Letting You In

by Nora Flite

  “Uh, sure, that's fine.” Frowning, I drummed my fingers on my thighs, tried to find the right words. Instead, I settled for speaking my mind bluntly. “What's wrong, Vanessa?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. She wouldn't look at me, she just kept staring at the floor. Nervously, I touched her shoulder, jerking away when she jumped. “Whoa, hey,” I laughed uneasily, “sorry, sorry. Just tell me what's going on.”

  “I thought you weren't going to rush into new relationships,” she abruptly grumbled. Her words left me stunned, my skin warm with my blush.

  “W—what do you mean?”

  “You were flirting with Tim yesterday,” she spat, making me stare in disbelief. She looked at me, then, her blue eyes furiously accusing.

  “Hold on,” I said quickly, waving my hands between us; the couch felt very small. “I wasn't flirting with Tim, why do you think that?”

  Her tone was sharp, the mood of depression shifting to one that scorched. “The way you were getting friendly with him, oh, and you wished him a happy birthday! That was personal, you shouldn't have even known about it. I was going to do it, then you just went ahead and blurted it out first, he doesn't even know you!”

  “I don't understand, why does that matter? Why do you get to be friendly to him, and not me?”

  “Because—because he's my ex-boyfriend! Okay? Get it?” Scowling, she stood up and started to pace, her arms folded tightly, like she needed to hold herself to keep from shaking. Gawking, I let her comments sink in, still trying to understand why she was mad at me.

  “So... I wished your ex a happy birthday, and you think that was me flirting with him?”

  “You were flirting with him! He told me afterward that you were 'cute' and 'nice.'” She spoke mockingly. If I hadn't been so wary, I might have laughed at the absurdity of her comment.

  “It sounds like you're jealous, why does it matter if I was or wasn't flirting with Tim? You said he was your ex-boyfriend, right? In fact, Greg is coming over, you're seeing him, not Tim.”

  Vanessa was leaving white spots on her upper arms from her gripping hands, her eyes once more focusing on anything but me. “It doesn't matter, just leave him alone. Please.” It was less a request, more of a threat, enough to make my skin prickle.

  “Fine, please calm down. I'm not interested in Tim, alright? And I told you, yes, I'm not looking to date anyone anytime soon.”

  “Does that include Deacon Day?”

  My voice vanished, our gaze meeting as she watched me smugly. This was far too much of an interrogation for so early in the morning. Still, I no doubt gave myself away when my cheeks turned pink. I kept my eyes fixed on her as calmly as possible. “What do you mean?”

  “I watched you and him last night.”

  “We hardly talked!”

  “Your body language was pretty obvious,” she mumbled. I was grateful when she looked away, it gave me a moment to break my expression, my forehead wrinkling, my hand scrubbing the back of my neck.

  Body language, she says. Was he giving hints he liked me, then?

  I didn't want to come right out and ask, but with the subject broached, I went for it. “You think he was flirting with me?”

  “Probably. But he's also just sort of friendly like that with everyone.”

  My heart sank, my stomach tight as I forced a casual laugh. “Oh, really? I see. He seemed very polite.”

  Vanessa squinted, considering me as she spoke. “Yeah, that's true. He's sort of a cliché, really, southern gentleman, proper manners, all of that. Sweet guy, probably would get his heart broken easily.”

  “I—what?”

  “Listen, Leah,” she said, her hands sliding down to her hips. “Deacon is a nice guy, but he isn't your type. He's very... white bread? You guys wouldn't work out, in my opinion. He isn't right for you, you'd probably offend him accidentally or something.”

  Bristling, I pursed my lips, battling with feeling outraged, or relieved. The more she told me I might upset Deacon, the more I was convinced my gut feeling to back off was correct. Still, the way she was talking, implying I was actually bad news, it insulted me. “How long have you known him, anyway?”

  “We went to college together. I know him pretty well, we hang out sometimes. So, trust me on this, the last girl he dated was the complete opposite of you, some sort of blonde, blue eyed choir singer. I'm just trying to protect both of my friends here.”

  Protect me, she says. Sure sounds like Owen.

  But, I closed my eyes, shrugging, pulling the towel from my head then rubbing it over my damp hair. I didn't want her to see my face as I talked, I was worried it'd give away how I really felt. “You don't need to worry, I'm not going to do anything. I didn't plan to, Vanessa. He's cute, and sweet, but you said it yourself... we aren't exactly well matched.”

  My smile, when I finally pushed my long hair away, was fake. If she noticed, she didn't say, she just slumped in relief. “Good, it'll give you more time to focus on finding out if you want to stay out here and--”

  The sound of someone knocking broke into our conversation, ending the strange moment, leaving me wondering what Vanessa had been about to say. Also, before, she'd mentioned a blonde girl. Had Deacon recently broken up with that person, or was it something further in the past?

  Quickly, the door opened, enough to reveal someone even taller than Vanessa. He was long in the arms and torso, which was saying something. I hardly noticed when people were tall, everyone towered over me, anyway. With a large smile, the kind that was appeasing, eager, he stepped inside, looking at both of us. “Hey there! Morning!”

  “Morning,” I smiled, glancing at Vanessa who was rocking on her heels. She seemed to be growing more agitated by the minute. “You must be Greg, I'm Leah.”

  “I heard a lot about you, nice to meet you.” His eyes, wide and emotional, moved to Vanessa. “Hey, hon,” he said softly, moving in to give her a hug. She didn't wrap her arms around him in return. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” she said, so quietly I almost couldn't hear. They moved apart awkwardly, reminding me of two dancers who had never been partnered up before.

  Oh, god, this is terrible. She's still mad at him, great.

  “Uh, so, breakfast?” I offered with a small laugh, standing and dropping the towel on the couch. “I'm pretty hungry.”

  Greg tossed another look at his girlfriend, his lips no longer smiling. It was strange, I hardly knew him, yet I thought a frown didn't look right on him. “Yeah,” he said, “let's go do that.”

  ****

  The drive was just as uncomfortable. Conversation was stiff, so in the end we just turned the radio on and left it at that. We pulled past a restaurant, my eyes staring outside at the bright day, forgetting the tension between Vanessa and Greg for the beauty of the location. The line of people out the door of the building made me gawk.

  “People line up for clubs, but what is this?”

  “What?” Greg asked, turning the music down as we pulled down a side street.

  “Those people,” I pointed back the way we had come. “Why are they lined up like that?”

  He laughed without any hint of mocking, carefully parking his car between two others on the street. I tensed up watching him do it, unsure how the vehicle had fit in such a tight space. “Well, it's a little late for breakfast, closer to brunch. It's pretty popular around here, honestly. Especially on a Saturday.”

  Is it Saturday? How did I not realize that?

  With everything that had happened, I'd lost track of time. Baffled, I slipped from the car, following behind the two of them down the sidewalk. Their long legs made it so I had to trot to keep up with them. We rounded the corner, I saw the restaurant again and sized the crowd up. My stomach was rippling with hunger, but I didn't want to be rude and suggest we go somewhere else.

  Greg didn't stop, though, so I followed him and Vanessa to the front of the line. The young woman there, prim, stunning as a movie star, flashed us a glittering smile.
“How can I help you three?”

  “I have a reservation,” Greg answered. I shot a wide eyed look at Vanessa. For once that day, she smiled, amused by my innocent surprise. Who made reservations for breakfast? When I glanced back at the long line, I considered the answer.

  “Yes, of course, this way please,” the woman motioned. Feeling important, I followed after my tall friends, shamefully enjoying the flicker of jealousy on the faces of the people who had been waiting outside for however long.

  We settled into our table, a lovely spot on the back patio. Having the sun on me, I smiled across at the pair, my elation hurting my face. “Okay, this is sort of awesome.”

  My delight must have been breaking down Vanessa's brooding mood, because she smiled back and glanced at Greg. “He's pretty good for some things, I admit.” It was a rather backhanded compliment, but he only laughed, opening the menu, scanning down it. I copied him, boggling at the meals listed before me.

  I don't know what half of this is, or if I can justify the prices!

  When the waiter came, I just ordered some scrambled eggs and bacon, too scared to try and say the names of the other dishes, risking embarrassing myself. The coffee arrived quickly, though I drank it even faster.

  “So, Leah,” Greg said, watching me chug the hot liquid. “Vanessa told me a little bit about you coming out here, but she didn't tell me what your plans were.”

  “My plans?” I asked, peeking over the empty mug.

  “Yeah, you know, like what you want to do out here, job wise and such.”

  “Oh,” I said, caught off guard by such a normal, if frightening, question. What am I going to do, really? I'll need a job, but what can I even find?

  Greg poured more coffee from the carafe, looking at me patiently.

  Old Leah would waffle around and have no answer, what does new Leah want to do?

  “I guess... I'd like to paint,” I admitted, hearing my own surprise at my answer. But once it was out there, I knew it was true. It was what I had always wanted to do, I just had never truly gone after the dream.

  “Painting?” Vanessa asked, her doubt clear. “Like, in a gallery or something?”

  “Maybe, yeah,” I shrugged, running my finger around the rim of my cup. “I think that's what I'd like to do.”

  “Vanessa didn't tell me you were a painter,” he said, shooting a look at the girl beside him. She pouted, lifting her eyebrows at me. Before she could say anything, I sat up a bit straighter, laughing.

  “Well, I did it when we were younger. I mean, I never went anywhere with it, but now that I'm out here, I'd like to finally change that.”

  Vanessa squinted at me, but I looked up as the waiter arrived with our food. Saved from the inquisition, I dug into my fluffy eggs ravenously.

  Greg swallowed a mouthful of what I thought was some sort of fancy pancake. “Anyway, that's great, I'd love to see your art sometime!”

  “Yeah,” Vanessa said, “it's been a while on my end, too.”

  I shot a look at her, unsure if she was being genuine, but it wasn't worth the fight. We ate in tense silence, my brain working to figure out how to handle this situation. The more I talked about myself, or my plans, the more Vanessa seemed to get upset with me. More than that, am I really going to try and become a painter? Is it even possible to pay my bills and things doing that?

  I didn't like thinking about money, especially when it had to do with how I needed it. The check arrived, dampening my mood even more, but Greg grabbed it away with a smile.

  “I'll pay for this, my treat.”

  “Really?” I gasped, flushing with relief, but also guilt. “Thanks so much!”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Vanessa said, making me wonder why she seemed so sad. What was going on with her, why was she moping so much?

  “It's no problem,” he laughed, handing a credit card to the waiter, a perfect combination of casual and cool. It was a scene out of a movie, one of those moments where the character reveals how little he cares about money, his outfit sharp, expensive, his hair gelled until it glistened.

  Granted, Greg didn't fit that description in his cargo shorts and ruffled bed hair, but I was a little impressed, and a bit more jealous, than I cared for. You can spot the people without money troubles a mile away out here. That, or he's really good at faking it.

  “Anyway,” he said, sipping his water, giving me a smile, “if you like art, you should talk to Deacon. He's really good, you'll probably meet him tonight.”

  Clearing my throat, I stared at my empty plate, poking at the crumbs. “I actually met him already. Last night, in fact.”

  “Oh,” Greg winced, “right. Last night. I should have realized that.” There was a moment of painful silence between him and Vanessa. She was avoiding looking at either of us, staring off to the side purposefully. I remembered how upset she had gotten last night when her boyfriend hadn't come out to the party.

  “Um,” I blurted, trying to force the awkwardness away, “you said I would see him tonight, though?”

  “Yeah,” he responded, “tonight is karaoke, he usually goes to it.”

  “Another party,” I laughed, feigning cynicism as I rolled my eyes. I'm going to see him again? So soon? My stomach fluttered, making me wonder if I had eaten something strange. Singing, though, ugh. I suck at singing.

  The waiter returned with Greg's card, relieving us of any more of the forced conversation.

  “Are you sick of them?” Vanessa mumbled.

  “What?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead.

  “The parties,” she sighed, turning her head enough to place one eye on me lazily. “Are you sick of them already?”

  “Oh, uh, well not really. I mean, it's a nice change for me, I didn't go to many parties back home.” Home, I thought suddenly, what does that mean? Am I still thinking of where I used to live as my home? It isn't, not anymore, so I should quit that. But... then, living with Vanessa isn't exactly my home, either.

  She watched me another moment, then grabbed her purse, standing up. “We should get going, I wanted to show you the fashion streets today, Leah.”

  “Oh,” I said, hurrying to follow her. Greg met my eyes briefly as we left the table, a short moment that let me glimpse something that seemed a little melancholy in him. Yet, when he noticed me watching, the smile he put on was wide and false, enough to erase any comment I could have made.

  I wonder what he was thinking about.

  ****

  The strip reminded me of a bag of candy that had spilled out everywhere. The colors people chose to dress in, the styles, it seemed everyone was walking around in their own bubble of rich self-importance.

  It blew my mind, I openly gawked out the window while Vanessa pointed to various stores, explaining them to me as if the knowledge would sink in naturally.

  “That's North Seal, I love their coats, and that's Jilly Heels, super nice and elegant,” she laughed, “also super expensive.”

  It was a whole other world, it made me ashamed of my boring clothes I normally bought on sale racks. Pressing my nose to the glass, I left smudges until Greg put the top down, the wind tossing my hair, the sounds of the busy streets in my ears. It seemed everyone out here had a convertible.

  Vanessa was cheering up, at least as far as I could see. She was smiling at Greg, turning in her seat to talk with me. All in all, it was becoming a pretty nice day, it allowed me to forget some of the things that had happened lately.

  “You really know your clothing,” I said, trying to control my hair as it tossed in the breeze. “I guess I should expect that, though.”

  “Thanks,” she said, hesitating before she spoke, “you uh, why didn't you tell me you were still painting? You never brought it up when we talked, I thought you went to culinary school?”

  “I did,” I mumbled, peering out over the beautiful people, a sea of never ending perfection. I didn't want to tell her about my college experience, my extremely brief, awful experience. The fact was, unable to afford the cost
s, I'd managed to get half a year in before simply being forced to drop out. The school wasn't very understanding of people trying to juggle work and education.

  It also didn't help that Owen had been on my case since the beginning about how I was clearly throwing my money away.

  Vanessa didn't need to know that, no one did.

  “It just wasn't what I wanted to do with my life. I don't know, I always wanted to do art of some sort, it just never worked out that way.”

  She was quiet, but I felt her eyes on me. When she spoke next, she sounded wistful. “I remember how much you liked to draw when we were kids. Why didn't you decide to come with me, go to college out here? The place I went had a really good fine arts program.”

  Because not all of us are lucky enough to have families to help pay for our education, I thought, but knew I could never say. Unable to look at her, I pretended to be extra interested in a shop we were rolling past. “I don't know, it just didn't line up that way. That's all, no big deal. Hey, you guys want to stop and check out that music store?”

  Greg tossed a look at me in the mirror, turning the wheel, eyeing the road for a place to park. Vanessa, however, was watching me closely, not hiding it. “Yeah,” she muttered, “sure, let's go.”

  Chapter 6.

  We didn't spend much time in the music shop, but it was a nice break from everything.

  I didn't know much about music, as far as tone, beats, and all that junk went. But, I did have some bands I enjoyed, so with the karaoke party on my mind, I was content to listen to a few of them.

  The foam headset was pleasantly heavy, blocking out everything but the steady, dramatic rhythm of the bass guitar. Rock was my favorite, the harder the better, it took me down under into a pleasant world of powerful sound that flowed to my toes.

  I won't have the guts to sing tonight, I thought somberly, switching the track to my favorite song, 'Rain flow' by the Killer Sons. But, if I did, I'd sing this. It'd shock everyone, too, no one would expect me to belt out such an intense song. I was amused by the idea, yet still didn't think about the possibility as if it were real. I'd never sung in front of anyone before, I didn't expect that to change.