Page 62 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
“Uh oh.”
She sighed. “We ate lunch in the cafeteria today and he didn’t know who Christiane Amanpour is, so it’s over.”
I blinked. “But—”
“I don’t want a speech about how I’m shallow. Cultural illiteracy is a symptom of bigger problems. Moving on.”
That was fast. I mean, not knowing her favorite journalist was about as good a reason as she ever gave for dropping a guy, but usually she kept them around for longer than a couple of weeks. I let it go for the moment. It wasn’t like Trent was my favorite, anyway.
I reached over and lowered the radio volume. “How come we’re still friends even though I’ve never invited you to my house?”
She glanced at me, startled. “Where did that come from?”
“Rhett’s wondering why I don’t let him come over. But you’ve never cared. I wondered why.”
She thought about it for a minute. “I liked you before I saw your house, so whether I see it or not doesn’t change that. I kind of wish I got to see theTear Girlbook, but that’s it.”
“You do?” That surprised me.
“Yeah. It sounds pretty cool.”
“Oh. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you.”
She shrugged. “I figured. But I know it’s a personal thing with your mom, so I didn’t want to horn in or whatever.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“See? Remember this the next time you think I’m being bossy about your life.” She jerked the wheel to make a last-minute left turn, and I clutched my door. “And now to be bossy about your life. I don’t think Rhett would care about the house. I’m pretty sure he’s into you, house or no.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I told him about the hoarding.”
Her eyes widened. “You did? Next you’ll be wearing his varsity jacket and going steady.” She grinned over at me, and I blushed. She gasped. “What are you not telling me?”
“He sort of called me his girlfriend today.”
Her squeal made me giggle. I listened to her “sitting in a tree” taunts for the last couple of miles to my driveway. When she pulled in, she cut the engine instead of idling it while I gathered my stuff. “I think if you don’t let him in, you have to ask yourself why. And if it’s because you’re afraid he can’t take it, then I think you have to ask yourself what this thing between you is made of. For what it’s worth.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Pop your trunk again?” I hauled the sewing machine out and staggered with it to the front porch where I set it down and waved as she pulled away.
I opened the door, trying to assess the damage inside through his eyes. It was bad.
It was bad, bad, bad.
I wasn’t used to it even after watching it worsen for the last ten years. How could someone face this for the first time and process it, much less not run out to puke at the stink?
How could I let him in?
Chapter 23
Once I had it set up in my room, I dubbed my cool new toy Juki-Lou, and it purred like a happy kitten. This was the most awesome sewing machine I had ever used. It stitched together the two panels of heavy canvas I fed into it with no trouble. Analogies of hot knives and butter floated through my head as the needle secured the seam at incredible speed.
I was in love.
I finished it off and pulled it from the machine, snipping the thread to free it, then stood and held the skirt against my waist. The delicate white lawn I’d rescued layered beautifully. Now I only needed to fine tune the top to go with it. I’d repurposed a chocolate brown Oxford shirt from inside one of Delphine’s K-Mart bags into a wrap shirt by shredding and resewing it. It definitely had the distressed effect I wanted; now I needed to tweak it until it looked wearable and amazing. Tall order.
“Camille!” Delphine called. She’d been quiet today, not even commenting when she heard the muffled thumps from me dragging Juki-Lou up the stairs earlier. I glanced at the time on my phone. Nearly seven, and she hadn’t demanded dinner yet. An uneasy feeling fluttered in my stomach. Normally, I’d have run back and forth to the kitchen for her a half dozen times by now.
“Coming!” I took the stairs so fast I nearly slid down them. Fading daylight cast the den in half-shadows, but I had no trouble seeing the gray tinge in her complexion. “Delphine? Are you okay?” I suppressed the impulse to check her wrist, remembering the blowup last time I’d tried.
