Chapter 15
“Rejection. Declining an invitation must be done with as much grace and tact as possible. You do not have to offer an alternate explanation unless you feel you ought.”
Mrs. Prim’s Primer to Poise, Charm, and Beauty
Section 3: Charm—Conversation and Communication
Clunk, clunk, clunk!
“Are you sure the washing machine isn’t broken?” I asked when the machine shook side to side on the spin cycle. The noise made it difficult to talk. The receipts were all laid out on his incomplete dining room table and the washer and dryer were in the kitchen.
The adobe house was a million years old and had probably never been checked for outdated code. The dining room table was only half of a table: two legs. He showed me. Someone braced it up with a two-by-four nailed into the wall. Like they couldn’t get a new table at Target? Hello! With an orange Formica top, too. It was like, ancient!
At the front door, I noticed the friendly hedge of cacti—prickly pear cactus, ocotillo, and cholla forming a protective barrier against the house. Inviting. I felt at home.
The dark brown washing machine was vibrating to the point that I thought it might explode.
Lincoln jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah. The Smithsonian called. They said they wanted our top-loader.”
I giggled, eying the brown beast crawling out of its hole across the worn linoleum through sheer thrust. “I might never see my clothes again. The agitator might eat them completely.”
“Hey, it came with the house. At least I don’t have to pay to do laundry.”
“True, true that.” We still hadn’t discussed our confusing kiss in the photo booth. Not that it meant anything. He had a girlfriend, and I had a Gable, and we were both just friends. I hadn’t had a chance to ask about McKenna and how she was doing.
“So,” he said, turning toward the piles of papers on the half-table once more as the washing machine settled down. “Despite the rain, the Fall Fling did really well. The profits from the food, the game booths, the rides, were a great total, but we had to subtract the rentals. All in all, not bad, made about twenty-four grand.”
“Is that what Beau will make?”
Lincoln sighed. “No, I suspect his event will make much more. He’s auctioning off a BMW and having a gala with catered food. And everything’s donated.”
I chewed on my lip. “More than twenty-five grand?”
“Oh yeah!”
My heart sank.
“You really want to win, don’t you? So what do you say we get together, say next Thursday night? Then we can grab a bite to eat and discuss a game plan.”
“I can’t next Thursday.” I sounded so abrupt. My reply just hung in the air like fake cheese spread on a cracker. You put that artificial stuff out there and no one wanted to eat. I knew I offered no excuse, not even a fake I’m-washing-my-dog reason, but I had to make it up to Marie.
“What do you do so secretively every Thursday?”
I shook my head. “No. Can. Tell. You.” Marie had been opting to take the Thursday labs because Brett also attended. I figured I owed her.
“Oo-kay. Maybe another time,” he said, sounding wounded.
“Any other day of the week would be fine.” I wasn’t sure he heard me or if the pounding of the machine covered up the response. It was better that way. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea that I was single. And even this meeting was a little bit weird since I was attracted to Lincoln, and I was doing my laundry at his house. It was business, purely business. But with my laundry still going and our meeting still going, an awkward pause grew as we sat at the table staring at each other.
“How about Wednesday?” I asked, so he knew that I wasn’t just brushing him off.
“I’m busy Wednesday.”
“What are you doing?”
“No can tell you.” He smiled. I wasn’t sure if he was mocking me or if he really had a secret meeting. Either way, the tension disappeared. “How are things with you and Gable?”
Money woes forgotten, budget and bet forgotten, it was just him and me. Two friends sitting in a nasty kitchen around half a table in a run-down house near campus. We were friends, right?
“Fine.” A blush crept up my face.
“You see a lot of each other?”
“When I’m not in boring treasurer meetings like this one.” I poked him.
“Oh, ho, ho! Ouch!” He flinched in exaggeration.
“How’s McKenna?” I dreaded bringing her up because I didn’t want to hear him talk about her or maybe I was worried he wouldn’t report good news from last week.
His expression sobered. “Well, she’s still recouping.”
“Oh, right. Seems pretty serious between you two.” I meant to tease him about it, but my words came out funny—more stressed than teasing, and my voice sounded squeaky.
He shrugged.
The washing machine finished. I got up from the table, opened the washing machine and moved wet, wrung-out clothes into the dryer. I carefully hid any unmentionables from his sight, tucking a pair of undies into a pair of shorts. “You’re asking her to the winter ball, right?” What kind of perverse sadomasochism was I practicing here making sure he was taking her to the ball?
“Yeah,” he said, still watching me. “I’ll get tickets as soon as you print them.”
Did he know how much I was trying to hide?
“And you had a great time at the Fall Fling?” I asked, prompting him. Some guys have a hard time talking about girls they like. He finally broke his stare at me, glancing down at his hands.
“I had an amazing time at Fall Fling.”
A little sting of emotion came up inside me. I couldn’t figure out what the emotion was. I focused on my laundry. McKenna wasn’t my favorite person, so having him say she was amazing caused some dissonance in me. It wasn’t like she was an awful person. She was just too perfect. The whole grace, beauty, and charm came easily to her. She oozed charm, and she was naturally beautiful.
Of course someone like Lincoln—clean cut, with an athletic build, who was funny and awesome—that type of guy would date her. They were a perfect couple. I wondered what people thought about me and Gable. Were we a perfect couple? By ourselves it seemed like we were meant to be, but would he ever think I was boring, plain, or dull? Why did I have to be raised in a family of goat champions? Why couldn’t my dad invest in his kids, his real kids, not the hairy kind with beards, tails, and horns?
I didn’t realize it, but I was throwing laundry into the dryer with vehemence. At the same moment, I realized Lincoln was watching me again.
“Woah, don’t hurt the laundry. It didn’t do anything to you.”
I stopped, throwing in the last washcloth with a laugh. “I was just thinking about something.”
“Remind me not to be on the same side as clean laundry.”
Closing the door, I studied the dryer. Instead of buttons there were knobs. I poked a couple, but it kept beeping. “How do I start this machine?”
“Oh, it’s an old one, you have to…Here, I’ll show you.” He came over and threw in a dryer sheet from a box on the top. But it still wouldn’t start when he pushed the buttons. Then he opened up a little rectangular metal flap on top and pulled out the dryer lint trap. It was completely fuzzy with layers of pink, white, and gray lint about an inch or two thick!
“Oh, that would be why,” I said.
“My roommates never empty it.” Grabbing one end, he pulled up a layer of fluff.
“Man, that’s like a whole shirt.”
He laid it across his chest. “I could wear it as a top.” Then he moved it further down. “Or as a fluffy skirt. Some girls really do only wear this much.”
I laughed as it left bits of lint over his jeans and collared shirt. He chuckled, rolling it into a ball and intending to chuck it into a garbage can by the washer. But when he opened the lid, the overflowing can of lint seemed to attack him, covering him in lint, spilling onto the floor, utilizing the magic of static cling to enhance every surface within a three-foot radius. A sea of dark blue and white foam exploded in the kitchen.
Uncontrollable giggles started up through me. Just seeing all the fluff balls immediately attach themselves as if they all had minds and wills of their own. The more Lincoln tried to catch it, the more little white and gray fluffs flew everywhere—into our hair, on our clothes—the more the laughs came.
I started brushing him off. “Here, let me help.” I snorted loudly and felt something go up my nose with a tickle. “I think, I think,” I couldn’t stop laughing, “I think I inhaled some lint!”
Lincoln thought this was good fun and started making me laugh even harder by trying to blow lint into the air. Then he wrapped his arms around me and tickled me until I squealed for him to stop.
His arms around me reminded me of the photo booth and his warmth so near me. I wanted him to touch me, but then there was McKenna. And Gable.
I coughed a few times and blew out my nose between gales of laughter.
He let me go.
As we moved, the lint moved too, stirring it up all the more. I tried sweeping it into a pile with my hands and feet, shifting it all around as Lincoln tried to grab handfuls and put lint balls back into the overflowing garbage can. But with each static-infused handful, more stuck to us or spilled out onto the floor, causing us to erupt with more laughter. I nearly lost control of my motor skills.
“Stay still,” he shouted.
We both froze, hoping the lint would settle around us. Lint settled on Lincoln’s eyelashes, stuck in his five o’clock chin scruff, and clung to the front of his shirt. His eyes were bright from laughing, his shoulders shaking from residual snickers.
Lincoln paused, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. “Someone needs to take out the trash.”
And then we started laughing all over again until my abs ached and my cheek muscles hurt. I leaned on the dryer for support.
“We really should get this cleaned up,” I said searching for the broom.
“In the corner there.”
I found a horribly unused, but ancient broom in a corner. Marie would’ve tossed it in the trash long ago. Its short, black bristles were no match against wispy fluff. “Let’s take out the trash, at least.” After much effort and through the remnants of a few remaining giggles, we swept most of it into a pile.
Lincoln searched down through the fluff to the bottom of the garbage can. “There’s no liner in here!”
We burst into laughter as he found a bag and started taking handfuls of lint from the can and stuffed it into the bag creating more fluff in the air. “Probably hadn’t been emptied since last year.”
He sneezed. A giggle shook my chest. Finally, he unraveled a fresh bag for the fluff on the floor. He held it, and I was just about to pour in the first bits of fluff when one of his roommates came in, saw the mess, saw us laughing and gave us a funny look and moved into his room, a girlfriend trailing wordlessly behind him, staring at us.
Lincoln and I looked at each other and busted up again.
At last, all the fluff was off the floor, a new liner in the can, the other fluff taken to the outside dumpster. We sat down on the couch to wait for the dryer to finish.
Exhilaration pumped through me, fueled by the belly laugh. A calm happiness settled in the room.
Lincoln still chuckled. Finding a bit of lint on his knee, he rolled it into a ball.
“There’s another in your hair,” I said, leaning in close. He smelled like dryer lint and clean laundry. His warmth bled through my clothes and his breath tickled me. My heart did a double-beat. I pinched off the fluff, tossing it onto the carpet. They needed to vacuum anyway. I moved back to my square of cushion.
With his arm on the back of the couch, Lincoln reached over and picked a piece of fluff from my hair. He stayed near, his eyes searching my face. He was close enough to kiss. Why had I thought of kissing in that exact moment? The memory of the Fall Fling was fresh in my mind.
But we were there for several heartbeats, staring at each other with shy smiles. “Makes a good memory,” he said, deep and close.
“Yes.” I reveled in the strange feeling of having him so near. “I might be blowing lint out of my nose for a week.”
Lincoln smiled, tilted his head. His eyes darted to my lips, I swear.
I couldn’t help it. My heartbeat choked my breath. He was a friend. Just a friend. I had an almost-boyfriend. I remembered his lips on mine. It took all my strength and self-control to not just lean forward and…
The dryer beeped.
Heart racing, I sat up, relieved to be saved by the bell. I ran to the dryer, found my basket, and started pulling all the warm laundry into it. The scent reminded me of Lincoln. When finished, I grabbed up my basket.
“Well, thank you for a memorable night.” I brushed my hair out of my face. At the door, I thanked him again.
“We still on for planning?”
“Yes.”
He leaned up against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest, his chin jutting out. His eyes sparkled and an eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “Friday?”
Hmmm. He looked so delicious. “Okay,” I said.
He took the other basket and helped me load it into my car with the other piles of laundry already finished.
“Thank you,” I said. Maybe for going over the budget, maybe for letting me do laundry, maybe for laughing with me. For not kissing me and making my life confusing.
I got into Marie’s car. When I glanced back in my rearview mirror, Lincoln was still on the doorstep, watching me.
* * *
I relishedin the smell of Lincoln’s laundry soap on my clothes each time I slipped on a shirt or used my towel. The scent reminded me often of the stolen and secret kiss we shared. Since I never paid him for the laundry, I thought he would laugh if I brought him a roll of quarters. Since it was around seven Wednesday night, the banks were all closed. And as he had a prior obligation, he wouldn’t be in the store where all the college kids shopped for groceries; it would be a perfect time to go.
Marie had homework, and Kat was out with her friends. Lisa was buried in a book and didn’t want to go anywhere. I went to the grocery store by myself. I had to hurry. Customer service closed at eight.
I stepped through the automatic doors to the artificial light.
Lincoln stood in the produce department, picking out ripe bell peppers.
He’d turned me down to come grocery shopping? I sauntered over to where he poked and sniffed produce.
“Hey!” I said, poking him.
He nodded but continued bagging vegetables undeterred.
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
He didn’t respond, placing a bag of carrots in the cart. Maybe he was an online shopper. No guy ate that many vegetables.
“So are you working?”
“Sorta.”
“How do you sorta work? You volunteering?”
I’d heard about pre-med students who did all sorts of pro bono work to pad their résumé. Maybe it worked that way in business, too.
His face looked pinched. “Kinda.”
I could tell he was hesitant to talk about whatever it is that he did in his spare time. I wasn’t sure if I should persist or let it drop.
“If you don’t want to tell me…”
“It’s not that.” He paused, searching my eyes in earnest. It almost made me laugh. “I can trust you, can’t I?”
I matched his gaze in dead seriousness. “You’re the secret supplier for the test rabbits on campus.”
Finally, he broke into a smile. “No.” He chuckled and tied together another bag. “I’ve never told anyone here before. Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes,” I said, now intrigued. What was he doing? Working for the local mafia? “Will I have to swear a blood oath?”
Though he cracked a smile, he hesitated, glancing around the store. Surprisingly few college kids were shopping. “I started my own non-profit.”
I stopped, trying to control the flood of surprise on my face. “Wow, that’s amazing. What is it? What do you do?”
“The idea came from my mom who teaches classes on poverty.” He kept checking my reaction.
“So, you raise money to help the poor?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you do?”
“I teach classes.” Still watching my reaction.
“On poverty?”
He shook his head.
“What do you teach?”
He glanced around again. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.” I was wildly curious and made my face to look so.
It was like unleashing a dam. Suddenly, Lincoln was excited, animated, his face glowed. “So, my non-profit is called Cooking with Class. I teach life skills classes to volunteers.”
“To poor people?” I couldn’t keep the strain out of my voice.
“I teach at women’s shelters and half-way houses. Not just cooking. All sorts of skills.”
“What kind of skills?” My heart skittered, wondering if he knew I grew up one step out of poverty. What would he say if he knew?
“All sorts of stuff. You know, the skills we learned from our parents—budgeting, shopping, menu planning, job interviewing skills.”
Egad! He thought my parents taught me those things. “So you barge into shelters and teach them?”
He furrowed his brows. “It’s not like that. People sign up. You know, to learn skills that will help them get back on their feet. Tonight, we’re cooking.”
“They’re going to cook their way out of poverty?” I was worried he would think I was being flippant. And perhaps I was.
All his features dropped. “Are you mocking me?”
“No, I’m just curious how cooking will help eliminate poverty.”
“Ah, you’re a skeptic.” He grinned. “Want to come and see?”
“I’d love to. When?”
“Right now.” He pushed his cart toward the checkout.