don’tja know. I mentally rolled my eyes.
After blowing out my hair and adding a dash of vanilla lip balm, I
stepped to the closet door for a final look-see before heading out. I smiled my
serene closed-mouth smile and twirled from side to side, liking the way the
yellow complimented my warm skin tone. And even though my hair was still
streaked with brass and lacked style, it was healthy and shiny. The best I can
do. I quickly buttoned the overshirt up to my cross, grabbed one of Mama’s smaller woven bags, and stuffed my wallet, keys, hairbrush, and lip balm
inside.
I took a deep breath. Ready. Set. Go . . .
Walking jauntily into the living room, my momentum was immediately
squashed when I realized Daddy wasn’t home yet. The boys, still glued to the
TV, clued me in.
“So . . . how do I look?” I fished.
Mikey looked up to inspect me critically. “You look pwetty, Kadee!”
“Why thank you, kind sir.”
Andrew spared a sidelong glance. “Look fine to me.”
“You damn me with faint praise, sir.”
“Shakespeare?” wondered Andrew, like he was constantly on a quiz show.
“Ommmbers! You said a bad word, Kadee!” Mikey scolded.
I sighed dramatically and slumped onto the couch to wait. Definitely
needed a night off. Where is Daddy? Of course he would be late the one
night I go out to celebrate my birthday. What could I do? I would just have
to wait. Waity-Katie, that should be my nickname. I was always waiting on
something: on tables, my brothers to hurry up, to turn eighteen, or just plain
waiting for something good to happen in my life for a change.
Ugh! I punched a pillow. Twenty long minutes and a phone call later (to
inform Ashley-Leigh I would be late), and Daddy finally arrived to relieve me.
“Be home at eleven,” he ordered, no apology attached.
After kissing the tops of the boys’ heads and reminding them to brush
their teeth, I ran out the door. Final y, a free woman! I started up the car—
put it and my mind in reverse—rolled down the window, and headed out,
bumping along the dirt road enjoying the wind in my hair. I noted that the
• 49 •
dust in my mouth didn’t taste quite so bad when it was mixed in with a little freedom.
Speeding down the highway, I admired the late summer sunset. The sun was
just beginning to meld together its yellows, pinks, and oranges with the wide
expanse of blue sky, creating a kaleidoscope of colors more breathtaking than
any painting I’d seen. Eastern New Mexico truly had the most beautiful skies
around, and it more than helped make up for any deficits in the landscape,
I thought loyally.
I found myself really looking forward to tonight for the first time—
especially to the company of Mrs. Montgomery. I missed having a mother
figure in my life, no matter how shadowy in comparison. I turned on the radio
to the local pop station and sang along heartily to Taylor Swift’s latest song.
In no time, me and my Subaru pulled into Colonial Parkway, the homes that
lined the country club.
After shutting off the sputtering engine, I hastily pulled off my over-shirt
and re-brushed my tangled hair. Didn’t really have time to mentally prepare,
because Mrs. M was already bustling down the sidewalk. So I rammed my
shoulder against the door, exiting my car with about as much grace as an
escaping convict busting out of jail.
“Hallooooo!” Mrs. M came at me, arms flapping and high-heels clacking,
a broad smile showing off capped teeth. It was clearly evident where Ashley-
Leigh received her bounty from I noted with good grace—Mrs. M was
literally busting out of her summer top.
“Hello, Mrs. Montgomery. It’s nice to see—”
“Kate Connelly, as I live and breathe!” she gushed, enveloping me in a big,
perfumed hug. “What in the wide world have you been doin’ with yourself?”
I shrugged my shoulders, managing to formally say, “Thank you so much
for invitin’ me tonight.”
She swept me out before her to really get a good gander at me. “Oh Katie!
You’re so grown up all of a sudden . . . and even more beautiful than ever,”
she declared, then clucked at me and squeezed my hand. “But you’re working
too hard. I can tell. It’s a good thing we called an emergency intervention.”
I smiled at this before she was off again, and the next thing I knew, I was
standing in her tiled foyer where an equally enthusiastic Ashley-Leigh came
bounding down the mahogany staircase to greet me.
“Katie!”
“Hey, Ash,” I greeted, warming a little from being hit with such a warm
welcome. Their mood was infectious as a sneeze, and I found myself wondering
• 50 •
what exactly I’d been dreading about tonight. I was also struck with a weird sense of déjà vu, recalling when I was a little girl how much I coveted her two-story brick home with its long, sweeping staircase to bound down.
Some things never change.
“Katie Connelly, where have you been hidin’ all summer?” She almost
repeated verbatim her mom’s declaration (though I suspected hers was said
mostly for the benefit of the one standing in the doorway beaming at us).
“Oh, you know . . . loungin’ round the pool gettin’ my nails done in
between sips of mai-tais . . . basically livin’ the dream,” I replied airily. No
need to lay it all out for them and be the Debbie Downer.
Ashley-Leigh giggled appreciatively and embraced me in another familiar,
perfumed hug. “Katie, I’ve really missed you!” This declaration had a distinct
ring of sincerity to it, and I suddenly felt gratified to be here—among the
happy normal.
“Yeah, me too.” I smiled, really meaning it. We used to be so close before
the catastrophe-that-was-my-life struck, leaving a steep chasm between our
two worlds.
There was an awkward pause where we surreptitiously checked each other
out as all girls do. She was artfully done up, wearing a coral-colored, sleeveless
shirt half-tucked into the front of her short-shorts, and chunky wedges that
brought her up to about my height. An assortment of silver bangles, that
tinkled merrily when she fluttered about, completed the outfit. She was the
epitome of a cool girl. Pity entered her eyes as she took in what she considered
to be my poor choice of outfit. I tried hard not to feel blah standing next to
her in my brown skirt.
She broke the ice again. “Okay, birthday girl, come on in. We’ve got a little
somethin’ for ya, and I’ve just been dyin’ to give it to you all day!”
I allowed her to tug me into the beige-on-cream living room decorated
gaily with Barbie-pink balloons. A store-bought birthday cake, with a number
seventeen crushed in the middle, was next to a glossy bag with ribbons curling
out like permed hair.
“Happy Birthday, Katie!” They chorused together. I colored, uncomfortable
being the center of attention, no matter how small the occasion.
“Thank you,” I simply said, blinking back tears. I really was touched.
Birthdays were left up to me now. So tomorrow I would cook my own dinner
and bake my own birthda
y cake. A jelly jar with wild flowers the boys picked
for me would likely be the only gift I would receive.
“My dear, you are more than welcome,” said Mrs. M, handing me a crystal
flute filled with what I hoped was sparkling cider.
• 51 •
“Oooh! Champs! Thanks, Mom—you’re the best!” Ashley-Leigh turned
to me glass up while Mrs. M filled her own glass from a bottle that read Moet
& Chandon. Okay then . . . not sparkling cider.
Even though I knew my father would have a cow (ha-ha), I shrugged
my shoulders. Why not? . . . When in Rome. A pang shot through me when I
recalled the last time I’d last heard that phrase. Gah! Why couldn’t I just forget them? This was my birthday celebration, and I was bound and determined to
enjoy myself, dang it! I would not dwell on a single encounter with a couple
of stuck-up jerks I would never see again.
My reluctance toward the champagne had a sudden reversal, so I raised
my glass and took a tentative sip. The bubbles tickled the back of my throat
going down. So this is how the other half lives? I felt a smile playing on my lips as I watched Ashley-Leigh (who’d already downed half hers) refuel with a
wink while her mom fussed with the cake.
“Okay . . .” Mrs. M dramatically cleared her throat before raising her
glass. “Here’s to the other Lee in my life, my Katie Lee . . . I only wish your mother was here to celebrate with us,” she said, tearing up a bit. I wiped a tear
from my own eye, trying to hold it together.
“Mooom!” Ashley-Leigh groaned. “It’s s’posed to be a celebration!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right, honey.” She faced me again, re-clearing her throat.
“Happy Sweet Seventeen!”
“I think that’s sweet sixteen, duh,” Ashley-Leigh corrected.
“Not when it pertains to Katie.” Mrs. M smiled while I dipped my head.
“May you always be as young and beautiful as you are today!” My cheeks were
beginning to burn when she finished, “And may you never get crow’s feet . . .
at least before you bag yourself a rich husband!”
“Yeah! Happy Birthday, baby!” Ashley-Leigh clinked her glass with mine,
sloshing golden fizz all over the coffee table. I immediately mopped it up with
my napkin before it dripped onto their new carpet.
“Oopsie!” Ashley-Leigh giggled. “Come on! Let’s get you ready!”
I didn’t let up from my cleaning detail, so she yanked on my arm. “Just
leave it . . . Mom will get it. Let’s go try on your new outfit!”
“Yes, yes. You two girls go on. I’ll clean this up in a jiffy.” Mrs. M clacked
back in wearing neon-yellow gloves over her white-tipped nails. “Go on, Katie.
Ashley-Leigh’s been waitin’ all day for this.”
I still felt unsure but obediently relinquished my soggy napkin before
following Ashley-Leigh up the stairs and into her very spacious, very decorated
room. It came complete with a custom window seat for reading I’d also
coveted since I was a little girl.
• 52 •
“Heeeey!” Ashley-Lee whirled around, triumphantly wielding the
champagne bottle she’d nicked from downstairs. Like her mom wouldn’t
notice. “Happy Birthday, BFF!” She tried refueling me, but I put a hand over
my glass, noticing my nails were all different kinds of short. “Suit yourself—
more for me,” she sniffed.
It seemed I’d already managed to put a little dent in our happy reunion.
It wasn’t that I was a goody two-shoes; it was that I simply didn’t dare be
irresponsible. Driving was a crucial function for me, so I couldn’t afford a
DWI—in more ways than one.
After a couple of moments of silence and finger taps on her phone, music
danced into the room from a box as remarkably small as it was cute. Cool. As usual, everything in her room was cool. I wandered over to the bulletin board
and was unsurprised to find our old pictures gone and replaced with clumps
of smiling new friends engaged in various stages of teenage debauchery.
Her calendar was equally full, bleeding pink ink with her busy social and
cheerleading schedule. Any leftover space was wallpapered with posters of boy
bands and sultry men ripped from magazine cologne ads.
She noticed my quiet study, and our eyes locked. A guilty look fled from
her face before she chirped brightly, “My favorite picture of us is right here,
see?” She pointed toward an old picture of us doing the spider on her swing
set. It was still clinging there, half covered by a poster of an underwear model
with a suspicious-looking bulge. Ah—that pretty much exactly covered the status of our friendship.
“Okay!” she trilled, providing an accompanying drum roll. Leave it to
Ashley not to allow the awkward silence to linger. “Open it!” She tossed the
candy-colored bag into my arms, and I hugged it to me for a moment. A lot of
my father’s distaste for charity had rubbed off on me. “Go ahead . . . dig in!”
I was actually curious despite myself, although was sure whatever it was
would be inappropriate and therefore render itself completely useless in the
padding of my thin wardrobe. But I hated to disappoint them when they went
to so much trouble for me, so I would try to be a good sport. Puffing out
some air, I burrowed inside to find the hidden treasure, my face, I was sure,
nearly as neon as the bag. What I pulled out was scarcely enough material to
make up half an outfit.
“Um, yeah. Thanks.” Her face dropped, so I added, “A lot. It’s real y cool.
Thanks again, Ash!” I hugged her and started to place the shorts and the
frothy pink thing back.
• 53 •
“Whad’yathink you’re doin’?”
“Puttin’ them back in the bag for safe keepin’.”
“Oh no you don’t!” She snatched them from my hands. “These are for
wearin,’ not for waitin’, so put ‘em on, or you’re not walkin’ out that door tonight!”
Holy crap. She actually expected me to wear that (and I was being generous here) outfit tonight. In public? Daddy would skin me alive! I was beginning a protest when she found my weak chink: “Do you want my mom’s feelin’s
to be hurt?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s just that my father . . .”
“Won’t be there.” She arched a waxed brow at me pointedly. “So
you are going to look like an actual seventeen-year-old tonight, and not a
seventy-year-old!”
Ouch! That one hurt. I snatched the clothes back from her hands and
stalked to her bathroom to change in private. Ashley-Leigh was one of those
people who always got her way, so I may as well get on it, because she wouldn’t
let up till I did. Before I could change my mind, I dropped my skirt, kicked
off my boots, and shimmied the shorts up. I turned around. Wow! They were
certainly aptly named. I squeezed my eyes shut. How she walked around—
and confidently I might add—in these things was beyond me. The shorts
barely covered my, own, ahem . . . assets.
A knock interrupted my inspection. “What’s takin’ so long? Come on.”
Pound. Pound. “Open up. I wanna see,” she whined.
I cracked the door to
reveal what I had on so far. My intention was to
finish behind closed doors, but Ashley-Leigh busted on through like she
owned the place, which of course she did.
“OMG!” she squealed. “You look so amazing! Put your shirt on.”
Pink-faced, I shrugged out of my yellow tank and attempted to slip on
the flowy material. “Um . . . does this come with an instruction manual?” I
complained after a bit of fumbling around with it, feeling completely inept.
Exasperated by my total lack of fashion-know-how, she decided to take
over, coming at me with what looked like long, silver nails. “Well, first of all,
you can not wear a bra with this.”
I backed up, going from pink to red. “Ah, Ash, I’m not sure . . .”
“Now.” She clicked her fingers and beckoned. An exaggerated sigh hissed
from her glossy lips when I didn’t instantly obey. “Come on . . . off with it!”
I blew the last of my reserve air before complying. Unhooking my bra, I
handed it over. (At least I thought to wear my best one.) Quickly and expertly,
she wound the pink straps around my neck and tied them into a bow. Then
• 54 •
she reached down to do the same thing with two more straps at the bottom of my back. How many straps does this thing have?
She stepped back to inspect her work. “Hmmm. What are we gonna do
about shoes? . . . I don’t even think we wear the same size anymore.”
“I can just wear my boots,” I offered up, but I think she forgot I was even
there.“Mom!” blasted in my ear. Two seconds of quiet passed. “Moooom! ” I
winced and plugged my ear. She made an impatient sound in the back of
her throat. “You!” She froze me with her pointy nail. “Stay put. I’ll be right
back,” she threatened, then flew out the door and bounded down the stairs,
hollering again.
Since I had nothing else to do, I went ahead and checked myself out
through half-closed eyes—I wasn’t used to seeing so much exposed skin.
Hmmmm. Except for how short the shorts were, I kinda liked what I saw . . .
okay, more than liked what I saw. A little prideful smile lifted my lips. The
form fitting shorts showed off my legs, which were toned and tanned from
hours of outdoor work. The soft color of the blouse complimented the natural
glow in my cheeks. I turned my torso a bit, admiring how the material flowed