Learning to Fall (17 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Boo

“This,” I said stonily six hours later as I examined my reflection in Whitney’s bedroom mirror, “is
not
a Jane Austen costume.”

“Sure it is.” Peering over my shoulder, Whitney finished tightening my corset with two hard yanks that thrusted my breasts up and threatened to spill them out of the teeny tiny dress she’d stuffed me into. Considering the fact that my cup size was 34B, it was quite an impressive feat.

However, I was not impressed.

Aside from my hair - which Whitney had admittedly managed to curl into a nearly perfect coiffure - I looked as much like Jane Austen as Whitney did. And Whitney had already changed into her sexy nurse costume, complete with a stethoscope and white fishnet stockings.

“This dress is way too short.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is,” I insisted. To prove my point, I turned around in the mirror and peered at my backside. The dress - if it could even be called that - was a frilly concoction of yellow satin and white taffeta that would have won first place on Toddlers & Tiaras (a show I’d watched once at Whitney’s urging and had refused to see ever again). Tiny cap sleeves covered my shoulders, but that was just about the
only
part of my body that was covered.

“Look,” I said, pointing at my reflection as I bent forward ever-so-slightly. “You can see my butt.”

“Your thighs,” Whitney corrected. “Those are your thighs, Mo. Will you relax already? You look
awesome
. Daniel is totally going to drool when he sees you.”

Daniel
.

In the rush to get everything ready for the people that would begin arriving at any minute, I’d completely forgotten about Daniel.

“I can’t wear this.” Twisting my arms behind me, I began pulling at the corset strings. “Whit, get it off. I’m serious.”

As if on some horrible cue, the front doorbell rang. 

“Sorry,” Whitney said cheerfully. “No can do. See you downstairs!” And then she was gone, leaving me alone in her bedroom dressed up like an x-rated version of Belle from Beauty and the Beast. 

“I’m going to kill her,” I muttered under my breath. “And this time, I really mean it.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot I could do to change my current situation. Brat that she was, Whitney had put double knots in the corset strings, making it impossible for me to undo them and get out of the dress.
But
, I thought suddenly as inspiration struck,
that doesn’t mean I can’t put something
over
the dress.

It took me the better part of half an hour, but by the time I finished I was quite pleased with my efforts to turn the Jane Austen
don’t
costume into a Jane Austen
do
. Using scissors from the bathroom, I’d cut off the flouncy skirt, leaving just the tight fitting bodice. Matching it with a dark green ankle length skirt I found in the back of my closet, I paired them together with a wide brown belt and finished the look off with a straw hat I used for gardening. It wasn’t perfect - or historically accurate - but at least it was better than showing my butt to complete strangers.

By the time I made my way downstairs an hour had passed since the doorbell first rang, and the living room and kitchen were rapidly filling with complete strangers. Not seeing Daniel - or Whitney, for that matter - amidst the varying people dressed up as everything from a sexy smurf to a creepy looking clown, I retreated to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. I didn’t plan on drinking very much, but I definitely needed
something
to settle my nerves. Especially if Whitney didn’t reappear within the next five minutes.

“‘Scuse me.” A tall man dressed as Shaggy from Scooby Doo tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you know where Whit is? I can’t find her anywhere.”

You and me both
, I thought silently as I stood on my tiptoes and did a quick scan of the living room. I saw the DJ setting up his equipment, two ghosts, one mermaid, and an eskimo…but no sexy nurse. “No, I’m sorry I don’t. Maybe she’s in the bathroom?”

“I just checked there,” Shaggy said, looking disgruntled. “What about the other chick who lives here? The weird one?”

“The weird one?” I repeated.

“Yeah, you know, the one who never leaves the house.”

“I leave the house.” Taking a liberal swallow of wine, I set the glass down on the counter with a hard
click
and crossed my arms. It was one thing to be overlooked and ignored at a bar; I certainly wasn’t going to allow myself to be insulted in my own home! Especially not by someone wearing an orange wig and oversized bell bottoms. “I leave the house quite often, thank you very much. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Shaggy’s eyes widened. “Whoa,” he said, lifting his hands and taking a step back. “I didn’t know she was you. I mean you were her. I mean-”

“I know what you mean.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean to piss you off. It’s just that we see Whit out all the time, you know? And you’re never with her. Like, ever. So we all just sort of assumed…”

“That I’m a weird roommate who never leaves the house?” I finished for him.

“Well.” Shaggy shrugged. “Yeah.”

Wonderful
. I hadn’t even met Shaggy or any of Whitney’s other friends, and they already thought I was weird and reclusive and boring. It was like college all over again, except this time I
wasn’t
any of those things. Or at least I was trying not to be.

“For your information,” I began, picking up my wine glass, “I have a very demanding job that prevents me from going out on weeknights and I’ve been spending the weekends with - with my boyfriend. So, you know, I
do
leave the house.” I took another sip of wine. “I leave the house all the time.”

“Dude, I hear you.” Hands still in the air, Shaggy started to back out of the kitchen. “If you see Whit tell her Larry’s looking for her, okay?”

“Certainly.”

I didn’t know why I’d said it. The B word. My mouth had opened and it just sort of…came out. Completely by accident. Well,
sort
of by accident. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” I muttered under my breath before I threw back the rest of the wine. It tasted bitter on my tongue, but the aftertaste was sweet and smooth with a faint hint of strawberries. With a mental shrug I poured myself a second glass before I walked briskly into the living room to speak to the DJ.

Younger than I’d been expecting, he looked up when I approached and flipped his long brown hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head. “Hey,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice. “I’m Joe. Are you Isabel?”

“Imogen,” I corrected automatically. “My name is Imogen. Joe, I wanted to ask that you please-”

“Keep it down?” he interrupted with a grin that revealed a mouth filled with braces. “Yeah, I know. Whitney already told me the drill. Nice pad you have here, by the way.”

“Thank you.” I hesitated. “How do you know Whitney, exactly?”
How does everyone here know Whitney?
By now, there had to be at least thirty people crammed in the downstairs with more coming through the door every minute. I’d known Whitney was going out and meeting new friends, but I had no idea she’d been meeting
this
many.

“My older sister’s on her soccer team. Livvy loves her. Says Whit is the best coach she’s ever had.”

“Oh. That’s…that’s really nice.”

“Do you mind if I start the music?”

“No, no, go ahead. That’s…that’s what you’re here to do.”

The question was, what was
I
here to do? Aside from Daniel and most of the faculty at Stonewall, I hadn’t met anyone new. I hadn’t made any friends. Every person currently in my house lived in Camden, and I hadn’t met a single one of them except for Shaggy and Joe.  

Well
, I said to myself as I took a determined sip of wine,
now is an excellent time to start.

So I mingled. And, social anxiety and occasional stuttering aside, I liked to think I did a pretty darn good job. I talked. I listened. I laughed. I even danced a little when Whitney made her reappearance (apparently she’d been outside the whole time practicing mouth to mouth with her doctor friend) and when everyone gathered in the kitchen to play flip cup I cheered enthusiastically from the sidelines. All things considered, I was having a surprisingly good time…and then, at twenty minutes to midnight, Daniel showed up.

I felt his presence before I saw him. There was a sudden electricity in the air. A subtle increase in my pulse. A fluttering of awareness at the back of my neck. Excusing myself from a conversation I was having with one of Whitney’s assistant coaches, a slender woman named Diane, and Diane’s girlfriend, a dark haired brunette with a southern drawl and an infectious, bubbly giggle, I slipped out of the back foyer and walked rapidly towards the front door, heart pounding with every step.

The living room and the kitchen were at full capacity - Whitney’s twenty guest rule had been officially overturned forty guests ago - but even through the crowd of shouting, dancing leprechauns and flappers and pirate maidens, I managed to find Daniel at the exact moment he found me.

The instant our gazes met, I knew something was wrong. The corners of his mouth were tight. His jaw was clenched. His hands were curled into rigid fists. Filled with alarm, I cut through the crowd as fast as I could, muttering ‘
excuse me
’ after ‘
excuse me
’ as I bumped and jostled my way from the back of the house to the front.

By the time I reached Daniel I was out of breath and sweating. It may have been cool outside, but inside the house, courtesy of the forty plus people jammed into twelve hundred square feet of space, the temperature was rising rapidly.

“What is it?” I asked, raising my voice so he could hear me above the music. “What’s the matter?” Without warning a ghost pushed me from behind and I stumbled forward, straight into Daniel’s arms.

Gripping my waist he steadied me, then pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before he yelled into my ear, “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay! The party is still going. I-” Cutting myself off as I realized I was yelling as well, I winced and pointed at the door. “Do you want to go outside?” At Daniel’s nod I paused only to grab a jacket before heading out. His hand on my shoulder, Daniel followed right behind. The instant the door clicked shut the roaring in my ears evaporated, leaving only a dull ringing. “I’m sorry,” I apologized as the porch light turned on, illuminating both of our faces. “I guess it was louder in there than I thought.”

“It’s fine,” Daniel said.

I studied his face. “But you’re not.” I didn’t know when it had happened, not exactly, but in the time we’d gotten to know each other I had learned how to decipher the emotions he kept so carefully hidden behind an easy, affable smile. A smile that disguised what he was really feeling. A smile that, at the moment, was in full effect.

“I didn’t realize it was a costume party or I would have dressed up. You look beautiful.” His knuckles grazed my cheek as he tucked a tendril that had fallen from my coiffure behind my ear. “Really beautiful, Imogen. Then again, you always do.”

He was trying to distract me. If I’d allowed myself to drink more than two glasses of wine it probably would have worked, but this time around I had paid careful attention to the amount of alcohol I’d allowed myself to consume. I may have been a little buzzed, but I wasn’t drunk. And I wasn’t giving up until I knew what was causing the pain in Daniel’s eyes.

“What’s the matter?” I repeated softly as I searched his countenance for a betraying hint of emotion. “What’s wrong, Daniel?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, averting his gaze.

“It matters to me.”

Troubled grey eyes met mine. “Would it be alright if we went somewhere else to talk? I know you’re having a party and it’s selfish of me to ask, but-”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I just need to go tell Whitney. I’ll be right back.” I pulled open the door. Paused. “You’re not…you’re not going to leave, are you?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay. I’ll - I’ll be right back.”

I dashed inside and, thankfully, spotted Whitney within a matter of seconds. Pulling her aside, I asked if she minded if I left with Daniel for a little while. Giving me a look, she cupped the back of my neck and pulled me in close enough that I could smell the vodka on her breath.

“I’ve got things under control. Just promise me you’ll remember
one
thing.”

“What?” I asked when her gaze darted across the room. “Whitney, what do you want me to remember?”

Refocusing on me, she grinned the sloppy grin of a happy drunk and screamed, to my utter embarrassment, “Condoms, Mo. Remember the condoms!”