Butterflies Don't Lie

by B. R. Myers

  How-hole seemed to contemplate this as we pushed through the swinging kitchen door. Clyde had left, but Loretta was in the back corner, organizing tubs of condiments in the fridge. She was humming to herself, totally immersed in the task.

  We stopped by the salad station. He leaned his back against the counter, one foot gingerly crossed over the other. “Maybe they’ve realized their limit and don’t want to spoil a good thing,” he said.

  I put a hand on one hip. “There’s no way one bite could ruin the whole meal,” I said, unconvinced. “I think people who leave the last bite are masochists or something. It’s like they’re bragging about being able to deny themselves satisfaction.”

  A flash of mischief crossed his face. “Masochists?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Geez, what is it with you twisting my words!” I fought the smile that was tugging at the corner of my mouth. I did a pretend huff to prove I was unaffected by his wit. “I feel badly for that last piece. Why wasn’t it good enough to eat too? I mean, it’s right in front of them, waiting to be taken.”

  “Maybe they’re full,” he said. “You’re making it too complicated. The most logical answer is usually the right one.”

  I gave up. “Whatever.”

  He pushed off the counter and went over to a row of low cupboards by the window. “Or maybe,” he started, “people don’t want the thing that’s right in front of them.”

  I crinkled up my nose. “That makes no sense,” I said to his back. “If they didn’t want it, why did they order it in the first place?” I added one of my snorts to prove my point. I’d won this argument. I glanced across the room. Loretta was on her knees, still singing into the fridge, totally ignoring us.

  How-hole bent down and reached into one of the cupboards, then pulled out my Kipling bag.

  My reaction was immediate and totally genuine. I took the bag from him and hugged it to my chest. “No way! Thank you!” I was so happy to see my fuzzy yellow gorilla I forgot to be embarrassed by the reminder of last night.

  He looked pleased, his blue ocean eyes twinkling back at me. My stomach swooped a bit and I wondered if I still had some alcohol left in my system.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I tallied your quiz.” He gave me a grin. “Interesting results.” In his other hand he held up my magazine.

  Happy feeling, gone.

  I hugged the bag tighter. “You don’t know anything about me,” I told him. If anyone was a master at these quizzes, it was me.

  He pointed to my face. “I know your nostrils do that weird thing when you get nervous.”

  I ignored his comment, but stayed quiet. I felt like we were approaching a potentially awkward moment. And I’d had my fill of those lately, thank you very much. I didn’t want to talk about last night with him. I wished we could keep talking about dirty dishes or anything else that didn’t make me sound like a total mess.

  But How-hole wasn’t dropping the subject that easily. “All the answers are in your magazine,” he said. Then he flipped to the dog-eared page. He stared at me, waiting for my answer. “Aren’t you even curious which kind of guy is your best match?” His tone was completely serious, not even a hint of teasing.

  Even though I’d spent the last half hour in the cold basement, a prickle of heat moved over my skin. My mouth went dry. I hadn’t realized how close we were standing. His Adam’s apple moved up and down.

  I nodded.

  He cleared his throat and began to read: “You are attracted to the guy who makes you explore the edge of your comfort zone, but you’re no risk-taker. Only the guy who can make you feel safe and appreciated will help you conquer your fears.”

  I frowned. That didn’t sound like me at all. “I was drunk when I did that,” I quietly defended. “Stupid thought process.”

  “More like uninhibited thought process.” He rolled up the magazine and passed it to me. “This was your brain on truth serum.”

  Whoomp, there it is. Finally.

  This is what I’d been dreading all shift. How-hole had been waiting to spring this little nugget of extra humiliation to make fun of me.

  “No,” I rebutted, a little more strongly this time, “more like moron serum. Besides, I couldn’t care less what you think.”

  “Ah, but your nostrils tell a different story.” He gave me a grin, then put his hands in his shorts pockets. “We can talk about it more tomorrow,” he said. Then he made his way to the back door.

  I stayed in place, watching him leave. He paused at the screen door, one hand resting on the handle. “Just for the record, though, Kels,” he said, “I’ll let you keep your name after we get married.” Then he flashed me another grin and disappeared down the porch steps.

  I looked down at the magazine and flipped to the quiz. I closed my eyes and groaned. I had written Mrs. Kelsey Mulder all over the page.

  A new level of terror hit me in the gut.

  Does he even know Blaine? Did he show the magazine to everyone at the party?

  Warning bells were going off in my head. I was supposed to be the one who told Blaine how I felt, not some fellow partygoer.

  Besides, I needed that check mark.

  I raced out the back door. How-hole had just left the driveway and was walking toward the yacht club.

  “Hey,” I called out. I lifted up one edge of my skirt and jogged after him. He waited by the picket fence, looking more amused than curious. The white cap blew off my head and landed in the dirt by my bike.

  I slowed down my last steps, coming up to him slightly out of breath. I was unsure how to word the next bit delicately, so I just came out and asked him. “Did you know most of the people at the party last night?”

  “No,” he replied without hesitating. “But that’s the way most parties are.”

  “Oh.” There were several beats of silence. But his answer gave me a little hope. “Okay, good.”

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the yacht club, then back to me. “What are you doing now? Are you free this afternoon?” He ran a hand through his bicoloured hair.

  Free?

  My stomach swooped again. One minute he’s making fun of me for doodling my pretend married name and now he’s asking me out? Is he asking me out?

  My nerves didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified.

  He started to say something else, but a horn blared from across the street catching his attention. “Luke!” Brooke waved from her car, all smiles and designer sunglasses. “Need a lift?” she hollered out.

  I self-consciously smoothed a strand of hair down the side of my face, hoping to disguise myself. How-hole turned to me, the question still written on his face.

  Are you free?

  Was he making fun of me or was he serious? This guy was so infuriating! Stupid How-hole and his stupid sexy eyes and stupid manly hands.

  Focus, Kelsey! Friendly, yet formal.

  I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Um…no,” I said. “I’m not free.”

  He held my stare a few beats longer than was comfortable, then said, “See you around, then.” He jogged across the street to his ride. I glanced quickly at Brooke, who was busy tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. She either didn’t recognize me or had forgotten about my impersonation of a crazy local.

  I dragged my feet back to my bike. My cap lay on the ground, discarded and forgotten. The sound of Brooke’s car faded away behind me. My fingers were slow working the bike lock. Everything felt heavy.

  “Who cares if he likes Brooke?” I said quietly. I picked up my bonnet and shoved it into my Kipling bag. “Blaine is my perfect match, not someone who…” I paused and dug out the quiz again, “helps me explore the edge of my comfort zone.”

  But no one answered. It was just me, standing alone in the driveway.

  It sucks to be the last bite left on the plate.

&nbs
p; NINETEEN

  “Stretch out your arms,” I said. “Pretend you’re a starfish, just like your instructor told you.”

  Chet was floating on his back with his arms and legs wiggling for balance. My palm was gently pushing up on the base of his spine. We were hanging out in the shallow end of the lido, waiting for Mom to show up.

  As long as I can see bottom and the water doesn’t rise above my knees, I can keep my fear in check. This is how much I love Chet. I’m not sure if I’d even go into the pool for Blaine.

  Chet’s fingers and toes pointed outward. “Good job,” I said. “Keep still.” Then I slowly moved my hand away from his back. Chet’s tummy sank into the water and he started flailing.

  He garbled in the splashes. I had him in my arms instantly, wiping the drips from his goggles. He coughed a few times.

  “No worries, Chetter-cheese,” I said. “You’ll float one day.” I gave him a smile.

  His wet, pudgy body tucked into mine leaving damp spots on my T-shirt and cut-offs. I carried him to the edge of the pool. He hugged my neck, practically choking me. I was worried for him. There were only a few lessons left before badge day.

  I’m not a swimming instructor, not by a long shot, but Chet looked like he wasn’t going to get a badge. Mom said as long as he was having fun it was worth it, but I knew Chet wanted that badge. He told me stickers were for babies, and you know what, he was right.

  I sat down on the bleachers by our stuff and wrapped a towel around Chet’s shoulders. He put a hand on my cheek turning my face toward his. “I’m bad,” he said. “I give up.”

  His tone broke my heart. “What happens when toad wants to give up?” I asked.

  “Owed can swim.”

  “Of course he can, he’s a toad. He just doesn’t want people to see him in his bathing suit. But what about all the other times when Toad wants to quit or he gets all grumpy. What happens then?”

  He poked his belly button with his finger. “Fwog,” he simply answered.

  “Exactly,” I beamed. “And I’m your frog. I won’t let you give up.”

  He looked unconvinced.

  “Besides,” I said. “Your bathing suit rocks, you’re the coolest kid here.” A little smirk played at the edge of his mouth. “I know a secret,” I teased him. “The Shake Shack is giving away free triple-scoop ice cream for every kid with a swim sticker.”

  His eyes grew wide. Chet’s kryptonite was ice cream.

  “But you still have to finish your lessons before you get that sticker, okay?”

  “Okay.” He wiggled from my side, then dug into his backpack for a juice box.

  I scanned the top of the stairs looking for Mom, but my eye caught the green-haired kid’s mom. I could tell she’d been watching me and Chet the whole time. She waved and I smiled back. It was nice to be noticed while being good instead of caught in my usual screw-ups.

  This week was a milestone for both Chet and myself. He would be finishing his first session of swimming lessons and I would be getting my first paycheque. It was hard to believe I’d been at the Queen’s Galley for almost two weeks. The last few days alone seemed like a summer’s worth.

  There had been zero Blaine sightings. Although this was a fact I wasn’t too upset about. The last time I’d seen the guy, I sprayed his feet with my supper. I hadn’t thought of a witty excuse for my actions yet.

  And How-hole seemed to be taking a page out of my own rule book by keeping things “friendly, yet formal.” I couldn’t figure this reckless thrill-seeker out. He almost, sort of, asked me out, then picked Brooke two seconds after I turned him down.

  Her red car had dropped him off twice since then—not that I’d noticed…I just happened to be arriving for work at the same time. She always smiled and waved at me. I was sure they were both laughing their asses off, making fun of me when I wasn’t looking.

  And who could blame them? I was sure How-hole was waiting for my next disaster at work.

  When Mom finally arrived at the lido that day, I had barely enough time to make it to work. “Where were you?” I asked her, throwing Chet’s backpack in the car.

  She tucked a stray clump of hair behind her ear. “The bank,” she answered, making brief eye contact.

  I stood beside the driver’s door while she buckled up Chet. I’d been keeping things superficially complacent since the party. Mom and Dad hadn’t said anything to me about it, and I was happy to fly under the radar and pretend I hadn’t come home smelling of vodka. But this time I really needed Mom’s attention.

  She hurried over and opened the driver’s door.

  I took a quick breath. “Hey,” I said. “Badge day is coming up. ”

  “Yes.” Her hand was on the door handle.

  I dropped my voice and leaned in closer. “Can Chet have some private lessons? He’s so close to completing his skills, but he just needs a little more instruction.”

  Mom’s eyebrows knitted together. She hadn’t put any makeup on this morning and her blouse was wrinkled. When had she become such a slob? At least she wasn’t in slippers this time.

  “Please,” I begged her. “This is really important to him.”

  Her fingers tapped on the door handle. “How much would private lessons cost?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe twenty or thirty dollars. Does that really matter?”

  Mom glanced at her watch, then peeked at the backseat. Chet was flipping through Frog and Toad Are Friends.

  She let out one of her famous long, tired sighs. “Oh, Kelsey,” she began, “he’s enjoying himself. Don’t set his expectations too high, he’ll only be disappointed.” She slipped into the car and shut the door. Her window rolled down. “If you’re so concerned about it, why don’t you teach him? What time are you finished work today?”

  My face fell. A numbness overtook my body.

  Mom read my expression. “I guess that’s a no,” she said. I stayed mute, shocked that she’d actually forgotten what had happened to me. “Call Dad if you need a drive after work,” she instructed.

  I stayed, zombie-like, staring after her hatchback as she turned onto the road and disappeared up the steep hill.

  With a black cloud of gloom hanging around me, I made my way to work. I saw How-hole’s bike up against the kitchen porch. The fog lifted a little. I trudged up the front steps of the Queen’s Galley.

  I came in from the bright sun and had to let my eyes adjust to the inside of the foyer. Someone giggled in the holding bar. I squinted at the couple in the dark corner. Their arms were around each other. His deep voice was soft enough that I couldn’t hear his words, but the tone was enough to make me blush. My eyes grew wide. Chloe had already changed into her uniform and was up on tiptoe. He leaned down and met her kiss halfway.

  I took a step back, partially hiding behind the corner. The floorboard creaked under my feet, but Chloe and her partner didn’t even miss a beat. They were so entwined it actually looked like they were melting into each other.

  It certainly seemed to be getting hot enough for things to melt. I was about to cough and pretend I’d just walked in when they finally parted. She whispered something in his ear, then he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

  He stepped away from the embrace and made his way toward the front door. He caught my eye and winked when he passed by. “Hey,” he said, not even a hint of embarrassment.

  My cheeks, however, were flaming. “Oh, hey Sam,” I replied, busy pretending to look in my Kipling bag.

  Chloe came around the corner and joined me beside the massive flower arrangement in the foyer. I think “glowing” would describe her current appearance.

  I had never glowed like that.

  “Any chance you can stay late today?” she asked, her gaze trailing after Sam as he walked to his car.

  My finger was twirling nervously around the fuzzy gorilla’s
tail. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Chloe broke her attention away from Sam and smiled at me. “It would be great if I could get away early this shift.” The smiled turned hopeful.

  “You and Sam have a date?” I guessed.

  Her eyes twinkled when she nodded. “We’re taking his family’s boat out to an island for supper.” She started to look all dreamy, then she caught herself. “It’s just a campfire on the beach with hotdogs on sticks, but…” She grinned again, ending the sentence.

  “I get it,” I said. “Sam is hot. Sure, I can cover for you.”

  Who am I to stand in the way of true love?

  Chloe gave me a quick hug. “Thanks, Kelsey. I’ll repay the favour.”

  Secretly, I was thrilled inside. Chloe was becoming a real bud. And I wasn’t in awe of her because she was popular, but because she always seemed on top of stuff, confident, and smart.

  I had been worried she’d never want to talk to me after my humiliating speech at the party, but the next shift we worked together she’d taken me aside and asked how I was doing. She told me not to worry, and that people had done much worse at parties. She then gave me a friendly lecture, emphasizing that if I ever go to another party, I have to promise to stick to beer, drink slowly, and never wander off by myself.

  I told her she should write a handbook, then I mentioned I’d never party again anyway, so no worries.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she’d said. There was a coquettish tone in her voice that made me suspicious.

  Now, as we were standing in the foyer basking in her post-makeout glow, I realized she was someone who probably had loads of tips on relationships. I bet she would score high on the “Are You Good at Giving Advice?” quiz.

  The lunch crowd was steady. I must have refilled a thousand water glasses. Every one was ordering salads and lobster sandwiches, certainly nothing from the oven. Loretta’s chilled, marinated pasta dish with olives and slivers of seared flank steak was the special. Mr. Deveau had suggested she call it “Bowsky’s Bowl.” Julia rolled her eyes at his back. There were tight-lipped expressions around the kitchen. Clyde’s pencil- thin moustache twitched. We sold a lot of Loretta’s special that lunch shift, but I never heard Julia utter the words “Bowsky’s Bowl” once.