Kissing Kate (7 page)

She disappeared into the dressing room, then reemerged several minutes later. “I
think
it fits,” she said. She stood very straight with her stomach tucked in and shoulders back.

“Does it lie flat against your skin? Does it feel like it’ll stay in place if you move around?”

She walked a few steps away from me, lifting and lowering her shoulders like a strange gawky bird. Then she froze, reaching into her shirt to fish for an escaped strap. “Do they come any smaller?”

The style she finally selected was Warner’s “My First Bra” in size 28-AA. We bought two: one white, one peach. Beth wanted to wear one immediately, so we made a pit stop at the bathroom so she could change. Since we had to cut through the food court anyway, we decided to get Chick-fil-A’s and waffle fries, and afterward ice cream at Baskin-Robbins. Mint chocolate chip for me, bubble gum for Beth. The whole trip home, she spit chunks of gum into her hand, so that by the time we arrived, she had a huge pink wad to put back in her mouth and chew. I tried not to watch.

 

 

 

That evening, I made a point of going to Beth’s room to say good night. I’d taken her to buy her first bra, and I felt like I’d handled it pretty well. Still, it should have been Mom. I thought again about my first bra. It should have been Mom for both of us.

Beth was only two when Mom and Dad died, so she didn’t miss them in the same way I did. She asked about them occasionally, questions about what they were like or whether they thought she was cute as a baby. If I didn’t know the answers, I made them up. But mainly I tried to do what they would have done if they were still alive. It wasn’t enough, but it was the best I could offer.

I sat on the edge of Beth’s bed and listened as she told me about a quiz she’d taken in
Seventeen.
It was called “Are You a Fashion Victim?” According to the quiz, Beth was a “fashion fiend,” which apparently was a good thing. I let her go on until her voice grew drowsy, and then I leaned over and gave her a quick hug. As I pulled back, my fingers grazed her shoulder blade.

“Beth?” I said.

“Hmm?”

“Are you wearing your bra?”

“Hmm.”

“Beth, you don’t wear a bra to sleep in. You only wear it during the day.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

“Well, don’t you want to take it off?”

No answer. She was asleep.

I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING
determined not to think about Kate. Anyway, I had plenty of other things to think about, like my incredibly dirty truck, for example, which I’d promised myself I would wash today. Inside and out, just in case Vanessa was right and it did smell like pepperoni. I threw on jeans and a sweatshirt and jogged downstairs, where Jerry stood at the stove making blueberry pancakes. He whistled as he flipped them in the skillet, and he made a special one for Beth in the shape of a B. He asked if I wanted an L. I told him I didn’t think so, but thanks.

“So what’d you two do last night?” he asked, once we were seated at the table.

“Nothing,” Beth said.

“We went shopping,” I said. “And then we watched a movie on TV—
Sabrina.
”

Beth put down her juice. “It was boring. The remake’s better.”

“Audrey Hepburn,” Jerry mused. “I’ve always been fascinated with her. If you look at her features one by one, you realize she’s actually fairly ordinary looking. But somehow, when you take in the whole picture, she comes across as beautiful.” He stabbed a bite of pancake. “Strange, huh?”

I’d say. I’d never heard Jerry say word one about how beautiful a woman was, movie star or not. I didn’t think he noticed that kind of thing.

“What about you?” I said. “What’d you do?”

“Stayed late updating some orders, then went to Bennigan’s with Sophie.” He paused. “It was fun.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Nah, it’s not that. It’s just . . .” He carved off another bite of pancake, which he chewed and swallowed before downing a sip of coffee. When he spoke again, his tone was all business. “Gotta go in this afternoon. Resoil some azaleas. Either of you want to come?”

“I’m going to Vanessa’s,” Beth said. “We’re giving each other makeovers.”

“I’ve got some stuff to do, too,” I said. “And I’ve got to be at Darlin’s by five-thirty.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Today’s Saturday, isn’t it?” He stood up and took his dishes to the sink, then circled back and rested his hands on the back of the chair. He cleared his throat. “Listen, there’s a chance I might be late again. Beth, think you can stay at Vanessa’s while Lissa does her deliveries?”

“Sure,” Beth said. “She said I could stay for dinner.”

“Great. And Lissa’ll pick you up when she’s done.” He looked at me and wrinkled his brow. “Unless you were planning to go out.”

I forced a smile. “Nope.”

“All right, well, you two have a good one.” He grabbed his jacket and banged through the screen door.

“Maybe it
was
a date,” Beth said as soon as we heard his car start.

“Maybe.”

“Hey,” she snickered. “If
Jerry
can get a date . . .”

“Thanks, Beth. I love you, too.”

“Lissa, I was kidding. Geez, can’t you take a joke?”

I focused on my pancakes, sopping up as much syrup as possible with one double-stacked bite. I crammed it into my mouth, as sweet as I could stand.

 

 

 

After breakfast, I backed my pickup into the middle of the driveway and hosed it down. I filled a bucket with soapy water, grabbed some old towels from the garage, and started scrubbing. The monotony of the work was soothing, and I gave myself over to the warmth of the sun on my back and the back-and-forth pull on my biceps.

This isn’t so bad,
I found myself thinking. I was alone, yeah, and my only immediate plans were with my ten-year-old sister, but it wasn’t like I was miserable or anything. I knew plenty of people who couldn’t bear to be on their own—people who turned on the TV just for the sound of conversation, for instance—but not me. I could handle solitude just fine.

I was rinsing the last of the suds off the windshield when a car horn snapped me out of my daze. I jerked up, shoving my hair out of my eyes, because I knew that horn. It was Kate’s horn. How many times had I heard it when she came to pick me up?

But the Jeep across the street was red, not black. A kid holding a baseball bat dashed out of the Albertsons’ front door, yelling, “Good game! See you tomorrow!”

I braced myself on the hood of the truck. My heart whammed in my chest, and sweat pricked my armpits. Which was crazy, because it
wasn’t
Kate; it was just some kid being collected by his mom. So why was I reacting like this? Why was my
body
reacting like this?

I walked to the side of the house and turned off the hose. I lowered myself to the grass, resting my elbows on my knees and letting my head fall forward. The sun warmed my neck and hair, and slowly, my body came back to me. I leaned against the brick wall, lifting my head and staring into space.

It wasn’t just that I thought it was Kate. It was that I wanted it to be Kate and at the same time was terrified of it being Kate, although I knew that was ridiculous. I mean, I knew Kate as well as I knew myself. At least, I used to.

But if I didn’t know Kate, then maybe I didn’t know myself—and it was that not-knowing that made my gut clench. Like losing your balance, that whoosh of almost falling, before pulling yourself back in line.

I stood up. I grabbed a rag. I wiped the sides, the hood, the back of my truck, focusing only on the job at hand.

“LISSA,” DARLIN SAID
when I showed up at her house that night. She sounded tired. “How are you, sweetie? Come on in, I’ve got your things on the table.”

I stepped into the entryway and searched her face. Her mascara was smudged, and the lines around her mouth seemed more pronounced. “Um, I’m fine,” I said. “How about you?”

“The truth? Not so good.” Her voice trembled. “Burl called it quits. Said he felt smothered.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Darlin waved her hand and tried to laugh. “Well, you win some, you lose some. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about an old lady’s troubles.”

I shifted my weight. I was sorry about her and Burl, but it wasn’t like I knew him that well. I was afraid anything I said would make things worse.

“So . . . has Mr. Rossey called?” I finally asked. “Shrimp scampi as usual?”

Darlin looked blank. Then she straightened up and said, “Yes, yes. Shrimp scampi and a house salad, blue cheese on the side. You surely do know your customers, Lissa.”

I felt bad that she would even say that. She was the one who knew the customers, not me. But I wasn’t good at articulating that stuff, so instead I said, “What, uh, about Kimberly? Is she working tonight?”

“Ariel, you mean?”

“Right, Ariel. Whatever.”

“She should be here any minute. That’s one thing I did right, at any rate, getting you some help after all this time.”

I tried to look appreciative.

“Oh, Lissa, I’m glad you and I stumbled across each other,” Darlin said. She helped me into my caterer’s jacket, smoothing my collar and patting my shoulders. “It’s friendship that keeps us sane, don’t you think? When all’s said and done, it’s our friends that really matter.”

“I guess so,” I said.

Her hand lingered on my shoulder, and she gazed at me in a way that made me nervous. “I don’t mean to pry, baby,” she said, “and it’s probably just me, reading hardship into other people’s lives because of the hardship in my own . . . but are you
sure
you’re all right?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

“It’s just that you’ve seemed awfully down these last couple of weeks.”

My fingers tightened on the cash bag.

“No doubt I’m butting my head in where I don’t belong,” she went on, “but I wondered if maybe it was your friend Kate. You used to talk about her all the time, Kate this and Kate that.” She hesitated. “Have you two had a falling-out?”

Tears sprang to my eyes. My reaction was so unexpected that it made me light-headed.

“I’m fine,” I said, blinking hard. “And Kate’s fine, too.”

“Truly?”

I nodded and made myself smile. Anyway, it was crazy for Darlin to be worrying about me, when her boyfriend had just dumped her. It was just wrong.

Darlin sighed. “You’re a good person, Lissa. You deserve good things.”

“You, too,” I said weakly. I grabbed my walkie-talkie. “I better get going.”

 

 

 

I had three back-to-back orders after delivering Mr. Rossey’s shrimp scampi, and that was good because the fast pace helped me focus. Two of the orders went to Catherine Towers, a retirement complex that smelled like Clorox and cooked cabbage. No wonder so many of the residents ordered out. The first of the two went to Mrs. Babbits, who pressed a five-dollar tip into my hand and told me to be careful, the world was full of crazies. Her warning was fulfilled forty-five minutes later when I returned with Mrs. Gladstone’s pasta with asparagus tips. I was flushed and out of breath when I knocked on her door—I’d jogged up two flights of stairs to get it to her since the elevator was slow, and I knew I was running late—and when Mrs. Gladstone saw me, she stepped back and wrinkled her nose.

“Young ladies are supposed to glow,” she said disapprovingly. “I am afraid you have gone beyond the call.”

I had no answer to that. On a previous visit Mrs. Gladstone had told me about an exercise class she took called “Twinges in the Hinges,” making pointed glances at my midsection as she extolled the benefits of a moderate aerobic workout. I’d seen her since in her exercise leotard and wraparound denim skirt, and she’d been wearing as much makeup as if she’d been returning from the theater instead of the gym. I’d imagined her in class, lazily rotating her feet and perhaps lifting a languid arm here and there. I doubted she’d ever perspired in her life.

“Here’s your pasta,” I said, lifting the Styrofoam box from my carrying case.

“Yes,” she said, lifting the lid and peering at the asparagus. “I shall have fragrant urine all evening.”

I pasted on a smile. How sweat could be considered more inappropriate than urine was beyond me. Mrs. Gladstone was a freak. All I could think as I got back in my truck was that if Kimberly had showed up at work on time,
she
could have been the one to hear about Mrs. Gladstone’s urine instead of me. Or at least she’d have shared the load of deliveries, which would have kept me from running so late.

But Kimberly didn’t log on until 6:35, a full hour after she was due to start.

“Breaker, breaker,” she said, as I headed down Highland Avenue to Babette’s Café. “Lissa, are you there? Over.”

I picked up my walkie-talkie, feeling grouchy already. “I’m here. Over.”

“Will you tell me again where Fellini’s is? I think Darlin said Howell Mill and Northside. Is that right? Over.”

I sighed. “No, it’s Howell Mill and Collier.” I gave her directions, the whole time thinking that she shouldn’t have taken a delivery job unless she actually knew the city. Of course, I didn’t know the city when I started either, but I got a map and figured it out on my own. I knew better than to bug anyone else with my problems.

“Ten-four,” Kimberly said when I finished. “Thanks, good buddy. Over.”

There was dead air for several minutes. The tension in my neck started to fade, and I began to think that maybe Kimberly was going to stick to her own deliveries and leave me alone. I was starting to feel the tiniest bit guilty, even, when my walkie-talkie buzzed and Kimberly’s voice blared into the truck.

“So you know last time when we were talking about dreams?” she said. “Well, listen to what I dreamed last night. It was amazing. I dreamed I was a priestess, and serpents were winding their way up my arms, like those fortune-teller snakes from ancient Greece.” She clicked off for a moment, then buzzed back on. “But it wasn’t gross or anything. Do you think it sounds gross? Over.”