Page 30 of Fierce

An Elderly Suitor

I took the shoes. And I took the date. But I took my sister, too.

Because if Hemi was going to be that sweet, and that sexy? I was going to be toast. And I wasn’t about to take the plunge unless I thought there could be something more between us than short-term sex, however much I wanted it. Or at least I should see if I could be with him twice in a row without walking out on him before I contemplated compromising all my principles.

So, yeah. My strength didn’t look quite up to the task. If I wasn’t going to be a butterfly, I needed reinforcements.

Of course, Karen wasn’t one bit excited when I broached the subject of our day out to her after we’d finished our Women’s Wednesday date on the couch. Movie and popcorn, as always.

“I’m supposed to spend my whole Saturday going to the park with you and some guy?” She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Why?”

“Because…” I stumbled a little over the answer. “Because I want to go, but I’m a little…nervous. It would be better if you came, too. And besides, he invited you.”

“Why would you be nervous to go to the park, during the day? And what kind of guy invites your sister to go out with you? The 1950s called, and they want their romance back. Oh, wait. I think that was the 1920s.”

“Could you go back to being eleven, please?” I asked, trying to laugh. “And thinking I was perfect?”

“What, like, be an idiot?” She eyed me suspiciously. “Just how nerdy is he? Or is he super old?”

“What?”

“Hope. Come on. He’s taking you to the park. To look at flowers. No, wait. Even worse. To look at roses. With your sister.”

“And that makes him nerdy? Automatically? Maybe he’s in touch with his feminine side.” I had to smile at that idea. There were lots of words I’d use to describe Hemi—I’d sure thought of a lot of them—but “feminine” wasn’t one of them. “And, OK,” I said, “yes, he’s quite a bit older than me.”

In fact, I wasn’t sure exactly how old Hemi was, other than old enough to have run Te Mana for the last eight years. I hadn’t wanted to keep researching him once I’d actually met him. Or once I’d actually slapped him. Or rather, I had wanted to research him, and that was why I hadn’t. If you see what I mean.

Oh, man. You see why I needed my sister along?

She sighed. “I knew it. Hope—no offense, but you’re kind of hopeless. Hey. I made a joke. Get it? But anyway. The guys at school say you’re cute, even though you’re short and, you know, you and I—we don’t have a figure or anything. I mean, I hope I’m going to eventually, but I think you’re—”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you very much. As everyone who’s dried laundry in this apartment knows, I’m a 32B, and the rest of me isn’t any curvier. Thank you for reminding me.”

“So OK, you aren’t going to be on anybody’s list or anything,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to go out with a boring old guy. All right, your dinner thing last weekend didn’t go too well, but why don’t you go to a club or something with a girlfriend? If you went dancing, you might be able to hook up with somebody hot. Some guys like girls who are, you know, kind of…small. At least they don’t mind. Necessarily. That’s what my friend Sean says.”

I thought about checking into Sean. I should check into Sean. Tomorrow, I’d check into Sean. “Because—” I gave up. “Just come with me, all right? The roses are supposed to be really beautiful, and he’ll take us out to lunch afterwards, I’ll bet.”

“Oh, joy. Color me excited. Maybe I’ll get to push his wheelchair. Anyway, I’ve got homework.”

“You don’t even know that yet,” I pointed out. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Trust me. I’ll have homework that’s better than going to the park with you and your elderly boyfriend. Or whatever he is. Your elderly…suitor.”

“Nice job on the vocab. Bring your homework along, then, since it’ll be so boring. You can sit on a bench and read, and if we do go to lunch, you can solve equations while we play Scrabble and argue in hushed tones about acceptable two-letter words, and he consults his pocket dictionary.”

“Wow,” she said, rising from the couch with a sigh. “You’re kind of my role model, you know that? Adulthood is just looking better and better.”

When the buzzer sounded on Saturday morning, I jumped, then went to the intercom and pressed the button.

“Yes?” My voice came out much too high, but fortunately—or unfortunately—it wasn’t Hemi who answered.

“This is Charles. Here for you.”

“His name is Charles?” Karen asked in disbelief. She shoved her black-framed glasses up her nose, stood up, picked up her backpack, and sighed. “OK. Here I am. Sacrificing myself to Charles. Because I am such a good sister.”

I smoothed my hands down my yellow flower-patterned sundress, buttoned to the hem with tiny yellow flower buttons. Which I’d worn because it was my favorite, and because it was simple.

Truth in advertising. Hemi was going out with one totally unimpressed fifteen-year-old in baggy shorts and a T-shirt, and one short, 32B, broke woman from Brooklyn who was up to his weight in absolutely nothing except her determination not to be a butterfly. Let’s see what he made of that.

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