Page 92 of Dreams of Falling
Bennett would usually save me from myself and dance with me, or Mabry would pull me to the dance floor to dance with her partner as she feigned the need to use the restroom. Either way, those dances were miserable experiences for me, and yet I always looked forward to them, hopeful each time that it would be different.
Mabry snorted. “Hardly. I might need to bring a stopwatch to time your dance partners since I’m sure there will be so many. I can be your handler tonight.”
I rolled my eyes. “I sincerely doubt that will be necessary, but I appreciate your enthusiasm.”
Mabry began pulling out makeup, lining up the bottles, tubes, andbrushes like soldiers preparing for battle. “Well, I know for sure that Bennett will be at the front of the line.”
I took another swig from the wine bottle. “I wasn’t planning on speaking to him tonight.”
She rolled two eyeliner pencils in her palm. “You don’t have to. Just dance.”
“Have you ever danced without talking? Actually, I don’t think you’ve ever slept without talking. You’re pretty vocal, you know.”
“I’ve been told that a few times,” Mabry said, shoving one of the eye pencils back in the bag, then picking up three blushers and popping open the lids to compare. Or blend. I had no idea. I’d always loved makeup, but despite Ceecee’s tutelage, I’d ended up looking more like Ronald McDonald with my efforts and had mostly given up. But Mabry knew what she was doing, and had always been in charge of making me look less like a clown and more like a girl someone might want to dance with. Not that it had helped, unless I counted Bennett, but at least I’d felt good.
“How long do you think this will take?” I asked, eyeing her arsenal.
She looked over at my bedside clock. “It’s five o’clock now, and the boys aren’t expected until six thirty, so we can pace ourselves.” She looked at my straight hair, oversized jeans shorts, and faded extra-large T-shirt from a Backstreet Boys concert I’d gone to with Mabry. “I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She peered at me over an open bottle of liquid foundation she was swatching on the underside of my forearm. “The band doesn’t start until seven, but they’re having a little refresher course at six. Although from what I recall, Bennett was doing a pretty good job of reminding you of the steps when I saw y’all in Mama’s garage.”
I hid my blush by bending close to my arm and pretending to study the various shades. “I expect I’ll only have two dance partners, and I’m sure they’ll both be forgiving.”
Mabry met my eyes and frowned. “Are you including Jackson in that number?”
“Of course. He texted me, saying he’s so looking forward to it. He’s already bought a ticket.”
Mabry snorted. “That’s because he’s cheap. Tickets are only twenty dollars if you buy them ahead of time, but twenty-five at the door.”
“You don’t think he’s excited about seeing me?” I surprised myself at how eager I sounded. How hopeful and insecure.
She put down a handful of lip glosses and faced me. “Larkin, have you analyzed your feelings for Jackson? I mean, have you considered that your infatuation with him is for the idol you knew and worshipped when you were sixteen? Has the adult Larkin, the one who’s learned a thing or two in the last nine years, actually looked at the adult Jackson?”
Before I could think of a way to respond, she leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Let’s not forget the senior party on his dad’s boat. There were some awful things said. A lot of accusations, a lot of denials, and I ended up with a concussion.”
She held up her hand to stop me when I opened my mouth to speak. “We’re not having that talk now, but we will. Before you leave Georgetown. Even if I have to follow you onto your plane and ride with you back to New York so there won’t be an escape. What matters, what I’ve always wanted you to know, is that I feel no ill-will over what happened, and that I understand, with every fiber of my being, that Jackson was responsible for all of it, and that you were an innocent victim. You thought you were in love with him, and you got caught up in his nastiness and swollen ego.”
“Stop,” I said. She handed me a tissue, and I wiped my eyes, surprised to find that I was crying. “You don’t know what it was like to be me, to be the loser kid who never got picked for teams in PE or to be someone’s lab partner. Jackson Porter was out of my league, and I knew it. All I’m asking is that you humor me while I live the fantasy of finally being in his league, to be worthy of consideration.”
“Worthy of consideration?” She rolled her eyes. “Are you listening to yourself?” Mabry asked. “Because you were never out of his league. You’ve always been far above him in all ways. I want to slap you for even saying that. Especially after what he said...”
I held up my hand. “He apologized. Deeply and sincerely, and I believe him. He said he was a jerk, and that he was sorry. He wants to start fresh. I respect a man who can apologize. Besides, we’re older and smarter now. Both of us.”
She sighed heavily. “Being older doesn’t mean a person has changed. There are a lot of old jerks still around as proof. Jackson’s the same pompous jerk he’s always been. You just happen to have blinders on where he’s concerned. You haven’t realized it yet, but you left Jackson Porter in the dust years ago.”
We were interrupted by a knock on the door. Ceecee pushed it open. “I brought you ladies glasses for your bottle of wine. Don’t think I wasn’t aware of what was going on in my house back in the day. Why do you think I never called the police when I spotted a tall man loitering in my backyard?”
Mabry took the glasses; I pretended to study the assortment of makeup in front of me so Ceecee couldn’t tell I’d been crying. “Thanks, Ceecee. Now we can feel more civilized.”
“Can I get you anything else? Maybe some cheese and crackers to absorb the alcohol?”
“Good idea,” Mabry and I said together, and we both laughed, dispelling the sour mood.
To save Ceecee another trip up and down the stairs, Mabry and I retrieved the cheese and crackers, then returned to my room to begin the transformation—her words, not mine. But as my face and hair began to take shape, my thoughts kept returning to our conversation about Jackson. Was I wrong in believing him? To think him changed? And did it really matter? Just one night to live out my fantasy, and then, like Cinderella, I’d be gone.
“You ready to put on your dress?” Mabry stood in front of me, wearing her fluffy pink robe, her hair pinned and sprayed within an inch of its life to create the illusion of carelessly tossed beach waves.
