Stay With Me (11 page)

She pried his hands from her waist. “You mean
sexually? No. Gosh, no, not at all.”

“Good. I thought maybe—”

She rubbed a hand over her eyes and dropped her
head. “I’m sorry I’m being such a baby. I don’t know why you’re so patient with
me.”

“I can be patient. I’m having a little trouble
understanding is all. You seemed like you wanted me to kiss you and then…”

“Can we save this conversation for later?”

Whatever it was that made her so guarded ran deep,
and he wondered if she had avoided confronting it altogether. Reluctant to push
her, he decided it could wait.

10

The Idea of You

“Geez, Abby. Can you wait up?” Rebecca jogged a few
steps to catch up with Abby as they made their way through the sporting goods
section of Target toward the infant clothing.

“I’m a nursing mother. At this time of day I’ve got
two hours max to get back home, and it took twenty minutes for me to get here.
Then you were five minutes late. You’re going to have to keep up.”

Grabbing onto the shopping cart handle, something
sticky adhered to her palm. Lollipop residue. Yuck. She wiped her hand on her
pants. “Okay, okay. I’ll hustle. Sorry I was late. So, what did you think?”

“About?”

She let out a deep sigh. “Like you don’t know.
About Chris?”

“Oh. I think he’s hot, but I don’t think Joel’s
into sharing.”

The cart rolled to a stop and Rebecca waited as
Abby rummaged through a rack of baby boy onesies. “I swear, if you weren’t my
sister, I wouldn’t even speak to you.”

Abby tossed a three-pack of the onesies into the
cart. “Lucky for you then that I am.”

“I want to know what you thought of him. Besides
that he’s hot, which I already knew.”

Abby continued moving the cart down the aisle. “I
think he’s smitten with you.”

“Smitten?”

“Yes, he’s infatuated.”

Rebecca stopped. “I was hoping for something a
little deeper than infatuation.”

“Infatuation doesn’t preclude love. They work in
tandem—at least at the beginning.”

Abby was moving again, and Rebecca caught up. “So
that’s it? Hot and smitten?”

“Hey, hot and smitten is nothing to sneeze at. I
could use more of both in my marriage.”

“Point taken.” They stopped and Rebecca fingered
some bath towels that Abby was examining. She patted the scratchy nubs and
turned back to her sister. “I just want to know if you liked him.”

Abby tossed some olive green hand towels and wash
cloths into the cart. “I didn’t spend a lot of time with him, but I didn’t get
any bad vibes. He didn’t freak when I nursed Ian, and he wasn’t horribly
awkward around the kids. He didn’t even try to escape to the basement with Joel
and Ricky, so I give him points there, too, but I think that goes back to the
whole smitten thing. He can’t stand to have you out of his sight.”

“You really think so?” Rebecca couldn’t suppress
the little rush it gave her to think that Chris was as into her as she was to
him.

Sparing her no more than a quick glance, Abby
pushed off toward the housewares. “I think you’ve both got it bad.”

“Did I tell you he got a new job?”

Abby grabbed a Hello Kitty bowl and plate set from
the shelf and examined the back. “No. Where at?”

“Starting tomorrow he’s the yeast manager at
Gateway Brewery.”

“Wow. He’s running the whole microbial gamut, isn’t
he? From yogurt to yeast. I guess it’s a good thing you’re not gettin’ busy
with your yeastie boy or we’d have to slather you with Monistat before you—”

“Abby!”

“Two words, Rebecca. Cotton panties. I’m just
sayin’ . . .”

Abby was nearly past the women’s clothing when she
stopped abruptly. Rebecca hadn’t been paying attention, and the cart rammed
into Abby’s heel.

“Ouch! Geez, Becca, you’re worse than Ricky.”

“Sorry.”

Rubbing her heel, she gave Rebecca a once over.

“What?”

“You need a makeover. I don’t have time to take you
to my favorite stores, so this is going to have to do.”

What’s wrong with what I have on?
Pleated jeans and a pink button-down blouse.
The sound of metal hangers
smacking against one another drew her attention back to Abby, who was rifling
through a rack of skirts.

“How do you get off wearing mom jeans anyway when
you’re not even a mom?”

Rebecca thought she was immune to Abby’s criticism,
but today it made her squirm. Why? Was it because of Chris? She had to admit
she’d been thinking more about her appearance lately, especially when she knew
she’d be seeing him.

Abby held up a short, turquoise, flared skirt and a
fuchsia camisole. She twisted her wrist to show Rebecca the front and the back
and then thrust them at her. “Here, try these on.”

“Abby, that skirt is too short, and how do I wear a
bra with …with
that
?” She looked with disdain at the clothes Abby had piled
into her arms.

“That skirt is no more than two inches above your
knees, and you don’t need a bra with the cami; it’s got an underwire.”

Shoving the individual plastic hangers backward on
the rack, Rebecca looked at the clothes with exaggerated horror. The colors
were pretty, but she’d feel nearly naked in that outfit.

Abby huffed out a sigh and threw another article
onto her pile. “There. Matching shrug. Go try it on.”

She turned to survey the racks around her, biting
her bottom lip. Surely there was something else here that would please her
and
satisfy Abby. Her eye caught on a pale yellow dress with eyelet trim and a
Peter Pan collar. She grabbed the hanger with her free hand and held it up.
“Only if I get to try this on, too.”

Abby wrinkled her nose. “Fine, but make it snappy.”

Rebecca hurried to the changing room and latched
the half-door behind her. Forgettable soft rock music hummed through the
overhead speaker as she hung the garments on the hooks and decided to start
with the yellow dress she’d picked out. She removed it from the hanger and held
it against her as she looked in the full-length mirror. It was simple but
pretty. She pulled it on and turned back and forth in front of the mirror. 
Abby rapped on the door three times.

“Coming.” Rebecca unlatched the door, and Abby
greeted her with a frown. “What? I think it’s very nice.”

“That’s the problem, Becca. It’s ‘nice.’ It’s also
pale and shapeless, and you’re not, yet somehow it makes you look that way.”
She looked her up and down. “You look like a boy.”

Glancing at her chest and back up, Rebecca lifted
her chin. “I do not.” Abby could say what she wanted, but Rebecca was better
endowed than Abby, nursing or not, something that irritated Abby to no end when
they were teens.

Abby glared at her and conceded. “Except for your
boobs.”

Her jaw tensed and Rebecca gritted her teeth.
“Breasts. They are breasts. You know I hate that word.”

Abby muttered several more crass synonyms for
breasts but ignored Rebecca, who had to bite her lower lip to keep from
snapping at her sister.

Stepping away from the changing rooms, Abby’s eyes
darted back and forth, as if she were looking for something. Her gaze locked
onto the rack of cheap sunglasses, and she grabbed a pair with mirrored lenses
and handed them to Rebecca. Rebecca didn’t know they even made mirrored lenses
anymore. “Here. Put these on.”

Doing as she was told, Rebecca slipped them on, and
then Abby grabbed her hand and walked several yards to the main aisle. They
stood for only a second before Abby stopped a college-aged man. He had short,
black, spiky hair, sleeve tattoos on both arms, and at least three piercings on
his face.

Abby stepped forward. “Excuse me. Can I get your
opinion on something?”

If only the floor would open and swallow her whole.

Abby tugged Rebecca’s hand, dragging her closer.
“My sister is blind, and she doesn’t trust my judgment.” She waved her hand up
and down the length of Rebecca’s torso. “What do you think? Spinster or siren?”

He let out a laugh that could only be described as
a guffaw before he said, “No offense to your sister. She’s cute…in a
conventional sort of way, but even my
mom
wouldn’t wear that dress.
Definitely spinster.”

Abby had said she was blind, not deaf. Abby thanked
the jerk before she led her back to the changing room.

“See? Spinster. All you need is a pair of granny
glasses and half a dozen cats.”

Rebecca took off the glasses and planted her foot
into the floor. Hard. “His opinion does not count. I’m obviously not his type.”

“He’s a man. That’s all that’s required for this
little experiment. Now, go try on the outfit I picked out.”

Rebecca twisted her lips. “Don’t you have a nursing
baby to get home to?”

Abby looked down at her watch. “Joel can deal for
ten more minutes. Go.” She swished her hand at the changing room, and Rebecca
relented.

A few minutes later she emerged, tugging at the hem
of the skirt and straightening the camisole where it tucked into the waistband.
This time Abby smiled and gave a low whistle. She grabbed Rebecca’s hand again
and marched her to the aisle while pushing the sunglasses onto her face.

A balding, middle-aged man approached with a boy
she guessed was his teenage son.

Rebecca leaned into Abby. “This skirt is too
short.”

Abby looked her over again. “Maybe for an Amazonian
queen, but not for a near-midget like you. Becca, you can show a little leg and
not have people mistake your boyfriend for your pimp.”

“Huh?”  What on earth was she talking about?

“Chris could wear a pinstripe suit with a fedora
and carry a pimp cane, and no one would mistake you for a floozy in this. I’ll
prove it to you.”

The last of the wind left Rebecca’s sails, and she
fixed her face straight ahead while she listened to Abby go through her spiel
about her blind sister ending with “Classy or trashy? Babe or bimbo?”

Where was that hole in the floor?
Lord, take me now.

Rebecca watched the boy’s cheeks redden, but he
didn’t speak. It smelled like either he or his dad had bathed in cheap cologne,
and Rebecca suppressed a cough. Apparently being blind did sharpen your other
senses.

The dad gave her a warm, appreciative smile and
said, “Classy babe. I wish my own daughter would dress a little more like that.
Everything she wears is black and skintight. Leaves nothing to the
imagination.”

Abby had issued an invitation to ogle, and the
adolescent boy’s gaze roamed up and down Rebecca’s body and snagged on her
bust. Heat blazed her cheeks, and not caring if she spoiled Abby’s blind sister
ruse or not, she pulled the top of the camisole to obscure any possible glimpse
of exposed cleavage.

The dad elbowed his son in the side and murmured
something in his ear that made the kid’s cheeks redden even more. He cleared
his throat. “Definitely babe.”

Abby thanked them and, placing her hands on
Rebecca’s shoulders, turned her around and walked her back to the changing
room. “Now you have something to wear on your next date. My treat.”

Rebecca knew Abby expected a thank you, but she
wasn’t going to get one. At least not yet. Of all people, Abby should
understand how difficult it was for her to wear anything that could possibly
attract what their dad called, “the wrong kind of attention.” After all, it was
Abby’s hand-me-downs that had filled her drawers and closet. Still, she knew
Abby meant to help. Maybe Rebecca could loosen up a little when it came to her
wardrobe.

***

As she waited outside Chris’s apartment on Tuesday
night, Rebecca recalled Abby’s insistence that she wear her new outfit on her
next date. At the last minute, her nerves got the better of her, and she
decided to save the skirt and camisole for the weekend.

She hadn’t been to Chris’s place before, but he’d
invited her over for dinner. He had the front half of the first floor of an
older home that had been split into three apartments. The smell of basil and
oregano wafted out through the screen door. There was no door bell, so she
tapped her hand against the door frame and called, “Knock, knock.” She turned
back toward the street as a pair of boys whizzed by her on their bikes, nearly
knocking her over. “Sorry, lady,” a chubby kid on a banana seat bike yelled.

Reckless bike-riding kids aside, Chris’s street
seemed peaceful compared to hers. At home, honking horns and squealing tires
startled her multiple times a day. So far, a week hadn’t passed without a
fender bender.

When she faced the door again, Chris stood inside,
wiping his hands on a dishcloth.

“Sorry. I was making the salads. Come on in.” He
rushed toward the countertop apparently intent on finishing his task. “I’m
almost done with this.”

She set her purse on the narrow counter lining the
interior wall that extended into a short hallway and surveyed the small kitchen
and round table set for two. The smell of tomatoes drew her to the stovetop
where the red sauce simmered and the pasta boiled. “Do you need any help?”

“Nope. Got it all under control.”

Rebecca bit back a grin. The meal looked under
control all right, but her host—not so much. Tidbits of baby carrots flew off
the cutting board and landed with tiny plunks on the tile floor. Without so
much as a glance at the renegade carrots, he continued chopping until he cursed
and swung away from the counter holding his left index finger in his right
hand.