Be the Girl(7)

“I didn’t think she could cook.” I scoop a second helping of mashed potatoes.

He sets my mother with an incredulous stare. “What on earth have you been feeding this girl all these years, Debra?”

“Howie did the cooking,” Mom admits sheepishly through a sip of red wine. “But usually we ordered in.”

Uncle Merv grunts his disapproval. “Connie always said you worked too hard. I guess that’s a lawyer’s life, though. Too bad. She would have liked having you visit once in a while.”

Mom flinches but recovers quickly. “That’s not our life. Not anymore. Right, Aria?” She reaches out to squeeze my hand.

Uncle Merv’s droopy eyes flitter to the clock on the wall. “It’s past my bedtime.” He groans as he pulls himself out of the chair and hobbles over to the kitchen cupboard. He pulls out a bottle of pills.

The rattling sound sends a ripple of tension through my spine.

“Where did you get those?” Mom’s panicked eyes flash to me.

“Huh? Oh, I asked Heather to pick them up for me. For all these aches and pains I didn’t feel at night when someone wasn’t hiding away my whiskey,” he says, his tone thick with accusation.

There’s a long pause and then Mom asks in a strained voice, “Aria, are you finished dinner?”

“Uh … sure.” I shovel the last two mouthfuls of potatoes in and begin collecting dirty dishes.

Her hand presses against mine, staying it. “I’ll clean up. Why don’t you finish unpacking those boxes in your room?” she says with a forced smile.

I duck out and ever so slowly climb the stairs, my ears perked.

“Merv! That’s aspirin!” my mom whispers. “You can’t be pulling that out in front of Aria like that!”

I can’t hear whatever she whispers next, but I don’t need to. I know the gist of the conversation.

There’s a long moment of silence. “I wasn’t thinking,” Uncle Merv says in a low, grating voice. I doubt he could whisper if his life depended on it. “I’ll hide it away.”

With a resigned sigh, I climb the rest of the way and disappear into my bedroom.





My eyes are closed and rhythmic music pulsates through my earbuds when a knock sounds on my bedroom door.

“Come in!” I hit pause on my playlist.

The door eases open.

“Hey, your mom asked me to—bring these in.”

I bolt upright in bed as a towering guy with wavy chestnut brown hair strolls in, his arms loaded with two cardboard boxes, his lips pressed together firmly as if trying not to laugh.

Cassie trails him, her mouth splitting wide with a grin when she sees me. “Your face is green!” she declares with a bark of laughter.

And burning red beneath this mud mask.

“Why is your face green?”

“It’s just … nothing,” I mumble.

“Is it a face mask?” she presses.

“Yes.”

“Where do you want these?” the guy asks, having the decency to avert his gaze.

“Over there?” I croak, pointing to the shelves by the window, desperate to tunnel beneath my sheets. As if the mask isn’t bad enough, my hair is piled messily on top of my head and I’m wearing an old cotton T-shirt with my former high school’s logo and boxer shorts that, while comfortable beyond compare, are far from cute.

“This is my brother, Emmett. He just got home from the United States,” Cassie introduces proudly as he leans over to set the boxes on the floor, giving me a great view of his muscular arms and the shape of his broad back, straining beneath the weight. “This is Aria with a green face. She likes dogs, just like me, and she hates tomatoes, just like me.” The introduction comes out in one long string of words, using her slightly offbeat inflections.

Emmett eases to his feet. “Hello, Aria with a green face who likes dogs and hates tomatoes.” His smile is wide and broad, and shows off his perfect white teeth and two deep-set dimples in his cheeks. His eyes are a rich, dark brown and they complement his olive-toned skin. His nose is angular and in perfect proportion. His jawline is square and solid, any hint of boyishness gone.

Much like my ragged ensemble, this guy is far from cute.

He’s gorgeous.

I swallow my embarrassment. “Yeah. Hey.”

“Look what Emmett brought me!” Cassie holds up a stuffed animal in a burgundy jersey with a yellow “M” across the front. “His name is Goldy Gopher. He’s a hockey mascot. I love mascots. Do you like mascots?”

“I don’t know? Maybe?” What I do know is that I really don’t want to carry on a conversation about mascots with my hot neighbor and his sister while I look like this.

“So, we’ll … uh …” Emmett casts his thumb toward the door.

“Yeah. Good. I mean …” I shake my head, cringing at myself.

“You have stars!” Cassie’s wide eyes lock on the stickers above my bed.

“Yeah.” More humiliation to add to tonight’s collection. Mom “stumbled upon them” in the wallpaper section at Home Depot. Truthfully, I think she went looking for them. She’s like that when she gets something in her head. I plastered on a fake smile instead of telling her I’m too old for glow-in-the-dark stars.