Wes swallowed hard but had his question ready. “Why do you always wear skirts?”
***
“That’s your question?” she asked in disbelief.
Wes looked at her with open curiosity, like this was something he truly wanted to know. “I have a few to spend, and I always wondered. I’ve never seen you in pants.”
No one had asked her this before. “You’re going to laugh,” she warned.
“I promise I won’t.”
“When I was in grade one, we had to do an activity where everyone sat in a circle to sing a song about clothes. If you had on that article of clothing, you stood in the center while all the kids sang.”
“We did that too.”
“One day, I was the only one in pants. All the other kids were wearing jeans or skirts or shorts. I stood alone in the middle as everyone sang at me. I started to cry, and when I went home, I cleared out all my pants. Never wore them again.” She still remembered the shame of that day and the way her mother had told her there was nothing to be upset about when she’d come home in tears. She’d never cried in front of others after that, or at least not until Dot died.
Wes put his can aside. “That was way darker than I imagined. I thought you just liked them. I’m sorry. Some incidents can be so small and reverberate years later.”
Nadine shrugged. “It was a tough day for little Nadine, but now I appreciate how versatile and easy skirts are. I bet not a single kid remembers. My turn. Keeping with sartorial decisions, why do you always dress so well? So unwrinkled?”
He glanced over at his neatly folded clothes. “I never thought about it,” he said. “I suppose it makes me feel more confident. Sometimes people tend to overlook me, but they do it less when I’m well put together.”
“Overlook you?” Nadine was disbelieving. How could anyone not notice Wes?
“Quiet people tend to be put in the background at most places I’ve worked.”
“That’s true.” She winced. “That ended up kind of sad too.”
“Let’s keep with the dark theme then.” Wes waited for her nod. “The other day, you were on the phone with your mother. What was bothering you?”
How honest should she be? As she stared at the ripples on the water, she realized she wanted to talk about it. Despite their ups and downs, Wes looked like he might understand.
“My parents want me to move back home. They’ve been telling me that since the problems I had at work and with that guy, and they don’t listen when I say no. They’re so certain, I’m starting to worry they’reright.”
“You don’t want to?”
“No.” She patted the water. “My parents didn’t think journalism was safe either. It’s a long-standing complaint about most things I do.”
“Do they want you safe or static?” asked Wes.
“It’s safe to them and static to me. They don’t like risk.” She sighed.
“It’s hard to stand up to parents, even when we know they’re wrong.”
“Is that you too? Having trouble standing up to your mother?”
“Is that your question?”
“Sure.” She’d talked enough.
“Ma is not the most positive person in the world,” Wes said, and she heard how carefully he chose his words. “She had a rough life, and my sister says I’m trying to compensate for it.”
“How so?” They were inching closer along the edge of the pool.
“I try to make her happy,” said Wes. “Usually by being there with her.”
“That sounds hard,” she said. “Like you have to stay static as well.”
