Life In Reverse(7)

“I guess so. The shorter one seems a bit cocky. Oh, and broody.”

“The shorter one?” She teases. “They were both giants.” She purposefully bumps into my shoulder. “Anyway, I saw you checking him out.”

“No.” I shake my head in protest. “He had nice eyes. That’s all. Besides, any good looks he had disappeared the moment he opened his mouth. He seems like kind of a jerk.”

“A sexy jerk with an earring,” she throws in. “Not to mention a great bod.” She huffs out a sigh, the heaviness of it hitting me in the stomach as I mentally prepare for what she’ll say next. “You have to get back in the game sometime, Em. It’s been… a long time since you dated anyone.”

“Whatever.” I wave her away with my hand, quickly dropping the subject she knows I have no desire to entertain, much less discuss. “I have more important things to think about. Like my presentation for sculpture class. I need to put together the rest of my research and finish writing it.”

“Seriously. We’re out of college and you still study way too much.” We walk up the driveway, greeted by the sound of Dad’s drill and the smell of freshly sanded wood.

“And you never studied nearly enough,” I counter, extracting my arm from hers to check the mailbox. I flip open the top, then pull out a stack of envelopes and sort through them one at a time.

“Whatcha looking for?” I can feel her taunting eyes on me as I thumb through the letters. “Something from that gallery in New York, perhaps? About that job?”

“No.” I glance up and give her a light slap with an envelope. “Well,” I smile, “maybe.”

“I’m all-knowing, remember? Oh, that reminds me. Dad said he’s going to come with us next month to Manhattan when I have my third interview for that Assistant job. He wants to help us look around for places to live,” she informs me as we walk inside. “So get ready, because New York City here we come.” She gives me her trademark Avery wink then bounds up the stairs, stopping when she reaches the landing. “I’m going to change and help Dad make another birdhouse.” The sound of her laugh lingers in the air until her door closes.

“Hey, sweetie. How are the new neighbors?” Mom emerges from the dining room with a large portfolio under her arm, wearing another new outfit. This time it’s blue dress pants and a crisp white blouse. Her ash brown hair is twisted up in a bun.

“They’re interesting.” I drop the mail on the side table next to the door. “Not too much else to report.”

“Okay. Well, perhaps we can invite them for dinner at some point.” She grabs her keys off the hook beside the hall mirror, taking a quick glance at her appearance. “How do I look?”

“Fantastic, Mom. Where are you going?”

“Meeting a potential client. I told your Dad already so you guys go ahead and start dinner without me.” Her jacket is lying on the sofa and I pick it up and lay it over her arm.

“Sounds good. See ya later, Mom.”

I putter around in the kitchen after she leaves, opening the fridge to check on preparations for tonight’s dinner. We’re making chicken piccata, and it was my choice because it happens to be my favorite. Mom is an excellent cook and it’s one of the things we’ve inherited from her. Well, more so the baking, but still an “imperative life skill” as she often calls it.

With my notebook and index cards in hand, I pour some fresh coffee into my Mickey Mouse mug and dump in a couple of sugars. My iPod is on the kitchen counter and I snag that too along with my ear buds, doing a bit of a juggle until I reach the front porch. I drop everything on the bench swing and take a few sips of coffee before setting my mug down on the ground.

Lost in sculpture terminology, I don’t realize someone is standing in front of me until a throat clears. My gaze travels up from a pair of chucks and faded jeans to a face that I’m very surprised to see.

“Hey.” Vance leans against the porch railing, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding the brownie pan. “I thought you might want this back.”

“Did you now, Vance?”

“Okay.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “I deserve that. I was kind of being a dick before and… I’m… sorry.” His distressed attitude coupled with his hesitance tells me he must not apologize often.

I peer around his body before returning to his mildly interesting, and I’ll admit, somewhat attractive face. “Did someone put you up to it? Or did you come here of your own volition?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well….” I tap the pencil against my lips as I survey him. “You don’t seem like the apologetic type.”

His eyes grow wide in disbelief and I take a moment to study them. I’m trying to determine what color they are—definitely blue, tinged with maybe gray when he snaps. “Seriously? You don’t even know me.”

“Just a perception.” I shrug, then bend down and latch onto the handle of my mug before bringing it to my mouth for a sip.

He eyes the mug and his expression shifts to one of amusement. “What’s with the Mickey Mouse theme?”

“Oh.” I smile over the rim of Mickey’s head. “I have an unhealthy obsession with Mickey Mouse.”