Losing Me, Finding You(28)

“I'm thinking of becoming a minister,” Crandle blurts, running a hand through his perfectly manicured brown hair. It's about the same color as mine, similar in tone to the wood trim of the mantle above our fireplace. I force myself to keep smiling. Maybe he thinks he's being interesting, capturing my attention, showing me how like my father he is. I couldn't be anymore repulsed.

“That's lovely,” I say.

“Crandle was the chess champion at his high school.”

“Oh?”

My eyes drift towards the window as several more marks go onto my mental chart. Austin is taller, his jaw is more square, his muscles well-defined, his tattoos bright; he's got a small scar on his lip that gives him a sultry, tough guy look and his accent could burn the panties off a nun. Crandle … wants to be a minister and was a high school chess champion. He has pale, brown eyes, brown hair, skin the color of my mother's nude tights and exactly four pimples on his face. Also, he's three years younger than I am and can't drink. I wonder briefly how old Austin Sparks is.

Somewhere upstairs, voices echo and my mother frowns.

“If you'll excuse me,” she says, patting me gently on the shoulder as she moves away from Crandle and me and up the stairs to assist my dreadful cousin with her nuptial wear. “Crandle, would you mind driving Amy to the church? She'll show you the way.” I stifle a groan and force myself to keep smiling.

“So,” Crandle begins, hooking his arm around mine and staring pointedly at my tits. “Tell me a little about yourself.”



Chapter 22

“Goddamn it, Jodie,” I hear my aunt snap as I peek in the back door of the church, terrified to enter my cousin's domain but desperate to get away from Crandle Rogers, the world's dullest (and possibly most perverted) man on earth. He's been following me around the church for the past hour or so, pestering me about my favorite things – color, book, movie, food, blah, blah. I'm quite sick of discussing humdrum bores and end up here, right at the edge of the dragon's den. Then again, it's either deal with this or sit next to Crandle and have him continuously ogle my breasts and try to put his hand up my skirt.

My mother cringes at her sister-in-law's language and looks up as a crack of sunshine penetrates the dark room.

“Don't dawdle, just get in here,” she sighs as she motions at me with her hand. I slide into the room and lean against the wall in the back. Jodie glares at me with tiny, slitted eyes that make her look an awful lot like a lizard. Despite my aunt's earlier protestations against my makeup, my cousin's is ten times worse, caked onto her face like she's one of the clowns at the state fair. Her lips are too red and her foundation is too pale. I hate to say it, but I've never seen her look worse.

My aunt jabs a bobby pin into Jodie's hair and she winces.

“Hold still.”

“How did you like Crandle?” my mother asks, forcing a small smile onto her tired face. Apparently, the idea of me settling down with a boy as plain and pervy as Crandle Rogers makes her happy. I try to imagine Crandle taking charge in the bedroom, ravishing me with white, hot passion, and I just can't do it. Absolutely not. I smile back and don't say what I really wish I could say. I'm not interested. I doubt Crandle Rogers could f*ck me silly over a pool table in the back of a bar. What do you think? I'd like a real man, please, not some silly, little boy in a brown cardigan.

“He was nice.” My mother's smile grows wider.

“Wonderful. I've invited him over for dinner after church tomorrow.” Splendid. I keep my fake smile in place and fold my hands politely in front of myself.

“I don't see why we had to move the wedding to today,” my cousin moans as my mother gently pushes Megan aside and takes over hair duties. “This isn't the way I imagined it.”

“Well, maybe you should've thought about that before you spread your legs?” Jodie gasps, and my mother goes white as a sheet. “Four weeks along, hmm? More like sixteen. What if you'd started showing, Jodie? What would people think?” Aha. So this isn't exactly my fault. I let my faux smile turn real.

“You know what,” my mom begins as Jodie starts to tear up. “Let's try to move past this, shall we?”

“I have a headache,” my cousin moans as my aunt sniffs rudely and turns away, letting her eyes cut me as they slide past. It must be nice to have a scapegoat to blame your problems on. I try not to let her gaze bother me and start to fantasize. I could move somewhere that snows year round. I think I'd like that. It's so much more fun to read when there's snow outside. My daydream slowly morphs from me sitting on the couch to lying on my back, on a sheepskin rug in front of my pretend fireplace and above me, I see a man slick with sweat, belly muscles contracting as he thrusts into me. The longer I look, the more the man shifts, changes, the more he starts to look like Austin Sparks. I shake my head and try to ignore the goose bumps springing up on my arms and legs.

“Amy!” my mother snaps, obviously frustrated with me. I blink my eyes and try to focus on her in her cream gown. She looks awfully pretty in it, very romantic with her hair swept up artfully atop her head. Her brown eyes seem almost purple, bathed in the beautiful colors from the stained glass window high above. I stare at her, and I can't help but wonder what she'd be like if she wasn't so stuck on a certain ideal, if she were more adept at losing herself in the beauty of life instead of trying to morph it to fit her rules. There must be some of that in there. After all, her latest read is called Sexed by a Pirate. “I swear, half the time I can't even tell what dimension it is that you're residing in. Pay attention. I need you to run to the store.”