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My cheeks heat a little. “It’s good right now, but people change their minds.”
“That they do. Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
The apple crunches when I bite into the flesh. The sweet taste covers my tongue, and I'm reminded of a time in college when Baxter came to me crying because his parents had done something evil. I'd just made an apple strudel and we demolished the whole thing while we drank wine and chowed down. If we'd had a joint, I'm sure we would have shared it.
It was just another night where Baxter revealed his pain and I opened my arms, accepting him fully. Why hadn’t we ever kissed?
I texted Marci one last time, telling her to have a good weekend and to call me if anything came up. I stare at my clothes and for a second I think about complying with Lucinda’s wishes for me to wear toned-down clothing, then I laugh. I wasn’t going to be someone else, not for her, not for anyone.
After packing enough clothes for the weekend, I also grab something to sleep in. A raunchy lacy thing I’d been given as a gag gift at a party peeks out from the back of my drawer. I reach for it and my fingers play over the satin and lace. Before I can stop myself, I drop the lingerie into my bag. I wasn’t going to wear it for Baxter, I tell myself. I just want to put it on in one of those huge houses the ultra-wealthy own, just to be a rebel.
I laugh at how ridiculous I’m being. Wearing raunchy lingerie in someone’s posh house makes my belly flutter. I know my act of rebellion is silly, and not really rebelling, but I want to do it anyway.
My phone rings and I see Baxter’s name on the display. My insides twist. “Yes?”
“I’m outside. I’ll come up.”
“No need. I’m headed down.”
I check my place, making sure the lights are off and I unplug the toaster on the way out. My heartbeat quickens. A weekend away. It had been ages since I’ve done anything at all like take a weekend with a guy. Maybe this will be fun.
When I step outside, a set of car lights flash. The door on the car opens and Baxter steps out looking mighty fine. He’s wearing slacks and a white button-down shirt, a black tie, and dark sunglasses. My breath hitches. I like to dress funky but give me a guy in a white dress shirt, and I’m toast.
He takes my suitcase before going around to open my door. I slide into the car and glance up, catching the thin line of his mouth. I shiver at the cold shoulder he’s giving me. Maybe this won’t be a fun trip. Or maybe he’s just stressed because of the traffic. Horns honk all around us and people zoom by. It is stressful. I’ve judged him too quickly.
He shuts the door and places my bag in the trunk. We’re on our way, zooming out of the city in traffic that is much lighter than I expect. I guess most of the residents were headed to Long Island and the beach while we were going to the country.
“Did you have a good day?” I ask after a while. He hasn’t said anything since getting in the car. It’s a little weird.
“Eh, it was okay,” Baxter says as he looks to change lanes. He’s distracted, no question.
I decide to stare out my window and take in the landscape. I loved the way the trees take over as we leave the city. The scenery inspires me. Maybe this weekend would be better for me than I’d thought.
Thirty or so minutes into the drive Baxter loosens his tie and sighs so heavily I turn to look at him. Stress lines mar his forehead.
“Bad day?”
“Fuck.” He draws out the word as he tugs off his sunglasses.
I chuckle and reach over, rubbing his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me about it.”
“Oh God, I can’t get into it right now. We’re nearly at the house and my day was too shitty to make it quick.”
I remove my hand from his shoulder, wishing I could really pull him close and hold him. But that Heather was gone. I’d been hurt too many times trying to take care of other people. Actually, Baxter had hurt me the most. He’d left California and never looked back. The next thing I knew some trashy website featured him with a girl on his arm. Though we’d been close, he’d never once called me again. I’d thought we’d had something between us, but I’d been wrong.
Less than five minutes later we pull up to a huge colonial with a broad porch. Baxter cuts the engine and turns to face me. His lips curve up in a real smile. He reaches across the divide and squeezes my arm.
“Let’s do this.”
I chuckle as I reach for the door. “I like your attitude.”
We hop out of the car and he grabs our bags from the trunk. When I try to take mine, he shakes his head.
“First off, I’m a gentleman. Secondly, if my dad sees me allowing you to carry your bag, I’ll be roasted for years to come. Third—”
The door opens and Baxter never gets to finish his point. A short man with broad shoulders and a small pot belly comes out and waves, the smile on his face is huge.
