5. #2
“It might not be right. What if people think . . .”
“Your body is the stage you show the world, and it showcases that beautiful brain you have, sweet Jewel. You decide how to decorate that stage, or if you do at all. You’ll be you whether you’re dripping in diamonds or covered in dirt from the garden, and as long as you’re happy with yourself, then others’ opinions don’t matter. ”
“I know.”
“Are you happy with yourself and the young woman you’re becoming?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said firmly.
“Then highlight your inner beauty by expressing it in what you’re wearing. Now, why are you unsure about your outfit?”
“It feels too tight, and I’m not comfortable.”
“Too tight, how?” Mom asked.
“The seam over my hips makes me want to fidget, and that’s probably all I’ll be able to think about during the award ceremony.”
Mom put in her earring and looked over at Dad as he walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and another on his head. I laughed, realizing he was brushing his beard with the hot pink brush I’d given to him for Father’s Day years ago. He frowned and asked, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“My dress isn’t comfortable,” I explained.
“Then find another one, or better yet, put on your jeans and boots so we can ride over instead of taking the truck.”
“Can we do that?” I asked, glancing at Mom.
“Will you be more comfortable dressed that way?” Mom asked. When I nodded, she said, “Go change and then come back so I can braid your hair.”
“Awesome!”
As I hurried out of their bedroom, I heard Mom complaining that Dad only suggested it so he could ride his motorcycle instead of being trapped in the SUV with my siblings.
The memory of his response still made me proud.
“Someday that girl is going to do great things, but at heart she’ll always be the daughter of a long-haired biker, Sour Patch.”
“What are you thinking about right now?” Brooklyn asked.
“My dad,” I admitted with a smile.
“I love Grunt. He’s the best,” Brooklyn said, walking over to sit on the end of the bed. “Now, back to the subject at hand. You are not going to take a nap and skip dinner tonight.”
“But I’m really tired,” I whined.
“No, you’re trying to avoid Mr. One-Night Stand because you know you won’t be able to resist a repeat.”
“I hate you when you’re right.”
“If that’s the case, then you must detest me because I’m always right,” Brooklyn boasted. “Explain to me why you can’t turn Mr. One-Night Stand into Mr. New York Adventure.”
“He’s just . . . too much,” I said, flopping back on the bed behind Brooklyn.
“Too much for the badass, take-no-prisoners Jewel? Do tell.”
“Verbally sparring with him is almost as big a turn-on as seeing him naked.”
“If that’s the case, then your standards for foreplay are very low.”
“I’m serious. Bickering with him had me so turned on that I almost embarrassed myself, and then when we were dancing I just . . .”
“Whoa,” Brooklyn murmured when my voice trailed off. “You’ve got it bad.”
“Are you telling me you’ve never encountered a man who trips your trigger the second you speak to him?”
“If I had met someone like that, I wouldn’t be sitting in a hotel room with you right now, which leads me to this question: why, after six months of downstairs desert dryness, are you in the same building as the man who lit your fire like no one else ever has, and you’re not naked in his lap, bouncing on him like a pogo stick? ”
“It’s been more like eight months,” I corrected. I thought about her comparison for a second, then scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense. A pogo stick? No one even knows what those are anymore, weirdo.”
“I thought that reference was apt for someone of your advanced age.”
“You’re my age!”
“You know very well that I’m much younger than you,” Brooklyn said in a prissy tone, giving me a smug look.
“I also know that in our advanced age, five years doesn’t mean anything. Time passes so fast . . .”
“That’s the dementia setting in, I’m sure,” Brooklyn interrupted.
“Why am I talking to you instead of napping?” I asked, pulling the spare pillow to my chest and hugging it close. I let my eyes drift shut. “I’m not going anywhere this evening. I’m going to stay right here and . . .”
Brooklyn lay down beside me just as her phone started ringing. Within seconds, I heard our friend Holly say hello, followed by Emerald, Leia, Lexi, and my sister, Petra.
I pulled the pillow over my face to ignore the chatter as the women grilled Brooklyn on how our trip was going so far and then listened as she explained why she was calling from my bed.
“Get your ass out of bed, Parker!” Emerald yelled.
“Make me, Hamilton!”
“It’s Forrester now, remember? That gives me an even bigger dose of crazy than I had before,” Emerald boasted.
“Your cup was already running over with insanity when you married into that family,” Leia pointed out. “I’m not sure I’d be bragging about the extra you picked up.”
“She’s not just normal crazy anymore. She’s crazy by injection,” Holly said with a giggle. “Sorry. It’s Damien’s turn to get the kids ready for bed, so I already poured myself a glass of wine.”
“A forty-four-ounce tumbler is not a glass, you lush,” Emerald teased.
Holly held up a plastic cup featuring a popular children’s television character on it. “It’s not nearly that large, but I have already refilled it once.”
“Classy, Hamilton. Really classy,” Emerald teased her cousin. “Now, let’s get back to Auntie Jewel and her irritating habit of sabotaging relationships before they even start.”
“I don’t do that!” I yelled at the phone.
“Oh, denial, let me count the ways,” Lexi chimed in. “First there was the doctor you met when you were . . .”
“Let’s just not, okay?” I whined. “I’m tired and my feet are killing me. We spent all day shopping and seeing the sights. I just want to take a bath in that fantastic tub and relax.”