10. Veronica
Veronica
“I wish I could tell you, Millie.” I’m rummaging through my closet, trying to figure out what to wear.
Jeans are a given—Hawk told me as much. And while I’ve never in my thirty-five years of living been on the back of a motorcycle, I am confident a sleeveless top is not the right vibe or safe. “I have no clue what to wear.”
“Let me see.” My little sister and I have always been close, but over the last few years since Dad’s stroke, we talk every single Saturday like clockwork.
I angle the phone against the jewelry box on my dresser and adjust the screen until she can see me walking in and out of my closet.
“Sissy,” Millie squeals. “Your hair. Is that fresh color? You look hot. Yes, you need to go on a date tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know about need…” I drop down on the edge of my bed and stare at my sister’s image. “It’s been such a long time, and I hardly know him.”
She nods. “But you know enough, right? Tell me everything.”
I explain how we met and how close he is to Phantom and Poppy. I include everything Clara told me.
My sister frowns at that. “We talking like wife-beater criminal or deals a little weed for funsies kind of stuff?”
“Funsies?” My eyes widen at that. “Well, I don’t think there’s any wife-beating going on. I hope not, at least. These guys are rough, but…” I think about everything I’ve seen so far. “I mean, Hawk babysat two teenage girls. Do you think…”
I can’t go there in my head, but I guess it makes sense to at least consider it.
Remembering him with the frozen duck and the flowers, I just haven’t seen even a single sign of anger in the man.
I can’t imagine what he’s like when he’s angry, but the question does give me a nervous chill down the back of my neck.
My sister tells me to get going with the outfits because, unless I’ve changed my mind, I’ve only got about an hour before he’s supposed to pick me up.
I shove aside the nerves. It’s one date.
There is no point in worrying about things that are never going to apply to me because I’m never going to see the man again after tonight.
One drink. No criminal acts or violence. It’s all going to be fine.
“You’re not worried I’m having like a midlife crisis?” I ask, pulling a red boatneck top back over my head. “Going out on a date with a guy I probably have absolutely nothing in common with?”
She snorts. “You’re two hot-blooded people who clicked. What more do you need for a first date?”
She has a point.
I grab a long-sleeved top that has a deep scoop neck and tug it over my head. I give my sister the side profile and front view.
“Look at that rack,” she teases. “But I think you need to show them off. More cleavage, less neck. Unless he’s a vampire, I don’t think he cares about your collarbone.”
I inherited Mom’s body, while Millie takes after our dad’s side. I got long legs, naturally dark-blond hair that Clara sparkles up with highlights, and curves. Big thighs, big bottom, big bosom.
I swap out the long-sleeve for a V-neck T-shirt that is snug across my chest.
Millie rolls her eyes. “You’re not going for coffee with your girlfriends,” she scoffs. “Show me the goods, for fuck’s sake.”
I stand in my bra with my back to the phone screen and search my closet. Everything is familiar, and I feel like I’m just staring at row after row of work blouses and tailored shirts.
“I got nothing,” I tell her. “Maybe I should cancel.”
“V…” I can hear the warning in Millie’s voice. “You’re going on this date. I know you have something in there that you can wear with jeans. What do you wear to pep rallies and basketball games?”
I sigh. “Something that has the school logo on it?” I say it like a question, because even I’m bored with my schoolmarm wardrobe. It’s one thing to dress professionally at work. It’s another thing to have a closet that looks like I’ve literally given up trying.
“Keep going. Come on.” Millie opens something that sounds like wine, and I turn to face the screen.
“Are you drinking alone?” I ask. “Or do you have plans tonight too?”
She shakes her head. “I’m drinking with my big sister, so neither. Now stop distracting me. I want to see something that’s going to make that man want to throw you on the pool table.”
I laugh, and it’s my turn to shake my head. I shove a bunch of my clothes roughly to one side of my closet, hoping that despite everything I know is in here, somehow I’ll find something perfect.
Instead, what I notice is something old. I pull a zippered bag from the closet and hold it in front of me by the hanger.
“V…?” Millie’s squinting, her face so close to the camera I can only see her dark brown eyes. “What’s in the bag?”
I unzip the bag just enough for Millie to see the pattern on the fabric. We both fall silent.
“Maybe it’s a sign?” my sister says softly, a gentle smile on her face. “When was the last time you pulled out Mom’s housedresses?”
When our mom got sick, she bought a couple of what she called housedresses.
They were basically old-lady nightgowns but in bright colors that she could wear all day like clothes.
No pants to shimmy up or out of, easy snap closures at the front, and machine washable.
I have so many memories of my mom, but resting my head in her lap, the fabric of her housedress under my cheek, are some of my favorites.
“You should do something with that,” Millie says gently. She cocks her chin behind her and angles the camera so I can see where she’s framed the bold print to look like a piece of art. Mom’s cancer gown behind glass. Preserved forever. Part of my sister’s everyday life.
I don’t know why I chose to zip the housedresses into a bag and put them in my closet with my clothes.
I could have done so much to preserve them.
Keep them free from dust or humidity. But somehow having this last piece of Mom behind glass or in a sealed container…
Well, God. It felt like burying her all over again.
I couldn’t do it. I had to keep her close to me, in this way at least. Her clothes hanging with mine, like it was a natural thing.
I make a joke to break the heaviness in the room. “Well, I can’t wear this tonight.”
Millie blurts out a laugh and splatters her phone screen with wine. “Fuck, V.”
We’re both laughing as I tuck away the bag back where I found it. “Well, I can’t,” I say, running my fingers over my clothes again. Then I feel it. I slip my fingers beneath two shirts and pull out a top I haven’t worn in ages.
“Ooooh. Ohhhh,” Millie calls, a refilled glass of wine in one hand. “What’s that?”
I bought this top a couple of years ago, thinking it would be cute for dances at school or parent conferences. But I never ended up wearing it. I thought the waist was too short on me. Not quite a crop top, but almost every move I make in the thing reveals a bit of belly or waist.
But now, I pull the midnight-navy top off the hanger and consider it. It’s got a deep V neck, and the cap sleeves are sheer navy lace.
“Put that on.” My sister’s demanding through the phone, so I slide it over my shoulders and turn to face her. “Whoa,” she exclaims. “Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner.”
I turn away from our call and check myself out in the mirror.
“What pants? I vote for none. Just answer the door in that.”
I raise a brow at my sister, not appreciating the suggestion. “You do realize I’m nervous as hell, and you’re not helping.”
“Why would you be nervous?”
I shimmy out of the yoga pants I had on earlier and slide into a pair of perfectly broken-in dress jeans.
“You’re showered, plucked, shaved?” Millie sounds like she’s jumping up and down, but I know she’s at a barstool in her kitchen.
“And I flossed too, not that you asked,” I say, turning back toward the phone. “So, this is it? We’re doing this?”
“You look beautiful. And you deserve a good time. Please give this guy a chance.”
She can’t know what she’s asking me. She hasn’t seen his arms, for God’s sake. His tattoos. Give him a chance to what? Use me and toss me back?
But even as the worry creeps in, something in my chest doesn’t think Hawk would do that to me.
“He has me in his phone as School Bitch,” I remind Millie, even though I really need to remind myself. “That tells you everything you need to know about what’s going to happen tonight.”
Millie raises her glass to me. “I’ll bet you are pretty bitchy at school. He’s probably not wrong.”
“Hey.” I pick up my phone and bring it close to my face. “He’ll be here soon. Thanks for the consult.”
Millie blows me a kiss. “Love you and for real. Check in. I don’t want you tied up in his basement. Unless you’re into that.”
“Goodbye, Millie.” I blow her a kiss and end the call.
Once I’m alone, I look at myself in the mirror. In a few minutes, Nico Greco, a man I didn’t even know existed two weeks ago, will be knocking on my door.
Why am I doing this?
Because I’ve hidden from life long enough.
My needs have always been simple. Find a purpose. A place to belong. Do good. Feel a little bit better.
My work has given me that. Staying close to home and to Dad has given me that. But nothing has filled the emptiness inside me. Not mediocre sex. Not awkward dates. Not money or travel or even time with my sister.
In some ways, I’m sure I’m broken, and I do everything I can to hold the pieces together in every way, in every moment.
But I’m tired.
Sometimes, I want someone to look at me like they see me. Like I matter. I want to be held and forget that there is pain because the pleasure is so good, everything else is obliterated.
I walk into the bathroom and put on some earrings and the lightest amount of makeup.
“This is just a date,” I remind myself, but the butterflies take flight in my belly anyway. “It’s just a date,” I remind myself. “With a biker. Who may be a criminal. What could possibly go wrong?”