I’ve told her that I lived in a trailer, that my mom wasn’t around much, that we were poor. But to this day, years later, I sometimes wonder if she even fully realizes just how poor I was. The only meat I ever had growing up was a hotdog and chicken fried steak that I’d eaten at the diner… after someone else was finished with it.
“No,” I say, feeling embarrassment rise up in my cheeks.
I look up at Marie and say again, more quietly: “It is so good, thank you.”
She smiles a knowing smile and reaches out, patting my hand. She knows, but she will keep my secret quiet. “You’re quite welcome, sweet girl.”
Owen-err, Mr. Bolling sips his coffee quietly at the other end of the counter but has yet to speak.
“First Saturday of the summer!” chirps Kyra, happily as she swigs her cool coffee and takes massive bites of her eggs. “What should we do?” “We can do whatever you’d like to do,” I say, truthfully.
I’ve never had a bad time with Kyra and so I’m always willing to do whatever it is she wants. Many Saturdays I have spent with her, thumbing through books at old bookstores (she does this for me), getting pedicures (I do this for her), and rollerblading around campus both for exercise and for attention from boys (again, this is for Kyra).
“Monday you’ll start at the office,” Owen adds, between sips of coffee and bites of toast.
I watch the toast pass his lips and go into his mouth and in that moment, I’ve never wanted to be a piece of toast so badly.
“I know, I know,” she drawls, pushing her plate forward and sitting back in her chair. “Maybe we should go to the beach today?” her eyebrows arch and I can see in her eyes that she’s decided. “Don’t worry-just laying in the sand, no water,” she half-whispers to me. “Meet down here in 20?” I nod and she is gone, thanking Marie for the breakfast while she flies back upstairs.
“No water?” Owen tilts his head and cradles it in his hand, watching me.
My cheeks flare red. “I don’t know how to swim,” my voice is almost a whisper, filled with humiliation, staring down at my plate.
He sits up straight, his brows furrowed, his mouth a straight line.
“My daughter takes you to the beach knowing that you cannot swim?” His smooth forehead wrinkles, dark eyes narrowed quizzically. Is he angry at Kyra? Because of me? It is the first time that I’ve seen Owen angry. His nostrils flare as he processes this information.
“No, no,” I turn on the barstool so I am facing him. “It’s okay. I love the beach. I just, you know, stay on shore. It’s okay. Really.” I can feel Marie looking at me, too, as I nod at Owen.
“Truly, it’s okay, Mr. Bolling,” my voice is small now. “You know what, I just realized I don’t have, err, I didn’t bring my swimsuit. I better go see if Kyra will let me borrow one,” I stand up and carry my plate to the sink where Marie takes it from me and pinches my cheek.
“Thank you, sweet girl.” I have a new nickname; this is the second time Marie has referred to me this way.
“Thank you for the coffee and the wonderful breakfast. Everything was really wonderful, truly.”
I am beaming… over food. A little pathetic but I can’t contain it. The food was amazing and then I have a sad realization that I cannot afford these types of breakfasts when I go back to ice-cream scooper life.
I turn on my heel and pause, looking at Owen who is looking irritable and grouchy, now.
“Thank you for breakfast.”
A quick smile, head nod, and I’m running up to the third floor, heart racing. He could just be annoyed at his daughter’s seeming insensitivity to her best friends needs (I didn’t feel this way) but… he could be annoyed because maybe… he’s invested in my well-being for some reason.
Okay, no, he just doesn’t want his daughter being self-absorbed. That’s it. Thanks, inner voice. My shoulders slump slightly at the reality that my inner voice is completely right and I have projected a false hope onto a stranger because I am lonely and need to get laid. Yeah, that’s pathetic.
I tap at Kyra’s door a few times before she shouts “JUST COME IN!” and when I enter, I see she has her head stuck in the strap of a swimsuit of some kind.
“The clasp is stuck in my hair!” she cries, and I let out a little giggle at the situation before leaping to her side.
“Okay! Stop squirming! I can get it out,” I pull the tangled heap back and shimmy the clasp free from a sizable ringlet of her shiny, dark hair.
“Done.”
“Oh my gosh, thank you, I was really freaking out, seriously,” she groaned, tugging the top down over body with her back to me. The olivegreen swimsuit was classic Kyra. High waist, hi-cut thighs, revealing back side and nearly non-existent triangle top. She looked fantastic in it.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say, sitting on the edge of her bed. The truth? I’ve never owned a swimsuit. There was not a need for it. I lived in a trailer that didn’t even have an AC much less a pool. And no one I knew owned one. Oh, and there’s of course that small other detail of being flat broke.
“Third drawer,” she calls to me from the bathroom where she is slathering on sunscreen.
I walk to the dresser and tug at the third drawer until it springs open. The drawer is stuffed so full of bikini’s, one pieces, swim shorts, everything. Half of it has tags on it. I pick up what looks to be a moderately conservative one-piece (for Kyra’s standards at least) and the tag dangles in front of me. $228. I nearly gasp. Over $200 on a swimsuit… that she doesn’t even wear? I love Kyra but the girl has a shopping problem.
She finally comes over and digs around in the drawer with great purpose before pulling out a navy blue one piece. It is a V-neck halter with a small white bow under the breast bone. It is full coverage, classy but also a little risky as the back dips low… just above the butt.
“This is so you,” she swoons, pushing the suit against my body. “And wear your hair down. Long blonde hair. You gotta work it!” she smiles and then returns to the bathroom where the tanning lotion is applied over the sunscreen. Kyra logic, I smile to myself.
I change into the suit and step in front of her floor to ceiling mirror across from her bed. The suit hugs me in all the right place while amplifying my bosom considerably. My long and lean legs seemed to be endless thanks to the thigh-high-cut style. I pulled the elastic down my ponytail until it was free in my hand. My hair drifted over my shoulders, landing on my chest, just below my nipples. I wasn’t used to wearing my hair down. Does this look good?
“You look so hot!” Kyra cried.
Damn, sometimes it feels like she could read my mind. She ran into her closet and emerged with a long white, gauze material cover-up.
“This adds an element of surprise,” she smiled. I put the cover up on and stood in front of the mirror.
I wonder if Owen likes navy blue?
No, no, no. You need to stop and meet a guy your age and just have fun. You are sexually frustrated and it’s making you crazy, girl. Okay, phew, thank you inner voice, I needed that.
“Ready?” Kyra asks, slipping her beach bag over her arm.
I look at myself one more time in the mirror. I never wear anything revealing but right now it feels… good. I know I shouldn’t but… I really hope Owen is still in the kitchen.
“Ready,” I say, rubbing my fingers across my lips with Kyra’s cherry Chapstick.
I follow Kyra down alllll the stairs and through the kitchen. Commence the silent happy dance! Owen is on his second cup of coffee, thumbing through a catalog of some kind as we enter.
“Okay Dad, we will be home later.”
“Have a good time, be careful, no water,” he says, setting the catalog down reluctantly before eyeing us. Am I crazy or is the heat creeping up his cheeks?! Is he… blushing?
Calm down, my inner voice hisses internally. I give him a small smile before turning and following Kyra out the back door.
Kyra turns to me.
“Be careful!” she scoffs, mimicking his accent as she does. “I guess parents are always uncool huh?” she giggles before she goes MacGyver and pulls her car out of the garage with her cell phone.
“I will literally never get used to that,” I say, still amazed by the technology of her toy.
I rode the bus to college two years ago and now I’m riding in a car that is operated by a cell phone! I grin and she rolls her eyes.
“You’re just like my Dad! He loves it, too!” She gets in the car and I pull open my door.
Okay, now that’s a sign, right? Same interests?
My inner voice deflates me: no, chill.
Damn.