On the other hand, asking a woman to prom for the first time ever and having her plead a headache and speed away as if pursued by ravenous, educator-eating zombies didn’t feel great. Especially since she wasn’t just any woman, but Rose. Gorgeous, brilliant, fierceRose. The culmination of every desire, every longing, he’d never let himself acknowledge.
It had simply never occurred to him that she might be willing—no, blessedlyeager—to have sex with him, but leery about dating him in public. Sabrina’s preferences had tended toward the opposite.
But he should have known. Dammit, if he’d thought about it for more than five minutes using an organ not located in his boxer-briefs, hewouldhave known.
A woman who guarded her privacy like jewels and wore pride like armor wouldn’t want her personal life made public, especially when that personal life involved a colleague. Not unless she knew—knew, with the sort of certainty that had built and toppled monuments—her relationship with that colleague would never damage that pride, never leave her exposed and humiliated before the unkind gaze of near-strangers.
He’d pushed her too hard, when she was already hurting and exhausted and worried about the AP exam. From the social studies department window that morning, he’d seen her wave off the buses full of her kids, all of whom were carrying brown paper bags filled with concrete manifestations of her love for them.
She’d stared after that bus, hands on her hips, for a minute before returning inside. No doubt to keep working on review prep for the state exams, which occurred later in the week.
She needed more time. He could give it to her.
Maybe more time would coax her to share what exactly had happened in her marriage and what sort of scars its collapse had left behind. Maybe more time would allow him to share his particular iteration of that story too.
Now was not the moment to become impatient.
Now was the moment to become clever.
* * *
Bea clutcheda black washed-silk dress close and petted it, her blue eyes—so like Martin’s—alight with wonder and lust. “I have enough money for this. And it fits perfectly.”
Annette drifted to the young woman’s side and began a lecture Rose had heard before. Had received before, from the very same source, approximately two decades ago.
“My dear, the fit and the price tag alone don’t tell you everything you need to know about whether you should buy an item of clothing, especially when you’re on a budget. Which, unfortunately”—Annette directed a glare at Martin, who pretended not to see it—“it appears you are. Since your father deprived an infirm old woman very close to death the pleasure of buying a wardrobe for such a lovely girl.”
Rose snorted, while Bea giggled.
Martin bit his lip and eyed the nearby café longingly.
Annette’s nimble fingers located the care label sewn into the inside seam of the skirt. “There are other factors to consider. The care instructions, for example. I imagine your dorm won’t offer dry cleaning services?”
Not unless dorms at public universities had been taken over by the Rockefellers since Rose graduated. Although she probably shouldn’t mention that, since Annette and Alfred might be tempted to sponsor Bea’s housing in some roundabout way.
Next thing they all knew, Bea would have a private loft with an espresso bar.
Bea’s face scrunched. “Uh, I don’t think so?”
“Then you’ll want something easy to wash and dry. This dress doesn’t fulfill that requirement.” When the younger woman drooped, Annette continued soothingly, “But that’s not the only other factor. We also need to consider cost-per-wear, a calculation that takes into account not only how many times you’re likely to wear a garment, but also how many wears that garment will withstand before becoming unusable. Better-quality clothing lasts longer, and so do sturdier fabrics.”
“I…don’t know how often I’d wear this.” Bea’s hand lingered over the jet detailing at the neck. “How sturdy is silk? It doesn’t snag or anything, right?”
Annette pursed her lips, then decided to move on. “And finally, there are the intangibles.”
Rose stopped idly flipping through a rack to watch her favorite bit of the familiar lecture.
“When you’re wearing the garment, do you feel confident? Do you feel powerful? If looking beautiful is important to you, do you feel beautiful in it? Does it bring you joy? Will there always be some niggling doubt in your mind about its fit or color, or does it seem made for you? You don’t want to buy something you’re always readjusting.” Annette glanced at Rose. “As Rosie and I know, a good tailor can fix many sins, but not everything.”
That was the end of Annette’s very informative lecture, except for one small detail.
“I feel amazing in this.” Bea slowly put the dress back on the rack. “But it’s almost half the money my grandma gave me. I probably wouldn’t wear it often, and it needs dry cleaning.” The girl forced a strained smile. “Let’s look at other stuff.”
Rose waited for it.
“There’s one last factor I forgot to mention,” Annette announced. “Whether an elderly woman who’s barely able to walk some days might wish to give a graduation gift to a wonderful young lady.”
And there it was. The part where Annette ignored all the sensible advice she’d just given and bought the damn clothing anyway.
