The Weight of Rain (35 page)

The doorbell rings, distracting me from going through the contents of my closet once more.

“Here,” Allie says, shoving a garment bag forward as I open the door.

“What is it?”

“Your date with King is tonight, right?”

“Yeah…”

“This is what you’re going to wear.”

“What is it?” My hands are already pulling down the zipper, not patient enough to wait for her reply. “Allie!” I squeal, pushing back each side of the bag.

“If you get anything on it, I’m going to kill you,” she threatens as I lift the beautiful handmade dress so I can fully admire it. It’s one of the pieces she’s going to present during the fashion show. I recognize the color, but that’s all. There have been two dresses she’s been working on that I have barely seen, this being one of them.

“Are you sure?

“Of course I’m not. But I am sure that this is a big deal to you, and therefore you need to be dressed to the nines.”

“This is like the twenties.”

Allie smiles with pride and drops a bag on the kitchen counter. “Let’s get you ready.”

The dress is like a second skin. A flawless, shimmering, surprisingly heavy second skin. It’s emerald and falls several inches past my knee in waves of hand-sewn beading. When she initially shared the idea, I regret to say I looked at her with wide eyes, trying to hide how unattractive the idea seemed. Now, I’m amazed. The waist extends for my height and curves to my body, knowing of my bust and hips perfectly.

I leave my straightened hair around my shoulders, and while it feels wrong to hide any of the dress, Allie insists it will allow me to be casual enough to fit into nearly any restaurant that King chooses.

“Shit! He’s early!” Allie cries. She’s only a few steps behind me, watching over my shoulder as I apply another coat of mascara.

I take a deep breath as Allie moves to the front door. She turns, looking over her shoulder for me to confirm I’m ready before pulling it open.

“You clean up nice,” she says.

Curiosity has me moving forward around my easel and beside Allie. She’s wrong. He cleans up to look like a Calvin Klein model.

King is dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a navy blue shirt that both fit him so well I wonder if they were tailored to fit him. At the very least, I know Summer was involved. I’m staring at his hands, mesmerized by how even accompanied by fancy dress clothes they reveal hints of tricks gone bad, grease, and hard work. It makes my desire to have them on me—all over me—become my sole thought.

A sharp elbow to the back of my ribs has my eyes darting up to see that King is just as lost.

“Fair-y godmother,” Allie says quietly. “Don’t order anything with a cream or red sauce. They stain.”

King’s eyebrows raise, but Allie doesn’t notice. She’s packing things back into her bag. She slips around me and behind King and doesn’t turn around again, making her way downstairs.

“No red or cream sauce?”

“She made this dress. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes widen, peering over it once more. “She’s definitely climbing the charts to favorite person status. First heels, now this.” His hand sweeps down the length of me but several inches away, making that yearning for his touch grow more prominent.

I’m grateful I’ve been forced to wear heels lately; otherwise, I know I would be as nervous about them as I am this dress as we head down the stairs, my hand resting in the crook of his arm. It’s cool outside, the black shawl draped over my shoulders barely serving as a barrier, but thankfully it’s dry.

“How are classes going?”

“Good,” I answer while attempting to fasten my seatbelt and sneak another look at him before the dome lights dim. It’s starting to stay light later, but the sun still set a couple hours ago.

“Did you get your submission in?”

Since mailing my portfolio I’ve felt a heavy weight in my chest each and every time I consider the possible outcomes. “Yeah. I mailed it on Tuesday.”

I catch the slight lurch of King’s chin and his hand tightening around the steering wheel. “You’re going to love it. Traveling and working on paintings from artists you’ve studied. It will be like a dream come true.”

“They haven’t said yes.”

“They won’t be able to say no.”

I don’t know which possibility scares me more.

“There’s this restaurant in Florence, it’s called 13 Gobi. When you get there, you have to go. Their food is like nothing you’ve ever tasted before. It’s where I first started to really appreciate eating and wanted to learn to cook.”

“I doubt it will leave the same impression on me.”

King flashes his smile, the dim lighting from the dash and passing cars teasing at what they expose, hiding so much that my imagination draws most of it.

“You haven’t asked where we’re going yet,” King says as we pull to a stop at a light.

“Call me weird, but I like surprises.” Not to mention it seems rude to ask him. I fear he’s going to spend an obscene amount of money going anywhere our attire is set for.

“Goes with your theme of surprising others with your work, huh?”

“Something like that. I feel like people don’t have an appreciation for waiting any longer. As a culture we’re so used to being able to get any and everything at the tip of our fingers: we need it, and it arrives the next day. People no longer spend time thinking about the perfect gift. They simply go online and order whatever’s popular. We don’t want movies that leave us thinking; we want things spelled out. Popular books have spoilers online because people want to know what they’re walking into. Couples buy their own gifts. If something doesn’t load within seconds, people complain and leave the site, or call their phone and carriers crap.”

“This coming from the self-proclaimed food assembler.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a great appreciation for food. If I did, it would be different.”

“That sounds like a double standard.”

“It probably is. After all, I am a part of this culture as well.”

King glances over with a smile of amusement. “Wait until you get immersed into Italy’s culture. By the time you return you, won’t know what to do when you see a line, or understand why our dining experiences are so fast when there they savor not only the food, but the time together.”

“Impatience for the tedium and great amounts of patience for what they love. I can appreciate that to a point.”

“To a point?”

“Maybe if we all appreciated the fact we get to do tedious tasks, they wouldn’t seem so tedious.”

“The glass is half full.”

“Sure. Otherwise, what’s the point? If all you want to see is the pain and suffering, why live?”

“A friend of mine said artists are all sad. That their work is how they express the grief they feel.”

“We have to know sad in order to know happy, pain in order to feel pleasure, fear to teach us safety.”

“You told me that same line that night at the party.”

“Even while drinking, I’m deep. It’s a gift.”

King’s silent, navigating us through the busy Saturday evening traffic. He doesn’t even look my way. I have a feeling if his hands weren’t both on the wheel, one would be on the bridge of his nose and the other tightly fisted at his side. Though my words are light, I can tell by his reaction he was hoping I’d share in reminiscing. He isn’t mad. He’s disappointed.

“I remember meeting you.” My confession is so quiet my own ears strain to hear it. “I had only drunk a glass of beer before you arrived. Granted, that was enough to make me pretty tipsy since the glasses were ridiculously big, and I pretty much never drink, but I remember.”

“You were talking with Kenzie. I noticed you because you weren’t hanging on her every word and giggling. You guys were actually having a conversation. Kenzie has always sought out people that just want to have a good time. I knew then you were different.”

“You had a crowd of twenty girls around you. I didn’t even know you were at the center until you started moving forward, and through a mess of hair, I saw you.” I smile, recalling my piqued curiosity, and the sympathy and confusion I felt for each of the girls. “I expected you to be a complete asshole. I
wanted
you to be an asshole. There was no way I was going to join that group, and then I went out to get some air, and there you were.”

“Did you sleep with me because they were interested in me?”

King’s question sends a flash of anger through me. A bold insinuation, one that I hate to admit I’ve questioned myself about several times. “You walked right up to me and introduced yourself. I thought you were going to be one of those guys that just assumes everyone is going to fall head over heels in love with them. Then you made that joke about the rain in Oregon and how it’s always just a cloud away and how glad you were because it weeded out the people that were afraid their façades would wash away. It just seemed so honest. Granted, now I know you lied about your first name … but I’m willing to let that slide, now that I know the reason behind it.”

“You told me you loved the rain, and I couldn’t tell if you were being sarcastic or trying to flirt.”

“Neither,” I say, surprised he considered those were the only possibilities. “I really
do
love the rain, but I am glad it isn’t raining tonight. I doubt Allie would approve of me getting a single raindrop on this dress.”
And hopefully my nerves won’t be reflective under my arms when this date is over. She definitely wouldn’t appreciate sweat marks.

“Where are we…?” My words pause as King pulls into the parking lot of Portland’s Art Museum. “You know it closes at five, right?” I shift in my seat when he doesn’t reply, feeling guilty for my reaction. “I mean, this was a really sweet idea, and I would love to come another time…”

“Do you think I would have brought you here without looking into it first?”

My eyebrows that were already raised dance higher, eliciting an amused laugh from King. He ducks out of the truck and is around to where I’m sliding out, offering me his arm once again. Without delay, he strolls to the main entrance of the museum where we’re met by a man wearing a suit and museum badge. He nods to King with a courteous smile while bidding us good evening, and then waves us in.

“If you have any questions, please find me in the Sculpture Court,” he says, locking the entrance doors. He gives us a parting smile, and then his shoes echo across the tiles, where we hear him far longer than we can see him.

“If you’re trying to get in my pants tonight by impressing me, it’s not going to happen. Allie sewed the dress on.”

King’s head tilts, his eyes growing larger. “She what?”

“There wasn’t time to add the right closure, so she sewed it on. I’m not drinking anything while we’re out tonight. I don’t think this skirt will go much higher than mid thigh.”

King bursts out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m as serious about it as I am my love for the rain.”

He moves behind me, sweeping my hair to the side and brushing his fingers down my spine, making chills run across my arms even with the casual touch. “You guys are crazy!”

“Says the guy that hangs upside down while midair on a bike.”

King’s still shaking his head, but he’s laughing, I’m pretty sure mostly at me. “Come on.” Taking my hand, we set off through a maze of halls that I’ve been through dozens of times while surrounded by other viewers. Being here alone with King, the rooms seem far more expansive, the silence an ode to each of the works of art. We walk slowly through the first two galleries, stopping in front of each picture or object to admire it.

“You like this one?” King asks from over my shoulder. We’ve been standing in front of the picture for several minutes. Neither of us has shared our thoughts on any of the pieces thus far.

“I don’t actually know what I’m looking at,” I admit.

His hand catches mine and he laughs so hard, I feel his weight against me. “This has to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. I feel terrible saying that, especially with you here since you understand the time and energy that goes into each, but that is just fugly.”

“I respect all art and the artists that create it, but that doesn’t mean I like it all. I imagine it’s like you with food. You know how much work goes into certain meals, but your tastes don’t always match.”

“I followed you.”

I shake my head as my eyes slant with confusion.

“At the party I saw you motion to Kenzie where you were going. Then I told everyone I was going to the bathroom, and I followed you.” King maintains eye contact with me while explaining himself, his eyes bright with intensity. “I was drawn to you and knew I wanted to know you. I know Kenzie lied, and this entire week I’ve been going through periods where I’ve been so pissed off at her for it, but in some perverse way, I’m kind of glad. If you hadn’t started as Mercedes’ nanny, you would have been working at the restaurant, and with me being out of town and busy so often, and you doing school and working full time, I fear we wouldn’t have been able to see each other very often. And as much as I hate to admit this, there are things about each of us that if we saw without getting the chance to know each other, they probably would have driven us both crazy.”