However, I was not impressed.
Aside from my hair - which Whitney had admittedly managed to curl into a nearly perfect coiffure - I looked as much like Jane Austen as Whitney did. And Whitney had already changed into her sexy nurse costume, complete with a stethoscope and white fishnet stockings.
“This dress is way too short.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is,” I insisted. To prove my point, I turned around in the mirror and peered at my backside. The dress - if it could even be called that - was a frilly concoction of yellow satin and white taffeta that would have won first place on Toddlers & Tiaras (a show I’d watched once at Whitney’s urging and had refused to see ever again). Tiny cap sleeves covered my shoulders, but that was just about the only part of my body that was covered.
“Look,” I said, pointing at my reflection as I bent forward ever-so-slightly. “You can see my butt.”
“Your thighs,” Whitney corrected. “Those are your thighs, Mo. Will you relax already? You look awesome. Daniel is totally going to drool when he sees you.”
Daniel.
In the rush to get everything ready for the people that would begin arriving at any minute, I’d completely forgotten about Daniel.
“I can’t wear this.” Twisting my arms behind me, I began pulling at the corset strings. “Whit, get it off. I’m serious.”
As if on some horrible cue, the front doorbell rang.
“Sorry,” Whitney said cheerfully. “No can do. See you downstairs!” And then she was gone, leaving me alone in her bedroom dressed up like an x-rated version of Belle from Beauty and the Beast.
“I’m going to kill her,” I muttered under my breath. “And this time, I really mean it.”
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot I could do to change my current situation. Brat that she was, Whitney had put double knots in the corset strings, making it impossible for me to undo them and get out of the dress. But, I thought suddenly as inspiration struck, that doesn’t mean I can’t put something over the dress.
It took me the better part of half an hour, but by the time I finished I was quite pleased with my efforts to turn the Jane Austen don’t costume into a Jane Austen do. Using scissors from the bathroom, I’d cut off the flouncy skirt, leaving just the tight fitting bodice. Matching it with a dark green ankle length skirt I found in the back of my closet, I paired them together with a wide brown belt and finished the look off with a straw hat I used for gardening. It wasn’t perfect - or historically accurate - but at least it was better than showing my butt to complete strangers.
By the time I made my way downstairs an hour had passed since the doorbell first rang, and the living room and kitchen were rapidly filling with complete strangers. Not seeing Daniel - or Whitney, for that matter - amidst the varying people dressed up as everything from a sexy smurf to a creepy looking clown, I retreated to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. I didn’t plan on drinking very much, but I definitely needed something to settle my nerves. Especially if Whitney didn’t reappear within the next five minutes.
“‘Scuse me.” A tall man dressed as Shaggy from Scooby Doo tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you know where Whit is? I can’t find her anywhere.”
You and me both, I thought silently as I stood on my tiptoes and did a quick scan of the living room. I saw the DJ setting up his equipment, two ghosts, one mermaid, and an eskimo…but no sexy nurse. “No, I’m sorry I don’t. Maybe she’s in the bathroom?”
“I just checked there,” Shaggy said, looking disgruntled. “What about the other chick who lives here? The weird one?”
“The weird one?” I repeated.
“Yeah, you know, the one who never leaves the house.”
“I leave the house.” Taking a liberal swallow of wine, I set the glass down on the counter with a hard click and crossed my arms. It was one thing to be overlooked and ignored at a bar; I certainly wasn’t going to allow myself to be insulted in my own home! Especially not by someone wearing an orange wig and oversized bell bottoms. “I leave the house quite often, thank you very much. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Shaggy’s eyes widened. “Whoa,” he said, lifting his hands and taking a step back. “I didn’t know she was you. I mean you were her. I mean-”
“I know what you mean.”
“Listen, I didn’t mean to piss you off. It’s just that we see Whit out all the time, you know? And you’re never with her. Like, ever. So we all just sort of assumed…”
“That I’m a weird roommate who never leaves the house?” I finished for him.
“Well.” Shaggy shrugged. “Yeah.”
Wonderful. I hadn’t even met Shaggy or any of Whitney’s other friends, and they already thought I was weird and reclusive and boring. It was like college all over again, except this time I wasn’t any of those things. Or at least I was trying not to be.
“For your information,” I began, picking up my wine glass, “I have a very demanding job that prevents me from going out on weeknights and I’ve been spending the weekends with - with my boyfriend. So, you know, I do leave the house.” I took another sip of wine. “I leave the house all the time.”
“Dude, I hear you.” Hands still in the air, Shaggy started to back out of the kitchen. “If you see Whit tell her Larry’s looking for her, okay?”
“Certainly.”
I didn’t know why I’d said it. The B word. My mouth had opened and it just sort of…came out. Completely by accident. Well, sort of by accident. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” I muttered under my breath before I threw back the rest of the wine. It tasted bitter on my tongue, but the aftertaste was sweet and smooth with a faint hint of strawberries. With a mental shrug I poured myself a second glass before I walked briskly into the living room to speak to the DJ.
Younger than I’d been expecting, he looked up when I approached and flipped his long brown hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head. “Hey,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice. “I’m Joe. Are you Isabel?”
“Imogen,” I corrected automatically. “My name is Imogen. Joe, I wanted to ask that you please-”
“Keep it down?” he interrupted with a grin that revealed a mouth filled with braces. “Yeah, I know. Whitney already told me the drill. Nice pad you have here, by the way.”
“Thank you.” I hesitated. “How do you know Whitney, exactly?” How does everyone here know Whitney? By now, there had to be at least thirty people crammed in the downstairs with more coming through the door every minute. I’d known Whitney was going out and meeting new friends, but I had no idea she’d been meeting this many.
“My older sister’s on her soccer team. Livvy loves her. Says Whit is the best coach she’s ever had.”
“Oh. That’s…that’s really nice.”
“Do you mind if I start the music?”
“No, no, go ahead. That’s…that’s what you’re here to do.”
The question was, what was I here to do? Aside from Daniel and most of the faculty at Stonewall, I hadn’t met anyone new. I hadn’t made any friends. Every person currently in my house lived in Camden, and I hadn’t met a single one of them except for Shaggy and Joe.
Well, I said to myself as I took a determined sip of wine, now is an excellent time to start.
So I mingled. And, social anxiety and occasional stuttering aside, I liked to think I did a pretty darn good job. I talked. I listened. I laughed. I even danced a little when Whitney made her reappearance (apparently she’d been outside the whole time practicing mouth to mouth with her doctor friend) and when everyone gathered in the kitchen to play flip cup I cheered enthusiastically from the sidelines. All things considered, I was having a surprisingly good time…and then, at twenty minutes to midnight, Daniel showed up.
I felt his presence before I saw him. There was a sudden electricity in the air. A subtle increase in my pulse. A fluttering of awareness at the back of my neck. Excusing myself from a conversation I was having with one of
Whitney’s assistant coaches, a slender woman named Diane, and Diane’s girlfriend, a dark haired brunette with a southern drawl and an infectious, bubbly giggle, I slipped out of the back foyer and walked rapidly towards the front door, heart pounding with every step.
The living room and the kitchen were at full capacity - Whitney’s twenty guest rule had been officially overturned forty guests ago - but even through the crowd of shouting, dancing leprechauns and flappers and pirate maidens, I managed to find Daniel at the exact moment he found me.
The instant our gazes met, I knew something was wrong. The corners of his mouth were tight. His jaw was clenched. His hands were curled into rigid fists. Filled with alarm, I cut through the crowd as fast as I could, muttering ‘excuse me’ after ‘excuse me’ as I bumped and jostled my way from the back of the house to the front.
By the time I reached Daniel I was out of breath and sweating. It may have been cool outside, but inside the house, courtesy of the forty plus people jammed into twelve hundred square feet of space, the temperature was rising rapidly.
“What is it?” I asked, raising my voice so he could hear me above the music. “What’s the matter?” Without warning a ghost pushed me from behind and I stumbled forward, straight into Daniel’s arms.
Gripping my waist he steadied me, then pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before he yelled into my ear, “Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay! The party is still going. I-” Cutting myself off as I realized I was yelling as well, I winced and pointed at the door. “Do you want to go outside?” At Daniel’s nod I paused only to grab a jacket before heading out. His hand on my shoulder, Daniel followed right behind. The instant the door clicked shut the roaring in my ears evaporated, leaving only a dull ringing. “I’m sorry,” I apologized as the porch light turned on, illuminating both of our faces. “I guess it was louder in there than I thought.”
“It’s fine,” Daniel said.
I studied his face. “But you’re not.” I didn’t know when it had happened, not exactly, but in the time we’d gotten to know each other I had learned how to decipher the emotions he kept so carefully hidden behind an easy, affable smile. A smile that disguised what he was really feeling. A smile that, at the moment, was in full effect.
“I didn’t realize it was a costume party or I would have dressed up. You look beautiful.” His knuckles grazed my cheek as he tucked a tendril that had fallen from my coiffure behind my ear. “Really beautiful, Imogen. Then again, you always do.”
He was trying to distract me. If I’d allowed myself to drink more than two glasses of wine it probably would have worked, but this time around I had paid careful attention to the amount of alcohol I’d allowed myself to consume. I may have been a little buzzed, but I wasn’t drunk. And I wasn’t giving up until I knew what was causing the pain in Daniel’s eyes.
“What’s the matter?” I repeated softly as I searched his countenance for a betraying hint of emotion. “What’s wrong, Daniel?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, averting his gaze.
“It matters to me.”
Troubled grey eyes met mine. “Would it be alright if we went somewhere else to talk? I know you’re having a party and it’s selfish of me to ask, but-”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I just need to go tell Whitney. I’ll be right back.” I pulled open the door. Paused. “You’re not…you’re not going to leave, are you?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay. I’ll - I’ll be right back.”
I dashed inside and, thankfully, spotted Whitney within a matter of seconds. Pulling her aside, I asked if she minded if I left with Daniel for a little while. Giving me a look, she cupped the back of my neck and pulled me in close enough that I could smell the vodka on her breath.
“I’ve got things under control. Just promise me you’ll remember one thing.”
“What?” I asked when her gaze darted across the room. “Whitney, what do you want me to remember?”
Refocusing on me, she grinned the sloppy grin of a happy drunk and screamed, to my utter embarrassment, “Condoms, Mo. Remember the condoms!”
* * * * *
Daniel took me to his apartment.
Situated above a dry cleaner’s on the west side of town, it was a cramped, albeit cozy, studio with random width hardwood floors and warm brick walls.
“It’s not much,” he said as he unlocked the door and gestured for me to go in ahead of him. “But it’s home.”
“I think it’s lovely,” I said as I stepped inside and looked around. “It’s very you.”
And it was. Framed posters of old movies intermingled with Adam Sandler classics hung on the wall. The kitchen, complete with a stainless steel fridge and oven, was separated from the rest of the studio by a long counter. On the other side was a comfortable looking brown leather sofa and two chairs. Past those…past those was Daniel’s bed.
My throat tightened and I quickly looked away, for some reason feeling like I was prying even though he’d invited me into his apartment knowing I would be able to see everything he owned in one passing glance. As if my eyes had a mind of their own they flitted back to the bed. It was slightly smaller than mine; a full instead of a queen if I had to guess. A navy blue comforter covered the sheets. Two white pillows marked the head of the bed and a fleece blanket was folded up at the foot.
I wondered if the sheets smelled like him.
“Do you want anything to drink?”
Daniel’s voice cut through the fog in my brain. Startling slightly I looked away from the bed to find he’d moved to the kitchen and was watching me, his brooding gaze unreadable in the dim lighting.
“Just water, please.”
“If you want, I have wine.”
“I already had two glasses,” I said with a rueful shake of my head.
A smile flitted across Daniel’s mouth before he took two glasses out of a cupboard and filled them with water from the fridge. “Water it is, then.”
I followed him as he took the glasses into what served as his living room and, after only a moment’s hesitation, sat beside him on the sofa. Our knees touched. Sucking in a breath, I clamped my thighs together, intensely aware that this was the first time we’d ever been completely alone together.
“I’m sorry again I was late.” Taking a drink of water, Daniel put his cup down on a plain wooden coffee table and turned towards me, stretching his right arm across the back of the sofa. The dark red button up shirt he wore pulled tight across his chest, outlining his rigidly defined muscles.
Not that I was looking.
“I had to work at the bar. I tried to get off early, but a group of peepers came in.”
“Peepers?” I echoed, brow furrowing. What kind of bar had Daniel been at? Seeing my reaction, he chuckled quietly under his breath and gave a slight shake of his head.
“Not those type of peepers. Leaf Peepers,” he explained. “You know, the older people who drive up through New England in the fall to see the leaves change.”
“Of course.” Now I remembered. Maine’s second tourist season, comprised mostly of retirees, ran from the beginning of September to the end of October. It wasn’t as big as the summer season, but it brought in enough people to warrant most of the businesses in the heart of Camden staying open a little longer and a little later including, apparently, Swordfish.
“I stopped by my mother’s on the way to your house.” Daniel kept his tone deliberately casual, but I could tell how tense he was by the whiteness in his knuckles as he picked up his glass and took another sip. “She doesn’t like to cook, so I usually bring her some food after work.”
“Is she…is your mother okay?” It was the first time Daniel had mentioned her. The first time either one of us had brought up our parents. “Did something happen?”
“She’s fine.” Setting his glass back down he rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned forward, staring blindly down at the coffee table.
“Or as fine as she can be. My mom…she didn’t take Derek’s death very well.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“My father walked out on us when I was five.” He turned his head and met my gaze, his grey eyes feverishly hot in their intensity. “I don’t know if I ever told you that.”
“No,” I whispered as something inside of me tightened. “You didn’t.”
“Well he did. After that, it was just the three of us. Derek, my mom, and I. I don’t know if she was different before my father left. I can’t remember. But after… She was never a good mother,” he said harshly. His jaw clenched and unclenched, as though it was physically painful to say the words. “She never hit us. She never even really yelled. But she wasn’t…she wasn’t the mother we needed.” He hissed out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to explain.”
Moved by pure emotion and a surge of overwhelming empathy, I closed the distance between us and took his hand in mine, interlocking our fingers until our palms were clasped together. My skin felt hot and flushed. His was ice cold.
“I understand,” I said softly. And I did. Not many people would have, but they were the people from happy families. People whose mother’s and father’s loved them unconditionally. Who loved them without restrictions or barriers or limitations. They may have yelled, but they did it because they cared…and in a household filled with self-restraint, sound was always better than silence. “My parents were the same way. They were never mean to me. They never mistreated me. But…”
“But they never loved you like you needed to be loved,” Daniel finished for me when my throat closed up, keeping the words I’d never said out loud locked deep down inside a place I didn’t like to look.
“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “Exactly.”
“She blames me for Derek’s suicide. My mom,” he clarified when I looked at him searchingly. “She thinks if I hadn’t gone away for college, he never would have done it.”
And I’d thought my relationship with my mother was troubled. “You know that’s not true.”
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