Not Another Bad Date

by Rachel Gibson

  “I like the eyeliner, but…”

  “But what?”

  “No offense, Aunt Adele, but the scrunchie has to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “In the garbage.”

  She lifted a hand to the ponytail at the back of her head. “What’s wrong with my scrunchie?”

  Tiffany leaned forward, and answered, “It’s so nineteen-nineties. Noooo one wears scrunchies anymore.”

  “Jordon Kent’s mom does,” Kendra said as she gazed at herself in the mirror. “I saw it when she picked him up from school.”

  “Yeah, and she wears mom pants and big bangs, too.”

  Adele suddenly felt really old and lowered her hand. “Really? My scrunchie is a fashion no?” How had she not known that? And how had she suddenly become so incredibly uncool?

  “Your scrunchie is a fashion heck no.” Tiffany gave her a consoling smile. “But you’ve got pretty eyes.”

  Pretty eyes? Wasn’t that what people always said to unattractive people when they couldn’t think of something nice to say?

  “And you’re really cute when your hair isn’t in a scrunchie,” Tiffany added, throwing Adele a bone.

  Cute? “Thank you.” She looked up at the saleswoman. “I’ll take the Illusionist mascara. The plum eyeliner and lipstick in maraschino.” She glanced at her watch, then she turned to her niece, “What are you going to get?”

  “Me? I don’t have Momma’s credit card.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have tons of credit cards.”

  “Really.” Kendra smiled. “You’d buy me some makeup?”

  “Sure. I don’t think your mother will mind, and I haven’t given my cards a workout since I’ve been here. I’m feeling a little deprived.”

  “Do you mind if I get concealer?” Kendra pointed to a pimple on her chin. “This is so embarrassing.”

  Adele looked at the choices of concealer the saleslady had placed before them and pointed to a small tube with a wand. “Do you like this one? It looks like your color.”

  Kendra nodded and the saleswoman turned and opened a drawer of concealer.

  “Do you want to go see your momma before or after dinner?” Adele asked her niece.

  “After. Tiffany’s coming over to our house, and her daddy’s picking her up around six.”

  “Oh.” The memory of Zach with his big “skilled” hands on her breasts inconveniently popped into her head.

  “I hope it’s all right, but Daddy’s practice is going to run a little late tonight.”

  Adele didn’t know if she was ready to see “Daddy” so soon. She’d hoped to maybe avoid him until the memory of the bathroom incident faded a bit. “Of course it’s all right. Sheri won’t mind if we come a little later than usual.”

  The saleswoman piled the concealer and pink lip gloss with Adele’s makeup and Tiffany pointed out the cosmetics she wanted. “You’re so lucky, Kendra,” Tiffany said, and sat back in her chair. “I wish I was going to have a baby brother.”

  “We get to feel him kick all the time.”

  “You have to let me babysit with you.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you change his poopie pants.”

  Tiffany wrinkled up her nose. “Yuck.”

  The saleswoman set curling mascara, two tubes of pink and rose lip gloss, and a clear cube with a pot of bright blue color in the center.

  “Is your daddy going to be okay with that blue eye shadow?” Adele asked the thirteen-year-old.

  Tiffany nodded and whipped out Zach’s Platinum American Express card. “He won’t mind.”

  At six-fifteen, Zach stood on the porch of Sherilyn’s condo wearing a bulky hooded sweatshirt. Gray November sky bathed him in a slight shadow and, like always, the sight of him did funny things to her insides.

  “Hello, Adele.”

  “Tiffany,” she called over her shoulder, “your daddy’s here.” She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “I need to talk to you.”

  He looked down at her, his expression carefully blank. “If it’s about what happened in the bathroom, I think it’s pretty safe to say that we both got carried away and…”

  “It’s not about that.” She took his arm and pulled him down the steps. He’d once told her that he was a human furnace, and he was right. Warmth radiated from him and heated up her hand and forearm. “There’s something more important for us to talk about than what happened in the bathroom.” After they’d returned home from Dillard’s she’d thought about Tiffany’s concerns about her body, and the more she thought about it, the more she’d figured she should talk to Zach. “Tiffany told me that she’s afraid that she’ll never get her period and she’ll grow a mustache.”

  They stopped at the bottom of the stairs and he turned to face her. “She told you all that?”

  Adele nodded and let go of his arm. “I thought you should know she talked to me about it.”

  “She mentioned something about it the other day.” He looked down into her eyes. “But she didn’t mention the mustache.”

  “Evidently she saw something on TV that’s freaked her out.” Adele shrugged with one shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just a late bloomer. Devon was small.”

  “Her momma was tiny, so maybe.”

  Tiny and petite and beautiful. Adele looked away and folded her arms against the chill. She wore a long-sleeved shirt, but it wasn’t enough protection against the cool night air. “She asked me questions about Devon.”

  They walked side by side down the walk toward his silver Escalade. “What questions?”

  “What she was like in high school. Stuff like that.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Adele glanced up at him and said flatly, “I lied.”

  “About?”

  “I told Tiffany that Devon was wonderful and everyone loved her.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought he smiled with one corner of his mouth. “I take it not everyone thought she was wonderful.”

  Adele stopped at the curb. “No. Not everyone did.”

  He shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and looked over her head as if he was distracted by something going on across the street. “Thank you. I know that Devon wasn’t your favorite person.”

  “No.” She glanced behind her, but no one was out and about but her and Zach. “She made my life hell.”

  “You weren’t the only one.”

  She wondered if Devon had made Zach’s life hell, too. “No matter what I think of Devon, or of you, Tiffany seems like a nice girl. She’s been really sweet to Kendra at a very difficult time in my niece’s life.”

  “Tiffany is a nice girl.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare over her head. “I didn’t know she was worried about growing a mustache, and I thought she could talk to me about whatever’s on her mind. I guess there are some things she feels uncomfortable talking over with her dad.” He finally looked at her. “If she says anything else, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”

  Adele nodded. “I lost my mother when I was ten, so I know how she feels.”

  “That’s right. You told me that at UT.” His gaze slid to her mouth and down the front of her shirt. His voice got really low, his drawl more pronounced when he said, “I’ve got something for you.”

  She didn’t think she wanted to know what he had for her. It might be something she hadn’t had in a long time. Something she really wanted but really shouldn’t want. She frowned to cover up her confusion. “Grow up, Zach.”

  He looked at her for several moments, then said, “Sweetheart, you have a dirty mind.”

  She placed a hand on her chest. “Me?” Before she could respond further, the front door opened, and Tiffany moved from the porch and down the steps.

  “You ready?” Zach asked, the hot lazy drawl gone from his voice.

  “Yep.” Tiffany hung her backpack over one shoulder and opened the Cadillac’s passenger door. “Thanks for taking me to Dillard’s.”

 
“You’re welcome.” She placed her hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. “And just remember something. Being a late bloomer might suck right now, but when you’re thirty, you’ll look twenty-five, and all your friends will be jealous.”

  For the first time in years, Zach dreamed of Devon. In the dream, he was back at UT, walking alone from the tunnel at Texas Memorial Stadium. The sound of his cleats echoed off the concrete and the helmet in his hand bumped his thigh. His footsteps slowed, then stopped as he noticed Devon standing at the big gaping entrance wearing the Chanel suit he’d buried her in.

  “Hello, Zach.”

  A heavy, suffocating weight settled in his chest.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  “Why are you here?”

  She flipped her blond hair and leveled her green gaze on him. “I’m pregnant.” She smiled and placed a hand on her flat stomach. “You’re going to be a daddy.”

  The heavy, suffocating weight squeezed his lungs and closed his throat. He woke up gasping for air; his heartbeat pounding in his head. The quilt felt like lead, holding him down, and he pushed it off. He sat on the edge of the bed, never so glad to be awake in his life.

  “What a fucking nightmare.” He stood and walked through the dark room toward the bathroom. The carpet beneath his feet changed to heated tiles, and he moved past the dais with the big spa tub. Moonlight shone down on him from the domed skylight windows as he pulled himself out of his boxer briefs and used the toilet. The last time he’d dreamed of Devon, she’d come back from the dead to yell at him for trying to divorce her. He preferred those dreams to this latest.

  He tucked himself back into his underwear and flushed the toilet. He didn’t know why Devon had popped up in his dream to tell him she was pregnant, he was just damn glad he’d woken up, and it hadn’t been real.

  The overhead moonlight ran down his spine and behind as he moved beneath the skylights to the bedroom. He thought back fourteen years when Devon had tracked him down at the house he’d lived in with a couple of football buddies. She’d told him she was pregnant. She’d conceived the last time they’d been together. Just a few days before he’d broken up with her.

  “I’m not one of those girls who has children out of wedlock, Zach. I won’t do it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, the implication clear.

  As he’d looked at her standing there, a girl he’d once loved, he’d felt as if his life was slipping through his fingers like sand. There was only one thing he could do.

  He’d done the right thing.

  Goose bumps broke out across his chest as he moved through the house to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He reached inside and pulled out a gallon of milk. Within the glow of bright light, he drank straight from the container.

  He’d been raised to do the right thing. There’d never really been a choice, but it hadn’t been easy. Marrying Devon because she was having his baby caused problems from the beginning.

  He lowered the carton and sucked milk from his top lip. One of the biggest problems had been that he’d always wondered if the pregnancy had been an accident or if Devon had stopped taking her pills on purpose. Then a few years before her death, she’d admitted that she’d stopped taking them. They’d been arguing about their lack of a sex life, and she’d wanted to make him mad.

  “Yes, I quit taking them. I admit it. They made me fat,” she’d said. “You always wondered and now you know.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “What does it matter now?” she’d asked, and she was right. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter fourteen years ago, ten years ago, or even now. Accident or no, he’d married her. She’d given him a beautiful daughter, and he’d never been sorry about that.

  He shoved the carton in the refrigerator and shut the door. He loved Tiffany, but there’d never been another accident. He’d made sure of it.

  The last thing he wanted was another marriage with a woman he didn’t love and couldn’t trust. He’d been there and done that, and it had sucked.

  Chapter 10

  Friday at five, Adele put Kendra on a bus and waved good-bye. The dance team, with its six female chaperones, was headed to San Antonio and wasn’t expected back until Sunday afternoon. Almost two whole days of freedom, and she was looking forward to the peace and quiet.

  She watched the bus drive away, then stopped by the hospital to visit Sherilyn. Her sister had been feeling restless and bored, so Adele bought a nail file, foot lotion, some red polish, and gave them both pedicures. She stayed for a few hours, then returned to the condo and sank into the jetted tub with her friend Lucy Rothschild’s latest mystery novel. A few years ago, Lucy had been the number one suspect in a serial-killer case. The detective assigned to investigate Lucy had fallen in love with her, and they’d married.

  Adele sank lower into the tub and cherry-blossom-scented bubbles slid across her shoulders. She’d pulled her hair up onto the top of her head with a dreaded scrunchie. Sometimes there was nothing better than a good hot soak and a wonderful book. She stayed in the tub until the water cooled and the bubbles disappeared, then she got out and wrapped a towel around herself.

  The condo was so quiet, which was more odd than relaxing. This surprised her, since she’d lived alone for a lot of years and had never found it weird before. She dried off and dressed in one of her white T-shirts and white panties. As she pulled on a pair of fluffy pink monkey socks, the doorbell rang, and she grabbed her black waffle robe.

  She didn’t know who it could be, but hoped it wasn’t Joe with another offer of a skin sandwich.

  It wasn’t. Adele looked through the peephole at Zach standing on her porch, light shining in his hair and lighting up the left side of his breathtakingly handsome face. A flush of prickling heat traveled up her spine and settled between her shoulders. She knew without a doubt, opening the door would be a very bad idea.

  He reached forward and rang the bell again. He hit it three times in a row and she reached for the dead bolt. She swung the door open, and Zach stood before her, wearing a blue fleece REI jacket and a pair of worn jeans. His gaze lowered from her face, down her black robe, to her feet.

  “Nice socks.”

  “Thanks.”

  His gaze climbed back up her body. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what took you so long to answer the door? Were you deciding whether or not to let me in?”

  “I’m still deciding.”

  He smiled with one corner of his lips. “Invite me in.”

  That was not a good idea.

  “I have something for you, and I don’t want to pull it out right here.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “If you reach for your fly, I swear to God I’m calling the cops.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jesus.” He reached into the pocket of his fleece and pulled out her white bra. “I believe this is yours.”

  She reached for it, but he held it up just out of her grasp. “Where did you get that?”

  “Floor in the girls’ bathroom. I thought you might want it back.”

  She held out one hand. “I do.”

  “You have something that’s mine. We’ll swap.”

  “What?”

  “My coach’s hat.”

  She pulled her robe tight around herself and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “You don’t have another hat?”

  “Sure, but that one’s lucky. We’re thirteen and oh, and I’m not going to screw that up tomorrow afternoon against Amarillo by wearing a different hat.”

  “If I let you in, are you going to behave?”

  He held up his hands like he was as harmless as a Boy Scout. Her bra hanging from his fingers by one strap ruined the picture of innocence.

  She swung the door open, and he stepped inside. “You couldn’t have called first?”

  “Don’t have your number.”

  That was true. “Your hat’s in the baby’s room.” She turned, and the heavier thud of his boots on the wood floor
followed close behind her. They walked into the room filled with the small desk, her laptop, and boxes of baby furniture.

  “How’s your sister?”

  “Today she’s good.” She plucked the hat off her desk and turned to him. “Each day she carries the baby is a good day.” She handed him the hat, and he handed her the bra.

  He glanced about the room. “Looks like you have a lot to do in here.”

  “Yeah.” She tossed her bra on the desk and looked around. Anywhere but at him and his big shoulders and wide chest. She’d always known the room was small, but with Zach in it, it felt like a cubicle. “I have to put all this furniture together, and I was thinking about painting the room blue. Maybe painting clouds on the ceiling.” She shrugged, and with the room being so small, she could smell the scent of his soap on his skin, and it was giving her a dangerous urge to take a few steps forward and bury her nose in his neck. “I have to go to the hardware store. I don’t even have a screwdriver.”

  “Every girl should have a few tools around.”

  She smiled.

  “Don’t say it,” he warned. “When I packed for my visit, I left my tool belt at home.”

  Now it was his turn to smile. “You have a tool belt?”

  “Well, it’s more like a toolbox that has a cheap belt that came with it.”

  He raised his gaze to the top of her head. “Were you going for some sort of crazy afro?”

  “No.” She reached up and pulled out the scrunchie. She shook her head, and hair fell down her back. She wondered if and when he was going to try one of his slick moves on her. “I was in the tub.”

  “The first thing I ever noticed about you was your hair.” He tapped his hat against his leg. “I saw you, and I thought you looked like a wild jungle girl. The ones you see in movies and cartoons running around the Amazon in leopard-skin bikinis. Growing up, I had fantasies about those wild girls.” He looked from her hair to her eyes. “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

  “No. You never did.”

  “Then I looked into your eyes, and I had a hard time looking away. I remember waiting around the little pizza place you worked in so I could walk you to your dorm.”