Page 14 of The Sky in Summer
She finds me funny, even when the comment is dead serious.
The entire “date” was about forty minutes. We ate every chip in the basket, scarfed down the guacamole, and added an order of chicken quesadilla. No alcohol. Watching her eat shows just how relaxed she is in my company. There were no dainty bites from her. No holding back on the calories or fat. She eats like a Teamster. When it came down to the last chip and the final scoop of guacamole, her eyes met mine in a plea.I want this really badlythey said. I picked it up and fed it to her. She didn’t really lean in to my romantic gesture. Instead, her face raised in protest and her eyes looked down at me.
“You are a hound dog,” she said, taking the bite without a hint of a come on. “But a nice one.”
“You like that about me, cheri.”
She just smiles.
4
Layla
Looking into the full-length mirror, it occurs to me. I have nothing to wear. Nothing right. This definitely is not how I want to look. I don’t want to be temptress or slob and so far, finding middle ground is elusive. The shorts are too tight, the blouse is the wrong shade of blue and it looks a bit worn. Shit shit. Shitski. Why didn’t I plan this before now? I have half an hour till he shows up. I wouldn’t put it past him to be wearing a suit. Of course, it would look perfect.
Peeling the outfit off, I toss it into the laundry basket sized pile I started a half hour ago. This is what he’d like to see me in. Panties and a bra. The fantasy almost seems real as I imagine him unhooking the back and pulling the straps down. Not that my breasts are anything to write home about. The saving grace is because they are small, they are less likely to sag.
Wonder if he has ever seen a woman’s breasts after she has given birth? Of course not. My shoulders sink with the realization I would be the first. That’s not what Van’s love life has been like. He has only seen perky boobs. I’d bet my life on it. Or implants, which are permanently perky. And the women have been young. I may be the oldest woman he has ever been with. Been with? What am I thinking?
The fact my bra and panties rarely match anymore never hit me before tonight. There have been other things to think about. Like raising children and making a living these last six years. There has been no time to concentrate on myself in that way. Other women do it, but it hasn’t seemed important enough for me. Men have been put at the bottom of my things to do list. Although there should be a subcategory titled Men I Would Love To Do.
I cross to the bureau and open the messy underwear drawer. Rummaging through, I take out a flower printed pink and orange thong. It goes with the pink bra I’m wearing. Not that he will see either item. What and who am I doing this for?
Despite the debate going on in my head, I remove the underpants and kick them to the top of the pile. Stepping into the thong, I am reminded why it looks like new. I have never been comfortable when wearing them. Not any thong. It feels like I have a bookmark in my crack. But they are very pretty, and they look okay. Not great, but better than the mismatched duo. My big ass swallows the strip of wedged fabric like a sinkhole.
I grab a clip and lift my hair in a twist. It’s so hot in here. Or is this a hormonal hot flash? There have been a couple lately. Could be this is the start of perimenopause. Oh God. Too soon! It’s probably the stress I am feeling getting closer to the hour. I can hide my interest from him, but it is impossible to hide it from myself.Just use your head, girl.Remember who he is and what a mismatch it would be. Better to stay in the friend zone where it is easy to remain happy.
Where’s the short orange onesie Barbra gave me? That one is cute. Although I have never actually worn it. There was never an occasion. Making it to the closet, I move through the hangers bunched tightly together. A few items have half slipped off the wire. There it is, hidden among t-shirts and jackets. I need to organize this mess.
Pulling it off, I walk to the mirror and hold it up.
“This is as good as it gets,” I say aloud to my image.
Stepping in, I give myself a once-over and come to terms with the less than beautiful woman staring back at me. This is a bit tight, as evidenced by the pull across my ass. I’m nearly forty and it shows. When did the laugh lines around my eyes appear? They never bothered me till tonight. If my sister was saying that about herself, I would tell her how beautiful she is, and the tiny lines only say there has been joy in her life. Laughter. Why can’t I do that for myself? I am more apt to listen to the on-target criticisms that pop up. I don’t like that critical girl who lives inside me. The bitch is the first one to point out my shortcomings. Even the ones I was born with and can do nothing about.
The sound of the doorbell pierces my inner dialogue. Oh shit! No time to find the right shoes, so I remove the clip in my hair and run fingers through it. Okay that looks pretty good, thank God. As I head out of the bedroom, I grab the small white earrings from atop the bureau and work to get them on before reaching the front door.
“I’m coming!”
That sounds dirty. If he heard me, I know he is thinking the same thing. I center for a few beats, then open the door.
“Evening, Layla. I’m a little early.”
I’m stunned by the hunk of man standing before me. He is just as appealing in this relaxed outfit as the usual clothes he so elegantly wears. Maybe more. This is going to be hard to resist. Why hadn’t I noticed the guns before? The forearms too. Shit, even his feet are attractive. Oh hell, I am in serious trouble. He waits for my response which is a few beats late.
“What? Isn’t this how you wanted me to be dressed?”
He looks down at his shorts and t-shirt, then back up to my eyes.
“Oh. Yeah. It’s perfect. Come in.”
As he passes in front of me his head dips. “Don’t have a stroke because I’m mentioning it, but you look pretty.”
That one sentence sends an electric shock up my spine.Get ahold of yourself!
“This room is cool. Like the giant screen,” he says, changing subjects.
“I would have been exiled to a deserted island if I didn’t let the boys have it. It was a gift from their father.”
