Honestly, I think my mom would be thrilled if I answered Ethan’s teasing booty call.
The next ten minutes were blissfully quiet as we devoured gigantic greasy triangles of pizza with single-minded determination. I noticed a few bats winging gracefully overhead, but otherwise I was distracted by the opportunity burning a hole in my pocket. Suddenly I worried that a flood of people would jump at the chance to attend a Hitchcock-inspired party and edge me out with their quick-fingered RSVPs.
“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” I yelped, standing suddenly, my legs pushing my chair away from the table. “Napkins have become necessary.”
The pair of them eyed me quizzically but declined my offer. But as I neared the French doors leading into my mom’s kitchen, she called out, “Cate, I’ve changed my mind. Will you pour me a glass of the Cabernet on the counter?”
“Got it,” I said, stepping into the dim kitchen. The desk light in the corner was on, pooling a warm glow, so, preferring to keep my little secret from the pair outside, I decided to make do without additional lighting. It seemed irrational, but I couldn’t help it; I wanted this one little secret for myself. My life wasn’t just an open book with these two, it was an interactive free-for-all. Mom had been running interference in my life long before Dad and Gemma had left two years ago, within three weeks of each other, leaving us only to breathe an anticlimactic sigh of relief.
Gemma was sixteen months older than me and had long wavy auburn hair—twins we were not, but we’d had a whole Parent Trap dynamic going since early childhood. Photos scattered around the house told the story and hinted at the inevitable ending. Gemma always posed beside my father, in his lap, or on his shoulders. I, on the other hand, was my mom’s shadow. Gemma and Dad were outgoing, outdoorsy, take-a-chance, make-it-happen types, while Mom and I were crafty, bookish rule followers, taking it on faith that magic would happen precisely when it was meant to, a personality type crafted initially by fairy tales and honed by Jane Austen.
Starting her third year of grad school in North Carolina, Gemma came home as school holidays allowed. Dad was happily entrenched in his new life as owner of a Texas Hill Country zip-line outfit, and despite being only a quick day-trip away, we rarely saw him. As for Ethan, the pair of us had hit it off around the same two-year mark, glommed on to each other, and hung like sticker burrs ... impossible to shake. And I didn’t want to shake him ... him or my mom. I just wanted something of my own. I wanted a secret. A little desperately.
I quickly gathered up the napkins and pulled a favored wineglass down from the kitchen’s open shelving. Then, with my back to the door, I made a slow effort of pouring the wine and cleaning up an imaginary spill—just in case anyone was watching. With my free hand, I texted my RSVP and credit card number and felt the thrill of derring-do ricochet through my veins.
I returned to the table, barely able to suppress a scary sort of smile—the sort where it’s obvious you’re hiding something particularly juicy. This subtle sneaking around felt good—liberating—but I couldn’t very well flaunt it unless I wanted to risk Ethan anteing up his two cents. I was über conscious of their mildly curious gazes, but I stayed focused on my pizza and beer until a text came in, instantly disrupting my carefully arranged calm. I hurried to pull the phone from my pocket, my blood pounding crazily through my veins as I urgently wondered if I’d been too late.
Syd Carmelo: So thrilled you rsvp’d! Finally! Going to be awesome! Expect a call....
I smiled down at the screen, my pulse slowly returning to normal, and casually sipped my beer.
Judging by the banked look in Ethan’s eyes, he could tell something was up. He no doubt assumed that it was my mother’s presence that kept me from blurting my secrets.
“Do you two have any plans for the evening?” my mom quizzed us, staring intently at Ethan.
Mom had been gunning for Ethan ever since I’d brought him home for our first Scrabble game a year and a half ago. She assumed that eventually one of us would realize that this thing between us could be so much more than a little word game with beer. As a romance reader, she couldn’t help it—he was perfect hero material. Charismatic, clever ... debatably sexy—it had, in fact, been debated, with Mom talking up his finer points and me la-la-la’ing my way through.
Ethan and I caught each other’s eye, simultaneously shook our heads in one quick negative, and let our gazes swivel away again.
“I’ve actually got a few errands to run before tomorrow. Not to mention a little work to catch up on.” He stood, eyed the pizza box splayed open on the table, and looked to me with a question in his eyes.
“I got it,” I told him. “Seeing as I didn’t buy the pizza, I’ll pay the forfeit in cleanup. Sorry to rob you of another Scrabble trouncing.”
“It had its benefits,” he said, winking.
I glanced at my mom, hoping she wasn’t picking up on any of this.
“Thank you for dinner, Ms. Kendall. See you at school, Cate.” And then he disappeared into the shadows at the edge of the house. Minutes later, all car sounds had faded, and Mom and I were alone in the dark.
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“No, and neither do I.”
Mom’s laser stare bored into me. I may as well have been splayed out on the table like James Bond.
“Kidding, Mom. But Ethan is just a friend.”
“He could be a friend with benefits... .”
I turned the laser back on her, wondering for a moment if she’d been eavesdropping earlier and merely glossed over it by paying the pizza guy.
“Where did you say you were today, Mom?” I countered.
She clammed up immediately, which, while slightly suspicious, was just fine with me at this point.
“Do you have time this week to come in after school and help me decorate the store? I’d like to get the Halloween stuff up by Thursday at the latest.”
Mom owned a vintage clothing and jewelry store down on South Congress called Mirror, Mirror. It irked her that fall retail tended to be one big blur of holidays, so she determinedly decorated for just a few days surrounding every holiday. I was always conscripted to help with window displays and ladder-top duties. Halloween, as I was now well aware, thanks to my invitation to a Hitchcock soiree, was only one week away.
And I needed something to wear.
I mentally rummaged through my closet, trying to think if I had anything at all with a Hitchcock-blonde vibe, and I couldn’t come up with any hits. I’d have to cross my fingers that there was something in the shop I could borrow—something that wouldn’t raise questions I didn’t particularly want to answer. I hadn’t decided quite how to play this. Spies and superheroes didn’t go around outing themselves, confiding their secret identities, and handing out invitations to their secret lairs. Except maybe to a sidekick.
I hadn’t really considered a sidekick. Ideally there’d be one trusty soul who had my back and could save me from the laser table. But seeing as this was just a little role-playing experiment, I really didn’t need a sidekick. At least not yet.
“I can do that,” I agreed, flashing back to reality. “I’ll come by after school, but it might not be until Thursday—this week’s busy.” I stood and started gathering up the bottles for recycling. “I’ll get this, Mom, and then I’m going to bed.”
My cell phone chirped. I glanced at the display and then took my time answering until Mom and her wineglass had moved out of earshot.
“Hey, Syd,” I said, closing the pizza box filled with crusts and wadded napkins.
“Hot damn! You’re coming to my Hitchcock party!”
Here, finally, was someone who could share my secret. A smile quirked my lips as I finished clearing up. “You can bet I’ll be renting North by Northwest this week—for research purposes.”
“Wait, are you coming as a character?” Judging by the thrill in her voice, this was more than she could get her head around.
I flipped the switch for the lanterns, now bob
bing gently in the breeze, and crossed the yard to the garage and the steps up to my apartment. “I’m shooting for seductive spy-girl Eve Kendall from North by Northwest,” I said, having decided just moments ago myself. “And I’m coming alone, so you can bet I’ll be looking for a Cary Grant sort to finish out the picture.”
“Um, sweetie, if we get any men of the Cary Grant persuasion, your competition will be fierce. But good for you—way to ratchet up the sexy! Will, Oli, and I are going dressed as cat burglars à la To Catch a Thief. Sorta ... ninja-sexy.”
“I need something that will stamp out the ‘schoolteacher by day’ vibe coming off me in waves. I’m planning to visit the shop this week, so hopefully I’ll find something perfect in my size.” Letting myself into my little apartment, I leaned backward against the door, dropped the Scrabble box on the hall table, and scanned the room’s potential as a superhero/spy lair—the sunflower yellow bowl of Dum-Dum lollipops on the coffee table was way too Doris Day. Although, come to think of it, she’d been a Hitchcock blonde....
“You just need to get your blonde on, and you’re gonna rock this party.”
My understanding of the logistics involved in that suggestion was a little vague, but as a little fizz of encouragement, it was awesome. Trouble was, with a week to second-guess myself, I couldn’t vouch for my confidence next Sunday night.
“It’ll definitely be an adventure,” I agreed.
It was about damn time.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2012 by Alyssa Goodnight
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7806-7
Austentatious Page 30
