Perfectly Flawed (14 page)

“Well, you look lovely,” Molly, Zephyr’s
mother tells me as I pass.

“Thank you,” I respond quietly, blushing
nervously, startled by the compliment. “I have a date tonight.”
It’s still odd to tell. Especially Zephyr and Jamie’s parents.

“Well, you go girl,” Antonios, Mr. Kalivas,
tells me, raising his free fist in the air as a fist bump. I try to
hide my giggle but it escapes.

Molly shoots her husband a confused look
before shaking her head and returning her gaze back to me. “Don’t
mind him, dear,” she tells me as she reaches out to lower her
husband’s hand. “He’s been watching those teen movies from the
nineties with Jamie again.”

I outright laugh, watching the happy look
drop from Antonios’ face as he realizes what he just did.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, lowering his head in
faux-shame.

After my giggles die down, I ask, “Do you two
need any help before I head back home?” I ask, ready to head toward
the car for any stray bags.

“We’ve got it, Joey, but thank you,” Molly
tells me with a wide smile. “You and your aunt should join us for
dinner on her next day off,” she offers, shifting the bags in her
arms. “Next Saturday, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” I promise. “You know
Hilary can’t turn down your cooking,” I tell her, a little in jest,
before turning to leave and finish getting ready for whatever
tonight entails.

In my room, I stand in front of my mirror and
slick on enough makeup to be noticeable, nothing too outrageous,
then try and decide about what jewelry to pair with Jamie’s outfit.
I don’t have much—besides my locket that I refuse to remove. I’m
not that into shopping for things like that, I normally stick to
the basics, necessities, and books when I’m at the mall. I
certainly do not have anything appropriate for what I am
wearing.

Although
… I think to myself as the
image of a black velvet box pops into my mind. I may have something
perfect for the occasion after all.

Hilary made sure to save my mother’s jewelry
before we moved across the country. As I’ve aged, that means
birthdays and the occasional Christmas, she has slowly been handing
them over to me, piece by piece, believing my mother would want
that. Last year, when I turned fifteen, she gave me a beautiful,
extravagant black-and-silver floral cuff my mom bought when she was
in high school Hilary told me that my mother fell in love with it
the moment she saw it in the store window, she saved up just to buy
it. She didn’t want a cheap knock off that would turn her wrist
green, and certainly nothing that she was allergic to—I have the
same allergy. She bought it for her junior year to match her
Homecoming dress; I also have that hanging in my closet. On the
inside of the box is a picture of my mother wearing the cuff, a
picture that Hilary had saved for me as well.

I take the cuff from the box in the top
drawer of my dresser where I keep all things that are important to
me, like the picture of my mother at her Homecoming dance, and
slide it onto my wrist, smiling at how well it matches the outfit.
The silver glints bright in the light, still clear and flawless,
completely perfect. I think my mother only wore it for special
occasions.

I feel beautiful as I stare in the mirror at
a girl I’ve never seen before. Her makeup is flawless, what little
she applied, her hair perfectly curled and coiffed. This girl is
beautiful.

I
am
beautiful.

As I wait, I switch my glasses for the
contacts I hardly ever wear, thinking this might be a great time to
break them out. But at the last minute, I switch back. If Ryder’s
spending time with me, he’s getting the real me. The blind me.
Although my hazel eyes are brighter and more vibrant without my
thick black frames, I feel more like myself when I wear my
glasses.

***

The wait seemed too long. I feel like a sheep
waiting for shaving, a cow waiting for slaughter… a girl waiting
nervously for her first date. While I really didn’t want to spend
time with Ryder, I was eager for my first date to start. I smiled
at the thought of that alone, just cut Ryder from the picture,
replace him with someone interesting and more capable of holding my
attention, and I was damn near ecstatic.

“When is this
boy
getting here?”
Hilary asks from the doorway to my room, surprising me—scaring the
crap out of me—as I sit on my bed in my own little world of wonder
and curiosity. I look up to her; her arms are folded across her
sweater-clad chest. She’s wearing dark blue skinny jeans that are
tight on muscled legs and an olive green sweater that makes her
green eyes greener—if that’s even possible. She had a lunch date
with an old sorority sister visiting from Texas—I think her name is
Missy or Muffy or Ronnie, something like that. Her usual Saturday
attire is oversized sweats and a baggy t-shirt or tank top—the
clothing of comfort.

“Any minute, now.” I check the time on my
phone, also checking that my phone has a full charge… just in case
I desperately need an escape from a person that’s a phone call
away.

“He better be nice,” Hilary threatens. She’s
not threatening me but I hear the humor in her voice. I also know
that she is
not
joking. If he weren’t such a kiss ass, maybe
I would want to spend time with him. If I had my choice, my first
date would be with someone I could at least tolerate. If I had my
choice, it’d be with someone I’m originally friends with, someone I
can have a good conversation, someone that can make me laugh,
someone I could consider a best friend someday. “You look really
beautiful, Joey,” she tells me, using the voice that subtly says
If only your mother could see you.

If only my mother could be here
… As
much as it hurts, I hold it in, hold the words tight. It might not
hurt so much to keep them inside. I know my mother would give me
the greatest advice for tonight—as any mother would—she’d even
threaten Ryder. Who knows, she could be waiting for him with a
shotgun. These thoughts, these things that can never happen, make
my eyes start to water.

Just what I need right now: Water works.

Dang, when did I become the girl that cared
about my makeup?

The doorbell rings, the sound box in the
hall, well, annoyingly and repeatedly chimes, actually.

Great. This thing is about to start.

I run down the stairs—the sooner I start
this, the sooner it’s over—rolling my eyes as I walk toward the
front door. I place my hand on the knob and compose myself. The
last thing I should be is a bitch tonight. No. I should look like
I’m enjoying myself and Ryder’s company.

If I can do that, I should take up
acting.

I pull open the door, bracing myself for
blonde hair and blue eyes and a smile that completely irks me
whenever it’s unleashed. But that’s not what I see.

“Zephyr?”

He’s leaning against the frame, his hands in
the front pockets of his jeans. He’s cleaned up since I last saw
him, his face and hair are free of paint, as are his hands. If I
rub my thumb and finger together, I can still feel the drop of
yellow paint clinging to my skin. His chocolate eyes slide up to
me, slowly taking me in.

“You’re still here,” he asks, obviously
faking. He steps into my house and aims straight for the couch. He
drops down, legs spread wide as he slings one arm on the back
feigning indifference. “I thought I’d just chill with your aunt
tonight.” The fact that he said that with a straight face amazes
me.

“That’s not creepy at all,” I say, slamming
the door shut.

“Is he here—” the sight of Zephyr on the
couch stops her on the bottom step, what excitement was in her
voice vanishes. “You’re not what I expected.” She takes the final
step from the stairs, walking over to the recliner by the window.
She peeks through the curtains, looking.

“Thanks,” he says, that grin playing at his
lips as he waggles his eyebrows. I don’t know this guy anymore. “So
when does Golden Boy get here?”

I openly glare at Zephyr as he leans up to
look out the large front window. He should know that it’d just be
easier to join Hilary as she creeps on the neighborhood.

“Any minute now,” I answer. I fold my arms
over my chest, staring at the lump that’s now attached to my couch.
Who does he think he is, just showing up? And why does he feel it
necessary for him to be here when Ryder shows up? Ugh! I don’t
understand this person.

I walk over to the couch, shoving his legs
out of the way and take a seat as gracefully as I can in this
outfit. Zephyr eyes my legs subtly. Or what he thinks is subtly. I
saw him, though. He’s not that slick.

“Why are you here?” He looks to me, not
answering. “Really?” I ask him. He doesn’t need to be here for
this.

That smile returns, and wider. “It’s your
first date, kid.” Zephyr wraps an arm around my shoulders and tugs
me closer to him, tucking me beneath his arm. “It’s something I’ve
got to see.”

“Gee, thanks.” I punch him in the side.

The doorbell rings for the second time.
Just great.

Ryder’s here.

Excuse me while I jump around the room in
nervous excitement and glee.

Yay.

Uh, I’m not that believable, am I?

Hilary opens the door and Ryder steps into
the door, the room soon taking his scent of musk and Old Spice,
something that should be on an old man heading to a banquet, not a
teenage boy heading out on a date. He’s briefly distracted by
Zephyr, but that’s momentary. In his hands, he holds two bouquets
of flowers, one for me—more damned red roses—and one for my
aunt—pink lilies, my favorite flower. I roll my eyes after I take
the roses hoping that he doesn’t see the annoyance etched on my
face, but I’m caught by Hilary who smiles apologetically. She still
plasters a happy grin on her face for Ryder. But I can see the
hesitation. She doesn’t immediately trust him. That’s good to
witness.

Zephyr spots the flowers and laughs—openly.
Very subtle, dude
. He stands, moving closer until he’s
standing between Ryder and me. He’s
still
laughing. I turn
to glare at him, narrowing my eyes, but Zephyr doesn’t notice or
ignores me. Hilary turns to glare at him, like aunt, like
niece.

She takes the flowers from my hands and
thrusts both bouquets at Zephyr. “Here, go put these in some
water.” He doesn’t touch them. “
Please
,” she growls.

Zephyr stares at her, shocked. His laughing
stopped. He snatches the flowers from her hand and turns to sulk to
the kitchen, muttering something about how he’d like to shove these
roses somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine, but I don’t believe
that was directed to my aunt. Not when I hear something about how
much someone hates roses.
Hmmm…

Ryder looks around the house, inspecting what
surrounds him—the living room, the dining room, that’s all that he
can see from where he’s standing. I’m not showing him around. He’s
not going to get a tour. The walls surrounding him are covered in
pictures, my aunt’s way of keeping my family in my life. He peeks
at the photos, spotting me as a little kid, me as a baby being held
by my mother, the one with Ivy holding a rubber duck in my face
while Noah balances one on my soapy head.

It isn’t until someone else looks at these
photos that I realize how awkward of a kid I was. It’s like I’m
seeing myself through his eyes. Something I never want to do again.
I feel like he’s judging me with every glance, every blink, like
these pictures can tell him exactly who I am.

I’ve searched them for the same reason, never
finding an answer to the question.

Not many people from school have seen what my
family looks like. Okay, only four people have seen these pictures.
Ryder is getting an inside look on my life and what made me.

Or whom, I should say.

“I didn’t know that you were…” he trails off,
his thumb pointing toward a picture of my mother holding me, not
entirely sure of how to mention my mother’s skin tone, I’m
assuming.

Laughter booms from the kitchen, deep throaty
laughter that catches everyone’s attention. Zephyr sure is enjoying
something.

“What?” I ask, crossing my arms across my
chest, immediately defensive. “You didn’t know what? That my mother
was black?” I ask. Recognition dawns on his face while Hilary tries
to hide a snicker. The laughter grows louder and deeper, like he’s
holding his stomach. Ryder looks embarrassed, as well he should.
“What? You think this is a year round tan?” I ask adding a roll to
my eyes. I’m not one for subtlety.

If Hilary didn’t know that I don’t like this
boy yet, she knows know.

“Hi, I’m Hilary Archembault,” she greets,
snapping his attention away from the wall of photos surrounding me,
as she holds out her hand, waiting for Ryder to shake it. “I’m
Joey’s aunt.”

That must confuse him more than knowing that
my mom is black. There is a petite redhead claiming to be my
family. Let’s see how smart he is and how soon he gets it.

“Ryder Harrison.” He won’t touch the subject
of race again. He’ll just accept everything he sees tonight as
correct and move on. I love knowing that I’ve made him feel
uncomfortable. Ryder gulps, slightly nervous. He grasps her hand
firmly, like he is introducing himself to a college football scout,
while I stand feeling awkward, watching the really random exchange
between them. Not to mention, Zephyr’s still in the kitchen, doing
whatever it is he does in kitchens.
Oy
. Pushing past his
discomfort, his smile lights up his face, revealing teeth that I am
pretty sure had help from an overpriced dentist. He’s trying to
amaze my aunt, dazzle her with his smile.
Ew
. “Pleasure to
meet you, ma’am.”

More laughter from the kitchen. My palm finds
my forehead.