"Let's go." I grabbed the keys and my phone, and didn't dare another glance at my fiancée as I climbed out of the car.
The front door flew open as we approached and Marguerite appeared, her tattooed arms out wide, bright orange glasses sliding down her nose, and a t-shirt withFree Societies Read Freelystretched over her chest. "We were beginning to think you weren't coming," she cried, fumbling us into an embrace. "You woulda been better off on pack mules at the rate it took y'all."
"I was looking into it," I said, patting my mother's partner in crime on the back. "Marguerite, this is Audrey."
"We're family now so you'll call me Rita like the rest of the girls do." She clasped Audrey's hands and leaned back, looking my fiancée over. "Aren't you just a doll?" She let out an ear-piercing shriek. "I bet you keep this boy up on his toes. It's a good thing because he needs a firm hand."
Rita patted my cheek with a little more pep than necessary but it earned me a real smile from Audrey, one without a shred of those good girl manners.Worth it.
"It's wonderful to finally meet you," Audrey said, gathering Rita into a hug. "I've heard so much about you."
Lies. Pure lies. But she was damn good at it—and that was a little scary.
Rita stepped back and shooed us toward the door, saying, "Let's get you inside. Your ma will be back from work soon enough and she's gonna flip that I got to see you first. Come on, get in there. I just mixed up some iced tea and I have some double chocolate brownie energy balls in the fridge. Do you like dates, Audrey?"
"I love dates," she replied.
"Good, good. My balls are full of dates," Rita said.
I stifled a laugh that I knew neither of them would've appreciated.
"Then I might need to steal that recipe from you," Audrey replied.
"Oh, I have a whole bunch of them," she said. "Lemme get my phone, I'll show you."
I watched while Audrey and Rita settled on the patio with iced tea and energy balls, slipping into an immediate familiarity over dates, of all things. Audrey could do that. She knew how to give people exactly what they wanted from her in any situation. It was how I'd known she'd be able to do this with me.
Forme.
I also hated it when she did this. It was like she had a closet full of hermetically sealed personalities and could pull out a new one at any moment. But it meant suffocating herself and I didn't need an accounting of the past decade of her life to know she'd spent enough time suffocating.
As I lingered inside, I was painfully aware of the distance between us. I'd kept my hands to myself, a conscious effort when every instinct screamed at me to close the gap. But then I'd catch her eye and see that mask of polite composure, and remember that this wasn't real and my instincts could get fucked.
But I'd have to touch her again. Eventually. It would be strange if I didn't, right? They'd notice. My mother wasn't one to demand public affection but she'd pick up on something if Istayed five feet away from Audrey with my arms crossed for the next few days.
What a fine mess I'd made for myself.
I edged closer to the patio when I saw Audrey point to Rita's tattoo sleeves. I didn't hear the question but Rita tossed her head back with a bellow of a laugh.
"Back when the world was new and I was young, I taught high school art and sculpture," she told Audrey, motioning to the crook of her arm and then a spot just under the neck of her shirt. All of it covered in colorful ink. "But after beating breast cancertwice, I decided to keep the art and ditch the schools. Now, I bop around to tattoo studios around the country doing specialized ink work on scars."
"That's incredible," Audrey said. "I love that so much."
Rita leaned back in her chair, clasped her hands over her belly with a satisfied nod. "It's a good time."
"I did one year in second grade and that was plenty, and then I moved to a fourth and fifth grade loop," Audrey said.
"And it hasn't stolen your will to live yet?" Rita asked.
She took a long sip of tea as if she needed to think it over. "Not every day."
Rita waved her off. "Give it time."
Audrey laughed and steered the conversation toward Rita's newest tattoos but I wanted to stop and go back to the last part. I wanted to ask what she meant bynot every dayand find out if her work made her happy or if it was just another personality she put on. Ask—again—why she didn't teach dance. Even on the weekends, just because she loved it.
That'd been the plan. She'd study comparative literature and dance at Barnard, and when she finished school, she'd teach English and some dance classes in her spare time. The idea was that she'd be able to find work anywhere since I hadn't known where I'd land for grad school.
But I knew best of all that plans changed.
