Chapter 10
ten
Nev
"Kiki, did you borrow my gold hoop earrings again?" I call down the hallway. There's no answer. I can hear her on the phone.
I blow out a big puff of air as I stare in the mirror.
The reflection staring back at me says you should stay home tonight.
Nana always told me I had far too much intuition.
She insisted that while it was good to have a strong sense of the world around you, a nagging intuition could also hold you back.
It was like a set of rules you made for yourself based solely on a hunch.
And so, as usual, Nana's tiny voice came through this evening, just minutes before I wrote my planned text to cancel the date with Dane.
Instead of writing him, and against my better judgement, again, a judgement based solely on a gut feeling, I walked in to take a shower and get ready for the night out.
I stare in the mirror again. Plain and simple, that's the way I like it, and if the world has complaints, then fuck the world.
I wipe the last streak of foundation off my forehead.
I spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom mirror adding a lot of makeup to my eyes and lips and then spent the next twenty minutes erasing my hard work.
I looked like a clown. Serves me right for taking beauty advice from a twenty-something who delights in her own selfies and thinks there are cow species that go with each kind of cheese.
Yesterday, Mona asked me if they fed cows jalapenos to get pepper jack cheese.
She insisted on sending me her tutorial on applying eye makeup that was, according to her, both sultry and perky.
Not sure where those two words meet in the middle, but the result was more Pennywise meets the Joker.
Kinsley tromps down the hallway in her platform shoes.
She's on a new disco kick with tall shoes and colorful short dresses.
It's a cute look, especially on her. And my earlier question is answered as she pops her face into the bathroom and my gold hoops dangle from her ears. "What'd you ask? I was on the phone."
"Never mind."
She steps into the bathroom, stares at me and tilts her head like a dog trying to figure out if her owner said the word "treat" or "bath.
" Kinsley surveys the cluster of various makeup products she pulled out of her drawer for me to use as I followed the tutorial.
She looks back at me and lifts a brow. "You're either an expert at applying the natural look, or you haven't started yet.
I watched the video. Mona knows her stuff. "
"What Mona doesn't know is her boss. And that's kind of scary considering the two of us spend all day together behind a sandwich counter. I gave it my best shot, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to startle when you see yourself in the mirror after applying makeup."
Kinsley rolls her eyes. The gesture doesn't really go with her smoky eyed look. My sister always looks just right in makeup. Some faces were meant for it. "You just don't want to stand out in a crowd. The proverbial wallflower."
"Gee thanks. Isn't that a lovely title to have bestowed upon me.
Not everyone wants all the heads in a room to turn.
" I wave at her outfit. The dress has a mod mix of colors, and the short, flared skirt flutters as she moves.
"I can't tell which decade you're going for.
You've kind of got a mix of 60s and 70s. "
"I know. Isn't it great? Starting a new fashion trend called Modco. It's a combo of disco and mod."
"Yep, puzzled that one out all on my own."
She pushes her phone in front of my face, so I have no choice except to look at her screen. It's a selfie in this evening's outfit. "Three hundred likes and I only posted twenty minutes ago."
"Shit, not you too, Kiki. I already have to hear the rundown of all of Mona's likes and shares and frankly, it's so fucking boring."
"You're such a party pooper. Why should the twenty-somethings have all the fame and glory?"
"Not sure if three hundred or, for that matter, three thousand likes constitute fame and glory. I take it you're going to the Gold Rush." I lean forward to dab on some lipstick. Don't want to be too plain.
"Of course. With some of the girls from work. Nate's going to be on stage, and I always score extra points with my workmates when I introduce them to Nate. And he never disappoints. He's such a Valentino."
I straighten from the mirror and look at her. "What the hell is a Valentino?"
"You know, like the dreamy, old-time movie star. I'm trying to get the word to catch on. Do you think it'll work?"
"That depends. How many likes does it have?" I tease.
"Argh, you suck. What time is pretty boy Dane picking you up?"
"Don't call him that. Makes him sound sickly sweet. He'll be here soon."
Kinsley leans against the doorframe. Her shoes make her at least four inches taller, and it's odd having to look up to talk to my little sister. "So … how's it going? Getting serious? Maybe you'll be living in a big mansion one day and driving a cherry-red Mercedes."
I look at her and laugh. "Thirty years living in the same house, and it's like you don't know me at all."
"All right the mansion and Mercedes are more my things, but it's getting serious, isn't it?"
"Nope, so don't start planning your guest room in the mansion quite yet."
A rumble outside shakes the windows on Nana's old cottage. It's a house that Kinsley and I will keep forever. It has far too many memories to ever consider parting with it.
Kinsley pushes off the doorframe, and her big, unwieldy shoes nearly pitch her sideways.
"Practical for the dance floor, too," I quip.
"Practical, schmactical." She holds up her phone. "Four hundred nineteen likes and counting. Oh, and I think lover boy is here."
"Lover boy is even worse than pretty boy," I say as I quickly return all the makeup to Kinsley's drawer.
"Then what should I call him?" she asks.
"Uh, I don't know. Dane?"
She wrinkles her nose. "Not crazy about that name."
"Take that up with his mom," I say as I sidle past her.
Dane always knocks three times. It's just something I noticed, and I'm not entirely sure why but it bothers me. I open the door.
He holds out his arms. "You're not ready?"
I stare down pointedly at my jeans and T-shirt. I realize they're quite out of place next to his crisp black pants, bright blue Polo shirt and expensive white gold watch. I know it's expensive because he's mentioned it multiple times.
I look up at him and can read the disappointment in his face. "I thought you might put on a dress." Right then, my sister with her impeccable timing steps out from the hallway in her party-girl attire. Dane smiles. "See, your sister gets it."
"Gets what?" Kinsley hurries over to join the conversation.
"How to dress for a night of dancing," Dane says.
"You didn't mention dancing," I say, dryly.
"You said you wanted to get a feel for our small town, and that's what we're doing.
And this"—I wave a hand in front of me—"is Rockhurst vibe.
That"—my hand waves toward Kinsley—"is an attempt to go viral on Instagram with her new Modco style.
I can always stay home," I suggest with probably more enthusiasm than I should have.
That intuition barb keeps poking at me, and it's sharp as ever.
"No, you're right. This is our get to know Rockhurst night, and I'm sure your fashion choice is much more authentic," Dane says. I'm impressed at how much attitude I can throw at him, and he still keeps on ticking, like the Energizer bunny.
Dane's car is so loud it's almost impossible to have a conversation. I think it's something that keeps the relationship from moving forward more. I'm someone who likes to talk and figure out the other person, but his overly dramatic car makes that difficult.
With only a few loud words exchanged between us, I'm relieved to reach the Gold Rush so I can get out of the noisy car.
Considering the noise level inside the bar, that says a lot.
There's something unnerving about a loud, revving motor, especially when it causes your entire body to vibrate with the sound.
There's already a line curling through the parking lot. "You're sure about this?" I ask as he circles around the car to meet me.
"I don't mind a crowd," he says. "More the merrier."
"And sweatier and stinkier," I mutter to myself.
Dane presses his hand against the small of my back. I pick up my pace and head toward the back of the line. He moves his hand to mine. "We're not waiting in that long line." He leads me toward the front of the line.
"What the hell, Nev?" someone says, and a few more join the chorus.
"I don't think you're understanding the Rockhurst vibe," I say to Dane.
"We don't do line cuts here." I look down at the twenty-dollar bill he's pulled from his wallet.
"And we especially don't do bribe-filled line cuts.
" I tug at his hand. "Not going in with you.
Go ahead and hand off the twenty, but I'll be waiting at the end of the line. "
Clapping follows.
"Fine." Dane shoves the twenty back into his wallet. Something tells me my pretty lover boy might be reaching the end of his nerves with his new girlfriend. I'm trying to decide if that thought upsets me, and I don't think it does.
We walk to the back of the line.