Chapter 14 #2
Tall and broad, he’d always been effortlessly muscular and his football years were easy, even if he’d grown to dislike the game.
By the end of junior year, he’d bailed on it, to the chagrin of Coach Lewiston.
The year in D.C. had been nothing but slug work, his body constantly wanting a run, to climb, to lift, but he’d made do with the gym to stay the course of his new life there.
Coming home meant his body was free again. Free to climb trees, to chop wood and stack it, to use chainsaws until his arms vibrated on their own, to help put up fences and hang drywall, shovel walks and fix cars.
And as his mom said, “Men are done growing at twenty-five, and Kell’s proof that some men use up every last minute.”
The suit didn’t fit.
Nature’s way of making him pay for being a maximizer of puberty.
Scratching his beard, he left the pants halfway up his thighs and pulled out the jacket, slipping it on and hunching immediately.
It “fit,” but he looked like a character on a children’s show.
A character to be mocked.
Not quite the look he wanted for his first romantic date with Rachel.
Another try at the pants and he pulled them all the way up, his butt clenched to get the crotch where it belonged. By holding his breath and pulling his ribs up, he managed to button and zip. He was officially “wearing” the suit.
But blood flow to his nether regions was cut off, and he really, really wanted those regions to be fully functional tonight.
Slipping his feet into his dress shoes, he was relieved to find that they still fit. Whew. But when he walked, gingerly, to the full-length mirror in the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in horror.
This would not do.
Mind racing, he ran through all the possibilities. The town had no menswear store, other than a rent-a-tux shop for weddings. A thrift shop called Love You Frocks sold only women’s clothing. Another, Love You A Second Time, was great for casual wear but never had suits.
Dad? Could he ask to borrow one of Dad’s suits?
His father was too big in the middle, and shorter by three inches.
Luke?
Laughing suddenly, Kell tried to imagine his brother in anything but a red police uniform or jeans. The only time Kell ever saw him in a suit was–
Funerals.
Amber’s funeral.
At that sober thought, Kell undressed quickly, grateful for oxygen again. Calamine wandered in and decided that his suit jacket was the perfect cat bed.
“Get off there!” he said, shooing her. She jumped down and showed him her butthole.
A glance at the bedside clock showed he had fifty minutes to get to Annabeth’s, which was fine since it was a five-minute walk, but how could he solve the clothing issue? The only man he knew who might have ideas was Moore Mottin, Luke’s best friend.
Moore’s family ran Love You Jewelry, and he was constantly in Boston and New York, doing gem and metal buys. The guy was easily the best dresser in town. Even by D.C. standards, he was on his fashion game.
Kell grabbed the suit and shirt and picked up his phone, deciding a call was best.
“Hey Kell. What’s up?”
“I need help.”
“Something wrong?”
“I need help with my suit.”
“Your suit?”
“I have this old suit I need to wear tonight, and it doesn’t fit. I’ve outgrown it.”
“Outgrown?” Moore began laughing. “Second puberty?”
“Ha ha. You’re so funny. I bulked up. You know. I bought it in D.C. years ago, and now it doesn’t fit. You’re the only person I know who wears a suit all the time, so…”
“Got it. You free for lunch? Bring the suit. I’ll talk to Anya.”
“Anya?”
“You know Anya. Works in the back at Labrecque’s.”
“The dry cleaner’s?”
“Yep.”
“Anya? No. Never met her.”
Moore grunted. “She’s been there for six years.”
“Wait. The old woman who doesn’t say a word?”
“Yes. And she has a name.”
“I don’t exactly go into the dry cleaners on a regular basis, Moore. Had to get Rachel’s stuff cleaned this week and saw her for the first time. She didn’t say anything.”
“Anya’s quiet. She’s Grady’s grandma.” Grady ran the store with his mother, Judy.
“Grandma! Grady is my mom’s age!”
“Yeah, well, we’d better hurry, then, because we don’t want Anya dropping dead before your big date. If anyone can take that suit and make it fit, it’s her. Meet me there at 11:00.”
Mentally calculating out his day, he said, “No problem. That’ll be after my haircut and shave.”
“Fancy. I get to see your face again after all these years? Has it improved?”
“I see your sense of humor hasn’t.”
“My sense of humor isn’t trying to impress someone I’m dating.”
“That explains why you’re still single, Moore.”
“I’m only single because your sister’s off limits.”
The joke about Colleen was an old one, Luke and Moore being best friends since they were born, and Colleen having an obvious crush on Moore since they were teenagers. Living in a small town meant knowing everything about everyone because you were practically in each other’s DNA.
“Dating your best friend’s sister is the fastest way to end a friendship.”
“So is making me see your face today, Kell,” Moore said with a laugh.
Kell just hung up on him. Easier that way.
All he needed now was a restaurant reservation.
Calling his cousin Blake got him a voicemail system, so he left a message asking for an 8:30 reservation. Blake Bilbee ran The Food Alchemist, a farm-to-table bistro right on the edge of Luview, near the hot springs but on the other side.
The Bilbees didn’t like naming things according to a predetermined Love You theme, and they didn’t care who knew it. For the most part, if a business didn’t have the words Love You in it, it was run by a Bilbee.
The longstanding rebellion was part of the character of living here.
Jedidiah Bilbee didn’t much mind his sister, Adelaide, marrying Abram Luview, but boy, did he hate what Abram did with marketing Luview, Maine.
A strict Calvinist with a healthy dose of Puritan sexual oppression in him, Jedidiah declared it all a manifestation of sin and refused to participate.
Over the generations, his descendants had agreed, but there was a problem when a Bilbee married a Luview.
Family cultures had a way of becoming part of your own identity, and while their rivalry was nothing like the infamous Hatfields vs.
the McCoys, there was an undertone of cynicism among the Bilbees, mixed with proprietary pride.
We were here first, the Bilbees would often say. You Luviews just put the place on the map.
Bilbee’s Tavern had been around since 1788, and the Bilbees were here in what was then unincorporated land for more than a hundred years before young Abram Luview migrated from the old country to Maine and bought his land.
He was a sharp, hardworking man with a vision, while the Bilbees shunned anything involving worldly matters.
Which was why the town was named Luview, Maine and not Bilbee, Maine.
Kell’s phone buzzed. The text made his heart drop.
Got your voicemail, cuz. Sorry. No reservations. We’re booked solid through the 15th.
Even for a relative?
Dude
That single word said it all.
Can you do anything for me? I have a date.
Maisy finally snagged you?
What was with people knowing about Maisy and he didn’t?
No. Someone else.
Who? The woman you glued yourself to?
Kell sighed.
Yes.
Tell you what. We can give you a takeout meal. Make it fancy and everything. You can pretend you cooked it and serve it at your apartment.
Not a bad idea. The goal was to end up in bed, eventually. Being twenty feet from his bedroom wasn’t a bad idea at all.
And yet… Rachel had been spending her days in his place, working. And he wanted this to be romantic. He lived in the most romantic town on Earth, but he couldn’t give her better than his apartment over a tavern?
No. Kell needed something special.
If you want the takeout, let me know. We’ll package it up nice. Insulated bag. You just unpack and plate it. We have a surf and turf special. Four courses. I’ll make sure the wine pairs nicely.
Rachel would care about the right wine. Kell used to be a little more into it, but now he just thought of wine in terms of red, white, or rosé.
Thanks, cuz, he wrote back. I’ll take you up on that. 7:30?
Done. See you then.
If you need any poison ivy pulled, let me know.
Kell surveyed his situation.
Haircut and shave? Check.
Suit crisis under control? Check.
Dinner covered? Check.
One last problem: the venue.
How could he find a place that was special, romantic, and had a great view of the hot springs, like The Food Alchemist did?
A look at the clock told him it was time to go to Annabeth’s. Worst case, there was his apartment, but he didn’t want to settle for that.
Grabbing the suit bag, he shrugged into his coat, Calamine at his heels.
“Sorry, girl. I’m walking.”
Calamine looked at him like he was dirt, turning away and jumping up on the couch, closing her eyes, waiting for Rachel.
Who would, he hoped, work from here all day.
As he walked toward the salon, no fewer than ten people waved and called out hello, something he took for granted.
Wonder if they’d recognize him in an hour.
“Look at you!” Annabeth squealed, coming in for a hug after he hung the suit bag on her coat rack. Annabeth’s fingers went straight for his thick dark beard. “This is going to be so awesome! Mind if I film it for social media?”
“What?”
“It’s a thing. Like watching pimple popping videos. People love to watch long hair get cut.”
“My hair’s not that long.”
“This beard is going to be a HUGE change. You, clean-shaven again. Your mom know?”
“Why would I need to tell my mom?”
“That’s a no. Kell, your mom loves all of you nice and clean shaven. Dean won’t even need to give her a present on Valentine’s Day. You’re doing it for him!”
“Can we, uh, just get on with this, Annabeth? I have a meeting at 11:00.”
“Meeting?” She looked over at the coat rack. “What’s that about?”
“Nothing important.”