Not If I See You First(32)

“Jesus, Sarah.” I stop walking. This is weird. Sarah sounds flustered. She’s never flustered. “She’s what?”

Sarah grabs my upper arm with both hands and leans in. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Molly says. “A real curve buster. Without the curves, anyway. She caught me by surprise. When she offered to drive I knew she’d—”

“I thought this stuff only happened in movies,” Sarah says like Molly isn’t talking. “Heads are actually turning. Two guys by the fountain just bumped into each other. Three other guys pulled a U-turn and are following us. Following her. Holy shit, look at all this!”

“Whoa,” I snicker, trying not to laugh, keeping my voice down. “What’s wrong with you? It’s not like you’ve never seen a pretty girl before, even if just in movies—”

“Pretty? Pretty? She’s not pretty, Parker. You’re pretty. She’s from another planet. It’s not the same thing. I didn’t know till now but it’s not the same at all. I’m having a physical reaction. I’m seeing the Theory of Evolution. I’m beginning to understand the Trojan War. I’m starting to question my sexual orientation—”

“Sarah, shhh!” It’s hard to whisper when trying not to laugh. “Pull yourself together!”

“I know Rick would be okay with her in a threesome and I’m pretty sure I’d be too—”

“Sarah!” I can’t hold back anymore and start laughing. “Sarah! Where are you? There’s someone here pretending to be you and doing a really crappy job!”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Sarah whispers and tries to cover my mouth and I bat her hands away. “They’re coming!”

“Is everything okay back here?” Faith asks in a voice that’s trying to tell us something, probably related to maturity.

“Absolutely, yeah,” Sarah says. “We’re all fine here. How are you two?”

“I thought you said Sweatpants was the quiet one,” Dani says.

“She usually is,” Faith says suspiciously. “Maybe she’s having a stroke.”

“My name,” Sarah says emphatically through clenched teeth, “is not… Sweatpants…” and I hear her trying hard not to laugh.

I squeeze her in a bear hug and lift her off the ground, so happy to hear this. She squeals and thrashes and I set her down.

“Are you okay?” some guy says. Probably our age or a bit older—I can’t tell for sure.

“Yeah, do you gals need some help?” another guy says.

“Gals?” Sarah says. “Are there gals around here?”

“Are some random guys we’ve never met talking to us?” I ask her loudly. “That’s weird.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Faith says. “For some people it’s never too early to drink.”





None of us had lunch before we came so we head for the food court. Despite this it still takes an hour to get there because someone—well, Faith or Dani—stops us at every store along the way to go inside and not buy anything. I can’t even begin to describe how much blind people love window shopping, but despite Sarah calming down some, she’s still entertaining me.

I get a burrito at the intersection of best tasting and easiest to eat of the food court options. I demand reports and hear that Molly got enchiladas and beans at the same counter, Sarah got a sourdough bread bowl full of cream of mushroom soup, Faith got a wispy spinach salad, and Dani got some Thai food. My nose confirms the truth of these reports and we dig in.

“Excuse me,” some guy says to us.

“Private Party!” I say. “Thanks anyway!”

“Go ahead, it’s fine,” Molly says to him. Then to me, “He wanted our extra chair to sit with his wife and kids.”

“Oh.” Maybe I should be embarrassed, but no, I’m not.

“Dani,” Faith says. “We were having a disagreement earlier. About Parker’s outfit. She’s going on a first date tonight.”

“Oooh!” Dani says. “What are you going to wear?”

I frown.

“I win,” Faith says without a hint of gloating. I don’t know how she does it.

“This isn’t far from what I was wearing when he asked me out so he must like my look.”

“It’s what you wear every day of your life,” Faith says. “But this isn’t a day, it’s a date. It’s okay to wear something special. It’s more than okay.”

“Like what, a dress? A gown? Glass slippers?”

“Maybe something that’s seen the inside of a washing machine recently.”

“That’s just hurtful,” I say, lifting my vest. “You know this doesn’t wash easily. How often do you wash jackets anyway?” I sniff the fabric—it does smell the tiniest bit musty.

“I’m not saying you need a makeover,” Faith says, her tone saying the opposite. “Maybe you’re right; maybe he asked you out because he likes the way you clash blue and green. I know you aren’t going to care or even know whether he shows up in overalls or a tux, but I’m sure he’d like to see you cleaned up a bit, even within your own… unique… style.”