Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Lot
Date night dangerous.
Ienter the four-story low-rise, all glass and chrome accents.
The medical offices weren’t here five years ago.
It was just a vacant lot. But downtown Bayside’s been built up since then.
Modernized, while still holding on to its small-town charm.
That’s why Rayne and C push so hard for ethical development—growth that prevents big-box stores and high-rises from overrunning the town and tanking the local economy.
My mom waves from the downstairs coffee shop, tucked into a window booth, dressed in sage scrubs. Her new hairstyle is still sleek and on point, her eyes bright, and a hint of chocolate lipstick glosses her smile.
“Hi, Mom.” I lean in to kiss her cheek and smell it again—her dress-up perfume.
“How’s my baby girl?”
“I’m good.”
I grab our orders. A skim cappuccino for my mother and a dirty chai with an extra espresso shot for me. I’d been nearby at the printer when she texted that she needed to speak with me, so I suggested we meet on her break.
“There’s a glow about you,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her.
“Aw, thank you, honey.”
“I thought Maurice would be running you ragged.”
She frowns. “Your father hasn’t been any trouble.
He’s as self-sufficient as ever. Just needs help with meals and getting upstairs.
He misses work, though, and is chomping at the bit to get back.
The doctor says physio will speed up his recovery.
That’s what I wanted to ask you. Would you mind taking him to his morning appointments on Wednesdays and Fridays? ”
I groan inside, then feel guilty. I came back to help and haven’t done much so far, other than babysit Docks. “Sure, no problem.”
“It’ll give you time together. Won’t that be nice?”
“Sounds like a murder waiting to happen.”
“Charlotte Mae Webber! What a terrible thing to say.”
“Sorry, Ma. Just kidding.” Kinda.
She gets quiet, which is Mom code for I’m about to bring up something you won’t want to hear.
“You and your dad are alike in some ways.”
I cough mid-sip, nearly spraying my coffee.
“It’s true,” she insists, sliding me a napkin. “You’re both stubborn. Opinionated. Always think you’re right and rarely bend.”
“I’m not like that.”
“Lot, my love. You are a tough nut to crack, and so is your father. You hold your cards close and your emotions even closer. I would never want you to change. You were my spunky little girl. Creative, a dreamer who marched to her own drum and spoke her mind whether anyone liked it or not.” She smiles.
“I sometimes wished I was more like you.”
“You did?”
“Mm-hmm.” She takes a sip, eyes on me over the rim. “But I’d still like to see you soften a little. Let more love in.”
“Is this your way of telling me you want me to get married and have babies? Because you know that’s not going to happen.”
“I don’t need you to do either. Those choices are yours. But not getting married or having children doesn’t mean you can’t open your heart. Why haven’t you met any men in New York?”
“I have. Just no one I wanted to keep around.” Or whoever measured up to what I once felt for Dice. “They’re boring. I get restless. Feel smothered. Relationships are too much effort. I can’t be bothered.”
“No one’s perfect, honey. Everyone comes with pluses and minuses. It’s the balance that matters.”
“Maurice balances out?” I retort, sharper than intended, but he’s the other half of the reason I’m resistant to lock down with a man. I’m not letting anybody control me.
“Your father can come across as curt. Some might say cold. But that’s just surface. He’s a good man who takes care of his family.”
That doesn’t land right with me. “Why can’t he be a good man and not be hard or cold? Uncle Mo isn’t like that.”
“They’re different people.”
Did you ever think you married the wrong brother? The question leaps to my tongue, but I catch it from spilling out. I don’t always. My mouth can sometimes outrun my brain, and it’s burned me before. Worse, it’s hurt other people. I’m trying to do better.
“Dice and I are talking again,” I say instead. Speaking of trying to do better.
Her smile returns. “You are? When did this happen?”
“A few days ago. I ran out of gas and flooded the washing machine. Both times, he showed up and helped. Even bought the cat a stupid bell that’s constantly ringing and named her Queenie… so, yeah, we’re talking.”
She blinks, looking at me like I’ve made her dizzy. “What cat?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you. I found her on the back porch and took her to the shelter the next day. They examined her and all that. Looks like she belonged to somebody, but no one’s claimed her yet.”
“Why is she with you and not at the shelter?”
“Because she was yowling and carrying on like she was being tortured before I even got out the door. So dramatic.”
“Aw… she’s attached to you.”
“Ma!”
“Don’t Ma me. Taking care of an animal is a lovely thing, Lot. Embrace it.”
“I don’t like cats.”
“Well, it seems Queenie thinks you do. I can’t wait to meet her. Now tell me about Dice.”
“I just did.”
“The details.”
“We cleared the air and we’re going to start hanging out again. That’s all.”
“I’ll get the details from Rayne.” She smiles slyly like she has an inside track.
“I’m just so happy you found your way back to being friends.
You both cracked each other’s shells and formed something special.
I’ve always liked Dice. He was dealt a tough hand and made something of himself.
More than that, he has a good heart. Just like you. ”
It’s not our hearts that are going to be knocking tonight.
My body’s been on fire since we set the date.
I intentionally didn’t use any of my B.O.B.s so I know I’m going to explode.
But Mom doesn’t need to know that. She’s not a prude when it comes to sex, like Maurice is, but I’m not sure what she would think of me sweating up the sheets with Dice.
Rayne sits cross-legged on my bed in her silk pajamas, eating out of a box of chocolates—Godiva, her favorite. “Ohh, I love that,” she says around a truffle as I model a little black strapless dress that’s short and slinky, with a high side slit. “What shoes?”
“Docs.”
“Girl, you are not pairing that fuck-me dress with combat boots.”
“Why not? That’s my style. I like the contrast. Besides, I’m just gonna take them off when I get there.”
“It’s about making an entrance.”
Queenie winds her furry body around my ankles. She’s been clingy ever since I started getting ready. It’s like she knows I’m going somewhere without her. I take her to Docks, but I can’t be with her twenty-four seven.
“I thought cats were supposed to be independent and low-maintenance,” I mutter.
“Figures you’d pick one that’s the exact opposite.”
“I didn’t pick her.” I look down at Queenie treating my feet like an obstacle course.
“Meow.”
“Don’t even. If you hadn’t been acting up at the shelter, your diva ass would have stayed right there.”
“I think it’s a perfect match,” Rayne says, licking her fingers.
“The dress and boots?”
“No! You and Queenie.”
“Ssskt.”
“Gimme a sec.” She sets the box on the nightstand and hops off the bed. A minute later, she’s back carrying black Louboutins with the signature red soles. The ones she’d splurged on for her thirtieth birthday.
“I can’t wear your good shoes.”
“I’m not giving them much action these days. Take my girls out for a spin. I’ll live vicariously.”
“What if I break a heel? You know I could.”
“You’re not going to break a heel. You’re going to make a statement. Try them on.”
I deposit Queenie on my bed with the Spider-Man plushie she’s claimed as hers and carefully handle the stilettos like newborns. I slide my feet into the pointy tips. Admittedly, they look hot. I take them for a test run around the room.
“They pinch my baby toes.”
“They’re not meant for long-distance walking. Just a short strut, which is all you need.”
I glance at myself in the mirror. Locs pulled up off my neck and shoulders, skin glowing, tats on display, thighs out for vengeance.
“Can you do my makeup?” I ask. She’s better at it.
“You don’t need much. Just some lipstick. I have the perfect color.” She disappears again and returns with two tubes and a liner. “We’re going to sculpt first,” she says, outlining my lips in soft brown, then filling them in with nude, before finishing them off with a satiny peach coat.
“Girl, you are date-night dangerous. Like foreplay. Dice is going to be drooling all over himself.”
“He better be.”
“Nervous?”
There’s a flicker in my chest. I don’t usually get nervous before a hookup. But this thing with Dice has been building in my head for years, and now it’s here. “I’m too down bad for that man to let nerves get in the way.”
“I know that’s right.” She high-fives me. “But I’m sure Dice is feeling it too.”
“Dice nervous about sexing a woman up? Doubt it.”
“You’re not just any woman.”
“He says I’m not.” I pause, then add, “But let’s be real, Dice knows how to sweet-talk.” I pop a pack of condoms and my purple B.O.B. case into my purse. “Okay, I’m ready. You good with Queenie?”
“I think the real question is whether Queenie’s good with me?”