Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
“Mirrors are the window to the soul.”
—excerpt from the unpublished memoir,
Darling, I Must Say by Gloria Hayes
“Stop fidgeting or these victory rolls are going to look like they surrendered.” Mom glared at me in the mirror.
“You’ve been just waiting to use that one.”
She gave my hair an extra hard yank. Mom always had a way of reminding me exactly who was who in our relationship.
I’d given her years of grief—a smart mouth, borderline grades (unless it was math class, then it was straight-up failing), coming home too late, half-truths, acting like a vampire’s less charming cousin.
She’d run a fine line between letting me be independent and keeping her thumb on me.
But, through it all, she never let me forget she loved me.
“You are extra fidgety tonight. Almost like you’re nervous.”
Oh, I was. The nerves had started about three seconds after I realized Abe was serious about going to the dance.
I’d spent the last two days telling him how boring it would be: “It’s over by eight o’clock.
You know, old people, early to bed and all.
The punch won’t even be spiked. All the snacks are low sugar, high fiber.
You’ll be forced to dance with every woman, and maybe a few men, in that place. ”
But no, he wouldn’t listen to reason, saying he could use the practice.
Of course, Hallie was over the moon about the whole idea.
She’d talked non-stop about Gloria. Gloria said this and Gloria said that.
Did I know Gloria was a famous star when she was younger?
Gloria said that the most important thing in life is daily moisturizing.
Gloria called her darling. Gloria created the moon and stars. And on and on.
Mom squeezed my shoulders. “You’re wound so tight. Is it Mr. Logan? If he tries to cop a feel again…”
“It’s not Mr. Logan.” At last month’s dance, someone had spiked the punch, and we all discovered that mild-mannered, retired science teacher Mr. Logan could not keep his hands to himself when he was under the influence.
I wasn’t the only woman who learned that firsthand.
“He went on a big apology tour. Still can’t look at me in the eye without going all red in the face. ”
“Well, good.” She smiled and took a step back, looking very pleased. “All done. Stand up so I can get the full effect.”
I stood, running a hand down my dress. The themes for the dances tended to lean toward fun, kitschy things like luau or disco.
I got away with throwing on a lei or wearing bell bottoms. But when I heard it was forties themed, my favorite decade, I spent way too much time searching thrift stores in three different towns before I found the perfect outfit.
Mom circled a finger in the air, and I obliged. The dress was red and knee-length with cap sleeves. Pleating started at the shoulders and ran diagonally to create the V-neck. The long, fitted waist was followed by an A-line skirt that made me want to twirl around in circles like a little kid.
“I haven’t seen you dress up like this in a while. You look perfect.”
I bit my lip, squinting at my image in the full-length mirror tacked on the back of my bedroom door. “You have to say that; you’re my mother.”
She rested her chin on my shoulder. “You’re right, but I also have eyeballs. You look beautiful.”
With a weak smile, I ran a shaky hand down my body.
I had a complicated relationship with feeling pretty.
It was lovely to feel soft and sweet, but that femininity also made me feel vulnerable.
I couldn’t hide behind my black t-shirts.
I couldn’t be “I care about nothing” Iris dressed like this. Or at least it felt that way.
Mom frowned. “It’s not like you to be nervous. What’s going on?”
I shrugged and adjusted the dress collar. “I guess I am a little nervous.”
“About?”
“This dance.” With Abe in attendance. “The wedding.” Where Abe would be my date. There seemed to be a unifying detail here. The doorbell sounded before I had a chance to dig into that too much.
“I’ll get it.” Mom kissed my cheek. “Go get your shoes on.”
Hallie greeted me first, twirling around in a purple dress with a giant purple bow in her hair. “Don’t I look pretty?”
“Oh my, you’re gorgeous.” I put a hand on my chest à la Gloria. “You look so much older. At least twelve or thirteen.”
She curtsied. “Thank you. You also look very pretty.” She peered over her shoulder. “Doesn’t she look pretty, Dad?”
It was then I noticed Abe. He was wearing dark brown dress pants cinched at the waist with a belt.
The sleeves were rolled up on his white button down, revealing muscled, tattooed forearms. The matching vest was brown with subtle white stripes.
He’d even managed to find a matching fedora.
If I ruled the world, I would order him to wear an outfit like this every day.
It was perfect on him, like he’d just stepped out of a 1940s movie set.
Abe’s gaze took a leisurely trek from my feet to my hair.
By the time he reached my eyes, his expression knocked me sideways.
One corner of his mouth curled up into a half smile that I was sure was illegal in at least fifteen states.
His eyes shone with amusement and something else that made my skin grow warm. Dumbly, I stared back at him.
“You look… amazing,” he said.
“So do you. This really works for you.”
Hallie popped up between us with a bouquet of yellow tulips. “These are for you.” Abe cleared his throat and gave his daughter a pointed look. Hallie looked back at me. “Oh, um, what did the boy tulip say to the girl tulip at the end of their date?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“Can we put our tulips together? Get it? Tulips. Like two lips.” Giggling, she put a hand over her mouth.
I groaned. “Did your dad teach you that one?”
“He made me practice it all the way here.”
“It’s like a form of torture by dad joke. Is the army using this on terrorists yet?”
“The three of you look amazing,” Mom said. “I have to take a photo.”
“No, you don’t,” I lied. Because I did want a photo. I’d make a secret photo album on my phone and look at it an obnoxiously unhealthy number of times. But wanting a photo felt intimate like something a real couple would do together, and Abe and I were not that.
“A photo sounds like a great idea.” He smiled widely, all charm and dimples.
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly so only he could hear me. “That won’t be weird?”
“Do you want it to be weird?” he asked. “I guess we could all hold bananas or something.”
“Dad jokes for days,” I muttered.
“Go on, then. Get next to each other.” Mom waved the phone in her hand impatiently. It’s when I stood next to him, I realized my mistake.
My black Mary Janes with a chunky heel gave me two extra inches of height, putting me about three inches taller than Abe.
I’d never been self-conscious about my height.
Or at least, not until I’d started dating Aidan our senior year in high school before he’d reached his full height.
I didn’t care how tall he was. But Aidan had.
Even after he shot up in college to almost six feet, the insecurity didn’t disappear.
If I wore heels, he’d made darn sure I knew how he felt, growing quiet and sulky, and I felt guilty in return.
“Hold on,” I said, “I’ll just be a second.”
“Where are you going?” Mom asked.
“Just going to switch out my shoes. I’ll be fast.” I hustled to my room.
After slipping off the shoes, I pawed through my closet to find a pair of flats.
I held up one of my beloved Doc Martens boots—in black, of course.
I’d found them at a thrift store when I was in high school.
Even though they were a size too big, I’d worn them every chance I got.
I loved the feeling of clomping through the hallways of the high school, pretending everyone was intimidated and in awe when in reality, they never even noticed me. I set the boot aside and kept digging.
“A-ha.” I held up a black ballet slipper. “Now where is your sister?”
I shrieked when a hand landed on my shoulder. Twisting around, I held up the slipper as a weapon. “Abe! Good grief. I could have hurt you.”
He crouched beside me. He smelled nice—clean with a hint of something sharp, maybe peppermint. Aftershave or cologne, maybe. Aidan had allergies; he never wore either.
Smirking, he plucked the slipper from my hand. “With this? Very scary.”
“Excuse me. I’ll get some steel-toed boots for next time, so I’m prepared.” I snatched the slipper back and stuck my head back in the closet. “Let me find the other one and we can go.”
“Why?”
“Found it.” I waved it above my head.
Abe sat down on the floor next to me, wrists resting on his bent knees. Somewhere, he’d lost the fedora. “Why are you changing your shoes?”
“Just wanted to.” I turned slightly on my knees, so I was facing him. “The other ones will kill my feet after a while.”
He tilted his head. “You’re lying.”
“I am not.”
He laughed softly. “You’re terrible at it, too.”
“Look. I’m terrible at a lot of things, but lying is not one of them. Why are you in here anyway?”
He raised an eyebrow, the one with the little silver hoop earring. It made him look like a pirate. “Because you said you were changing your shoes, and I wanted to know why.”
“I already told you why.”
Most people would back off. But not Abe, apparently. “Tell me again, but the truth this time.”
I snapped my mouth shut; he stared at me. Neither of us spoke. Perhaps we would have gone on like this for hours, but Mom shouted from the living room. I’d forgotten she was waiting to take a photo.
“Fine. I realized I would be way too ta—”
“No,” he said firmly.
“No, what?”
“You’re not changing your shoes. You aren’t too tall. Are you taller than me? Sure. I don’t care.” He narrowed his eyes. “Does this have something to do with the ex?”
I bit my bottom lip and nodded.
“What’s his deal?”
“He…” I hesitated. “He didn’t like me in heels. He never said it, but he’d act different when I wore them. So, I stopped wearing them.”
His jaw ticked. “I really hate that guy.”
“You don’t know him. He’s not a bad guy, really.” But maybe, just maybe, he had been a bad guy for me… I frowned at the thought.
Abe shook his head. “That’s a him problem, not a you problem. You look amazing.” He stood and offered his hand to help me up. I took it, surprised by how easily he pulled me up. Maybe a little too quickly. I stumbled and put my hands on his shoulders to catch myself.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, but I didn’t snatch my hands back and he didn’t move away.
“No, thank you.” His voice was lower and the sound moved through me slowly like honey. He glanced down. “Men would probably start wars over those legs of yours and I’m the lucky guy who gets to take you dancing.”
For maybe the first time in my adult life, a blush crept across my face. I cleared my throat and took a step back, trying to ignore this flutter in my stomach. “Maybe wait until you’ve seen my dancing before you say that.”
His smile started in his eyes before it reached his mouth. “With those legs? You’ll be a natural.”