If You Were Mine

by Melanie Harlow

  * * *

  After I returned from the drug store, I gave the kids their new crayons and coloring books and shoveled the driveway, the front walk, and the sidewalk, angrily scraping the metal shovel along the cement. I was so mad at my brother. So fucking mad. And why was Josie so blindly loyal to him? Even if he did come home, if he didn’t get sober, he’d only take off again. That was the cycle, and she knew it. The past kept on repeating itself. Wouldn’t she wake up every morning and think, Is this the day he leaves us? Didn’t she want something better for her children? I did, and they weren’t even mine!

  Love was a fucked-up thing.

  Eight

  Claire

  * * *

  Audacious.

  As soon as I saw that name printed on the bottom of the lipstick tube, I knew it was the one.

  It was Thursday, and I’d stopped at the drugstore after work to purchase a tube of crimson courage. (Surely Margot would have frowned upon purchasing cosmetics at Rite Aid, but I didn’t have her bank account. I needed the discount version of badass.)

  When I got home, I noticed Theo had sent me a message via the Hire a Hottie website.

  Hey Claire, just wondering if you’d like me to pick you up before the wedding or if you’d be more comfortable meeting me there. I’m good either way.

  I thought it over and decided I would be fine with him picking me up. It wasn’t like he was a complete stranger—we’d met and messaged back and forth a little. Plus, it would be weird having to explain to people why we’d driven separately. But just in case Theo really was a serial killer, I called Jaime and told her he was picking me up. “So if you never hear from me again, it’s because I was too embarrassed to show up at a wedding without a date.”

  “You have to check in with me all night long and let me know when you get home,” she said. “And for the record, I think this is a bad idea.”

  “Duly noted. Hey, what do you think I should wear?” I asked, staring at my closet.

  “Not the Wedding Dress,” she said, referring to the loose-fitting black dress I wore to weddings so often it had a nickname.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s boring.”

  “It’s comfortable,” I countered, reaching into my closet to pull it out.

  “It’s not sexy.”

  Jaime and Margot were always trying to convince me to dress a little sexier, or at least more stylishly, but I was never sure I could pull it off. “I don’t need to look sexy, I just have to look not-single.”

  She sighed loudly.

  “Never mind, I’ll figure it out,” I said as I stuck it back in the closet.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Yes. I mean, Theo’s nice enough, and maybe we’ll have a good time, but I’m a little worried about the whole fooling people into thinking he’s my boyfriend thing. I’m not the actress in the family. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  Jaime laughed. “I know. I was thinking earlier that in the twenty years I’ve known you, I think this is the craziest thing you’ve ever done.”

  That actually made me smile.

  * * *

  Friday arrived, and I still didn’t know what to wear.

  After school that day, I stood in front of my closet again and debated trying to look a little sexy, but bold lips and a bold outfit seemed like too much, and I was nervous enough without adding to it with an uncomfortably tight or low-cut dress. One thing at a time—the lips would be my statement tonight.

  I decided to ignore Jaime’s advice and wear the Wedding Dress. Maybe it was a little plain, but it looked good on me. I slipped the soft, loose dress over my head, and since it was cold outside, paired it with black tights and low-heeled booties. Cute, right? Pleased with my choices, I applied the red lipstick and assessed myself in the mirror. “On a scale of one to ten, you are at least an eight and a half,” I told myself. “You might not be a bombshell, but you are definitely a bullet, possibly even a small grenade.”

  Blowing myself a little air kiss in the glass, I bounced down the stairs and out the door.

  * * *

  I attended the six P.M. ceremony by myself, since I couldn’t afford to rent Theo for more than a few hours. After it was over, at least five people asked my where my mystery man was, their expressions ranging from curious to skeptical. “He couldn’t get off work early enough to make the ceremony,” I said, delighted with how easily the lie rolled off my tongue. The lipstick was working! My ears barely even tingled. “He’ll be at the reception, though.”

  Back at home, I had only about fifteen minutes before Theo was scheduled to pick me up, and I spent it staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, applying another coat of Audacious, and practicing Giselle’s selfie pout. After a few tries, I thought I had it down.

  When the doorbell rang, butterflies took flight in my belly, which annoyed me. This wasn’t a date—it was a business transaction, just like Theo said.

  But just in case the second coat of blaring red lipstick was too much, I blotted some off.

  He rang the bell again, and I tossed the kiss-marked tissue in the trash can. “Coming, coming!” I yelled as I rushed to the door. Then I pulled it open, and my jaw dropped.

  Theo looked gorgeous. Gorgeous. My heart beat a little faster as I took him in, head to heel. He wore a dark suit with a white shirt and deep red tie. His dark hair was neatly combed, his scruff groomed, his shoes polished. And he was so tall—the top of my head barely reached his chin, even with shoes on. I’d have to stand on tiptoe to kiss him.

  As soon as I thought it, I shoved the image out of my head. He’s not going to kiss you, dummy.

  “Come on in,” I said, stepping back so he could get out of the cold. He wasn’t even wearing a coat. “I’m just about ready.”

  “OK. No rush. I’m a few minutes early, anyway.” He entered the living room and looked around as I shut the door. “This is nice.”

  “Thanks. It needs work, but I love it.”

  “What’s this style of architecture called again?”

  “It’s a Craftsman-style bungalow. At least, that’s what the agent called it when she was trying to sell me on the place.”

  “How long have you lived here?” He admired my Christmas tree in the front window before peering into the dining room. I still didn’t have a table and chairs in there.

  “Just a few months. I bought it over the summer, and I’m refurbishing it, one room at a time. But it’s just me doing the work, so it’s a slow process.”

  Theo moved toward the fireplace and studied the painting above it, a watercolor I’d done of cherry trees in bloom near my family’s cabin up north. That squirmy, nervous feeling I always had when people looked at my artwork wormed its way into my stomach, and I halfway hoped he wouldn’t notice my signature at the bottom. But he did.

  “Did you paint this?” he asked.

  I couldn’t tell from his voice if he thought it was good or not. “Yes.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  The nervous feeling eased up, and a little pride warmed my insides. “Thanks.”

  He glanced around at the walls and on the built-in shelves, which held photographs of family and friends along with smaller paintings, sketches, and projects I’d done. “You did all these?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s this?” He picked up a piece I’d recently finished, an old hardcover copy of a book of fairy tales, the pages of which I’d carved into an ornate tower like Rapunzel might have lived in and painted with watercolors.

  “I call it an altered book.”

  “Amazing.” He set it down and picked up another one. “Do you always do fairy tales?”

  “No, but I’m inspired by them a lot. The romance, the history, the symbolism. I like mythology and poetry too.” Walking over to the shelves where he stood, I pulled out one of my favorites, a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets into which I’d carved and painted a heart.

  He admired it for a moment. “How do you d
o it?”

  “I sketch an idea and then try to figure out how to break it down into layers within the pages. When all of the technical stuff is worked out, I carve the design into the book with an Xacto knife. Once all the layers are done, I paint it with watercolors and then bind the sides.” Sharing how I did something was much easier for me than sharing the actual work. I could talk all day long about the process, and even teach someone to do it, but when it came to putting my art out there to be judged…that was hard. It felt like putting myself out there to be judged. I put the book back on the shelf.

  “Do you sell your art?” Theo leaned down to look closer at a sketch of my sister.

  “No. I mean, not yet,” I added quickly. “I’d like to, someday.”

  He straightened up and looked at me. “When’s someday?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Soon, maybe.”

  “Why not already?”

  “You have to submit your work to festivals and galleries and…I’m not sure I’m that accomplished yet.” The squirmy feeling was back under his scrutiny. My friends and family said I was good, but what if they were just being nice?

  “I’d say you’re pretty fucking accomplished. What’s holding you back?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing a little, which gave me the impression he saw right through me. I waited for him to get on me about being scared again, but instead he asked, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  I glanced down at my black dress. “Yes. Why?”

  He frowned. “It doesn’t fit you.”

  “What do you mean? Yes, it does.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s all loose and baggy. You can’t even see your shape.”

  “My shape?” I should have told him to buzz off, but instead I found myself going down the hall to look in the full-length mirror on the back of the guest room door. Why, I have no idea, since I knew exactly what this dress looked like on me. But I thought it fit fine.

  Theo followed me. “Yeah. You have a nice shape, you should show it off. Be more confident.”

  “Actually, I was perfectly confident before you got here. You know, none of the women who reviewed you mentioned anything about getting an outfit critique.” I glared at him over my shoulder.

  “I’m just trying to help,” he said, holding up his hands like he was innocent. “You mentioned before that you have trouble with guys. I’m giving you a guy’s perspective here.”

  “I never said I had trouble with guys.” In front of the mirror, I turned this way and that to see if he was right about the dress. Was it too big? I wanted to be comfy, not frumpy.

  “You didn’t? Huh. Well, I guess it was implied, then.”

  “You really think this looks bad on me?”

  “It’s not that it looks bad, exactly.” He shrugged, moving behind me to look at my reflection in the glass. “It just does’t do anything for you. And all that black…” He winced, shaking his head slightly.

  “What?” I stuck my hands on my hips.

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” he hedged.

  “Oh, really? Since when.”

  “It’s just that you look like you’re going to a funeral or something, not out to have a good time. Love the red lips, though.”

  I pressed them together. “Fine. I’ll change.”

  “And maybe take your hair down, too,” he called out as I marched down the hall. “You have great hair. It’s one of your best features.”

  “Enough!” I yelled, stomping up the stairs.

  “What? It was a compliment!”

  I reached the top of the stairs and ripped off the dress, throwing it to the floor. What an asshole! And I was probably an even bigger asshole for listening to him! Muttering to myself, I flipped through dresses in my closet and yanked out a new one I’d purchased on impulse while I was Christmas shopping a couple weeks ago. It was actually one I’d considered wearing earlier but had decided against because it was so tight. Tossing the dress onto my bed, I slipped off my booties and peeled off the black tights. There was no door to my bedroom, since the entire upper story was simply one big space, and I kept an eye on the steps, half expecting Theo to come up here and start criticizing my underwear.

  I traded the cute black panties I’d had on for nude shapewear—a slip without panties. I wasn’t in the habit of going places sans underwear, but the dress was so fitted, a panty line would show. I’d have to watch how I sat tonight. “This is why dressing sexy is a pain in the ass,” I muttered. “You can’t be comfortable.” I swapped my black bra for nude as well, then shimmied into the dress, a burgundy lace shift with three quarter sleeves and an asymmetrical hem. The neckline was high, but the hemline was short, and the fit left nothing about my “shape” to the imagination. Unfortunately, I couldn’t zip it all the way up on my own.

  Dammit. I’ll have to ask Theo to do it.

  Frowning, I yanked all the hairpins out of my updo and let the mass of wavy hair tumble loosely around my shoulders. I messed with it a little in the mirror on the back of my closet door, but I didn’t have time to do much else. Leaving my legs bare, I stepped into beige high heels and checked my reflection. Good enough? I swiveled right and left, finding nothing amiss. In fact, I actually thought I looked pretty damn good. But I’d thought so before, too. I bet Theo will be able to find something to criticize.

  Had I known he was going to make me feel worse about myself, I’d have chosen somebody else. I didn’t need any help in that department. Scowling, I turned off my bedroom lights and made my way carefully down the steps.

  Theo, who’d been looking at the painting over the fireplace again, turned to look at me and whistled. Was it horrible and anti-feminist that I liked it?

  I tried to keep the frown on my face. “I need help with the zipper on this dress, please.”

  “Of course.” His eyes were wide and glued to me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. “Wow. You are stunning.”

  Surprised, I blinked at him. I don’t think I’d ever been called stunning before. Was this part of his act? “Thank you,” I said, a little uncertainly.

  Turning around, I moved my hair so it wouldn’t get caught. When his hand touched my back, I felt a little tingle move up my spine. And was it me, or did he take an inordinately long time with the task, slowly moving the zipper to the top? The noise it made seemed to go on forever.

  “Hold on, there’s a little hook thing, too.” He stepped closer to me—so close I felt his breath on the back of my neck as his fingers worked to get the tiny hook through the eye.

  My heart beat wildly, and I had trouble swallowing. For God’s sake, Claire, he isn’t unzipping your dress! He’s doing it up! Get a grip! But something about the way he was performing the favor felt…erotic to me.

  “Sorry,” he said. “My hands are too big. There! Got it.”

  “Thanks.” I let my hair fall, but I couldn’t face him yet, so I walked over to the closet. Tried to sound breezy and casual. “You better drop me off at the door, or my legs will freeze.”

  “Of course.”

  Willing my face to cool, I pulled out my wool dress coat and turned around. Theo was staring at my legs.

  “What now?” I asked, steeling myself for another critique. “Heels not high enough? Wrong color? Legs too pale?”

  “No,” he said, his eyes traveling up to mine. “Everything about you is perfect.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” I shoved one arm in my coat, embarrassed by the way I was blushing. What’s your problem? He probably says that to all his clients—it’s part of the job, to make them feel gorgeous and desirable and wanted. You’re not special.

  “Here. Let me help.” Theo reached out and held the coat up as I slipped my other arm in.

  “Thank you.” My fingers shook as I buttoned it up, and I had to concentrate hard on pushing each button through its hole, like a five-year-old.

  “I’m sorry if I hur
t your feelings earlier. Sometimes I say stuff without thinking.”

  “It’s fine. You’re probably right about the dress.” Facing him, I pulled my dress gloves from the pockets of my coat. “My friends don’t like that dress either. Not sexy enough.”

  “Not sexy at all.”

  I shot him a dirty look, and he immediately looked contrite.

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  Sighing, I tugged on the gloves. “Don’t worry about it. The thing is, I don’t think it’s the dress that’s not sexy. I think it’s me.”

  “You think you’re not sexy?”

  Again, my cheeks burned. Why the hell had I said that? Closing my eyes, I held up one palm. “Look, just forget it. I’m not fishing for fake compliments tonight, OK? I know I’m paying you to lie to other people, but you don’t have to lie to me.”

  He cocked his head. “So the critical stuff about yourself, you’ll believe, but the compliments must be a lie?”

  It was so dead on, I wasn’t sure how to reply. But before I could think of what to say, he shook his head.

  “Never mind. I promise not to lie to you tonight, Claire. Any compliment I give you is real.” His tone was quiet and serious. No smile teased at his mouth. “You’re beautiful and sexy. And I don’t know what kind of dumbasses you date for real, but if they don’t make you feel that way, then fuck them.”

  There went those damn butterflies again. “Thank you. Um, you look nice, too.” Nice was an understatement, but I couldn’t think straight. Was he just flattering me? Or did he honestly think that? How was I supposed to know what was part of the act and what wasn’t?

  Jesus, I need a glass of wine.

  “Thank you.” Theo took his keys from his pocket. “Ready to do this?”

  I shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Don’t be nervous. It’s gonna be great.”

  “Three hundred dollars great?” I challenged as we went out the front door. I’d contracted Theo for the three-hour minimum, with a clause stipulating that I could extend it if I wanted to.