Don't Let Go(23)

She’d had boyfriends, but nothing that lasted long enough to get gropy to my knowledge. And most of her outings were with groups, so I always felt a little safer with that.
How could I tell her what I’d done at her age and ever expect any semblance of respect on that subject.
My cell buzzed on the dresser and I snatched it up to see Becca’s name.
Checking in, Sarge.
Cute.
Ha ha, I texted back.
Then a picture text came in showing her in a royal blue strapless body-snug dress that fit her like a dream—if she were twenty-two and lived in New York City.
At the mall. Wnt this dress 4 prom. It’s on sale rt now.
I decided to put the phone down. Prom was still four months away, and I wasn’t about to get in an argument of wills over a hoochie dress I’d never buy at any price.
I finished up the last attempts at making my wavy mess look cool, pulling back the heavy sides so that soft pieces fell around my face. I sighed, remembering Shayna’s careless perfection, and wished I could be that fortunate.
Disgusted, I went to stare at my clothes. A dress? Jeans? I knew Ruthie would have some version of black going on. I could do the same and we’d blend together like Twinkies or I could be bold and go for color. I remembered the hot red dress Shayna had on the day they arrived, but I didn’t have anything that good.
And then I slammed my closet door, making Harley jump to her feet and look at me for her next move.
Damn it, I needed to stop! Here I was trying to live up to a woman more than ten years younger than me who I didn’t even know, just because she was with a man I no longer had.
“This is crazy,” I said to Harley, who wagged her tail uncertainly, not sure if we were going to war or if Mom just had a loony moment. “This is going out to eat with Aunt Ruthie, it doesn’t matter.” She took a step toward me and I scratched her soft head.
I pulled a pair of dark jeans from a drawer, a black tank top, and a red—yes, red—gauzy see-through long-sleeved blouse. Kinda sexy without being overtly so. I wasn’t looking to pick up anybody or find myself another Patrick. One was quite enough.
I grabbed my body spray and spritzed myself once and Harley twice. She didn’t see the humor in it and promptly ran downstairs. I zipped up my black low-heeled boots and took one last look in the mirror.
When you are really young, you think of the mid-forties as so ancient, and that of course all of life’s plans for you have long fallen into place. I twisted to see my backside and then back around to pose and pretend walking.
Okay, maybe I didn’t look ancient, thanks to good genes and hair color, but where were those life plans? Was I somewhere else when they were falling?
“Okay, Harley-bear,” I said when I made it downstairs to the door. “Stand guard.”
Which clearly meant something different in her language, because she jumped on the couch and wrapped her body around two pillows.
I was kind of envious of her evening.

? ? ?

The Grille parking lot was pretty packed when we got to the other side of Katyville. We were either at the happening place or all the other restaurants were closed. Circling around to the back, we managed to snag a parking spot. Music emanated from the walls as we approached the screened-in patio, a section clearly being avoided due to the cold.
“I can’t wait to get some jalape?o poppers,” Ruthie said as she swung one of the front doors open and the full volume of the music thumped into us.
“I just want a margarita,” I said.
“We can do that, too.”
The tables were mostly full, both high-stooled and regular, but the hostess wound us through them, past a large table of laughing women, to a small high table on the other side of the dance floor.
“This’ll work,” Ruthie said, settling herself on her stool. “Good view. Now, let’s get something greasy and some alcohol to wash it down with.”
She looked adorable, as usual. Her straight dark hair was pulled to one side and fastened so that it rested prettily over her shoulder. She wore black opaque tights with a fitted black tunic dress over them, and knee-high boots similar to mine. I knew it would be black. I hadn’t seen her in color in probably fifteen years.
“What’s Frank doing tonight?” I asked when our drinks came.
“Watching zombie movies,” she said, licking the salt from the rim of her glass. “He saves those up for when I’m gone because I won’t watch them with him.”
We ordered food and I watched the dance floor, trying to remember the last time I’d been dancing. When Hayden and I were married? Possibly. I know we used to tear up a two-step when we were dating, and probably did later too, but it was too far back to remember. I knew for a fact that I hadn’t danced with anyone I’d dated since.
“Good God,” I said. “I just realized I’m old.”
“Just now?” Ruthie said, snickering over her drink. “I realize that every morning as I groan my way out of bed. Now, if I were independently wealthy or owned my own business so I could maybe or maybe not go into work—maybe I wouldn’t have to groan so much.”
“Is that a dig?”
“No!” she said with a wink. “I’m just saying. I dream big.”
“What kind of business do you want to start?” I asked.
She waved a hand. “Oh, I have no idea, it’s just something Frank and I have always talked about. We have the money, but the right opportunity just hasn’t come bouncing along.”
“Well, you’d be excellent at whatever you bounce into,” I said.
“Why, thank you,” she said with a little mock bow. “So have you sent in your sale ad for the carnival flyer?”