Chapter 32 – Vale
BEAUTY IS THE WRONG WORD
VALE
I’ve tried on every outfit, every combination of every piece of clothing I own.
Nothing’s right. I’ve put a lot of thought into what I’d wear.
I thought about what we were going to do and the weather.
I thought about how I would style my hair.
I searched for makeup I knew I didn’t own.
I have a couple things, including a lip stain, some mascara, and a tinted lip gloss, but that’s the extent of it. Point being, I’m beyond anxious.
I don’t know where Oliver and I stand after yesterday. I don’t know if this is a date or if we’re just friends. I don’t know what we are. I’ve gone so long not being interested in the opposite sex, I’m not prepared to go on a date.
Where Kat had been using makeup for years, I hadn’t done more than experiment with it.
She’d bought sexy clothes, but I hadn’t bothered because it didn’t seem like it was ever going to happen for me.
Who would ask me on a date? I barely know anyone around Silver Springs and it’s not like I’d be going on a date when I was living with my parents.
I stand in front of the mostly empty closet, staring at the charcoal-gray garment bag that’s hanging there.
I can’t look away from it. I’m tapping my foot nervously, shaking my head.
“Nope, I’m not doing it.” I pace across the room, then I pace back, giving the garment bag a dirty look.
“Ugh!” I cross the room again with folded arms.
“They’re just clothes. They have no power over you. You’re choosing this, not them,” I tell myself. “Fuck it!”
I run back to the closet and grab the garment bag, tossing it down on my bed and unzipping it.
Most of the skirts are black or brown and boring.
I flip the hangers to the side, one after another, until I find the one I’m looking for.
It’s a navy-blue and white polka dot, A-line skirt with tan buttons that fasten it together down the center.
There’s a tie at the waist instead of a belt, and it falls just below my knees.
I admit it’s cute, a rarity amongst the clothes my mom normally buys me, but I’m still ambivalent because this is from the real world.
Normal life and summer vacation, may the two never meet.
I narrow my eyes at the skirt, then decide right then and there that I won’t be cowed by some cotton and buttons.
In fact, I open every single tan button with a devilish smile on my face.
I put the skirt on and twirl in front of the mirror.
I like the way it shows my legs, but when I catch a glimpse of bright red bush, I decide to close a few buttons.
No reason to go to jail for indecent exposure.
The skirt looks so nice, I decide to find the matching white dress shirt.
When I realize it has long sleeves, I stick my tongue out at it. Can’t win them all.
I grab the camisole from underneath the blouse instead.
The camisole is cute with a pretty lace trim at the top of the jersey knit.
I grab a white satin strapless bra and the sexiest panties I own, just in case he sees them.
They’re sheer white panties I’d bought when Kat was on a lingerie kick.
She hadn’t liked them and said they were too modest for lingerie.
I didn’t think so. For goodness sake, they were transparent and pointless, just like most of the lingerie I’d seen her buy.
I shaved my legs and contemplated shaving my pubic hair till I realized it could go so badly wrong. Thank you, Kat, for your horror stories in grooming that prevent me from doing stupid things.
I leave my hair down long, curling it with a very old curling iron that belonged to my grandma.
It’s not uncommon to find things that belonged to Grandma.
I don’t think Gramps had the heart to throw her stuff away and neither do I.
He kept her perfume on his bedside table and more than once I’d taken a sniff just to remember how she smelled. We both miss her.
When I’ve tortured myself long enough with an eyelash curler and mascara, I give up.
I use the lip stain and check my face for tiny black spots of mascara.
Makeup is torture for me. I don’t know how to use it, and it probably shows.
I want to be pretty, but is it worth the annoyance?
My lips look like I’ve been kissing though, and that I like.
Finally, I’m ready. I grab a pair of sunglasses, a hair tie, and my purse, which has all the essentials. I’m waiting in the kitchen for Oliver, when I’m surprised to see Gramps stroll through the back door.
“Gramps, do I look okay? I didn’t know what to wear.” I frown down at myself, questioning my choices for the millionth time.
Gramps’s face lights up when I step around the kitchen island. “Pretty as always,” he replies. Gramps is so sweet, but it’s rare when he says anything about my appearance.
I used to get very upset when Grandma complimented my appearance.
She said such nice things about me, but it hurt to hear it, and I’d run away, panicking.
So both of them had stopped complimenting my appearance.
I’d done that. My anxiety had done that.
My fear of being prideful had done that.
I wish Grandma was here now. I wish I could apologize.
I wish I could hear her say those sweet words again.
“Why so dressed up?” he asks as he makes his way to the fridge to have a rummage. Lunch it is.
“That market we’re going to is full of rich people. I don’t want to embarrass Oliver. He’s always dressed so nice.”
“Honey, I don’t think you would embarrass Oliver with cut-off shorts and a baggy T-shirt.
I think he’s got more substance than that.
Anyway, he’s young too, I'm sure he gets it.” Oliver wouldn’t care about what I’m wearing, but I do.
I care because I want him to think I’m beautiful. I want him to want me.
“Oh yeah, before I forget—” Gramps reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He grabs a wad of cash and holds it out. “This is for clothes and whatever you want to get while you’re out. I hope you two have fun.”
“I don’t need that, Gramps. I brought some money with me.” By that I mean I put two hundred dollars in my wallet. My parents send me with a thousand dollars every summer so I’m not a burden on Gramps, but he refuses to take it. Anything left at the end of summer goes into my hot rod fund.
“Vale, I have money for you to take, no chores needed. Your birthday is coming up and this way I won’t get you something you don’t need. You can get whatever you want.” His smile is so sincere it makes me feel bad.
I stand there, not knowing what to do, then my phone rings. “Hold that thought,” I tell him. I grab the phone from my bag, tossing it onto the counter. The screen flashes, Hot Neighbor as the contact name. When had he done that? I try hard not to laugh because I don’t want Gramps to ask questions.
“Hello,” I answer cheerfully.
“So, in case you want to drive today at some point, which car would you feel the most comfortable driving?” Oliver asks.
“The Ferrari,” I blurt out immediately even though I know he’ll refuse.
“Ha, ha, ha, very funny. That’s a big fat no. She’s still mad at your ass. Anything else?”
“It doesn’t matter, truly. Gramps doesn’t let me drive in town, much less downtown. So whatever you want to drive is fine. Surprise me.”
“You two could always drive the Prius. She’s driven that,” Gramps offers.
“No!” Oliver and I say in unison.
Gramps chuckles. “I heard that.”
“You were supposed to, Gramps, trust me.”
They’re both laughing. Gramps loves the hate toward the Prius.
He thinks it’s hilarious. I think it’s the only reason he drives it.
You see, Gramps might be in his sixties and a stodgy, gray-haired professor, but he’s actually a cool dude.
He’s cool in an understated kind of way that sneaks up on a person. People love him.
“Seriously, it doesn’t matter. Gramps taught me the art of manual transmissions, so if it rolls forward and has brakes, I can drive it. I think.” Gramps made sure I knew how to drive a manual because so many young people couldn’t. Always preparing me for life, my Gramps.
“Surprise it is. Be there in five,” he says, then hangs up.
Gramps is leaning on the countertop on the opposite side of the island smiling like the cat who ate the canary. He’s studying me like he knows something is going on. My cheeks flame, and I don’t know what to do.
“That Oliver Byron is very considerate, don’t you think? His mother is too. I like her. She’s just brilliant.”
What?
“You’ve met his mother?”
“She’s been in town a few days, I think. He didn’t tell you before you were being chased by killer bees?” He looks amused.
“We didn’t have time, you know, running for our lives, away from monster bees and all that.” It’s the truth, kind of . . . well, the running part, not the monster bees part.
“Soon you two will be telling tall tales about how the murder hornets were trying to, well, murder you.” Gramps laughs loudly, finding the whole “bee situation” hilarious.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, he’s coming. Maybe I should go wait outside.” I point my thumb at the door as if I’m trying to hitchhike, which makes Gramps narrow his eyes on me.
“Vale, a gentleman will come to call at the door, not honk the horn from the driveway like trash. Stay calm and make him wait. It’s your first date after all.” I try not to blush more as my eyes get big. Shit!
“It’s not a date. I said that because I was messing with him. No reason to worry.”
“I’m not worried about Oliver, he’s a good man.”
“So you’re saying I can date him?” I ask, though this feels like a trap. “Not that he would ever date me. We’re just friends.”
“I knew you were reading Dracula again because you have a crush on him. Romance is in the air.” He chuckles.