by Jody Kaye
“You wanna kiss me?”
“I do. But I’m not doing it unless it’s what you want. What do you say, dinner tomorrow?”
I worry my lip. I haven’t been on a so-called date since the night of the attack. Even then, I went to the party more to have a good time than entertain romantic notions. I’d mistakenly guessed I was going to get to know Brandon the way Morgan and I had at the beach.
For the first time, I see the sunny morning in an alternate light. It was a new beginning. I had the courage to dip my toes in the water and try again. The person who I sat on the beach with was tenfold the man whom I thought I was agreeing to spend time with. It’s how he overshadows every negative.
“We don’t have to,” he concedes with disappointment when I don’t say yes right away.
“I want to.” My words rush out faster than the flub that got me the date of my dreams. And my first thought is how much I want to call my mom to tell her.
“Look at this one.” Hangers scrape across the metal rod. Mom holds up a dress in my size. It’s blue with buttons down the front. “This is very you.” She holds the garment close to me, the way she fitted my clothes when I was a child. “It will bring out your eyes, Aidy.”
This shopping trip to the mall was to get a new tablecloth and a few festive decorations for Thanksgiving, which is in a few weeks. My mom was thrilled I’d agreed to come along. We haven’t spent much time together recently. I’d waited until we were in the car to mention I had a date. My excitement and the fact it’s the most information I’ve shared about anything in my life over the past two-and-a-half months became contagious. Once Mom spotted what she was after, she changed our target to finding me something to wear.
“I’m not sure.” I tug at the hem. It’s long enough to graze my knees and the dress’s sleeves are rolled and tacked with buttons to three-quarter length. “I have a lot of dresses in my closet already,” I hedge. I haven’t worn a single one of my go-to favorite wardrobe pieces all semester.
Mom flips the tag over. “The price is right.”
I worked last summer and have the cash. I shouldn’t feel any guilt. I do, but not about spending. It’s over keeping my secret from the one person I’d thought I’d be able to tell anything to. The more I talk with Sloan, the more I realize I shouldn’t be ashamed of what happened to me. Some days that’s easier said than done. Yet, as much as I refuse to believe my mom would be ashamed of me either, I don’t want to relive the pain through her eyes. I don’t want her to see me as anything more than who I was.
“The fabric is a little light. I may be cold.”
“You buy the dress I’ll pitch in for a sweater. You love dresses, Aidy, and you wear them so well. They’re your style.”
“Mom, I have a coat if I need it and a million other dresses.”
She concedes quicker than I expect. “Then let’s stop at the salon while you’re home and I’ll pay for you to get your hair recolored.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” I have it pulled up in a corkscrew pony today and touch a lock at the base of my neck the way Morgan had the night he asked me out.
“The red is so beautiful. I’m not sure why you had to go changing it. He might like it better—”
“I think Morgan might like it the way it is.”
Mom frowns.
“What’s more important is I like it the way it is. If Morgan wants to control my hair color, he can take a flying leap.”
“Aidy,” Mom scolds as if I’ve screamed to everyone in Marshall’s I’m Sweet Caroline’s newest headline dancer. Meanwhile, my tone has been conversational. I’m not sure what her issue is. “How are you going to get a job with purple hair?”
“Have you looked around, Mom? There are women your age here who look like this.” I point to my ponytail.
“A professional job.”
“I’m a sophomore. There’s over two years before I have to worry.”
“I want people to take you seriously, Sweetheart.”
“Whatever.” The word comes out smug, but my derisiveness isn’t directed as much to my mom as it is to the idea that my red hair had made my attacker take me seriously.
Mom grabs me by the arm. “Aidy, what has gotten into you lately?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re overreacting. This isn’t like you.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes underneath closed eyelids, praying for the strength to keep my demons hidden and give my mother the respect she deserves. “Have you considered adulting is still new to me? I moved out for the school year. Came back home for the summer. Then, like boomerang, I’m back on campus again. Maybe all that change has made it harder to figure out who I am and dyeing my hair purple is part of growing up.” WOW! Where on earth did that self-actualized comment come from?
I hang the dress on the rack. I love my mom so much. She’s only ever done what’s best for me and seeing how other friends didn’t get the benefit of parents like mine, it makes me admire Mom all the more. She gave up her career for me, so I had every opportunity. I don’t want Mom to believe turning me into a successful human being was all for naught. But I still deserve to take chances and learn from my mistakes without the decisions she doesn’t approve of being thrown in my face.
“Listen, it means a lot we came into this shop to look around. I miss doing this with you. But I probably have something in my closet that’ll suffice. Do you think we can go to the food court instead and talk?”
Mom’s expression goes from downcast to cheery. She offers to buy us drinks.
“How about it’s on me since I’m saving my pennies by not getting another dress? Baked Beans, the coffee shop Kimber raves about, opened a location new here. I haven’t tried it yet, but hear it’s great.”
We get into line at the store and Mom asks about Owen as we wait for the barista to finish making our lattes. Once we’re seated, she inquires about Morgan.
“He’s a little older than me and he works for Trig’s security company.”
“Did he go to college?”
“Yes, for a few years anyhow. He makes good money and I get the impression he enjoys the people he works with.”
We have plumbers in the family, so my mother is quick to ignore Morgan hasn’t finished school. “If you were still home, you know Daddy would expect to meet him first.”
“Mooom, I’ve been on first dates without Dad’s approval before. Did you introduce Dad to your parents before going out with him?”
“I was away at school.” I point at mom. She wraps her hand around it, folding it back to my palm. “Point taken, Aidy. We worry about you. You’re all we’ve got.”
I lean in and give my mom a hug.
“We do get to meet Morgan, though?”
“If I don’t blow it! We hung out before he ever asked me out, so I hope this date won’t ruin a good thing. Sometimes I think my nervousness around him shows.”
“You like him.”
“I do.” I want my mom to like Morgan enough so, when she and my dad find out he has a record, it’s something they can look past or at least take with a grain of salt. My dad is a bankruptcy lawyer with a big firm downtown. It’s not like he hasn’t represented people who’ve asked for second chances. “Oh!” I cross my fingers, squeezing my eyes shut. “Kimber and Trig are going away for New Year’s with their friends. I told them I’d watch Owen for a few days. Maybe if things are going well over Christmas break I’ll invite Morgan to come by?”
“That sounds lovely.” Mom beams.
I blow out a breath because every so often it’s nice to relax into the moment with someone who you love and appreciate things are going the right way. A tendril floats up. Mom catches it, sliding the hair behind my ear without another comment on the color.
There are no installs today, so I’m biding my time at the mill doing odd jobs. One thing I can say for this place is it’s never boring.
“Don’t drop this on my toes.” Skye grunts, blowing his blond hair out of his face as
we lift the pool table in the oversized common area.
“Why is it going a foot to the left and twelve inches to the right?” I joke back.
“Because this is Sloan’s house, and when your boss says you’re moving multiple two-ton pieces of furniture for his woman because she thinks they’ll be too close to the Christmas tree, you do it.”
The old floors creek as we set the weight back down. This building is all that and a bag of chips. The bright living space opens to a party porch out back. There are large wooden tables for us to eat at near the doors to the kitchen. Its industrial-sized fridges are not only stocked with everything you could imagine—most of it fresh from the local farmer’s market—but the kitchen itself looks like somebody awarded the lunch lady a million dollars to spruce up the place. That said, I hope when Carver was sparing no expense, it included a top-notch structural engineer. The pool table is weighty enough to fall through the floor. We have two more to move and Sloan wants the couches realigned to match the “aesthetics” of the room since this is where she entertains. Their apartment is off-limits, which I suppose makes sense if you work where you live and a lot of your employees have access to you in your bunny slippers on the way to the coffee pot before sunrise.
I snort inward. There’s nothing warm and fuzzy about Carver except Sloan.
We shimmy the next one over and Skye sighs. “I’m bushed. After we’re done rearranging, I’m out of here for the weekend.” His plane landed a few hours ago and Skye had just walked up the stairs when Carver gave us instructions to play moving men. Skye threw his duffle on the floor and got to it. He’s still wearing yesterday’s rumpled traveling clothes and, with the corn-fed midwestern boy look about him, I’m glad he doesn’t smell like a cow pasture.
I’m not sure why Skye was out of town and don’t know where he disappears to. But over the past six months, I’ve noticed it’s a pattern. Every few weeks Skye jets off, comes back, and then goes missing. There are so many people who live here, so many personalities, it’s hard to keep up with everyone. I’ve also adopted the mentality that making it my business makes it my problem. If Skye wanted to share, he would. The guy is personable almost to a fault and a huge flirt with the girls. Yet, today dark circles and flyer fatigue have him exuding exhaustion.
“Got weekend plans?” he asks as we let go of the last set of edges and wipes his brow adding, “These table legs are as thick as Dusty’s beast biceps.”
“Not so much for the weekend, but I have a date tonight.” We heft the first of the sofas.
“No shit? She hot?” Skye’s shock doesn’t surprise me. I haven’t gone out with anyone since well before my incarceration. The guys tell me about their love lives, not in fucking girlie-detail, but Skye has kicked my leg a few times with a not-so-subtle thumbs-up to signify a woman will come along to give my hand a rest so I’m not stuck jerking off forever. He’s got the impression I’m picky. Maybe I am now.
“Depends on what you think of Kimber.”
“Fuuudge, man.” There are hard footsteps on the stairs coming up from the lobby. Dusty ignores us on his way to fix something on the third floor while the girls are all out for the day. Skye waits until he’s out of earshot to continue. “Stay the fuck away from Kimber. Like, move out of Trig’s. Now.”
“It’s her daughter.”
“No shit? That’s a different story. Mini-Kimber, and no ass beating from an overprotective papa. I can get on board with those odds. So you like her or do you have a Ginger Spice kink you’re working out?”
A throw pillow has fallen from the couch and I throw it at him. Skye laughs, catching it and stuffing it back on to the cushions.
“I’m kidding.” He flops on the sofa. “And you answered my question.”
I take a spot on the final couch we have yet to move, mirroring his slouch. I’ve had second thoughts since asking Aidy out last night.
“I don’t have a ton to offer her. Seriously, she’s in college. I got kicked out. Her adoptive parents are well off. I’m broke. I’m fucking picking her up in a windowless utility truck like a perv whenever we go anywhere.” The night I’d rescued Aidy up from the party replays through my mind. I’m judging myself the way the campus cop disapproved of my ride. I scrub my scalp.
“Man, if Aidy agreed to go out with you, and deep down she’s anything like Kimber, that kind of crap don’t matter.”
“Nature versus nurture?”
Skye pshaws, waving his hand. “That’s akin to saying Cece isn’t a good person because of the parents you had. Give her some credit. You ever wonder how your sister got here? It was more than the way she was shimmying her hips and pulling in customers. She had initiative. Drive. Carver and Jake don’t choose the girls from Sweet Caroline’s who get rooms upstairs at random. They vet those women and they won’t take anyone less than meets their standard. Cece was handpicked. They only want the best. Looks. Talent. Brains.”
“That’s fucking creepy. What if my sister was smart but butt ugly? Or a knock-out and dumb as a rock?” Not for the first time, I wonder what else goes on around here that I’m not supposed to be privy to.
“Don’t be a putz where you don’t know why Carver gives them a chance.” Skye gets defensive.
“So enlighten me.”
“Carver and Jake go way back. Their mothers danced together at Sweet Caroline’s. I guess Carver’s momma was a knock-out, but she didn’t fare quite as well as Caroline did.”
“Hold on, there’s an actual Caroline?”
“There is. She’s my aunt and a tough old broad. Although, I’ll kick you in the nads if you say a damn thing against her. Jake you can talk shit all you want about. It’s probably true anyhow.”
I’m reeling that Skye and Jake are cousins. Their personalities are polar opposite. The unusual scolding tone Skye’s using with me—the one Jake likes to take with everyone—is to get my head out of my ass.
“The ladies on the third floor don’t get held back the way Carver’s momma did. Whatever quality he finds in them gets fostered. You think Jake likes handing his best source of revenue over? Celine would be stripping a lot longer if she had to pay her rent and three squares a day.”
“So what does he get in return? Jake’s not the hearts and flowers type.” More like kick a puppy. Well, maybe it’s an exaggeration. He’d growl and bark back louder. Piss on its leg.
“A piece of the mill.” Skye doesn’t mean the actual building. He’s alluding to what’s going on in his office, Carver’s frequent absences, the installs Trig has me do, and the surveillance happening when I’m not around.
I shake my head to clear my mind.
“Have you figured out why you’re here, bootstrapper?”
“Huh?”
“Mull it over. Everyone says you’re smart, but maybe Trig fucked up when he did your background check. Doubtful. But possible. Also—” Skye shifts his hand to his jeans pocket and tosses me a set of keys.
“Fuck, these aren’t to the Maserati?”
“Hell, no. I’ve got my own set of wheels. Drop me off when we’re done playing interior decorator and you can borrow it for the night. It’s like a pumpkin, though, I want it back before midnight.
On the way to drop Skye off, I learn a lot about him. Namely, he trusts me. In a place shrouded in secrecy, trust goes a long way.
Skye had come from the airport and since it’s winter, he wasn’t parking the motorcycle he rides most days in the garage there. It’s why he drove this car and how I wound up finding out where he disappeared to.
He shrugs off his comment about the car having a curfew, but the way his palm slides over the ragtop convertible, it’s obvious it means something to him. I hadn’t thought he’d have more sentimental feelings for another machine than he has for his bike.
I check the time on my phone as I approach Aidy’s dorm. I’m still getting the vehicle back at a reasonable hour, and I’ve been taking it easier on the slick streets than I ever do with the van. Standing under an overhang a
t her dorm, I text Aidy to let her know I’ve arrived. She’s out of the entrance a few minutes later, looking amazing.
Her hair is up off her neck, but those few violet tendrils begging for me to touch them have fallen to her neck. She’s got on a navy blue dress, lighter leggings and short leather boots, which match her jacket. I’ve never seen Aidy in a dress and my jaw is on the doorstep with how feminine she is out of her jeans, tees and bulky sweatshirts.
“You clean up nice,” she compliments while I roll my tongue back into my mouth.
I flub trying to tell her how pretty she is. Why are we always so clumsy in these moments when other times were so at ease with the other?
Aidy’s cheeks pinken to the same shade as her hair. I glance at my jeans and the button down I have rolled at the sleeves. Then I open up an umbrella for us to dodge the raindrops under. Aidy lets me guide her to the convertible, and I wait until she’s settled inside before closing her in.
“Hungry?” I sit behind the wheel and shake off the wet weather.
She nods and smiles, biting her lip. I’d kiss Aidy now cause the anticipation is getting to me, but I want to show her a nice time first. Being rusty at this, I passed my plan by Skye. He told me I was overthinking since Aidy and I are already having a good time together.
“The restaurant is a hole in the wall, but always packed. I go there all the time. I think you’ll like it.” I ramble. Rain is beating on the hood.
“Morgan, you have to start the car for us to go anywhere.”
“Sorry, I—I haven’t done this in a long time. Taken anyone out.”
Aidy looks shyly at her lap. I catch a hint of her front tooth as she tries not to bite down again. “I’m nervous too.” Her nose scrunches up. Still no freckles, Aidy’s skin is porcelain white and luminescent in the street lamps. She covers her lips so she doesn’t snicker. “I feel so stupid when I laugh, you know? Immature.”