covered her navel? They should make Spanx a requirement for some outfits.”
“Let’s leave Ms. Mazur’s ass out of this, shall we? Having endless possibilities, as you say, is not the reason I agreed to go on this date. I was hoping that going through the motions of moving on might trick my mind into believing that I am.”
“Right,” Kimmie says, eyeing a chain-link belt. “It’s a win-win. Plus, don’t even get me started on my whole Ben-the-stalker-boy theory.”
“Because I’ve heard it already?”
“Well, you have to admit,” she says, tossing a cream-colored cable-knit sweater at me, “leaving you twisted little notes and super-creepy photos would sure be an interesting way to keep you close, but not too close.”
“Wait, I thought you believed he was stalking me to keep me away, because he wanted me to see him as a killer.”
Kimmie taps her chin in thought. “I guess my theory works both ways, doesn’t it?”
“Whatever,” I sigh. “Let’s just hope the stalking stuff has finally stopped. Nothing weird has happened lately.”
“Right, because Ben’s back to being all ‘we need space’ again. Just wait till he gets lonely. You’ll probably get a pound of chicken thighs or a photo of Julie’s headstone in the mail.”
“That’s sick.”
“But possible.” She hands me a pair of black tights. “Here. Try all this on for me.”
“Fine,” I say, refusing to entertain her so-called theories for even one more solitary second.
“Seriously?” Kimmie giggles, holding up a short pleated skirt from the back of my closet. “You’ve obviously been holding out on me.”
“It’s from my middle school uniform,” I explain, all but yakking over the blue-and-green plaid. “It’s sort of sentimental, which is why I keep it.”
“This is just the sort of thing my dad wants my mom to wear,” she says, checking the size. “The poor woman’s barely hanging on to him by a Lee Press-on Nail.”
“Kimmie, I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.” She shrugs, returning the skirt to my closet. “I really don’t feel like talking about it right now. Back to happier topics?”
“Gladly,” I say, slipping on the tube skirt and sweater, and then yanking on my tights.
“Sexy lady,” Kimmie coos. “So where will Adam be taking us this evening?”
“Us?”
“Kidding,” she says, standing at my dresser mirror. She combs through the jet black layers of her pixie cut, examining the roots, where her natural shade of brown is starting to make an appearance. “Of course, you never know.” She meets my eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Maybe I’ll show up anyway and stalk you from afar.”
“Very funny.”
But Kimmie isn’t laughing. Instead she flops back on my bed and snuggles Mr. Polar Bear.
28
It’s a little before seven when the doorbell rings. I’m thinking it’s Adam, but since my parents don’t call for me, I finish getting ready. Kimmie has already left. She ran out in a hurry, claiming to have a hot date of her own. Tonight’s her first time out with Todd McCaffrey, Debbie Marcus’s ex.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get in,” she promised on her way out. “We’ll compare all the sordid details.”
“Except mine won’t be sordid,” I told her.
I still feel conflicted about my date with Adam, but at about quarter past the hour, I head out to the living room, wondering what’s keeping him, surprised to discover that he’s already here.
He’s sitting with my dad, engrossed in conversation. Dad’s showing him his high-school yearbook, which is never a good sign.
“How come you didn’t tell me that Adam plays soccer?” Dad asks, spotting me in the doorway.
“Because I didn’t know?”
“I used to play,” Adam corrects, giving me a wink.
“Aw, once it’s in the blood, you can never give it up,” Dad says. “I used to play offense in high school. In college it was striker, then halfback. “I’ve got more photos somewhere—”
“We should
“Let’s leave Ms. Mazur’s ass out of this, shall we? Having endless possibilities, as you say, is not the reason I agreed to go on this date. I was hoping that going through the motions of moving on might trick my mind into believing that I am.”
“Right,” Kimmie says, eyeing a chain-link belt. “It’s a win-win. Plus, don’t even get me started on my whole Ben-the-stalker-boy theory.”
“Because I’ve heard it already?”
“Well, you have to admit,” she says, tossing a cream-colored cable-knit sweater at me, “leaving you twisted little notes and super-creepy photos would sure be an interesting way to keep you close, but not too close.”
“Wait, I thought you believed he was stalking me to keep me away, because he wanted me to see him as a killer.”
Kimmie taps her chin in thought. “I guess my theory works both ways, doesn’t it?”
“Whatever,” I sigh. “Let’s just hope the stalking stuff has finally stopped. Nothing weird has happened lately.”
“Right, because Ben’s back to being all ‘we need space’ again. Just wait till he gets lonely. You’ll probably get a pound of chicken thighs or a photo of Julie’s headstone in the mail.”
“That’s sick.”
“But possible.” She hands me a pair of black tights. “Here. Try all this on for me.”
“Fine,” I say, refusing to entertain her so-called theories for even one more solitary second.
“Seriously?” Kimmie giggles, holding up a short pleated skirt from the back of my closet. “You’ve obviously been holding out on me.”
“It’s from my middle school uniform,” I explain, all but yakking over the blue-and-green plaid. “It’s sort of sentimental, which is why I keep it.”
“This is just the sort of thing my dad wants my mom to wear,” she says, checking the size. “The poor woman’s barely hanging on to him by a Lee Press-on Nail.”
“Kimmie, I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.” She shrugs, returning the skirt to my closet. “I really don’t feel like talking about it right now. Back to happier topics?”
“Gladly,” I say, slipping on the tube skirt and sweater, and then yanking on my tights.
“Sexy lady,” Kimmie coos. “So where will Adam be taking us this evening?”
“Us?”
“Kidding,” she says, standing at my dresser mirror. She combs through the jet black layers of her pixie cut, examining the roots, where her natural shade of brown is starting to make an appearance. “Of course, you never know.” She meets my eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Maybe I’ll show up anyway and stalk you from afar.”
“Very funny.”
But Kimmie isn’t laughing. Instead she flops back on my bed and snuggles Mr. Polar Bear.
28
It’s a little before seven when the doorbell rings. I’m thinking it’s Adam, but since my parents don’t call for me, I finish getting ready. Kimmie has already left. She ran out in a hurry, claiming to have a hot date of her own. Tonight’s her first time out with Todd McCaffrey, Debbie Marcus’s ex.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get in,” she promised on her way out. “We’ll compare all the sordid details.”
“Except mine won’t be sordid,” I told her.
I still feel conflicted about my date with Adam, but at about quarter past the hour, I head out to the living room, wondering what’s keeping him, surprised to discover that he’s already here.
He’s sitting with my dad, engrossed in conversation. Dad’s showing him his high-school yearbook, which is never a good sign.
“How come you didn’t tell me that Adam plays soccer?” Dad asks, spotting me in the doorway.
“Because I didn’t know?”
“I used to play,” Adam corrects, giving me a wink.
“Aw, once it’s in the blood, you can never give it up,” Dad says. “I used to play offense in high school. In college it was striker, then halfback. “I’ve got more photos somewhere—”
“We should
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