by J. Daniels
“Some relationships are.”
“Cliché?” she asks.
“Complicated.”
Her head drops into a quick nod.
I may have touched on a sore subject, so I decide not to pry any further as I scoop out a hearty serving of green beans onto the next plate and hand it off. Maybe changing the subject would be best.
“Have you ever been to an engagement party?” I ask.
She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head as she hands out another bowl. “No, I don’t think so. People have engagement parties?”
“Apparently.”
I tap my spoon on the edge of the serving tray, knocking off a few beans. The idea of throwing a party to celebrate locking down a mate seems a bit unnecessary to me. Isn’t that the whole purpose of the wedding?
I lean my hip against the table while my hand absentmindedly stirs the beans. “I’m trying to decide if these parties are usually formal events or not. I own one dress and I’m not sure it’s fancy enough. It’s pretty plain.”
Riley tilts the large pot of clam chowder toward her and peers down into it. “I guess it depends on the couple having it. If they have money, why not throw it around?” She looks up at me as she lifts the pot off the table. “I’m going to get a little bit more before people start coming up for seconds. Are you good?”
I look down into my tray. Not many people stopped for the green beans, although they look and smell delicious.
“I have more than half. I think I’m good.”
As she walks to the back of the kitchen with her pot, I slip my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and step away from the table.
I have no idea what Reed’s ex-girlfriend’s money situation is. She could’ve blown all her cash on the heavily perfumed invitation sitting on my bedroom dresser. This party could be low-key and informal. It could also be an event that requires Reed to wear a tux.
Shit. I can’t handle him in something rented.
Me: Hey, it’s me. Is this thing on Saturday going to be really fancy? I don’t know if I have anything to wear.
It’s not raining today, which means Reed is most likely at work. He might not have his phone on him. I could be stuck making a judgment call on this, but I don’t want to buy something I’ll only wear once if I don’t even need it.
Reed: Who is this?
I stare at the screen, mouth falling open. Really? Who is this?
Me: Beth.
Me: Beth Davis.
Me: From McGill’s.
Reed: Sweetheart, even if I didn’t know who this was, which I did, you could’ve stopped at Beth. I would’ve figured it out.
Me: You’re hilarious.
If there is a way to text sarcasm, I pray I just nailed it.
Reed: I thought I was funny. So did Connor.
Me: Who is Connor?
Reed: One of my workers. I asked his opinion. He laughed.
Me: He’s sucking up to you. You sign his paycheck.
Reed: Technically, my mother signs his paycheck. She runs the office. I just tell him what to do.
Me: Like laugh at your poor attempts to be funny.
Reed: Hold on. I’m programming your number into my phone, Beth Davis from McGill’s.
Me: You aren’t seriously putting me in like that, are you?
My phone beeps as a photo message comes through, a screen shot of his contacts opened up to my name, Beth Davis from McGill’s. I keep my laugh subdued, okay, that’s somewhat funny, and decide he isn’t the only one out of the two of us who can crack a joke.
Me: You could put me in under the nickname I went by in high school.
Reed: What was that?
Me: Beth Deep Throat Davis.
Holy shit. I cannot believe I just typed that.
I have never texted anything that . . . filthy before. Ever. Not even a few words that hinted around to something sexual.
What possessed me to pop my dirty-texting cherry with Reed Tennyson? I was going for funny. Maybe that wasn’t his kind of humor. Shit. Shit! My throat suddenly feels tight, my tongue too large for my mouth. What was I thinking? I could’ve used my actual nickname growing up. It isn’t funny, but it’s at least a word that wouldn’t make my insides feel like they’re being held over an open flame.
My thumbs move frantically, trying to undo my error.
Me: Sorry. I don’t know what made me send that. I’ve never been called that before. My momma always called me Bethie when I was younger. That’s the only nickname I’ve ever had. If you could erase what I’ve sent you prior to this message and never speak of it again, I’d appreciate it.
I’ve never been the type of person who recovers well from uncomfortable situations. If anything, I’m usually making it worse on myself. Case-in-point.
Me: I’d never be called Deep Throat. I have a really sensitive gag reflex. When the doctor does that strep test with the long Q-tip and scratches the back of your throat, I almost throw up.
Me: Luckily, I don’t get dick very often.
I nearly swallow my tongue.
Me: OMG. Sick! I meant I don’t get sick very often!
Me: Ducking autocorrect!
Me: What the hell is dicking?
Me: OMG. What is happening?
I’m a second away from hurling my phone against the nearest hard surface, or dropping it into the pot of steaming chowder Riley is carrying my way.
Reed: I think your phone loves dick.
Some of my embarrassment subsides as I read his cavalier response. The hand covering half my face slides down and resumes typing.
Me: I am so sorry if I made this awkward.
Reed: Not awkward for me. You’ve kept me amused on my break, which is now over. Text me your address. I’ll dick you up at 5:30 p.m. on Saturday. (See what I did there?)
I muffle my laugh with my hand. Good one.
Me: Oh, wait! You didn’t answer my question.
Reed: What was it?
Me: The party. Fancy? Do I need to dress up?
Reed: Probably. Molly’s family is loaded. They’ll have all the best shit.
Me: Okay. Have a great day constructing.
Have a great day constructing? Good Lord. What is wrong with me? I should not be unsupervised with a cell phone.
I step up next to Riley as the line for second helpings begins to form. The previous conversation circles in my head, heating my skin and lifting the corner of my mouth.
I don’t get dick very often.
Forget texting him my address. My whore of an iPhone will have a field day with Balzac Street.
I THINK IN ANOTHER LIFE, I had to have been a man.
I’ve never liked shopping. Never. It’s one of the reasons almost everything I own is something my momma used to wear that I’ve altered to fit my body. She was little like me, but had a bigger chest, so most of her shirts hang funny until I take a needle and thread to them. I’ve gotten pretty good at fixing up stuff to fit me. I still go shopping for some things, but honestly, I’ve always liked my momma’s style better than anything I can ever find at the mall. Being teased in school for wearing torn concert tees and ratty flannels didn’t stop me. I didn’t care what people had to say. I was me. I have always been me. I’ll never change for anyone, and if someone doesn’t like it they were never meant for me to know anyway. Life’s too short to dress boring and predictable. I don’t want to wear things that make me uncomfortable in my own skin. But sometimes, you have to bite the bullet. Sometimes, you have to drag yourself into very overly priced boutiques, searching for something to wear to a party which will apparently have all the best shit.
I’m on dress number eight, and I’m exhausted.
“Mommy, look! Buy dis! It’s got a puppy on it!”
The cutest little voice seeps into the small dressing room I’m standing in, bringing the only smile to my face since I stepped into this god-awful strip mall.
“Nolan, put that back and come stand by me, please.”
Nolan? Nolan .
. . why do I know that name?
I secure the zipper underneath my arm and step out to view this disaster I’m wearing in a three-way mirror. As I’m turning to gauge how wrong this thing looks from the back, an infectious little laugh comes from somewhere in the store. God, that’s adorable.
“What’s up, Clapton?”
I lean back to look out into the store from the secluded area of the dressing rooms.
The red-head who was sitting next to Reed the other day at the pizza place is standing just outside the doorway, leaning her elbow against a rack of blouses. She tilts her head with a coy smile.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Her eyes fall to my dress, then a finger darts directly at the material rejecting my body. She hisses through a grimace. “That dress,” she says, her voice tight with judgment. “It’s not working for you at all.”
I breathe a raspy sigh while running my hands over the satin covering my stomach. “Tell me about it. None of these dresses are working for me.”
“It’s giving you this double boob thing. Does it have a built-in bra?”
“Yes,” I answer, staring down at my chest. Double boob? That can’t be the only issue.
“Mm mmm. That’s it. That’s the problem.”
“Oh hey! It’s you!”
I look up as the other woman from the pizza shop walks over, stopping at the rack of clothes and wearing one of those kangaroo baby carriers on her chest. The little guy against her makes a soft, cooing sound, while the boy I’m certain was responsible for the giggling hides behind her legs, peeking his head around her thigh.
Nolan. That’s why I know that name. The cutie with the hardhat.
She looks at me like I’m an old friend. Like I’m someone who already means something to her.
“It’s so good to see you. Beth, right?”
“Yes, hi. It’s good to see you guys too.” I wave at Nolan and he giggles again, ducking behind a leg.
I can’t decide how I want to prevent this nightmare I’m wearing from blinding them. I’m fidgeting, but it has nothing to do with nervousness as my arms cross over my chest, then flatten against my stomach, then tug at the material, hoping it’ll somehow tear from my body to reveal something perfect underneath.
I look down at the front of me, then back up at them. “I’m sorry. I forgot your names.”
“Tessa.” The red-head speaks up first.
“Mia.”
The little boy reaches up and tugs on Mia’s shirt. “Mommy, can I pway with your phone?” She hands it to him and he shifts the Playskool tool belt around his waist before hoping up on the chair just inside the dressing room area. His little feet swing in the air.
“Stay out of the app store, please.” Mia tilts the hard hat on his head to see his face. He smiles up at her with the cutest dimples I’ve ever seen, two massive craters sinking in his cheeks, then drops his attention to the phone in his hands.
“I love his little tool belt,” I admire, watching the proud smile spread on Mia’s face. “Is he really into building stuff?”
She works a lock of her dark hair out of the tiny fist claiming it. “He is now. Reed’s given him a new obsession.”
“Speaking of Reed.”
I look over at Tessa, who’s beaming like she’s in on some big secret. Her bright green eyes are wild and knowing, directed solely at me. She pops the gum in her mouth and wiggles her eyebrows before adding, “Ready for Saturday?”
My eyes falls to the front of me. “Not if I can’t find something to wear.”
Tessa rushes out of the dressing room, barreling past Mia.
“Where are you going?” Mia asks over her shoulder. When Tessa doesn’t answer, Mia turns back to me. “So, how are you liking Ruxton? Reed told me you just moved here from Kentucky.”
My eyes widen. He talked about me.
I softly clear my throat. “I like it. I haven’t really explored a whole lot yet, but everyone seems really nice. I like the small town feel. I’ve never had that.”
“Yeah, I’ve always loved that about living here. Everything is so laid back.”
“It’s so different from Louisville. I hated the fast-paced city life. I’m too boring for that. Being here, it just feels right, you know?” She smiles when I pause. “I’m really glad this is where I ended up.”
Her expression turns tender. “I think I said something very similar to that two years ago.”
“You didn’t grow up here?”
“No, I did, I just moved away for a few years. Tessa had me up for the summer and I never left.” Something flashes in her eyes, a memory that brightens them. “I don’t know what it is about this town. Maybe it’s the people.”
“Yeah,” I agree, turning my head when I feel the blood rush in my veins. The dress I’m wearing somehow becomes tighter, more constricting against my ribs. “I think it’s the people,” I say quietly as I tug the material away from my body.
Her delicate laugh grabs my attention. She could pry, ask me if I’m referring to Reed or anyone else in particular, but she doesn’t.
“We should all hang out sometime. Tessa and I could use another girl in our group. We’re quickly getting outnumbered.” She places a hand on the back of the baby’s head and lifts her eyebrows, waiting for my agreement. I say agreement because I doubt anyone has ever said no to Mia. She seems too sweet to let down.
“I’d love to hang out with you guys.”
“We have game nights and stuff at my house. It’s really a lot of fun. And you need to meet the guys.” She begins twisting back and forth, bouncing a little when the baby begins fussing. “Ben, my husband, is Tessa’s brother. She’s dating Luke who works with Ben. And you already know Reed.”
She bites her bottom lip to keep her smile under control. That only fuels mine. Ear to ear, I grin like he’s standing directly in front of me. She drops her mouth to the top of the baby’s head and lowers her voice.
“CJ comes sometimes. He’s really nice too.”
I do a quick count of the men, including the two in the room. “You’re definitely getting outnumbered,” I tell her as Tessa walks back into the dressing area.
“Here we go,” she says, marching directly at me.
“Oh, uh, is . . .” I stammer as several garments are shoved against my chest. All black dresses, but different styles.
Tessa guides me into the dressing room I emerged from minutes ago with a hand to my shoulder.
“Any of these dresses will do for Saturday. I guessed a size five-six, was I right?”
Wow. Who can guess someone’s size just by looking at them?
“Yeah, that’s . . .” I look down at the dresses in my hand, then back up at her. “How did you . . .”
“It’s a gift.”
She takes one of the dresses and hangs it up on the rod along the wall, repeating this until I’m left holding one. Her red hair is slightly disheveled, falling out of the loose pony at the base of her neck. We’re similar in size, but I have a couple inches on Tessa. Mia towers over us both. The two of them couldn’t be more opposite, not in appearance or demeanor.
Turning to face me, Tessa brings her hands to rest on her hips, looking satisfied with herself.
“You need to look slammin’ at this thing. You have great tits, so use them. All of these dresses can be worn without a bra, and that’s exactly how they should be worn. Don’t cage those babies up. You want to leave some things to the imagination, but a bangin’ cleavage isn’t one of them.” She moves past me and closes the door behind her, leaving me alone in the small room.
I hold the dress up in my hands to get a good look at it. It’s short, the material form-fitting, and the part that would cover my chest is sheer.
“This would show nipple,” I mumble, sticking my hand down the neck of the dress.
“Nothing wrong with that!”
I laugh at Tessa’s remark, then turn my head so I’m staring at the door. My arms drop. “Are you two waiting for me to try these on?”
&n
bsp; “Yup,” both women answer, their voices light with excitement.
“Even if you don’t like it, step out and let us see it,” Tessa says. “I might be able to tweak it so it’ll work.”
“Some of these are really short.” I pass a hand over the dresses hanging in front of me. I’m not used to wearing anything like this. “And this one . . . who wears a dress that has a slit up this high?”
Forget about the possibility of everyone at this thing seeing my chest. This one would show vagina.
“I own that one in white.”
I pull my hand back into a fist, wincing. My eyes fixate on the door as uncomfortable silence fills the longest seconds of my life.
Shit. Recover, Beth! Say something!
“It’s . . . I love it. It’s so pretty.” My words stick to my tongue, struggling to escape my mouth. I’m insulting my new friends. Awesome. I’m sure they’ll be dying to hang out with me now.
As my head drops against the wall, laughter erupts from behind the door.
“Tessa, tell her you’re kidding!”
“I am. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That was too easy.” Tessa’s voice breaks with a cackle. “Whew. I crack myself up sometimes.”
“You’re a brat,” Mia teases, her voice getting louder as she moves closer to the door. “Beth, we’re ready when you are. Take your time.”
I like these girls. They make even this torture enjoyable.
Lifting my head, I pull my shoulders back and switch the dress in my hand for another that’s hanging up. “Okay, but I’m not doing nipple. I’d like to leave whether or not I have any piercings to the imagination.”
I KNOW I SHOULDN’T FEEL this way.
I know this entire night will all be for show. One giant lie.
I know this isn’t going to mean anything, and whatever happens at this party will be done based on the need to make our roles believable.
But I can’t help my excitement. Reed has made me feel more comfortable in the short time we’ve spent together than any other person I’ve ever been around. It’s easy with him, and not in a chummy friend sort of way. My heartbeat rivals a hummingbird on crack in his presence. I’ve never had many friends, but the ones I did have never elicited that type of reaction.
And now I can’t even hide it.