings out on her mattress, face up so I could see them. I thought she would’ve continued to hide them from me, but she displayed them, instead. I took it as a sign she was willing to open up a little, maybe talk to me like someone other than the overbearing pain-in-the-ass shadow who’d been assigned to her. “I’m going to make and wear an outfit for the cancer charity event I’m attending next week. Something elegant yet trendy.”
With my head pointed straight ahead, fearing I’d break whatever connection existed right then, I looked at her from my peripheral vision and saw a lilt of a genuine smile spread across her lovely face. My stomach fluttered, but I slammed that shit down immediately. One smile and one moment of her looking at ease was not enough for me to react in anyway. I refocused. My mission returning to that olive branch I planned.
“I have no doubt it’ll be great.” My words surprised me, but anything was better than falling back to the tit for tat we’d been throwing at each other since day one.
We turned to look at one another, our eyes connecting briefly before turning away. “Thank you,” she whispered, but I heard the words of gratitude loud and clear.
I left with a lighter feeling than when I walked into her room, an odd interaction, at best. As I descended the stairs, an unease wrapped around my heart, but there was no chance in hell I’d be analyzing that anytime soon.
* * *
Cara
“How is everything?” Our mom settled into her seat on the sofa before accepting a glass of lemonade from Emily.
With the gloomy weather, I had no plans to leave the house, so it was a nice surprise when she said she was going to stop over for a visit. The skeptical part of me thought maybe she was there because she’d somehow heard about what happened with Ford and the faux kidnapping, but as soon as I saw her relaxed expression, that thought flew right out the window. Besides, if she did know about it, my father would be right by her side, I had no doubt.
I plopped down on the other couch, nestling in to get comfy, my lightweight sweatshirt and yoga pants the perfect outfit for catching up and relaxing.
“Good,” my sister answered, taking the seat next to her. “Someone donated twenty-thousand dollars to Dream for Paws. That’s a lot of care and food for the animals housed there.” Emily smiled, her joy something I didn’t understand because I wasn’t much of an animal person myself. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Buster, our family dog we had when we were little, but I’d never owned a pet as an adult.
Now if we were talking about fashion, I could hop on the excited train for sure. I could go on and on about clothes, shoes, and accessories all day long if you let me. My passion had only come back into the equation over the past few months, more so these last couple of weeks.
Emily had always been a big supporter of mine, but the only other people who had seen my designs were my mother and Naomi. And of course, Ford, but that was by accident. Or on purpose on his part. When he had se
en them, I’d become uncharacteristically nervous. Anxious he would say something that would crush me, crush the joy I felt when I sketched each line of the picture I had in my head. I had no idea why I cared so much about what he thought. But he’d complimented them. Complimented me, and a rush of pride had swirled through me.
There were times in a person’s life when their perception of the world, and of themselves, could become altered forever. For me, it happened from a passing comment from Ford, of all people.
“Cara? Sweetheart?” My mom had been calling my name, but I’d been so lost in thought, I hadn’t heard her. “What’s the smile for?” Her grin was infectious, causing me to widen mine. Whenever I gazed at her, I saw both Emily and me. The family resemblance was strong. If I looked half as good at her age, I should consider myself lucky. I wasn’t complaining about my appearance at all, though. I realized I’d been blessed in the looks department, but there was something about the way Mom carried herself that made her seem regal. Her dark-blonde hair was styled in a long, bob-type haircut, her bangs making her look closer to our age than fifty-two.
A fifteen-year age gap existed between my parents, and while my grandmother wasn’t keen on her daughter dating a man who’d just turned forty, when she was only twenty-five herself when they met—our age to be exact—she soon allowed it to happen after seeing how in love they were. They’d been smitten from the start.
“I was thinking about the outfit I wanted to make for a charity event I’m attending next weekend.”
“Ooh, is this the one with the plunging neckline? The one that stops right above your hoo-ha?” Emily laughed but my mother raised her brows.
“What dress is that?” she asked.
“She’s teasing.” I threw my sister a warning glare, cautioning her to shut her mouth with the narrowing of my eyes. “It’s a pantsuit slash jumper-type design. All black except the sides, from under here,” I said, pointing to just under my arm, “all the way to the ankle is a nude color. It looks like my skin, but it’ll either be a mesh material or lace. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Sounds beautiful, honey. I can’t wait to see you in it.”
“I could send you a picture of me wearing it.” I leaned back and tucked a pillow under my arm to get more comfortable.
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be there.”
“You’ll be where?”
“At the event.”
My head flinched back slightly. “What event?”
“At the same one you’re going to. The one Stephanie invited you both to.”
I looked at Emily, then back to my mom.
Stephanie Adler was one of my oldest friends. We’d lost touch when we were younger but had reconnected years later.
“I’m still not getting how you know about that.”
“It’s not a secret.” Mom chuckled. “In fact, she reached out to your father and me a while back, asking if there was any way we could invite some influential people. Of course, after she told us about her mother’s diagnosis, and thankfully, her remission, we told her we’d do what we could to help. I always liked Nancy. Such a nice woman.”
I still had so many questions. “How did she get your number?”
“Emily.”
I locked eyes with my twin. “How come you never told me?”
Emily shrugged before she stood up, grabbing our mom’s glass and walking toward the kitchen. “I didn’t think anything of it. It was after the conversation she had with you about not being able to come to our birthday shindig. She said she tried to call you but couldn’t get a hold of you, so she tried me.” I recalled seeing a couple of missed calls from Steph but figured I’d call her back when I had the chance. Then I just plain forgot. A certain moody and complicated bodyguard had stolen most of my attention.
“Are you going, too?” I asked.
“I’m planning on it.” Emily walked back into the living room and handed our mom her refill. “Do you think you can create something for me to wear, as well? Would you have enough time to make it?”
I had no idea why I thought it was odd that not only my parents were going to the event, but that Emily was, too. During our last phone conversation, right before we left for California, my childhood friend did mention that she hoped both Emily and I could make it. But I must’ve forgotten to mention it to my sister, too focused on what we were all going to do to celebrate our twenty-fifth. Steph must’ve solidified plans when she called Emily to get our parents’ number.
“It’ll be tight, but I think I can make it.”
“I don’t want to wear anything too snug.”
I sighed, then smiled. “I don’t mean the outfit being too tight. I mean the timeframe is tight.”
“Oh.” Emily laughed, leaning to the side to rest against the armchair of the sofa.
“Is there vodka in that lemonade?” I asked. She never answered because I knew there wasn’t, but she’d definitely just had a duh moment.
* * *
Cara
Since the thought of making our outfits popped into my head—and the idea was solidified when I told our mom all about it—I became busy planning every step.
On Monday, I visited with Audrey Filip, the owner of Blush, one of my favorite boutiques, asking if she could hook me up with her manufacturer in Los Angeles. I told her of my plans, and she graciously gave me the number. I didn’t know if her willingness to help me stemmed from me being a good customer, the fact the event was to raise money for cancer—the disease Audrey’s mother passed away from two years prior—or because she was a sweetheart. It could be a mixture of all three, but whatever the driving force was, I happily accepted her help.
On Tuesday, I argued with the overnight delivery company about still not receiving my fabric, which should have been at my door by noon. By one o’clock I was giving them an earful. Luckily, more for their sanity of having to deal with me than mine, the doorbell rang two hours later. The truck had broken down and it took them that long to get it fixed. I breathed a sigh of relief once I was able to spread the material out on my bed, satisfied with the fabric choices I’d made.
By that evening, I finished the sketch of my outfit and started on Emily’s. All she told me was that she wanted a dress that came down to her knees and flared out at the waist. She didn’t care about color, if it was strapless or not, or what type of material it was made from. She told me that she trusted my vision, and whatever I made for her she’d love.
By Wednesday afternoon, the sketches having been completed earlier that day, and the patterns cut, I’d finished my sister’s dress. It took countless cups of coffee and a few minor cuts and pricks, but I’d done it.
Thankfully, I was able to work in the privacy of my bedroom, the overly large space accommodating the range of supplies I needed to work with, including the sewing machine I’d received many years ago as a birthday present.
I decided to call it a night, or morning, and go to bed. I never woke when I assumed one of the guys came into my room for early rounds, too lost to sleep and the dream that maybe my life could turn in the direction I’d wanted when I was young.
“I love it so much, Cara.” Emily beamed, holding the dress up in front of her and twirling around in front of the full-length mirror. The vibrant azure blue set off her beautiful amber-colored eyes.
“Are you okay with the material?” I’d chosen chiffon because it was lightweight, a factor that made it challenging to sew. From the bustline on up, I added a deeper hue of blue lace, the combination of the two colors and fabrics complimenting each other nicely.
“I love it.” Her bright smile filled my heart with pride for a job well done. “Can I try it on?”
“Of course. How else am I going to see what needs to be altered?” I returned her grin, anxious to see what my creation looked like on her. She disappeared from my room, only to return five minutes later, walking back through my door with an even bigger smile, turning around so I could zip her up.
“Put your
arms out at your sides. Okay, now raise them up. Bend to the side. How does it feel? Does it give you enough stretch? Do you have enough room? The middle looks snug. Does it feel snug?” I circled her, scrutinizing every facet of the dress, tugging then releasing. The sleeveless part had been tricky because I wanted to give her enough room so the material wasn’t digging into the underneath of her arm, but not big enough there was a significant amount of space. When I reached under her arm to test the stretch and space, she laughed. Ticklish.
After several more stretches and additional prodding, she playfully slapped my hands away. “It’s perfect. Fits like a glove.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, uncertain if the dress was perfect enough to be worn in public.
Emily saw the doubt in my eyes and drew me in for a hug. “It’s perfect,” she repeated. “Gorgeous. I’m going to be the envy of everyone there.” Her words eased me, but a bit of skepticism remained. The age-old saying, you’re your own worst critic slammed into me, and it couldn’t be truer. “Even though I thought it was going to be longer, I love that it hits above my knee.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.” I reached forward to touch the dress once more and she moved back a step, shaking her head before turning around and pointing to the zipper. She moved her chestnut colored hair to one side, making sure none of the strands became tangled in the metal teeth.
“I have the perfect pair of heels.”
“You do or I do?”
“We’ll see,” she sang before disappearing again to get changed.
While I was still going over the look and feel of Emily’s dress in my mind, deciphering if I loved how it fit, which I did, my cell chimed. Swiping the screen, I saw I had a message from Steph.
Steph: Can’t wait to see you on Saturday. It feels like forever since the last time we hung out.