by S. E. Harmon
“Where are you headed?”
“Going to the mall. I need to find something to wear for the wedding.” She readjusted her purse strap over her arm. “You want to come with me?”
To the mall? “The moment an asteroid hits Earth,” I promised.
She made a face and pulled out another yogurt from the fridge. We were still giving one another a hard time when Irene came in. She waved at us both and leaned in to kiss my dad’s cheek. The kiss was brief. Chaste. The kiss that couples do without even realizing they’re doing it, and it felt so…wrong. My father kissing another woman in my mother’s kitchen, right there under the smiling sunflowers painted on the cupboard. My mother had loved those damn sunflowers.
I’d seen them prepare breakfast like this a million times over. My mother would be in charge of the biscuits and the sausage gravy, and my dad would prepare the eggs. Well, everyone’s eggs but mine. I liked mine so dry and well-done that he’d get pissy as Wolfgang Puck and refuse to cook them. “If you want to burn your eggs, burn them yourself,” he’d instruct, and then watched me with a gimlet eye over a cup of coffee as I pushed my well-done eggs around in the skillet.
Get over it, Avery, I warned myself silently. Jesus, maybe it was better that he sell this house. It was nothing but a boneyard of what used to be. I was going to try hard…really hard to accept what was.
Irene’s nimble fingers worked the stove controls as she slapped a skillet on one of the eyes. “You guys want breakfast?”
I pointed to my yogurt. “I’m good, thanks.”
“That’s not breakfast!” she trilled. “My goodness, AJ, you need something that’ll stick to your bones!”
And if I hadn’t spent the night deep in a bottle of rum, that might sound remotely appealing. Lane passed me as she headed for the door, and I grabbed her arm. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’m not sure if I have room anymore,” Lane said smugly.
I didn’t care if she had to tie me to the roof like a goddamned elk. “We’ll be back,” I said loudly, towing her out the front door.
*
The mall truly was Lane’s mothership.
The walking never seemed to end as she dragged me from store to store, only stopping for a short break to grab a smoothie in the food court. I stalled as long as I could, fiddling with the straw in my Orange Julius and sucking the froth on the bottom until the straw bent in my mouth, but eventually, Lane confiscated the cup from me. Then it was back to the shops.
My feet ached in a way I didn’t realize feet could ache. I was seriously considering lopping them off and replacing them with bionic ones when we stumbled upon a store that made her squeal. “This is it!” she cried, nearly supersonic by this point.
I winced and let myself be pulled into the trendy boutique shop. Clearly, the store had been decorated by someone who enjoyed the color black way too much. I could just see it now—some rabid designer throwing an orange piece of fabric at an unsuspecting supplier. Color is verboten! Even the mannequins were made of a black, polished material. Their scrawny limbs were posed in ways that Anna Wintour would deem appropriate. I eyeballed one with her hands in a position that was remarkably close to Madonna’s vogue. Yaaass, bitch. You betta werk.
Looking for a dress with Lane went pretty much like I’d thought it would. Within ten minutes of our arrival, she found eight things that were perfect for her porcelain complexion and willowy body type. Of course. All in the color Irene demanded we wear—the oh-so-flattering bubblegum pink. We’d only managed to talk her into different shades of pink, mostly to avoid looking like bottles of Pepto Bismol bobbing for a bouquet. Undaunted, I continued to prowl the aisles like some sort of retail panther.
Lane rolled her eyes at my impatience as I moved clothes about the rack. She often accused me of shopping like a man, and it was hard to argue with her. I came to the store with one thing in mind. Then I purchased that exact thing and got the hell out of Dodge. I preferred to think of it as shopping smart.
I’d almost given up when I found it. The long dress was soft pink, and would look great with my newly acquired tan. When I tried it on, the ends swirled around my legs and feet in a pool of wispy, gauzy fabric. It was beachy, casual, and dressy all at the same time. Perfect for a beach wedding.
As I turned in the mirror, eyeing the surprising plunging backline, I added “sexy” to the list. Business in the front, party in the back. I smiled gleefully—I’d found the dress version of the mullet.
Lane came up behind me in the mirror, clad in a pale-pink dress, the tags marring the smooth line in the front. She looked at me critically, running a hand down the torso area. “I love this,” she breathed. “Maybe this one would look better on me.”
A good sister would probably offer up the dress. But because life was not the sisterhood of the traveling fucking pants, I gave her a dirty look. “Touch this dress and you die.” I headed for the dressing room. “I’m not going to spend another two hours in this place looking for something in my size.”
She scoffed, taking my place on the upraised dais in front of the mirror. I saw her spin around once before I snapped the dressing room curtain shut. “There were plenty of things in your size,” she said.
“Something that doesn’t look like it was made of outdated curtains.”
“Well, I know Jackson’s going to be pleased.”
Would he? I was glad she couldn’t see my suddenly blushing skin. “I don’t know about all that.”
“Well, I do.” She suddenly sounded closer than before and I turned to find her peering around my curtain. “If you’re not sure about that dress, let me try it on.”
“We’re not even the same size,” I protested, snatching the curtain closed.
“I can have it taken in and hemmed.”
“I’m getting the dress,” I growled. “Beat it, munchkin.”
“Fine.” I heard the curtain rattle as she disappeared into her dressing room next door. “We should get the guys ties to match our dresses.”
“Oh, I don’t think Jackson would want…”
I trailed off because that was something a girlfriend would do. Well, I could buy it, and if he didn’t want to wear it, he didn’t have to.
It wasn’t a big deal. Even if I could still see the image of us entangled together this morning, could still feel his soft breathing stirring my hair. He probably had crazy, off-the-walls kind of sex. I blew out a breath and let the dress pool at my feet, ignoring the sudden rash of goosebumps popping up on my skin. That should probably be less appealing than it was.
It didn’t matter what kind of sex he had. This was fake. I bit my lip. The key was I had to remember it was fake.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Hey.” Jackson’s head appeared in the hole in the attic floor and he squinted at me. “So this is where you’re hiding.”
“Hiding is such a strong word.” I looked up from where I was sitting, cross legged on the floor, a dusty picture album spread over my lap. “How’d you find me?”
“You didn’t put the door down perfectly. There was a crack of light, and I decided to explore.” He kept climbing the ladder and made his way into the attic. He looked around, presumably for something to sit on, and finally gave up with a resigned sigh. He sat down on the floor next to me, dusting off his jeans gingerly.
A plastic bag hit the ground at my feet. I stared at it curiously. “What’s that?”
“Contraband I stole from the gathering downstairs.” He snatched the bag from my reach when I tried to grab it. “Irene is making everyone play charades and you’re missing it.”
“Such a shame.” I gave him a sweet look. “I always did have the worst timing.”
“I bet. Lane asked about you. Several times. She seemed desperate for escape.”
“When it comes to charades, it’s every woman for herself.”
“Maybe she’d like to know where you are.”
“You tell anyone where I went and old pictures and Christmas decorations won’t be the
only thing we store up here.”
He tsked, shaking the bag at me. “I brought snacks. You’re going to want to keep me around.”
My eyes narrowed. “What’s your price?”
“Another kiss, maybe?”
I stared down at the album sightlessly, feeling the heat of his gaze on my neck. “There’s no one here to see. I’m not sure what the point would be.”
“Wow, I really must be losing my touch.” His mouth lifted. “Contrary to your belief, AJ, I’d like to kiss you once without someone watching.”
He didn’t sound like he was joking. When I looked up at him, those hazel eyes were trained on mine, and I realized he wasn’t joking at all. And suddenly that kiss on the beach was all I could think about. His mouth on mine, so close that our very breathing meshed with one another. Feeling the softness of his skin, the lush feel of his mouth…the way his nose touched mine briefly before we parted. On some level, I’d always known that kiss hadn’t exactly been pretend.
“Wow.” He nudged my shoulder. “Speechless? You?”
I blushed, barely resisting the instinctive urge to duck my head. “I think it would make things…complicated.”
“Complicated can be good.”
“Complicated can be complicated.”
“What does that even mean?”
What did I mean by that? I bit my lip, trying to think of words that would turn the jumbled thoughts in my head into unassailable logic. “It means that I’m not looking to get into a relationship right now. It means that the last man I thought might be someone special is now somewhere loving someone else. It means that the last man my mother thought was her forever love is now marrying someone else. It means that relationships suck. It means that—”
“Okay, okay. Jesus.” He looked a little stunned by my virulent response, and it was a few seconds before he spoke again. “I wasn’t suggesting that we get married. Haven’t you ever had…you know, that kind of friend?”
That kind of…oh. I blinked, owl-eyed, trying to process that kind of relationship aligned with my life. That kind of friend? The one who you slept with whenever the two of you felt like it? Friends with benefits, right?
I racked my brain, trying to come up with something and falling short. No, I’d never had that kind of friend. It wasn’t that I didn’t have needs or wants, I just didn’t believe in wasting my time. If I didn’t see a future with that person, something real, then what was the point? Sweaty, hot, raucous, up-against-the-walls kind of sex, but who’s counting?
“This is kind of out-of-the-blue,” I managed through a throat suddenly scratchy.
“Not for me it isn’t.”
“But…you never said…” I was losing the capability to form words. That was going to make my upcoming teleconference on Thursday interesting, to say the least. “When did you…when?”
“You want the exact moment when I realized I wanted to sleep with you? Jesus, AJ. How the hell am I going to know something like that?” He looked embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. “I just do.”
Looking at him right then, it would have been so easy to give in, give in to what he was offering, give in to myself and all the things I’d been feeling for longer than I cared to admit. He did that move that never failed to make my heart leap. He leaned forward slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just something to think about.”
Yeah, that was kind of the problem. Now I needed to stop thinking about it. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I finally managed.
“I don’t see why not.” He shrugged. “You like me. I like you. What’s the problem?”
“Just like that, huh? I don’t think—” Wait. My brow furrowed. “Aren’t you taking some things for granted here? Who said I liked you?”
“You, mostly. Especially when you stare at me in the morning.” His mouth twitched. “Or did you think I was sleeping all that time?”
I flushed. Guessed I wasn’t quite as careful as I thought I was. “I do not watch you in your sleep,” I lied. Might as well try to pretend I wasn’t a weirdo. “I think it would be easier if we…we should just keep things…”
He laughed softly. “I get it, AJ. I don’t need a fifty-page dissertation explaining why you don’t want to sleep with me.”
If only that was true.
In true Jackson fashion, he didn’t seem particularly offended. He reached into the bag and tossed me a pack of pretzels and a Capri Sun, and I swear, I might’ve given him a kidney right then. I realized I hadn’t eaten since my smoothie at the mall, and I was starving. Despite our initial conversation that could have made things rather awkward, we sat there in companionable silence, flipping through the album on my lap. The only sounds between us were rhythmic crunching and the crinkling sound that a Capri Sun made when you sucked it as dry as humanly possible.
Jackson finally confiscated mine, and I was able to breathe properly again.
“It’s so strange looking at actual pictures. Everything is so digital now, I can’t even remember the last time I held a paper photo in my hands. My God.” He pointed at one of the birthday pics. “Tell me those aren’t parachute pants.”
I flipped the page quickly, sending him a glare. “It was a different time.”
“You can say that again,” he said.
So I did. “It was a different time,” I stressed. “A time of large plastic, colorful earrings and teased bangs. And LA Gears.”
“Dear God.”
“They lit up, you know.”
“Mmhmm.” He reached over and pulled the page closer as if to get a better look at my fashion sins. He made a sound in his throat that I can only interpret as disbelief. “Are those Jordache jeans?”
I snapped the album closed in a poof of dust that sent him into a coughing fit. Undeterred, he reached into the chest and pulled out another, and handed it to me. “This one,” he demanded, reminding me of a child who wanted to read Where the Wild Things Are for the hundredth time.
I rolled my eyes good-naturedly like a parent who’d been asked to read it for the hundredth time, and opened it anyway. These pictures were older, some yellowed and fragile with age behind the protective plastic. There was another fashion-forward picture of Lane and I, rocking Mickey Mouse t-shirts, mugging by my father’s old passenger van. We’d used that van on our yearly jaunts to Disney World, and I didn’t know what I’d loved more—the third row that I’d had all to myself or the built-in card table where we’d played card games that only us kids knew the rules to.
I saw Jackson grinning at my picture, and possibly the height of my hair, and narrowed my eyes at him. “Not a word.”
“Hard to believe that was ever the look.”
“I don’t know if it was. I was always a few years behind what was in.” I paused, thinking about it. “Still am, actually.”
“You make your own trend,” he faux-consoled me.
“You want to play charades or what?”
He held up his hands in a pacifying manner. “All right. Jesus.”
We looked at pictures in silence as I flipped slowly. I paused, one of them catching my eye. It was strange, but when I pictured my mother, it was usually as she was when she passed. Forty-five and still beautiful, with good, smooth skin that she was obsessive about keeping moisturized, and life lines around her eyes and softly bracketing her mouth. Not like this.
In this picture, she couldn’t have been over twenty-five, wearing a rainbow-colored top and blue shorts that showed off long, tan legs. Her dark hair was lush and feathered within an inch of its life. Man, she was rocking that Farrah Fawcett hair pretty damn hard. It made me feel a little better about the giant, multi-tiered bangs I’d favored in middle school. She was standing with my father in front of some classic American muscle car, that probably wasn’t a classic at the time, and they were pointing at something out of the shot. Their legs were crossed as they leaned against the car, shoulder to shoulder. My father wore a grin that said he knew exactly
what he had, and they looked so damned young. Carefree.
I touched a finger to the photo. Happy.
“You look like her.” Jackson’s shoulder bumped mine and I blinked. No telling how long I’d been staring at that window to the past.
“That’s what everyone says.” I flipped the page, moving on to the next set of photos, but I didn’t see a thing. Jackson was quiet beside me. Too quiet, and finally I sighed. “You might as well say whatever’s on your mind.”
His voice was soft when he finally spoke. “Avery, why are you up here?”
“Looking at pictures. My family…” I trailed off.
“Your family is downstairs.” His gaze was truthful, but not unkind. “And you’re so stuck in the past that you’re missing the present.”
“Sometimes the present isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“And sometimes the ghosts that occupy your mind take up so much space that you there’s no room for anything else.” There he went again, tucking that hair behind my ear. “Even happiness.”
“Who said I wasn’t happy?”
He withdrew that feather-light touch and I felt the loss acutely. “Well, you certainly don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t shrink me, Jackson,” I said without heat. I knew my own issues. I’d worked very hard at nurturing all my little insecurities into crippling issues. It hadn’t been easy, but with years of hard work ignoring all the things that bothered me, I’d achieved a sort of ersatz nirvana.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.
I wanted to. Didn’t that count for something? “Let me guess. You want me to move on or something else equally as healthy.” I sighed. “It’s not all that easy.”
“I know it’s not.”
The inflection in his voice made me look up. Yeah, he certainly did. The pain in his eyes was the pain of someone who had lost…lost someone so critical to your existence that you weren’t sure you’d be able to breathe right ever again. When you missed that person so much that you weren’t sure if you cared that your breathing is ragged in your chest, and each breath felt like your last. I knew that pain.
