by Carian Cole
“Morrison was one of the greats,” Skylar comments when the song ends. “So deep and poetic. Not to mention, dammmn sexy.”
“Not at the end he wasn’t.”
She bobs her head to the side. “True. But in his prime, he was everything.”
I don’t know if he was everything. He was known for being moody, stoned, and emotionally unstable most of the time.
“You have any INXS on your playlist?” she asks. “Michael Hutchence gives me Jim Morrison vibes.”
Skylar obviously has a distinct fascination for damaged men. I see a broken heart in her future.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” I pick up my phone, find the song I’m looking for, and hit play.
“Oh!” she squeals when she hears it. “Don’t Change is sooo good. This and Never Tear Us Apart are my favorites. Have you heard the cover of Never Tear Us Apart that Ashes and Embers does? It’s seriously so amazing.”
“I have. It’s wicked good.”
“Asher Valentine has the most emotional voice ever. And that dude on violin?” She fans herself with her hand. “Epic on every level.”
“Should I turn the AC on to cool you off over there, Sparkles?” I tease.
She smirks my way. “Be quiet, you. A girl’s gotta have someone to lust over.”
“Does she now?”
“Yes. Just like men do. I’m sure you get all stupid when girls like Paige with her mile-long eyelashes are flirting with you,” she playfully accuses, and pokes me in the arm.
“I can assure you I have zero interest in a girl—no, make that a woman because I’m not into girls—like Paige.”
“Why’s that?” She narrows her eyes at me curiously. “She’s pretty in that I must look runway perfect at all times way.”
“That’s what I don’t like. I like natural women. Not with all that makeup. Someone who doesn’t blatantly flirt to get my attention. I don’t like when women are always ‘on,’ trying to look and act perfect 24/7. To me, they’re much more attractive when they’re sitting around in sweats with messy hair acting goofy.”
“Like me?” Her voice rises with hope. “In my footie pajamas?”
“Actually, yeah. Cute can be sexy.”
Shut up, Jude.
“Maybe older men are different then, because all the guys at school go after the gorgeous, popular girls. They don’t even notice girls like me.”
“Trust me, they notice you. My guess? They’re intimated by you because you don’t act interested in them. The so-called pretty girls flirt with them, invite the guys to pay attention to them. But you? You’re not trying to get their attention. You’re confident and unique. That scares them.”
In hindsight, I may have spent too much time watching Skylar walking to and from the high school parking lot every day.
She turns to me, her forehead creased with thought. “You really think so?”
“Yup.”
“Meh,” she says dismissively, and leans back in her seat to stare out the windshield. “I’m not interested in any of them, anyway.”
“There aren’t any brooding, emo, musician-types in your school? It was full of them when I was there.”
“None that I’ve seen.”
“Check under the bleachers,” I say. “That’s where they usually hang out.”
She laughs. “I’ll do that.”
I have lots of memories of hanging out under the bleachers with friends, smoking cigarettes and joints, having random philosophical discussions.
“So, does that mean you think I’m cute and sexy?” she suddenly asks while playing with the seat control buttons. “Wait—will this one make my butt warm?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you think I’m cute and sexy, or yes, this heated seat thing will make my butt warm?”
I swerve past a car taking too long to make a turn. My brain is doing the same—trying to swerve away from the conversation. Sure, she’s cute and sexy as hell, but that doesn’t mean I want to verbally admit it.
“Yes, it’ll make your ass warm.”
Swerve.
“Why would someone want their ass warm? Why doesn’t this headrest heat up? That’s something I might like.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I shake my head and stifle a laugh.
“Do I scare you, Lucky?” she asks in her playful voice. “With my confidence and messy hair?”
“Yes. I’m terrified,” I tease back before taking a sip of my coffee.
“I think you are.” Her voice lowers, and she side-eyes me with a crooked grin. A notification on her phone distracts her, and she pulls it out of her pocket to read a message.
Saved by the bell.
“Don’t you want to know if I think you’re cute and sexy?” she asks, laying her phone on her lap.
I glance in the rearview mirror and resist the urge to say yes. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I mean, look at me. Of course you think I’m sexy.” I flash her a sly grin. “There’s nothing cute about me.”
“You’re hotter than this seat warmer is,” she says, switching the button for the seat to off. “I hope you didn’t pay extra for that feature. It’s a fail.”
“Agreed.”
“And for the record, I think you’re kinda cute. Especially when you smile. Not you’re signature slick, sexy smile, though. But this other little smile you do, when you’re tired. It’s super cute.”
Ugh. Cute. When did that happen?
I glance at her and feign innocence. “What slick, sexy smile?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act dumb. You know the one I mean. And you know damn well it makes women all crazy.”
“Really?” I say coyly, turning onto the street my aunt and uncle live on. “Tell me more.”
I shouldn’t flirt with her, but I can’t stop myself. Banter is a wicked turn-on for me.
“You smiled that way at Rebecca. That day in the store.”
I scoff. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did.”
“It musta been an accident. Do I smile that way at you?”
“What? You don’t have control over your own face?” she asks with teasing sarcasm.
I shrug. “Depends on the day.”
Laughing, she says affectionately, “You’re an ass. And yeah, you’ve smiled at me with the slick smile a couple of times.”
I pull into my aunt and uncle’s driveway and kill the engine. “Well, it wasn’t intentional. I wouldn’t want to make you all crazy, as you put it,” I say, purposely flashing her the smile in question.
Her cheeks blush as she grins and shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind being a little crazy,” she says, opening her door and jumping out of the truck.
I chomp on that tidbit like a hungry dog, even though I know I shouldn’t. In my mind she’s got a huge, glowing, neon sign over her head flashing WARNING - KEEP BACK. But somehow, I keep edging closer.
Chapter 22
Skylar
“Should we have brought something?” I ask softly as we walk up the front steps of the brick ranch together. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I should have brought a cake, or flowers to meet his family in their home. I don’t want them to think I’m rude.
“Nah.” Jude takes one more drag off his cigarette before putting it out in a stone planter near the door. It appears to be serving as a huge ashtray with a fake flower arrangement stuck in the middle of it. “They might go into shock if I show up with gifts.”
“But we’re here together.”
“Don’t worry. It’s just a quick visit to say hi, not Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I know, but—”
The front door swings open, and an adorable, petite woman with shoulder-length gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses stands before us, her mouth hanging open in shock.
“Oh, my Lord,” she says as a big smile spreads across her face. “It’s true!” She turns her head to yell into the house. “Al! Lucky and his wife are here! She’s real! You owe me
twenty bucks!”
Jude pushes past her, stopping for a second to kiss her cheek. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, even though he’s smiling. “You two are a riot.”
I follow him inside, and his aunt closes the door behind us. “Aren’t you the cutest thing,” she says, beaming at me. I can feel my cheeks reddening.
“She’s not a thing,” Jude says. “Aunt Suzy, this is Skylar. Skylar, this is my Aunt Suzy, and that over there,” he nods behind us, where an older man is sitting in the living room, “is Uncle Al.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable. We’re so glad you two stopped by. Lucky, you have to look at the washing machine for me,” she says as we move into the living room. “It’s making that clanking noise again and leaking sudsy water.”
I blink to clear my vision, convinced there’s no way I’m seeing everything I’m seeing. But it’s all there, and my heart lurches with excitement.
We’ve stepped inside a time capsule. A house preserved from the 1960s.
I feel like I’m in heaven!
The carpet is a dizzying, orange-and-brown pattern. Orange curtains hang over the windows. Dark-wood paneling covers the walls. My trained eye from scouting flea markets and antique stores tells me all the furniture and decor is obviously authentic, not cheap copies. The awesome thing is, even though it’s all old, it doesn’t look worn, or dirty, like some old houses do when everything has been forgotten, ignored, and never upgraded. A slight floral scent fills the air. Everything here is clean—purposely preserved and taken care of. Like a museum.
I catch Jude watching me as I gape around the room. My heart flutters when he winks at me as our eyes meet.
He knew how much I’d love it here. It’s one of the coolest houses I’ve ever been in.
“We thought Lucky was full of shit when he told us he had a wife,” Uncle Al says from the orange chair in the corner. His voice is deep and gravelly, like he was a smoker for a long time. He reminds me of an old hippie—long white beard and hair, glasses similar to his wife’s, faded tattoos on his arms. A green knitted beanie hat is perched on his head. Jude has his eyes and his bad-boy grin. I’m pretty sure back in the day, Uncle Al and Aunt Suzy were quite the attractive couple.
I smile at him, unsure what to say.
“A fake wife,” Jude corrects, sitting on a matching orange couch and patting the space next to him. “It’s not a real marriage. I told you guys that. We’re just friends.”
I maneuver around the glass, boomerang-shaped coffee table and join him on the couch.
“What kind of bullshit is that?” Uncle Al nods his bearded chin at me. “You okay with that, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I reply, nervous under his stare. “I’m totally okay with it. Jude was nice enough to marry me so I could have health insurance for a while.” I hope I’m giving them the same story Jude did. I wish he had briefed me on the drive over.
Uncle Al points at us. “Well, you do like each other, right?”
Jude and I look at each other and laugh a little. “Sure,” Jude says. “We’re still getting to know each other, though.”
Aunt Suzy flits across the room, stopping at the entry to the kitchen. “I don’t understand why you young kids want to date forever and get to know each other before you get married. The only way to get to know someone is to marry them.”
Uncle Al nods and tugs on his beard. “I married her a month after we met and we never looked back.”
“That’s fuckin’ crazy,” Jude comments.
“I think it’s great,” I say. “So romantic.”
“Life’s too short to wait around,” Uncle Al says. “I liked her, I married her.”
“He was a wild child, just like you, Lucky,” Aunt Suzy calls out from the kitchen. I can’t see her, since there’s a wall between the rooms. Now I see why the new open-concept floorplans are so popular. “It took me years to tame him.”
Uncle Al smirks and shakes his head. “She never tamed me. I just let her think she did.”
“Your house is beautiful,” I say when Aunt Suzy returns with a plate full of crackers and sliced cheese. She places it on the coffee table and sits in a retro, green chair across from us.
“Thank you. Our best years were in the sixties, so we thought, why not surround ourselves with it forever?”
“It’s really cool,” I comment, taking in all the details—statues, vases, lamps, old clocks. Even the TV and radio have that vintage look.
“Most of it is all our original stuff from when we first bought this house.”
“It’s all great ’til it starts to break,” Jude snorts.
“Lucky told us you work in a store and take pictures?” Aunt Suzy asks, ignoring Jude’s remark.
I nod, hoping they don’t think I’m taking advantage of their nephew. “I’m in my last year of high school, but I work part-time at a boutique in town. I work the register, but recently, I got a promotion. Now I take pictures of the products and post them online to promote them and entice people to come to the store. It’s a lot of fun.”
“She’s really talented at taking photos,” Jude adds.
“Good for you. I love photography,” Aunt Suzy remarks.
“You’re how old?” Uncle Al asks me.
“Don’t ask her age!” his wife exclaims. “Never ask a woman her age.”
“She’s eighteen,” Jude answers, shoving a cracker in his mouth.
Bracing myself for shock and backlash, I pick up a cracker and nibble it gingerly. I don’t want to appear rude by not eating some of the snacks Suzy put out for us.
“Just like me!” Aunt Suzy says instead. “I was eighteen when I married Al. I felt so old at the time, even though I was so young.” She looks at her husband with wistful eyes. “I thought I knew everything.”
“You still think you know everything,” Uncle Al teases.
Suzy turns to us. “Age doesn’t matter. You two will grow together and figure it all out. Just like we did.”
“You guys, we’re not really a couple,” Jude says, shaking his head. “You understand that, right? She’s only eighteen. And we’re just friends. I don’t want you two getting all excited thinking we’ll be having babies.”
“I love babies!” Aunt Suzy exclaims, grabbing on to that idea like a shopaholic on Black Friday. “It wouldn’t hurt to just have one.”
Jude and I laugh simultaneously. “No, Aunt Suze. No babies.”
“I’ll babysit for you. I have nothing to do all day.”
“Still not happening,” Jude says.
“Well, if she’s going to babysit…” I tease, playfully nudging his arm.
He turns to me with a smile, leaning so close to me that, for a moment, I think he might kiss me. “Don’t encourage them.”
“You said you’re living together?” Uncle Al asks, raising his eyebrows.
Jude nods. “Yeah, but—”
“Why not just be married for real, then?” Aunt Suzy interrupts.
“We don’t want to be married,” Jude answers.
Aunt Suzy waves her hand dismissively at him. “That’s ridiculous. You already are.”
With a sigh, Jude stands and playfully kicks his uncle’s foot. “Okay, enough marriage and baby talk. You want to go look at the washing machine? See if we can find some missing socks in that thing?”
Uncle Al nods and stands up. “Maybe we can pull your head out of your ass while we’re down there.”
Jude chuckles and glances back at me before he and his uncle head down the basement stairs. “You’ll be okay?” he asks.
I nod and reach for another cracker. “Yeah,” I say happily. “I’m good.”
Aunt Suzy claps her hands together when they’re gone. “I was just about to chop vegetables for a soup I’m making. Want to join me in the kitchen and we can chat?”
I force a smile, but a little alarm bell goes off in my head at the mention of foo
d and cooking. “Okay.”
Taking a deep breath, I follow her to the kitchen. I’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t ask me to eat anything. I’m still a bit unsure about vegetables. They grow in the ground. With bugs. People and animals might have walked on them—or worse. Insects might be living inside them.
Shudder.
I finger the fuzzy edge of my scarf nervously as I follow her into the kitchen. It’s a method my therapist taught me. Some textures are soothing to touch, and it distracts me from worrying or hyper-focusing on food.
“I’m so happy Jude finally has someone special in his life,” Suzy says, pulling two cutting boards and a couple of huge, shiny knives out of a drawer and putting them up on the counter.
It takes me a moment to answer her because I’m captivated by the avocado-green kitchen appliances, and the white Formica countertop with the tiny boomerang design, just like I’ve seen in the older homes and in movies.
“Are these the original appliances?” I ask, touching the door of the refrigerator after she takes an armful of vegetables out of it.
“No, these are painted replicas. Lucky insisted we had to upgrade the appliances after the oven caught on fire.” I can’t help but laugh at the way she rolls her eyes, smiles, and begins chopping celery. “He bought the entire set for us last year. He does so much for us. He fixes things, helps us pay our bills. You got yourself a good husband, sweetheart. He’s just like his Uncle Al.” She leans closer to me and whispers, “A little rough on the outside but all love on the inside. You just gotta let them believe they’re tough guys.”
Picking up a knife and a carrot, I copy how she’s chopping, feeling a bit sad that we might be disappointing her by not being married for real. She seems really excited about the idea of an extended family.
“He’s a great guy,” I agree. “But like he said, we’re only legally married. We’re not romantically involved. He’s too old for me, but he’s been a really good friend by helping me. There’s medication I have to take. It’s nothing life threatening, but I couldn’t afford it without insurance. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that he offered to help me for a while.”
She pushes her glasses up her nose and looks at me with a knowing expression in her eyes as she waits for me to finish. “There must be more to it,” she says in a low but friendly voice. “Even if you don’t see it. People don’t just get married.”
