Body Jumping

by Brenda Lowder

  I feel an odd stab of jealousy that I’m outside of that, of them. Which is ridiculous because why would I want to be inside? On either side? I never wanted their lives. I moved on, and left them happily and without doing harm, as God, nature, or the universe intended. I think.

  Is it just their happiness, their togetherness, I envy?

  “Evie, watch it!” Marco stumbles through the kitchen door and narrowly avoids running into me. I mumble an apology, shake myself from my reverie, and deliver my salads to table eight.

  After taking their entrée order, I turn to dash back to the kitchen when to my right I see Natasha glaring at me with hate-filled eyes.

  That’s right. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten. I’m not Julianne, the person who used to be her, to Natasha.

  To Natasha, I’m her sister, Evie. And she hates me.

  “What are you doing here?” she hisses at me. Greg turns, and he stares at me like he’s never seen me before. Has she never told him she has a sister?

  “I work here. What are you doing here?” I stand by her table and try to keep a professional smile on my face. I won’t be the one to embarrass Aiden tonight.

  She leans forward, and her silky white blouse gapes open a couple inches, revealing the top of a lace-edged beige bra I recognize. She skewers me with her eyes. “I was invited by the owner. He promised us a free dinner if I came to the opening tonight.”

  I realize she’s referring to the conversation Aiden and I had at the coffee shop when I was Natasha. I shake my head. I can’t believe she remembers that like it really happened to her—enough to show up and bring Greg to dinner here too.

  “How the hell did you know I’d be here?” she snaps, startling me, her voice above the level of ambient noise in the crowded restaurant. Greg appears to freeze, and there’s a hush amongst the closest tables. “Did you get this job tonight just to spring out at me? I told you before, we’re over. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a sister. I’m through playing your games.”

  Greg regards me with open interest, but raises his fork to try his swordfish and misses his mouth. Does he think this is dinner theater?

  “Natasha, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t.” There’s no mistaking the venom she’s spewing. She feels she has reason to hate me, and it runs deep.

  The thin, pale skin at her temple flushes red and lifts with the pulse of the vein underneath. “You knew I’d be here. Of course you did. You set it all up so I’d have to see you. But why is beyond me.”

  She’s making no sense. Other diners are beginning to stare. Although she’s kept her cultured voice low, I’m hovering at their table too long. My practiced smile is slipping. I click my heels together, a model of efficiency.

  “Enjoy your meal,” I ring out. I lean closer and in a lower voice tell her, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wish you both a beautiful evening. Bon appétit.”

  I turn to go, but she stops me with a hand on my arm. “Wait. Since you’re here, you might as well have this.” She reaches into her purse, a sleek black number different from when her purse was mine, and pulls out an opened envelope that had been addressed to her. I look at her in confusion, but she waves me away. “I told you six years ago I was done with your tricks. I don’t care what you think you know. Your stupid future. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

  She thrusts the envelope at me, her hand shaking. I flashback to Evie’s letter, the one with the ring in it that I still haven’t figured out what to do with. I don’t have time to think about it now. The second the envelope is in my grasp, Natasha turns away. It’s as if I’m behind a wall—she no longer sees me. I glance at Greg who’s still gaping at me before quickly refocusing his attention on what little is left of his swordfish. I clutch the letter and hurry to the bathroom to read it.

  ∞∞∞

  I don’t get the chance. Instead, I’m accosted by Jean-Claude who wants to know why table nine hasn’t received their entrées which are cooling at the pass, which is inexcusable. I apologize profusely and, the second he steps away, stuff the thick envelope in my waistband, under my shirt.

  It burns there, next to my skin, all night as I wait my tables, hustle to deliver food and refill drinks, and attempt to charm the diners into the warm, immersive atmosphere of Aiden’s vision.

  True to her word, Natasha doesn’t even look at me again. Greg does, with intense interest, every time I pass near them on the way to another table. I wonder if he’s looking for the resemblance between us or if, like me, he’s wondering what has gone so wrong to make Natasha hate Evie as she does.

  Has she written me a letter to explain it? Or just to yell at me some more? And why in the world would she address it to herself if she were going to give it to me? And why act so surprised to see me if she was carrying something with her to give to me? And what was that about my stupid future? Was she mad that Evie didn’t go to college? That she’d squandered her beauty and intelligence on drugs and stripping? Maybe hooking? Maybe stealing?

  How much did Natasha know about Evie’s life? Would she be able to help me figure some things out? Would knowing more about Evie and her childhood, and their lives together, help me come up with an idea about how to get out?

  My questions taunt, unanswerable, spearing me with urgency. And the letter chafes my skin, the corners of the envelope jabbing me, reminding me there are answers to be read.

  As I’m attending to table eight and their endless demands for more bread and butter, I see Natasha and Greg get up to leave. I can’t help it—I stare.

  I hesitate to walk back to the kitchen and instead watch Natasha to see if she’ll turn to look at her sister even once. I’m dying to know what’s in the letter and what path of fate has brought the two of us together tonight, but for the moment I’m intent on her. Does she really hate Evie? Or is this a blustery show to mask the protective love she’s hiding for her younger sister?

  Natasha must feel my eyes on her because she looks right at me before turning away quickly, her face reddening. She hadn’t meant to look. But she did. And because of that, her lack of self-control in that moment, I believe there’s hope for Natasha and Evangeline. There’s still love there.

  I smile, but before I can congratulate myself on my small victory for my host’s relationship with her sister, Aiden streams into the dining room and stops short at the sight of Natasha.

  That’s right, Aiden has met Natasha. He’s the one who invited her here tonight. Or at least that’s what she thinks. And he thinks. He really invited me. Funny how even though I’ve been several people now I keep forgetting whose body I was in when certain things happened. Despite what I look like on the outside, I always feel like me.

  Let that be a lesson. Start living life in my own body.

  Shut up, I tell myself.

  I make myself move on, though I stop to spy through the kitchen door on Aiden as he chats with Natasha and Greg. Their visit is brief and ends with Greg and Aiden shaking hands. I wonder what they talked about, but I don’t have to wonder long.

  When Aiden comes back into the kitchen, he seeks me out. “Hey! Natasha’s your sister?”

  “Um, yes.”

  His smile is wide. “What a coincidence! I met her a few weeks ago when I was out getting coffee.”

  “Oh.” I nod and smile blandly. I try to look pleasant and interested, but inside I’m boiling to know what went down.

  And if he was more interested in Natasha than he is in me.

  His eyebrows draw together and a frown of concern turns down his lips. “Your sister has cancer.”

  I did say my sister has cancer, didn’t I?

  “She does.” I nod and think fast. “But it’s the other sister. I have two.”

  “Laurel, right? From your aquarium story.”

  “Right.” Yikes.

  “I’m so sorry. I hope she beats it. Small world, though, meeting both you and Natasha.”
He has no idea. He turns to Jean-Claude who is patiently awaiting his attention. I hurry to check on my assigned tables that I’ve neglected in my preoccupation with Natasha and Aiden.

  It’s weird to be jealous of yourself.

  When the last guest leaves and we’ve finished cleaning the dining room and Aiden has turned the lights out, I think I’ll finally have my chance to read the letter, but I’m wrong.

  Most of the other servers have left. Only Gretchen and Jill are still in the hallway, gossiping and complaining. I’m grabbing my purse from my locker when Aiden rounds the corner.

  “Evie? Can I see you in my office for a minute? Goodnight, Gretchen, Jill.” They send several glances my way, but they gather their things and leave while I follow Aiden to his office.

  Did something happen with Natasha that he hasn’t mentioned? Does he think I sabotaged opening night? I run through all my tables, both first and second seating, and try to think if any of the mistakes I made warrant dismissal. I did spend a lot of time staring at Natasha and Greg and a little bit of time arguing with her at low volume. Someone could have said something to Aiden about that. Table seven had to wait a bit for their starter, but the cook had burned the first batch of scallops and had to redo them before Chef Gaspard caught him, which had nothing to do with me. I did forget table six’s extra salad dressing and had to go back for it, but that’s hardly a firable offense, is it?

  I drag my feet as I approach Aiden’s office. When I reach the door, he flings it open and stands there, one hand on the knob.

  “Are they gone?” He glances over my shoulder.

  I look behind me. “Who?”

  “Everyone.”

  I saw Gretchen and Jill leave. “Um, I guess.”

  He chucks me under the chin and grins wolfishly. “Then let’s get out of here and celebrate.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I step into Aiden’s apartment and immediately wish I could go home and change.

  His place is like he is—handsome, modern-looking, sexy. It’s a man’s apartment and is big on electronics—the TV on the living room wall is huge—and small on décor. But what objets d’art are there are large pieces that match the room and seem to have been chosen with care.

  I feel underdressed.

  Exhausted and sweaty from work, I smell like dinner service and I’m sure my serviceable blouse is sporting sweat stains, but I don’t look down to confirm it. Instead I keep my arms pinned to my sides and think about the lovely, stylish clothes I bought for Evie wasting away in my closet at home while I’m here in Aiden’s beautiful apartment looking like Cinderella before her fairy godmother showed up.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Aiden steps to a full bar with a line of bottles and my mind is scrambled. Too many choices.

  “Whatever you’re having.” I wander to the sliding doors and glimpse a gorgeous view of the Atlanta skyline between the partially open vertical blinds. “May I?” I gesture to the window.

  “Of course.”

  I pull the blinds back and look out at the glittering night and the almost full moon. I can’t believe I’m here. It’s almost a dream—so difficult to trust that I’m existing in this moment, alone with Aiden, whom I have so long admired. Downright pined for. And he’s here. And I’m here. And seconds from now, we could be wrapped up in each other’s arms fulfilling another well-worn dream of mine.

  In these dirty, smelly clothes I’ve been sweating in all day.

  “I’ve got to go!” I spin away from the window, but Aiden is already there, behind me, holding my drink aloft like a question.

  His brow furrows. “Why?”

  “It’s late. You’re tired. I’m tired. I should go home.”

  “I thought you were going to help me celebrate.” He waves the drink he’s still holding closer to me. I waver.

  He smiles and my stomach flips over. Of course I’ll stay. Why would I ever leave? “Okay.” I take the offered tumbler. “What is this?” I smell it, but can’t tell what it is. Rum and Coke? I don’t drink very often. Alcohol has never appealed to me. There’s the loss of control for one thing. And the expense. And it tastes terrible.

  I’m sure Evie was an old pro, what with her work history. She could probably even knock back bourbon and whiskey and all the other drinks I think taste like gasoline. I wonder if the current alcohol tolerance of the body I’m in would be the level of hers or mine.

  “Just try it.” He smiles and raises an eyebrow like a challenge.

  I take a small sip and then gulp it all down. “It’s Cherry Coke.”

  He laughs. “Uh-huh. I heard it was your favorite.”

  I wonder at the source of his information. He hadn’t asked someone, had he? Maybe he’d just been paying attention during the staff lunches.

  Feeling warm at the thought of his close observation—another thing we have in common since I’ve been observing him closely for months—I decide to stay. For now. I give myself permission to bolt at the least provocation.

  Aiden grabs the bottle of Cherry Coke from the fridge in the bar and pours me another. “That’s my limit,” I tell him. “No more after this or I’ll be up all night.”

  There’s a curve to his mouth, and his eyes dance wickedly. “I wouldn’t mind you keeping me up all night.”

  I giggle. I don’t think I’m normally a giggling person, but somehow tonight, as Evie, I feel younger and freer than I have in a long time. I feel like someone else. Staying up after your bedtime and drinking caffeine will do that to you, I guess.

  It can’t be that I’m in a smoking-hot body that Aiden is starting to pay a lot of attention to. That I’m released from the burden of three decades of being Laurel’s less beautiful and less interesting twin. That I’m square in the center of exactly where I’ve longed to be and the future is right here, waiting for me to reach out and grab it.

  Or him. So to speak.

  “Can we go out there?” I thumb toward the balcony with the beautiful view of the city and the night sky.

  “Absolutely.”

  He takes my empty glass and turns down the lights in the apartment before opening the sliding door onto the balcony. I step out into the night air, more charmed by the warm humid push of it on my skin than I was when we walked into his building fifteen minutes earlier. The sounds of the traffic below float up to me. After stowing our glasses, Aiden joins me, sliding the door closed behind him.

  He is close, but the small balcony is big enough that we’re not touching. I can feel his nearness like the electrically charged air before a thunderstorm. If either of us sways the least bit, we will be flush against each other and there will be no more pretending that something still might not happen tonight.

  I walk over to the edge, put my arms up on the guardrail, and look down, trying to see what I can of the street below us.

  “Please don’t do that.” Aiden’s voice is strained behind me.

  “Do what?”

  “Get so close to the edge.” He’s gesturing toward the railing, and I realize only his arm is the least bit extended. The rest of his body is practically stuck to the sliding glass door behind him.

  I smile at his sweetness. “Are you afraid of heights?”

  His upper lip is sweating. “Isn’t everyone?”

  I think about it. I doubt Evie is afraid of anything. “I don’t think so.” Even I don’t feel afraid here. And I’m afraid of a lot of things.

  But I don’t want to stress him out, so I back away from the edge. I immediately sense his body relax from the hyper-vigilant tautness he was sporting a moment ago. I belatedly notice that there’s not a table or chair to be found in this space. He must not spend any time out here.

  “We can go back inside, if you like.”

  He opens the door. “If you’re ready.” He waits for me to precede him back into the apartment before closing the door and turning the lights back up.

  I hover in the middle of the living room, uncertain whether I should sit on the cou
ch or keep standing. Which would make it easier for him to kiss me?

  Should I even be thinking of this in Evie’s body? What exactly am I prepared to do tonight?

  Evie may not have been very particular about who she shared her body with, but I feel deep empathy with her. I’m sharing her life. I don’t judge her and instead think that sorrowful events are responsible for the dark path Evie started down before I found her. And just because she has made some bad choices and some wrong turns does not give me carte blanche to use her body any old way I want. Like Doctor Who said, I owe her a duty of care.

  But it’s also the only body I possess at the moment. Evie’s body is possessed. Literally.

  What was once Evie’s body is now the only vehicle I have with which to express myself physically. And I feel like I have a lot of expressing I need to do. Especially to Aiden.

  I feel like even Evie herself would tell me to go for it.

  Aiden is behind me. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but instead of sitting, I turn around and kiss him.

  He’s surprised at first, I think, but he hauls me closer, and I melt into him, slipping my arms up around his neck to coax him closer still. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding teasingly against mine, my center core leaping into flames of red-hot wanting.

  Without opening his eyes, he steers us to the couch until the backs of my legs are against it. Gently he tips us down until we’re reclining on the couch, entwined. He trails kisses down my neck until my breathing is as ragged as his.

  I slide out from under him and jump up. For a split second he’s kissing the air. “Can I use your shower?”

  He looks up and blinks, dazed. I want to kiss his face all over again, but I’m firm in my longing to clean the day off me first.

  “Sure.” He runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Of course. Let me get you a towel.” He shows me to his bathroom which I’m pleased to note is clean and well-scrubbed. I wonder if he has a maid service or if he cleans it himself. The result is excellent, either way, but somehow I like picturing him scrubbing the tile. Masculine. Capable. And personally invested in the condition of the grout.