If She Says Yes

by Tasha L. Harrison

  Now I wondered if my behavior had encouraged him in some way because here we were, years later, and he wanted to take care of me.

  I gave that some serious thought as I slowed to a stop at a traffic light a few blocks away from the dress shop. Our late-night conversations came to mind. Innocent cuddling on the porch swing, a kiss on the temple, those long hugs. Shame set my ears and cheeks aflame. They may have been innocent, but after today’s kiss, the memory of them felt…

  A car horn behind me blared, startling me back into the present. “Shit,” I cursed softly, observing that the light was green. I flipped the driver the bird anyway because that was not a courtesy honk.

  It was for the best, anyway. I had no business thinking about Tommy that way. Even if I could still feel his lips on my skin and remember how darkly suggestive his eyes were when he said taking care of me would be enjoyable for him. And I didn’t need to acknowledge the fact that I’d noticed how much he’d filled out in the last few years. That he’d put on a bit of grown man weight, and the loss of that baby fat had leaned out his six-foot frame and chiseled his jaw, shifting him from handsome to fucking gorgeous.

  “Jesus Christ, Darcy,” I muttered to myself. I should not be lusting over Tommy this way.

  But I had absolutely noticed all of that and more.

  I parked my car on a side street and spent a majority of my two-block walk to the dress shop trying to cull my mind of the filthy thoughts about Tommy that were beating against the battened doors of my libido. I’d barely managed to rein them in when I stepped into the dress shop with my slingback heels dangling from my fingertips.

  “Good Lord, Darcy!” my sister James exclaimed from her perch on the dais when she set eyes on me. “You’re all flushed in the face. Did you run here or something?”

  I touched my palm to my cheek and felt the heat there. “It’s hot as Hades out there,” I said by way of explanation.

  “That it is,” Cora, the shop owner said around a mouthful of straight pins. “Leslie, dear, get Darcy a cold bottle of water and put her in that second dressing room. Her dress is already on the door,” she instructed while giving me a wink.

  Leslie led me to the dressing room and gave me a bottle of water. “If you need any help, sweetheart, just give me a holler.”

  “Thanks, Leslie.” Once the dressing room door was closed, I dropped my bag in the chair and slipped out of the breezy sundress I threw on to go to lunch with Tommy and my son. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw that more than just my cheeks were flushed. A dusky red splotch covered the center of my chest, and my nipples were hard and begging to be touched. The place between my legs felt hungry and slippery wet.

  The heat didn’t do this to me.

  Tommy did.

  I shook my head at my reflection. No, this is not allowed.

  Screwing off the top of my bottled water, I immediately tipped it up and gulped down half of its contents, hoping but knowing it wouldn’t cool me off. Frustrated that I couldn’t push his suggestion out of my mind, I yanked the dress off the hanger, stepped into it hastily, then slipped on my shoes and exited the dressing room.

  James glanced at me as I approached the dais and three-way mirror. My sister was nine years younger than my fifty-five years, but remaining single and child-free had kept her as young and fresh as the day she turned eighteen. I felt those years as I came to stand next to her.

  “Woo, chile… I can’t wait to get my hands in this hair tomorrow,” she said, attempting to smooth my humidity-curled edges. “All that swimming has fried your hair, sis.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking of changing the pool to saltwater—”

  “Not to mention the fact that you’re shrinking down to nothing,” Cora interrupted as she pinched at the waist of the dress that she had just taken in a few weeks ago. “You’re not sick, are you?”

  I flinched at that and glared at her. “Why would you even speak that into existence? No, I’m not sick. I’m just stressed and not eating much while planning this wedding.”

  “And swimming like you’re training for the Olympics,” my sister added.

  I rolled my eyes. “Y’all talk about my swimming like it’s a meth addiction or something. “

  All three women gave me a suspicious look.

  “Is it?” Cora asked hesitantly. “The granddaughter of one of the ladies I know at church got hooked on that meth last year. She wasted away to nothing, ruined her complexion, lost her teeth and everything.”

  “Jesus Christ, Cora. I have all of my teeth. I’m not smoking meth. I’m just stressed, working a lot, and swimming a lot.” These conversations about my weight were getting annoying, especially since no one asked me outright how I was really feeling. The swimming was helping me manage my stress and depression. I would tell them this if anybody bothered to ask.

  “Well, in a few days, the wedding will be over, and life can get back to normal,” Cora said as she began to pin the loose fabric, cinching the dress around a waistline that I had to admit had vanished more than I realized. “How is Jared doing? Is he nervous?”

  “He doesn’t seem so.” I smiled at my reflection as I thought of how my son made a special trip home to tell me about the girl that he was sure was the one after knowing her for three weeks. I managed to convince him that he should wait at least six months. Six months to the day, he flew home again to tell me he was definitely going to propose and asked me to go ring shopping with him. In the end, we decided to re-purpose the diamond his father had given me. The setting he chose was his own design and beautiful.

  “No, my nephew isn’t the type to get cold feet,” James said with a smile. “He’s always been very decisive about what he wants, and this girl is no different.”

  I nodded and smiled. My son was a lot like me in that respect. Loyal and faithful. Thankfully, he was better at choosing the right people to be loyal and faithful to.

  “Is he staying at the house?”

  “Yeah, in his old room, and his friend Tommy from college is staying in the garçonnière.”

  James rolled her eyes. “Why are you like this? It’s an apartment over the garage.”

  “Garçonnière sounds more romantic,” I answered with a sheepish shrug.

  “Romantic…” James scoffed. “I would’ve thought you gave up on all romantic notions when Shannon died.”

  “Hey! You can’t talk about infidelity on the eve of the wedding! Keep that bad energy away from me and mine.”

  “You’re right,” James said. The sentiment might sound superstitious, but she believed in it just as much as I did. “Wait…which one is Tommy again?”

  Shit. More than just my cheeks heated this time, my whole body flushed. “You know…the one who stayed with me for a while when they were in college? He lives in Chicago, too. Owns an architectural firm there. Very successful. He was on the cover of Architectural Digest a few months ago.”

  “Oh, wow. I remember him now. He was a pretty one. So, he and Jared have remained close?”

  “Very. Tomás is Jared’s best friend, and he’s his best man.” Shame dampened the desire that had awakened inside of me when I saw that heated look in Tommy’s eyes. I’d joked about taking a young lover at lunch, but I’d mostly done that to wind Jared up. In truth, it wasn’t something I’d ever considered — not seriously, anyway. And not until Tommy pressed that kiss to the inside of my wrist.

  But even if I did take a lover, my son’s best friend was not an option.

  No matter how beseeching those dark brown eyes of his were.

  More than that, Tommy has always been a charmer. I was probably reading far too much into that exchange. Sure, it was a little flirty and suggestive, but it didn’t mean he was really interested in me that way, right?

  4

  Darcy

  After we left the dress shop, James and I walked up the block to have some drinks. We chatted about this or that until my phone started throwing off alerts for the rest of the errands I had to run.
I met and paid the deposit for the band, swung by the caterers to make sure they didn’t have any issues with my order, then headed back to the house to meet the guy with my liquor delivery.

  “Hey, Darcy,” Minerva greeted as I came in the back door. “You look flushed!”

  “Everyone keeps saying that as if it’s not hot out there,” I muttered, hanging my bag on the coat rack in the mudroom. “Has Amos been by to deliver our liquor order yet?”

  “He dropped off the spirits but had to double back to get the crates of champagne.”

  “Seriously? He did say he was coming back, right? I need that champagne for family brunch tomorrow.”

  “I’ll give him a call,” Minerva said, plucking her smartphone from the pocket of her practical dress. “In the meantime, have a seat. I’ll pour you some lemonade.”

  “Make it a Lynchburg lemonade, and I’ll pour for both of us,” I said playfully.

  The older woman winked. “I’ll take a nip or two if you’re offering.”

  “Oh, you’ll take more than a nip, Minnie.”

  She chuckled huskily, shoulders shaking. “You know all my secrets.”

  “You know mine, too.”

  Minerva has worked for my family for as long as I could remember. When I got married and moved from Daniel Island into Charleston, Minerva “came with the house.” I didn’t really need a live-in housekeeper anymore, but Minerva wouldn’t tolerate being fired. So, I’ve kept her on, and to be honest, she’s the one who has helped me through some of the most difficult times in my life.

  I went back out onto the side porch where the crates of spirits sat. Observing the boxes labeled Marrow Bone Creek, I opened the one on top and pulled out the bottle of locally distilled bourbon. I eyed the number of boxes and hoped it would be enough to keep these rot-gut Southerners drunk and merry for the evening.

  Brunch would be just the immediate family, but the rehearsal would take place in the side garden tomorrow evening, and dinner would be served immediately afterward. I’d hosted many dinner parties over the years, but this was to be my first since the Shannon’s death.

  It was hard to pinpoint why I stopped having those dinner parties. Well, that’s not entirely true. I was depressed; that much was obvious. And the shame around that depression made me self-isolate. I withdrew for so long that I felt a little like the girl who resurfaced after a night of horrible sex. Awkward and unable to participate in the vapid and insipid conversations I’d indulged in before because my life was so different now.

  I’m different now.

  So, I self-isolated again.

  But when Jared flew into town with his brand-new fiancée on his arm and begged me to plan a wedding like one of my “old-school dinner parties,” I couldn’t say no. But in truth, I was dreading having all of these people in my house. Dreading the whispered conversations they would have in my home as I fed them and plied them with good liquor. The tension that thought caused in my shoulders made me want to rip my dress over my head and dive into the pool again. Instead, I took the bottle of Marrow Bone Creek into the kitchen, where Minerva was just hanging up with Amos.

  “He’s on his way back with four crates,” she assured me as she took the whiskey from my hands.

  “Good.”

  Minerva kept an old AM/FM radio on the counter in the kitchen; it was always tuned to the oldies station. I turned it on now, and Otis Redding proceeded to beg me to try a little tenderness.

  Just as Minnie set a frosted glass of bourbon and cold, tart, homemade lemonade on the counter for me, I heard voices coming up the back path. Animated conversations between five boisterous young men crescendoed on the back porch. My son, already three sheets to the wind, stumbled across the threshold.

  “Mommy! Minnie!” he said, throwing his arms wide. Behind him, Tommy, who wasn’t completely sober either, shook his head and laughed as Jared wrapped an arm around both of us in turn.

  “The band’s back together, I see,” Minerva said, her voice in that low, disapproving octave, and a smile in her bright blue eyes.

  “Carter, Matthew, Scott, I know your mothers raised you better than to come into someone’s home without giving them the greeting of the day,” I said, looking at the flushed faces that had followed Jared and Tommy in.

  “Hey, Ms. MacFarland. Hey, Ms. Minerva,” they intoned in unison, and time slipped a little, swamping me with a strong sense of déjà vu. A memory of these same five boys in my kitchen on a Friday night when they were all in college.

  “What are you boys doing here? I thought you’d be tearing up King Street until the wee hours of the morning.”

  “We would be, but Mr. Responsibility thought we should cut the evening short so we could save our energy for the bachelor party tomorrow night,” Scott pointed at Tommy.

  “I simply said that I have a pretty big evening planned for us, and maybe we shouldn’t get shit-faced tonight. We have the fitting in the morning, and—”

  “Oh, god. Please don’t run that schedule down again,” Jared complained. “Ma…do you have something in this house that will get this guy drunk?” he asked, gripping Tommy’s shoulder.

  “Well, me and Minnie just opened this bottle of Marrow Bone Creek—”

  “Yes! That’ll do it!”

  Jared grabbed the bottle, brought it straight to his lips, and took three big gulps. I cringed as he grimaced, groaned, and passed the bottle to Tommy. Bleary-eyed, Tommy looked at the bottle with his brows furrowed.

  “Don’t be a pussy, Tomás!” Jared damn near bellowed.

  “Yeah, drink or pass the bottle,” Matthew cosigned.

  “Fuck it,” Tommy said, then tipped the bottle up.

  As I watched him take three equally big swallows of the strong brown liquor, I resigned myself to the very real possibility of a long night of drunken, half-naked young men splashing around in my pool. And probably an early morning visit from the cops when my neighbors got fed up with all of the noise. Just like old times.

  “Okay, I can see this is about to go sideways,” I said. “Take it outside on the porch. And try to keep it down, okay? You know how Mr. Brothers likes to ruin a good time.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jared said, smacking a kiss on my temple. “Can we grab a couple more bottles of this?”

  “A couple means two, Jared. That liquor is for the reception.”

  “We’ll keep it classy, Ms. MacFarland. I promise,” Tommy said with a sly smile, and goddamn, the boy was stunning.

  “Yeah… I’m sure you will,” I said with a shake of my head.

  “Hey, Minnie, do you think you can order us some pizza or something—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Tommy said, pulling out his phone. The rest of the boys filed out of the kitchen onto the side porch, unbuttoning their shirts as they went. He lingered, staring at his phone. “Who delivers here again?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Tommy. I’ll take care of it,” I said.

  He looked up from his phone and frowned. “You didn’t hear anything I said to you this afternoon, did you?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

  “I said I’d take care of you this weekend, remember?” Before I could react, he swept me up into his strong arms and pressed his firm body against mine. “I promised I’d keep your glass full, spin you around on the dance floor…” He swung me out and twirled me around to demonstrate, and a sound came out of me. A delighted snorting laugh that I hadn’t made in years. “…and make sure that smile stays on your face.”

  He leaned in a little too close. And when he leaned in… I felt myself leaning, too.

  “Ahem!” Minerva coughed loudly, startling us apart like teenagers caught dancing pelvis to pelvis at the school dance.

  Tommy glanced at her, a slightly annoyed look on his face. “I forgot you were even standing there.”

  “It happens,” Minerva said with a shrug.

  He handed me his phone with the food delivery app open. “Just order from the nearest p
izza spot. I’ll pay for it,” he said, backing away slowly. “And we’ll finish that dance later, won’t we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Tommy, if you don’t get your drunk ass out of my kitchen!”

  “Is that a yes, or…”

  I grabbed a wooden spatula from the container by the stove, and I swear, all of his playfulness fell away when I stepped in close, wielding it like I was going to whack him on the ass.

  “Watch out… I might actually like that,” he said, then bit his bottom lip in that seductive way pretty men did when they were thinking about kissing the fuck out of a woman.

  “Sir! That was not an invitation. Get out there with your little friends. I’ll order the pizza,” I said, trying to keep it playful, but my voice was shaky, and when he dragged his gaze down my body, I felt it like it was his hand.

  “Okay, I’ll go play,” he said with a smirk, then turned and walked out of the back door.

  “And stay away from those wedding decorations. If I wake up to vomit on my lawn—”

  “Come on, Darcy,” he said, his smirk stretching into a full-on mischievous smile. “We’re not a bunch of drunken college kids anymore. We can hold our liquor.”