I pretend not to notice.
Rosemary passes me an open album. Baby Klein, sitting inside a gigantic cardboard box, stares back at me.
She taps the photo. “He liked to crawl inside there and hide from us.”
“I’d crawl inside one now if it were available,” Klein mutters.
Rosemary ignores him. “Turn the page,” she instructs. “The next one is him in the bath.”
Klein tries to close the album, but I’m too fast. I anglemy body away, and the only way for him to overcome me is to reach around me.
Which he does. His hand snakes between my arm and my midsection, fingers making a desperate grab for the book.
Too bad I’ve already turned the page.
Klein’s hand falls slack. He starts to pull it away, but he pauses at my waist. Hidden by my bent arm and angled body, he squeezes my hip lightly and tugs.
He releases me just as quickly, as if it never happened, and I swallow my gasp.
Getting ahold of myself, I peer at the album. “Look at that dimpled baby booty,” I coo, and Klein sighs.
We go through a few more, until I’m positive he’s ready to come unglued.
Returning the photo album to Rosemary, I say, “That’s enough for one night. Klein’s head might explode if we keep going.”
“Fine, fine,” Rosemary says, replacing the album on a shelf. “I guess it’s almost my bedtime anyway. I’m opening the store in the morning.”
We say our thank yous and goodbyes to Rosemary. She hugs me, and this time I’m ready for it.
Klein pulls his mom in for a hug, and I step back to allow them room. There is nothing perfunctory about his embrace. He wants to hold his mom and show her his love and gratitude.
I’ve never seen my brother do that to our mom. The thought both saddens and depresses me. Hopefully he does it, I’m just not around to see it.
Klein opens the passenger door of his car, standingback so I can climb in. I settle in the seat, adjusting my dress that has ridden well past mid-thigh. I glance at Klein as I make the adjustment, and watch his eyes as they watch my thigh.
“Eyes up here,” I remind him, but my voice is far too throaty for the words to be much of a warning.
He closes the door with excessive force.
The drive back to our side of town is quiet. My mind is filled with thoughts, images, the feeling of witnessing firsthand a warm and loving family. My own family means well, mostly. They don’t mean harm, I know that for certain. But they’re fractured. And every one of them except my mom believes I’m to blame.
Klein’s silence is driving me crazy, making me wish I could reach into his mind, parse the contents. What is it he’s thinking?
I’ve seen his cute baby rear, yet I don’t know him well enough to know what to say right now. So I stay quiet, my thoughts locked in my head, until we pull up to my house.
He shifts into Park and I reach for the door handle.
“Wait for me, please.” He opens his door, and I watch him get out and round the front of his car. He opens my door and stands back. The filtered light of the crescent moon descends over his face.
I can’t decide if he’s more handsome with or without that sliver of moon illuminating him.
I swing my legs over the side and pause, feet dangling. It’s the beginning of May, and the night air is starting to tighten its hold on the warmth of the day. The cicadas will arrive later in the summer, so for now it is only the crickets serenading us with their intermittent chirps. Alow hum from a busy street nearby simmers in the background.
Klein’s hands go inside his pockets. “Are we good?”
My head tilts. “I could ask you the same question.”
His lips purse, and he nods slowly. “I want us to be...good, Paisley. Everything we’re doing here, trying to get to know each other and act like we’re together, it’ll all be easier for me if you don’t hate me anymore.”
