by Shafer, Gina
“You may need help shaving or washing your hair, and you know how good I am with my hands.”
I actually consider it but remember I’m due for a brow tweeze, and I have to shave the little collection of hairs that grow on my big toe. Yeah, I’m gonna have to decline. I’d rather not divulge all my secrets on the first date. I laugh to myself at the thought of asking Nick to help me shave my big toe.
“Not a chance, sir. I have some serious primping to get to.” I reach for the bag with my clothes.
“Tsk tsk.” He wags a finger at me. “You get to put this on later. At my place. Can you come over around five?”
“I think I can manage that.” Then, like an idiot, I curtsey like an actual Disney princess before disappearing inside.
You know that excited feeling in your belly? The one where your body is not big enough to contain everything you’re feeling? It bubbles up, and you can’t wipe that goofy grin off your face.
I can’t stop smiling. I smiled when I showered and shaved my freaking armpits. I smiled when I applied my makeup. I smiled when I threw on shorts and a tank top. I smiled when I dried my hair and styled it in loose waves.
I’m becoming concerned my face is stuck this way.
I do my best to hide my mood as I find Dad to say bye. “I’m leaving. Is there anything I can help you with before I go?” Mama is napping on the couch, and he’s heating up the dinner I put together for them when I got home this afternoon.
“You could set out your mother’s medication for me so I don’t have to fumble with it before we eat.”
It smells delicious. I whipped up baked chicken with a marinade of sweet paprika, honey, and lemon juice. All Dad has to do is sauté the zucchini and cherry tomatoes, and the meal is finished.
“No problem,” I say. I go to the bathroom and unlock the medicine cabinet. She takes a handful of different medications. I go through each bottle, measuring out the correct amount. I made a graph so we could remember easier and keep it more organized. She takes cholinesterase inhibitors to slow the progression of her memory loss, but she’s been on them for about eight months, and they don’t work for a whole lot longer than that. They make her nauseas pretty often, so she takes them with an anti-nausea medication.
I bring him the pills, and he slips them in his front pocket. I fill a glass with water and ice and place it at Mama’s usual seat.
“You look beautiful, Whitley-bean,” he says. “You have so much of your Mama in you.”
My face falls, and I throw myself against him.
“If she knew everything, if she could understand it, she would be so proud of you. Happiness is all she ever wanted for you, Whit. Just to be happy.”
I sniffle, knowing I’ll have to adjust my makeup and not giving a damn. When I told Dad I’d be helping Nick with recipes for the bar, I thought he was going to dance around the house to celebrate. “She would be proud of you too.” I lean back to look at his face.
He wipes away my tears. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says, smiling through the moisture welling in his eyes.
“It’s okay,” I straighten and remove the remainder of my tears before they completely ruin the whole smoky eye thing I’ve got going. “I think this is my permanent state these days.”
“You’re doing good. I didn’t want to admit I needed help. I didn’t want to admit how close we are to losing her. And then you came. You organized the mess and even brought Nick in. You’re so like her, even if you don’t know it. But all this can be said another time. You’ve got a date, and I’m not going to be responsible for your lateness.” He goes into the living room and wakes Mom from her nap on the couch.
I repair my makeup before kissing them goodbye and heading out, the bags with Nick’s outfit in my hand.
Rose is sitting on the front porch. She’s perched on a wicker chair with an earbud in one ear and a worn looking journal in her lap. It’s open, and most of her straight hair falls across her face.
“Hey,” I say as soon as I’m close enough for her to sense me and look up. “Do you write?”
“Some. I guess. Mostly poems.” She actually engages back. I would take a breath of relief if I weren’t scared it would disturb her. Teenage girls are a lot like big cats in the wild. Don’t turn your back on them, no sudden movements, and never let them smell your fear.
“I would love to read them sometime,” I say, and she scoffs. Shit. Too forward? “I worked for a large publishing company before I moved here. I was a junior editor. If you want, I could take a look and let you know what I think.”
“Really?” she asks. I fight back a triumphant exclamation. “Okay. That would be kind of cool.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “What are your plans tonight? I kick the porch step with my toe.
“My friend Ashley and her mom are picking me up. We’re going to a movie.”
My heart breaks for her.
A girl who misses her mom. We have a lot more in common than I thought. “Sounds cool.”
The door swings open. “You’re late, Hadfield,” he accuses, but he does it in the sexiest way.
“I was talking to your sister.” I motion at her with my head.
“You’re still here? I thought they were coming thirty minutes ago,” he says, and her face turns beet red. Oh shit. Did she just get stood up by her friend? Please don’t tell me that.
Nick clearly doesn’t understand the situation because he orders Rose to call her friend to see where they are. Rose’s eyes fill with panic.
“I just texted her,” she says rudely.
“Hey, Rose,” I say, interrupting their argument. “Do you want to come with us?” I ignore the piercing gaze he sends my way.
“No, I’m good.” She hides her hands under her sweatshirt.
“What about dinner? My dad is heating up something I made earlier. They won’t mind if you join them. Then you can hang out in my room with Coconut and use my computer if you want.”
“Um….”
“Come on, you gotta eat, and I’ve got Photoshop, so you can create art to go along with your poems. I bet that would be way more fun than seeing some lame movie with Ashley and her mom.”
“I guess.”
“Cool,” I say, grinning. “Is that okay with you?” I ask Nick.
His face gives nothing away as he agrees. “I’ll call you when we’re on the way back,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes.
I want to laugh, but I don’t. A snarky teenager is actually kind of funny when the attitude is directed at someone else.
I ask Nick to wait and I drop her off at my house, and Dad couldn’t be more thrilled to have someone new to talk to. Or talk at, because lets be honest, he isn’t going to give her much chance to talk. I’m sure she’ll know his life story by the end of the night.
I give her my computer password and show her the some of the basics of Photoshop quickly, and give her a link to a website than can answer any other questions, before saying my second round of goodbyes for the night.
I don’t get a chance to ring Nick’s doorbell before his door swings open, and I’m tugged inside and flattened against the back of the door in a matter of seconds. I’m not complaining though.
I moan as he spreads my legs and groans into my ear.
“Fuck, I missed you today.”
“You saw me this morning,” I tease while he devours my neck.
“Mm, too long.”
I chuckle. “You’re going to mess up all my hard work.” After a moment, he stops and releases me. He’s not too happy about it though.
“You’re the one who wanted the stuffy proper date.” I pick up the bags of clothes I left on the porch when I came over the first time. Nick must have brought them in for me.
“Did you peek?” I ask as I rifle through them.
“Oh, Whitley, I’m hurt. How could you accuse me of such a travesty? I would never!” he says in his best Cary Grant impression.
I narrow my eyes at him, and he smirks.
“You ready to change?” he asks, changing the subject.
I get giddy. I close my eyes, rubbing my hands together and putting my hands out, palms up, ready to receive my things.
“You first,” he says, and my eyes pop open.
I frown and pout a little, but with my back to him, I pull out jeans, suit jacket, and tie. I fish the shoes I got for him from the bottom of one of the bags and slap them on top of the pile.
He holds up a dress, but not just any dress. It’s the most beautiful, sexy dress I’ve ever seen.
I’m speechless.
It’s a nude long-sleeved mini dress with white and champagne-colored beads sewn in a floral design all over it. It’s exactly like something I would have picked. He looks at me anxiously.
The silly outfit I picked out does not go with this dress. I and not so discreetly hide it behind my back.
“Nuh-uh. Hand ’em over.” He gestures with a little flick of his fingers.
“They don’t match,” I say. “I lost them. There’s a stain. Oops, wrong size.” I move closer. The dress gets prettier and prettier. Fuck.
“I’m wearing it,” he says. “Or if you’d rather I go naked….”
I hold them out like a petulant child.
His laugh startles me. “Am I supposed to be Johnny Depp?”
“I was thinking more of hipster mixed with Brendon Urie.” I say, giving attitude.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” he asks, trading my dress for his stack of clothes.
“Don’t tell me you never had a Panic! At The Disco phase.”
He looks completely lost.
“My Chemical Romance?”
Nothing.
“Wow. Well… tonight, and tonight only, you’re going to be my high school emo hipster nerdy guy fantasy all wrapped up in one delicious package.” I pat him on the shoulder and point him toward the bedroom. Nick was right. This is kind of fun.
“Make sure to leave the tie undone a little on the top,” I say as he carries everything into the room and closes the door with his foot.
“You better have that dress on when I get out,” he yells, and I get my butt in gear.
What do you know? That goofy smile is back again.
Good thing I wore my nude lingerie. It fits perfectly under this dress. I take a look at myself in the mirror once I get it zipped. I’m stunned. I almost don’t recognize myself.
“You ready?” Nick asks loud enough so I can hear him through the walls.
I open the door and step out at the same time he does. He comes out in full character. He twirls, giving me his best impression of a rock star, and he looks fucking hot doing so. Black jeans, a black button-down, and a metallic blazer with gold lapels. His messy hair is the perfect accent, and the shiny black and white tuxedo shoes set off the whole look. He’s flashy and sexy and pulls the look off without a hitch.
“Oh yeah. Take me back to ninth grade,” He laughs.
“I thought you said you didn’t know what I was talking about,” I say.
“I didn’t say that. I’ll have you know these fingernails went a whole six months covered in black paint.” He splays them like it’ll still be there.
“You’re kidding!” I laugh.
“My father took me into the city to see a marching band a time or two.” He references the My Chemical Romance lyric in a stone-cold serious voice, and it only makes me laugh harder.
“Omg, you’re not the poser I thought you were.” I giggle.
“Stop laughing. You’re too fucking pretty.” He smiles, and I sober. The way he’s looking at me makes my face feel hot.
“Damn, baby. I didn’t expect to feel this way seeing you in that dress.” He clutches his heart and steps toward me.
“I need shoes,” I squeak , and he opens the bag, producing a delicate pair of champagne-colored, satin, strappy heels. My eyes light up, and he lets me balance on his shoulder as I slip them on my feet. “This is too much.”
“Not enough,” he counters and kisses me. He slips something around my neck. I pull back to see, and it’s not at all what I expect. On the end of the gold chain hangs a tiny ribbon decorated with purple stones.
I recognize it instantly: the ribbon used for Alzheimer’s awareness. I grasp the pendant in my hand and rest my forehead against Nick’s. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
“We should get going before the restaurant gives up our seats,” he says, and so we do. He holds my hand while we drive and up until we’re seated at our table.
The booths are covered in deep red velvet, and the beads of my dress snag the fabric as I slide in. I get stuck for a moment, but I detach my bottom from the cushion quickly, so I don’t think anyone notices. I smile at the hostess as she reads off the specials and excuses herself.
“Do you want something to drink?” Nick asks.
I look at the wine list. Everything is written in a fancy font in some other language. Possibly French, but I only remember the bit I was forced to study in high school. Oh, and one cuss word. Merde. What a pretty way to say “shit.”
“What are you having?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Why don’t we wait and see what they recommend?” he says reasonably, and I swear I have to physically hold myself back from thanking him for throwing me that freaking bone.
The waiter appears. “Hello, My name is Miguel. I will be your server this evening. If there is anything you need, please let me know.” He rattles off the specials, and all I hear is some psycho head chef yelling “Push ze specials” in a thick French accent.
Nick is gorgeous, as always, and not a single person gives him a second glance or doubts that he belongs. Me, on the other hand, lifting my butt every few seconds to check for snags… I’m sure they’d boot me from this place the moment they had the chance.
The waiter leaves after Nick tells him we need more time. It’s a good thing too, because I probably wouldn’t have been able to get out my order without losing my already shaky composure.
“You know what?” he asks.
”What?”
“I really like tacos,” He says.
“Tacos are good.”
“There’s this place down the street. You step up to the window and order. They have a green salsa I’ve been trying to get the recipe to for years. The woman who owns the place, Maria, turns me away every time.” He shrugs.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you think you’d have any better luck?”
“I don’t know. If someone had asked me a few moments ago if anyone could resist you, I would have told them not a chance in hell. But now that I know about Maria, I’m not sure anyone can crack her, if you can’t.” I rest my elbows on the table and place my chin on my hands. Then I think better of it and lower my arms. I glance around the restaurant to see if anyone noticed my poor etiquette.
Nick says, “Why don’t we try?”
“What, like right now?” I ask, throwing him a skeptical look.
He stands and holds out a hand to me. I take it, and we dash out of there like we’ve just skipped out on the bill, except we never ordered anything.
We stumble over each other as he leads us through alleys and streets. I love that we just got up and left that stuffy restaurant. I love that we’re on the hunt for street tacos with secret green salsa.
My nose finds the place before I do. I smell garlic and lime and onions, and that toasty smell of fire-roasted tortillas. I inhale deeply breath, and my mouth waters. I’m literally giddy, not only because the food smells delicious, but because Nick wanted to share this with me.
I’m a firm believer that as soon as someone shares their favorite, little known, hidden gem of a restaurant with you, they’ve shared something special. People don’t like giving up their secrets. And a secret restaurant with secret recipes and a small following? That’s like finding real life treasure. I don’t think many people are down with giving up actual treasure to just anyone in their
lives.
We get into line. It’s not long, about six people. It gives me a moment to eye the menu. There’s literally three items on it. Tacos: chicken, beef, or pork. I’ve never been faced with a more difficult decision.
“What do you normally get?” I ask him.
“Beef,” he says. “Hands down. It’s shredded, and sometimes I can talk her into putting a little cheese on them.” He smiles.
“Keep it up, I might get jealous of Maria.”
“If she’d only give me that recipe….”
I swat him lightly. “Okay, I’ll try beef.”
It’s our turn at the window.
“Hey, Maria!” Nick says with a huge smile. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “No,” she says with a heavy accent. “You are not getting it.”
“Oh come on. I won’t tell a soul. I won’t even make it for anyone else,” he promises.
“No. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Okay? Now you order. Go ahead.”
Nick goes to say something, but she shushes him before he can get a word out. Maria turns her attention to me. “You tell him order or move. No salsa recipe.”
I turn to Nick and repeat her words verbatim.
Nick jerks back. “I thought you were on my side.”
“Sister solidarity.”
Nick gives up, sighing. “Two orders with beef and a little bit of that cheese you love to give me.”
It’s cute seeing him this way, in his element and schmoozing it up with people he knows.
“No cheese,” she says without looking up. I look to Nick to move things along, but he stays silent, eyeing Maria. She lifts her eyes and sees Nick staring her down.
“Oh fine,” she grumbles and rings us up. The total is $17.45. He gives her two twenties.
She snatches the bills. “I’m keeping this. You can’t buy it.” I laugh and so does Maria. “This one. I like her. You come alone too much. She will keep you in line.” Her eyes twinkle, and I decide I like her too.
Nick shrugs. “It was worth a try.”
I pull him over to one of the sidewalk tables. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten three tacos faster than I ate these three tacos. I tried to take the first bite in that cute, first date way. That one where you hold your mouth weird to try and stay as neat as possible. Dab your lips, swipe your tongue across your front teeth to assure no food is stuck there, and don’t burp. Whatever you do, you hold that shit in on the first date. You don’t go showing all your cards in the first round. Everyone knows that.