Naomi’s eyes flicker to mine. “Oh,” she says softly. “We’re going dress shopping. Time to haggle over prices and cry and swoon. It’s the big event.”
“Want to come?” Birdie asks me that—and seems shocked to have done so. “I’m totally kidding, obviously. This would be your exact hell on earth.”
“I think I’ll live.”
“What?” Birdie holds her breath, letting it out in a giant rush. “You’re coming dress shopping?”
I stop trying to hide my smile when it becomes impossible. “Looks like I am.”
Birdie turns to Naomi. “Can we wait for him to shower?”
The pageant coach is watching me thoughtfully, and the more we neglect to look away, the more my pulse starts to weigh down with a now familiar thickness. One that’s only ever been inspired by this one woman who comes with a shit ton of complications. “Of course,” she drawls. “Try not to clog the drain.”
“I make no promises.”
I leave them laughing in the kitchen, feeling lighter than I have in a while, save the impossible-to-slake ache in my sweatpants. Two hours later, though, I realize I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I agreed to go dress shopping.
*
It’s absolute bedlam.
There’s a thirty percent off sale on ball gowns happening at the department store, and while I appreciate Naomi’s attempt to save me money, I would have gladly paid full price to avoid the screeching of hangers on clothing racks and squealing. There is so much squealing.
None of it is coming from my sister. I’ve seen her expression before, usually worn by men on the wrong side of an ambush. She’s trying to talk herself out of retreating, but keeping one eye on the exit. Naomi has a deceptively casual arm around Birdie’s shoulder, ushering her through the endless racks of sparkly, poofy dresses, and I know she’s prepared to tackle my sister if she tries to run. Not that you could gauge it based on her composure, as if she’s shopped for dresses in a veritable sanitarium every day of her life.
I’m following them around a circular rack, trying to ignore the curious looks and whispers I’m getting from the other shoppers. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“We’ll know when we find it,” Naomi breezes. “But I think Birdie is a winter.”
“Come again?”
“Her complexion will pair well with winter colors. Navy, violet, mulberry…even a shocking pink could—”
“Help me look less like a goth who strayed from the pack?” Birdie supplies, scrubbing at her blue hair.
Chuckling, Naomi pulls my sister close. “Now, Birdie. You’re gorgeous in jeans and a sweatshirt, but just you wait. Ball gowns are a higher power. They boost things up, tuck others away and smooth creases in between—”
“Of all the days to join you, I choose this one,” I mutter.
“But it’s more about the way a gown makes you feel, though. The right one will bolster your confidence.” She adds in a murmur, “If we find the right one, you’ll finally see what I see.”
“Pink.” Birdie squares her shoulders. “Natalie would have chosen pink.”
“What color do you want?”
I’m grateful when Naomi asks the question because I was about to do the same. When Birdie came to me wanting to compete in the pageant in Natalie’s memory, I hoped it would give her something to focus on. A positive way to remember her twin. Did I do the right thing? She seems almost single-minded in her determination to make this experience exactly what Natalie would have chosen. Is she losing sight of herself in the process?
“I want pink, too,” Birdie says with a tight smile. “The shocking kind.”
Naomi lets her arm fall as Birdie walks away, scooting around a trio of mothers toward another rack. After a minute, Naomi goes back to sifting through the offerings, but there’s a wrinkle of concern between her brows.
“What is it?”
She hums, lifting up a blue dress covered in at least nine thousand sequins for inspection. “It’s odd. She’s doing all of this because of Natalie, but she’s only spoken to me about her sister on one occasion. Other than that, it’s what you heard there. Natalie would want this or that.” She chews her lip a moment, before glancing up at me. “Do you know what their relationship was like? Before it happened?”
“No clue.” I scrub at the cold that surfaces on the back of my neck. “I remember them as kids, mostly. They were late additions for my parents. I left when they were still in elementary school.” I swallow something heavy. “Every time I came back they were taller, had new haircuts, sounded different.”
“It must have been strange. To get to know Birdie as an adult.”
“I don’t think I have yet,” I admit, watching Birdie pick up a Pepto-colored creation and promptly hang it back up. “Not even close.”
“Is that why you came today?” Naomi asks softly.
My nod feels stiff. “Probably too late. It’s already been six months of going through the motions. She has no reason to think I’d want to change that. Only that I’d feel obligated.”
“Which is the truth?”
“I want to,” I say firmly, meaning it.
“Trust that she’s smart enough to see that.”
We both look down to find her hand on my arm. I know she’s going to snatch it back before she actually does it, so I catch her wrist. “Hey.”
Her pulse jumps under my fingertips. “Yes?”
“I don’t like the way we left things last night.”
“You don’t?”
If I wasn’t intent on straightening things out, I might have laughed over her breathy, little answers. “No. I don’t like the way we leave things any night, frankly. But last night was worse because you, uh…I upset you.” I notice a woman watching us over the top of the rack and raise an eyebrow at her until she keeps moving. “Friendly fire is all well and good. But I don’t like upsetting you.”
She shifts, and I actually hear the seam of her jeans rasp together, turning my mouth dry. “Could have fooled me. I accept your apology, nonetheless,” she whispers, searching my face. “You’re different today. Did you have some sort of middle-of-the-night epiphany?”
“Didn’t sleep much, so I definitely had time.” Our eyes stay locked for several beats. “Hard to explain, but…I’m trained to see things from the perspective of my teammates. Could be that having Musgrave around made me take a look at myself.”
“And having him around made you realize you shouldn’t say dick to a lady?” Naomi’s hand flies out of my grip to smack directly over her mouth. “I did not just say that.”
Laughter builds in my chest. “Now you’ve done it. The ball gowns heard you and everything. You’ve scandalized the sequins.”
“Stop it.” She smacks me in the arm. “Don’t tell Birdie. I’ve just gotten her to stop saying the F word every time she breathes.”
“Which F word is that?”
“Oh no. You won’t trip me up twice, Blackbeard.” With an exaggerated eyelash flutter, she starts to give me her back in favor of the dress rack, but turns to face me again with a serious expression. “I’m glad Musgrave’s visit nudged you into getting more involved.” She wets her lips. “It means a lot to Birdie that you came today. I can tell.”
“Musgrave being here made me take notice that I’m missing out on sweet Naomi by being an asshole.” My hand moves out of the need to touch her, my fingertips dragging up her bare arm. “Realizing I need to get more involved with Birdie…that’s your doing, beauty queen.”
I walk away before I do something stupid like try and kiss her in the middle of pageant dress hell. And I head over to take my place among the long-suffering gentlemen in the seating area outside the changing room. Jesus, she’s not available for kissing. When is the rest of me going to accept what my mind already knows?
*
Naomi
“Birdie, is everything okay in there?”
Silence ticks by. “Er. Yes? I don’t know.”
&
nbsp; The woman assisting her daughter in the dressing room beside ours passes me a curious look. I send her a baleful glance in return that immediately reminds me of my mother.
“What was that groan about?” Birdie calls.
“Genetics.” I shake myself. “I’m coming in.”
“My turn to groan.”
Ignoring her theatrics, I ease the curtain aside just enough to sneak in—and my mouth falls open. Birdie is standing on the small pedestal in a rose-pink strapless gown, hugging her elbows with a pale face. Her awkward posture doesn’t take away from the dress’s influence, however. I’ve been watching girls walk in and out of these dressing rooms for half an hour and none of them have taken my breath away like Birdie. Yes, I’m biased. She is stunning in the gown, though—yet she seems more distressed than elated.
“Birdie Bristow,” I breathe. “It’s incredible. You’re incredible. How does it feel?”
“I just want to take it off.”
The tremor in her voice stirs alarm in my belly. “Okay. Let’s take it off. We can try the blue one.” She doesn’t move. And when I try to slide my hand beneath her arm to reach the side zipper, she stiffens and doesn’t budge. She’s frozen. “Birdie, what’s wrong?”
A hiccup tumbles out of her mouth. “I can’t do this.” Tears fill her eyes where none existed before. “I look just like Natalie in this dress, but I’m not her. I can’t be her.”
“You don’t have to be. No one wants you to be anyone but Birdie.”
“You’re wrong. They would have stayed if she’d been the one to live.” The words are delivered between chattering teeth and I can barely make them out, but I do and my heart wrenches up to my throat. She has to be talking about her parents. Oh Lord. There’s so much more here than a girl who doesn’t like a dress. How long has she been holding these damaging thoughts inside of her? “Get me out of this thing. I’m like a cheap knockoff.”
“No. That’s not true.” With shaking hands, I finally get to the zipper and tug it down, wincing as she heaves a breath. “Please look at me.”
She tunnels both hands through her hair and sits down on the pedestal in a slip, the dress still in a tangle around her ankles. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a few.”
“Honey, you can talk to me.”
Birdie’s voice goes up several octaves, bringing a hush down over the rest of the buzzing dressing room. “I don’t need to talk.”
The curtain opens behind me, and Jason’s reflection appears in the mirror. His frown deepens when he sees his sister in obvious distress. “Birdie?”
He bypasses me in a single stride and stops just short of his sister, clearly unsure of what to do. His fingers flex at his sides, chest lifting and falling. Finally, he goes down on his knees and slowly wraps her in a hug. Their stilted body language tells me it’s their first hug in a very long time—and I should leave and let them have the moment. I am leaving, but Jason’s eyes find mine in the mirror and implore me to remain. I don’t have this, they tell me. Stay.
“I’m trying to do this in a way that would make her proud.” Birdie’s face is turned into Jason’s shirt, muffling her words. “It’s too much pressure trying to make her kinds of choices and decisions. It’s like a fat fucking reminder I never could. She was always better.”
“Not better, Birdie. Different,” Jason rasps. “When you were kids, Nat could never hula hoop as long as you. She threw herself facedown into the grass once, crying about it. Remember?”
She sniffs. “Vaguely.”
“You walked first. You won a spelling bee in fourth grade and Nat came dead last. I’m embarrassed I remember this, but you were better at braiding doll hair.” He pulls her tighter into the embrace. “People shine at different times. Maybe she was having one of her moments right before she died, so you’ll always remember it that way. Remember how you felt less…bright. But she was headed for a valley. We all head there eventually—and then we come out of it. Just like you will. You’ll shine, too. You’re shining now.”
Jason’s words make my pulse skip. Twice. Three times. It won’t stop fluttering all over the place, listening to him find the absolute perfect words for his sister. And they’re perfect because they’re not rehearsed or contrived. He didn’t try to tell Birdie she was just as wonderful as Natalie. He was honest. Maybe one sister was standing in the sunshine and one was in the shade—and maybe the best way to get through today is to acknowledge that truth and stumble forward toward the next obstacle.
“Let’s go home,” Jason says, ruffling Birdie’s streaks of blue hair. “You don’t have to sneak a beer after I go to bed tonight. I’ll let you have one free and clear. One.”
Birdie bursts out with a watery laugh. “You knew?”
“One beer never hurt anybody.” He stands and helps Birdie to her feet. “Get dressed. Take your time. We’ll meet you outside.”
She eases down onto a velvet stool with a deep breath. “’kay. See you in five.”
My emotions are playing leap frog as I lead Jason out of the curtained stall. I’m worried for Birdie. For the direction I’ve taken with her coaching. I missed so much behind the scenes. What if I did more harm than good by not recognizing the pain she hides behind the humor? It’s possible I’m not equipped for this at all.
In a twist, it’s Jason that’s up to the task of comforting his sister—and my admiration for him in this moment is endless. That’s the emotion leaping right past my self-doubt to take the lead. He was amazing in there. Glancing back at him over my shoulder as we walk past the rows of dressing stalls, I see he’s questioning how he handled Birdie, just as I’m doing to myself. He’s totally oblivious to the fact that he saved the day.
My pulse bongs in my ears with the need to show him. To wipe away his expression of uncertainty. I stop walking and turn, searching right to left for a place to talk alone. But as he draws closer, I see Jason needs reassurance. Nearness. Needs to be grounded. My actions take place all on their own, as if my body has no choice but to compensate for what Jason is lacking. I pull him into an empty dressing room and yank the curtain closed.
And his mouth is on mine before I’ve secured a breath.
He wrestles me back against the wall, our mouth slanted and suctioned together, his hips knocking into mine and pressing, pressing. “Please, baby,” he groans into my gasping mouth, his face pained. “Please.”
“Yes.”
The kiss is a downpour of rain you can’t see through, powerful and hypnotic and intoxicating. It’s that first trip around a Ferris wheel, only we’re moving at a hundred miles an hour. I’m instantly dizzy at the taste of him, tobacco and coffee and mint toothpaste. I throw my arms up around his neck and cling, letting him smash me into the unbreakable wall of his body while his mouth bears down on mine again and again. He slants our lips together, sipping at me, changing directions, punctuated air leaving his nose, like he’s out of control. Snapped.
Just like that.
The first time our tongues touch, we break apart on strangled moans, Jason’s hands like vises on my hips. They slip lower to my bottom and lever me up so I can wrap my thighs around his hips. The changing room wall shudders with the force of his drive and I bite down on my lip so I don’t scream. He’s so thick and ready and right there. Right where I need him.
Our mouths tangle again and this time, there’s more exploration. We’re fighting for ground, trying to best one another with the most thorough taste. I can’t get enough. I can’t—
“Easy,” he pulls back to rasp at my mouth. “Easy, baby. You can’t kiss me like that when I can’t have you. It’s just cruel.”
I nod, common sense dawning slowly but surely. “I j-just…” Lord, his mouth is so sexy. And it’s right there, masculine and wet. He’s looking at mine, too. “You were amazing in there. You were a hero.” I drag my attention to find his eyes. “I’m proud of you.”
“So this is some kind of…what? Reward? I don’t deserve one. It’s what I should have been doing all a
long.” There’s conflict in his face, but he lets it go with a curse. “Hell, I’ll take what I can get from you.” He leans his forehead against mine and we breathe together. Once, twice. “I wasn’t sure if I said the right—”
“You did.”
“I’m not good with that kind of thing.”
“Bull honkey.”
His laugh warms my whole body, head to toe. “This is the part when I have to set you down and walk away, isn’t it?”
I nod, afraid to admit to myself it’s the last thing I want. I drop my legs from around Jason’s hips and he eases me to the floor with a wince, adjusting himself in his jeans. He shakes his head and growls at me as I back through the curtains…and find us the object of rapt interest to every pageant mama in the changing room. Birdie picks that moment to exit her stall, raising an eyebrow at the disapproval being leveled at us.
“Jason tried to light a cigar. Right there in the middle of the department store,” I blurt the lie, linking arms with Birdie and ushering her out of the dressing room, my chin in the air. “Do you believe the gall of him?”
A glance back over my shoulder tells me he’s fighting laughter, but his smile smooths out fast into something hotter and we mimic each other with a slow release of breath. His hungry expression is one that will probably stay with me for days. A lot like that kiss.
Oh, who am I kidding? It’ll be a lot longer than that.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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Username: IWant2Believe2000
Is Bigfoot an alien? I have a better question for you.
Is Bigfoot NOT an alien? Think about it.
Naomi
I need to get away for a while and clear my head.
No better distraction than marching naked in a parade.
Yes. I am going to the body paint parade today and will be joining as an active participant. I’ve already chosen a design and a local artist. No sense in being spontaneous without a little planning first, right?
Runaway Girl Page 14