8. In Which Aiden and Juniper Find a Very Dead Body
IN WHICH AIDEN AND JUNIPER FIND A VERY DEAD BODY
M y mother is fond of saying that the Good Lord will never give us more than we can handle.
Usually she says it when we’re all seated around the table at one of the few family dinners we have each month, and it usually comes up because Caroline is griping about this problem or that.
My mother is a woman of faith—in a higher power, yes, but also in things she shouldn’t have faith in, like infomercials and clickbait articles—and most of the wisdom she imparts can be traced directly back to the Bible.
My father, on the other hand, doesn’t have time for any of that. If you ask for his advice, you’re going to get the gospel according to Bernard Milano, and it’s probably going to be expletive-laced. He’ll tell you you can get through anything if you’re patient and you never give up.
This evening, I think both my parents are wrong. Because I don’t know what any higher powers are thinking, and I don’t know what kind of faith they have in me, but I cannot handle Juniper Bean wearing that dress.
And no matter how patient I am, I don’t think it’s going to get any easier.
In her most boundary-defying move thus far, Caroline showed up at the house at five-thirty. She brought a camera with her, and she was wearing a smile so big I thought it might sprout wings and fly right off her face.
“Absolutely not,” I said when I opened the door to find her there. I tried to shut it before she could get inside, but she was expecting this; she darted past me before I could stop her.
“You are such a little liar,” she whispered to me, looking around—I assume to check that the coast was clear. “You said she wasn’t pretty. But she’s gorgeous!” Then she and her totally unnecessary camera went to the couch, where she’s been waiting for the last ten minutes.? *
Juniper has just appeared at the top of the stairs, though, and Caroline is already snapping picture after picture, like she’s a proud mom sending her little girl to prom for the first time.
She gushes on and on about the dress, and Juniper replies modestly that it’s just something she wore to a wedding one time—which I think probably ended up making the bride look dull in comparison.
It was my sincere hope that I wouldn’t find Juniper attractive this evening.
I was counting on the fact that maybe part of me still viewed her as that teenager who tried to kiss me all those years ago.
But no matter how I used to think of her, it seems that my mind is now very clear on one fact: Juniper Bean is no longer a teenager.
She’s a grown woman, and she’s beautiful.
I shouldn’t be noticing these things, and I definitely shouldn’t be feeling attracted to her.
She’s not someone I’m interested in romantically, and that’s usually a determining factor for whether my body reacts to a woman.
But Juniper seems to be a fluke, one I can’t quite categorize.
All I know is that I’m feeling things I usually don’t.
I’ve never seen a dress like the one she’s wearing, but I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing another sometime.
It seems to fit her perfectly—a corset-looking top in deep red leading to a frothy, voluminous skirt in some sort of pink fabric that reaches just past her knees.
There’s a sheer overlay on the skirt in the same red as the top, dotted with little pink flowers.
The whole thing is held up by two ribbon straps, each tied in a delicate bow over her shoulders. ? *
It’s those bows that have my thoughts trying to stray.
Because the problem with tied ribbons is that my mind automatically pictures un tying them—a very unhelpful mental image in this scenario.
So I direct my attention elsewhere, noting Juniper’s easy smile as she chats with Caroline, who’s still taking pictures.
“Caroline,” I say with a sigh. “That’s enough.” It could not be clearer that my sister is planning my wedding to Juniper in her head at this very moment, and it needs to stop. “It’s time for us to go.”
Caroline sighs too, but hers is more theatrical than mine. “Fine,” she says dramatically. “Go on, then. I just wanted to take pictures to commemorate your first date?—”
“Not a date,” I say, and Juniper grins.
“He says he doesn’t want to date me,” she says to Caroline, “but our couple name would be Aidiper. Doesn’t that feel like a wasted opportunity to you?”
“Definitely,” Caroline says with a decisive nod. “It’s a great couple name.”
“I know,” Juniper says. She looks wistfully at me. “Too bad.” She comes the rest of the way down the stairs, her heels clicking against the hard wood as she walks.
“That dress,” Caroline says, and I swear I can see hearts blooming in her eyes. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It makes me feel like an autumn flower fairy.”
“To the car, flower fairy,” I say grumpily.? *
“Oh, Aiden,” Caroline says, rushing over to me. She reaches up and pinches my cheeks. “Are your feelings hurt because we didn’t tell you how handsome you look?” she coos in a high-pitched voice, like she’s talking to one of her four-year-old daughters. “You’re so handsome. Such a big, strong boy?—”
I swat her hands away, and she cackles as Juniper laughs along.
Once a big sister, always a big sister.
I ignore their laughter and make my way to the car, opening Juniper’s door before I hop in the driver’s seat.
I look around at the little bit of clutter I’ve accumulated—mostly leftovers of the books I teach in my lit class, but also a few stray papers—and forcefully remind myself it doesn’t matter if my car is messy.
Juniper’s not going to care, at any rate; she was literally living out of her car.
She brings some sort of citrusy scent with her when she gets into the passenger seat, a sharp but subtle smell that’s way more appealing than the air freshener hanging from my rearview mirror. I’m not a big fan of florals or anything too sweet; I much prefer crisp and fresh.? *
“I know your sister was joking,” Juniper says as she fastens her seatbelt, “but you really do look nice.” She glances over at me, and I watch as her eyes trail over my linen suit coat and white shirt. “I like the blue. It makes your eyes look extra brown. Sort of soulful.”
I blink at her, surprised. Then I duck my head. “Thanks,” I say. “You look nice too.” It would be rude not to say it back.
“I feel pretty,” she says happily. Her pink hair is pin straight tonight, sleek and soft-looking, held back by a sparkly clip on one side.
“You are,” I say. I clear my throat, an audible divider in the conversation, and then change the subject. “The dance ends at eleven,” I say. “We can go down to Solomon after that. You’re free to do whatever you want until then. I will not be dancing, though, so don’t ask.”
“I would never,” she says solemnly, but I see her lips twitch.
Whatever. She can laugh if she wants; it’s not going to change anything. I still won’t get out on that dance floor. I’m here to make sure the drinks stay non-alcoholic and to make sure no one gets too handsy under the light of the disco ball—that’s it.
We drive in strangely comfortable silence, arriving at the high school five minutes later. When we pull into the school parking lot, it takes a good ten minutes to find a spot; I finally find one in the back lot, and then Juniper and I begin the trek to the gymnasium.
“Wow,” she says, looking around when we make it inside. “It’s been a long time.”
I glance at her, curious. “Have you not been back here since you graduated?”
She shakes her head. “I never really wanted to come back. Not a lot of happy memories.” The smile she gives me is simple, peaceful—not full of self-pity but acceptance. “Still, it hasn’t changed much, has it?”
“Not a lot,” I say, pointing in the direction of the gym.
I realize a second too late that I don’t need to show her the way; of course she knows where we’re going.
There are streams of high schoolers moving in that direction anyway, gangly boys in suits and giggling girls in shiny dresses.
The air is thick with that adolescent tension I hate—the unbearably awkward awareness of your own body, the veritable flood of hormones suffocating everyone within a ten-foot radius, the perpetual scent of body odor and Axe body spray. ? *
I’m so glad I’m not a teenager anymore.
We’re almost to the gymnasium doors when I run, quite literally, into Rocco; he comes out of nowhere, and I stumble, righting myself quickly.
“Sorry, man,” I say. Then, grinning as I get a good look at him, I add, “Looking spiffy.”
His booming laugh echoes down the corridor, laced with that smoker’s wheeze.
His blue eyes twinkle as he points to his hair.
“You like this? I used about half a tube of hair gel.” His hair is thick and dark, graying at the temples, but usually it’s a mess; tonight he’s got some semblance of a part, and his suit fits him immaculately.
? * His smile fades slightly when he notices Juniper, though, a glimmer of interest springing to life in his eyes.
“And who’s this lovely lady?” he says.
I sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable. “Rocco, this is Juniper Bean,” I say, nodding at her. “Juniper, Rocco Astor.”
Rocco just looks surprised for a second; then a wide, boyish smile splits his face, making him look younger than his forty-something years. “Forgive the facial expression,” he says to Juniper. He reaches out and shakes her hand. “I’ve just never seen this guy with a date.”
Juniper smiles back at him. “Truthfully, I just tagged along for fun,” she says.
“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Miss Juniper,” Rocco says, winking. “Have that fun, all right?” Then, checking his watch, he says to me, “I’ve got to dash.”
“Yeah,” I say, waving him off. “See you later.”
He claps me on the shoulder, gives one last nod to Juniper, and then hurries off.