Page 2 of Pining for Dad's Friend On Halloween
2
David
“Bailey??”
I hurry down the two steps to the lawn and tuck my hand under her bicep. Yes, it’s Bailey. I know Bailey. Of course it’sBailey.
“Hey.”
She gives me a sarcastic little smile as I help herup.
“Shit, I’m sorry,B.”
“It’s okay. Totally not your fault. Just bad luck on top of badluck.”
I put the fallen hoodie over her head and grab the box she’d been carrying, doing my best to shield her from the rain all at once. It looks like there are books in the box and I know she wouldn’t want them to getdamaged.
“I was just here to check on the cat,” I explain as we get inside. She seems no longer distraught, instead just wet and a little muddy. I grab her hoodie from her and toss it over the banister as she looks down at her clothes and shakes out her arms. She’s soaked to the bone and there’s mud on herskirt.
“Sorry,” I repeat. I flip the lights on and now I can see that she’s wearing a wig. A dirty blond wig. It looks cute on her, though it’s a totally different look. She’s always had dark chestnut hair, a compliment to her alabaster skin and deep blue eyes. As a blond, though, she looks good. Older, but good. I suppress achuckle.
There is just something about her in thiswig.
“What?” she asks, with a little shake of her head and a smile curling at the edge of herlips.
The image in front of me is of my best friend’s daughter, that much is a given, but between not having seen her in a few months and how unexpected it is to be near her again, I must have had my eyes on her for longer than I should have. I nod my head slowly as I size herup.
“Carrie Fischer,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “I mean, I don’t know what a blazer would have to do with Star Wars, but with the wig and the eyeliner you could be a dead ringer Carrie Fischer in the late70s.”
“Wrong,” she says, pulling off the wig and pushing it into my chest. She shakes out her hair. “Try again. And don’t try to act like there isn’t something different about you,too.”
She peels her blazer off and tosses it onto the banister to reveal a skimpy, silk shirt that shows off her collarbone, slim shoulders and small, perky breasts. I will myself to not look at her breasts because I know it would be inappropriate — the only reason she felt comfortable taking off the blazer with me, I am certain, is because I am in no way a sexual being toher.
Even though we met for the first time when she was nineteen, when I moved back to New York from California, there is a long-standing context between us when it comes to our relationship. I am her father’s friend and collegeroommate.
That’sit.
The extent of the relationship between me and Bailey is that of friend and friend,maybementor and mentee. I’ve helped her with internship applications and I was there for her when her mom left. Her dad was there for her, too, but Bailey is a person who does not like to burden people with her troubles, instead taking on more than she should and doing it in a way that is never resentful, never even shows a hint of being done in poorfaith.
When Margaret, Gene’s ex-wife, left them to run off with her college boyfriend, Bailey remained stoic, but I could tell that she’d become withdrawn, a thing difficult to discern when it comes to her. She seemed to be made of teflon, as serious and erudite as a twenty-year-old could be. You can look at her and assume she’s less serious than she is, a natural, but incorrect assumption given her strikingbeauty.
A long, slim nose and full lips. Wide-set blue eyes and soft, wavy brown hair. You don’t expect a girl like this to be the most thoughtful person in the room. You justdon’t.
As I look down at her I try not to laugh at myself —again —but there’s something truly spooky happening in my head right now. I chalk it up to the excitement of seeing her. It’s nothing. It’s just one of those things that happens and then just goes away as fast as itappears.
I care about her deeply. Maybe there was one or two times I thought about her in a sexual way, dreamed up all the ways that I could get her undressed and in my arms, but I’ve never thought something could happen between us. It would be every man’s wet dream to have this girl, and she’s never expressed anything but a passing interest in me. As a friend, someone she can look upto.
Then why can’t I tear my eyes away from her? Oof, she is sexy. Senior year of college is doing something toher.
Midnight slinks over and she picks him up to cradle him in her arms, cooing at him with a scratch behind theears.
“Can I go take a really quick shower and then I’ll come down and we can catch up?” shesays.
She puts her hand on my chest and the atmosphere around us changes, warps, becomes thick. She lifts her hand from my chest but keeps her fingers an inch away, curled slightly, her bright, sparkling blue gaze doing a slow ping-pong from my eyes to my lips and back again. She takes a step backwards and puts Midnight into myarms.
It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. I become hard in an instant, her trusting and eager eyes peering up at me through those incredibly beautiful, thick, long eyelashes. Her lips are curled into a soft, sugary bow and her pale shoulders seem to be calling to me. She feels it too, I can see it in her eyes, in the way they seem to linger thoughtfully on mine. She shakes herself from the moment, biting her lip and taking another stepback.
I watch as she bounces over to thestairs.
