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“Boss, can you come kick these little high school girls out? They won’t show me their I.D.s because they’re‘offended’I’m asking.” Her heavily-lined eyes settle an unconvinced look on me. “And who gets offended when people think they’re younger than they are, eh?”
Chuckling, I answer, “High schoolers. They want to be all growed up.”
“Precisely.”
I tsk. “Okay, I’m coming.”
The girls are definitely under twenty-one and they really are as uncooperative as Odette said. I tell them to show me proof of their ages or get out, and they try to distract me by being flirtatious, which is both amusing and exasperating. I’m not interestedorstupid, and I happen to believe the police don’t need to be called for every little thing, so I’d like to avoid getting them over here just to run off some teenagers.
It’s what I end up having to do, though. Well, kind of—I pull up the number on my phone and hold it up so the girls can watch me call it, and they burst into complaints about how ridiculous this is, how they have somewhere else to be anyway, and how they have I.D.s but don’t think they should be forced to show them. As they leave, one of them erroneously mentions the Constitution and another winks at me and says I’ve missed my chance at the best lay of my life. Blah, blah, blah.
At least I have an entertaining story to tell Liv when I get to her house.
When she lets me in the door, though, it’s nowhere near the first thing I want to say.
I want to say what I was thinking this morning on her couch, and I go for it: “My God, you’re beautiful.”
Her lips are a few shades redder than usual, and I only have a second to wish I had that bottom lip between my teeth before I’m forced to notice she’s wearinga dress.It’s not an appealing dress by itself—it’s got flowers on it, for God’s sake—but it looks damn good onher.The teal and brown and hint of white go perfectly with her fair skin, strawberry-blonde hair, and blue eyes. The skirt hits her knees and still manages to make her legs look nice. The sleeves are just inch-wide straps and thanks to them, I can see the mouthwatering lines of her shoulders. The front isn’t low-cut, but it shows off her collarbones. The whole thing fits her like she paid someone good money to tailor it to the height and shape of her body, although I doubt she did.
What they say is true: some people can just wear the hell out of anything.
Her cheeks are pink as she tugs at the skirt.
“Really?” she asks softly. “Beautiful?”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Yes.”
She lets a smile through. “Thank you. Rae and I had to go to the dollar store for toothpaste and they had some makeup and stuff on clearance. This lipstick was fifty cents and so was some nail polish she wanted.” Now her hands smooth down the skirt. “After I painted her nails, she got it in her head that we should dress up for—for, uh, you. And I—” she clears her throat, her cheeks even pinker now, “—I was already thinking today was a good day to, um…to feel pretty. So I dug around in my closet.”
Yeah, I have no interest in any girl who isn’t this one.
“Well,” I say lightly, “you’re always pretty, but you’re right, thisisa good day to think it about yourself.” I know she didn’t feel pretty last night; maybe she never really has.
Before she can respond, the bathroom door opens and Rae zooms out, exclaiming, “Landon!” She hurries over and holds her hands out to me. “Look!” Her little nails are painted a girly pink that’s as vivid as she is.
“You are rocking that color, Rae,” I tell her, holding up my hand for a high-five.
She smacks me a cheerful one, then flings a hug on me.
I’m glad she and Liv are going with me to see Lolly.
We decided earlier to go to Quiet Springs before dinner so we can hang out until Rae’s bedtime after we eat.
It’s already after 5, so I ask, “You guys ready to go see Lolly?”
Rae nods and goes to put her shoes on in the corner. Liv asks me, “Areyouready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply.
She nods, too, then smiles at me, then heads for her own shoes. I notice they’re some flat, simple beige things instead of her regular sneakers. Pretty.
I expect to get more anxious the closer we get to Lolly, but I don’t. Even as we walk into her room, I’m calm—I’m not feeling good or hopeful, but I’m not full of bad things either. I guess the talking I’ve done with myself on and off today has helped.
I’ve tried to prepare for the worst, like Liv suggested last weekend. Tried to wrap my head around what might or might not happen during this visit. Maybe Lolly will know who I am and maybe she won’t; maybe this will end up being some quality time with the woman I love more than my own mother and maybe it’ll end up being yet another sad visit. There’s no way to know.
All I know for sure is that, for my own sake, I shouldn’t expect it to go well, even if that hurts in its own way. I should try to really accept that Lolly loves me even if she doesn’t remember it, because her disease can’t erase who she’s been my entire life.
We find her reading in her recliner. She hears our footsteps and looks up from her book, greets us with a smile of mild surprise.
