CHAPTER 3
KAYLA
I keep looking at the reflection in the mirror, hoping that what I see reflected back might change. My brown dishpan-water-colored curly hair is frizzy today. It doesn’t matter what I do; the humidity is winning the battle. I really should have stayed away from the pint of orange sherbet I ate after talking with White on the phone two days ago because it’s not doing my hips a bit of good. I bought this dress for the meet-the-family dinner tonight. And it might have said my size, but it looks unbelievably tight and ill-fitting now. Surely I couldn’t have gained that much weight in a week.
I don’t know why I keep hyperventilating, but for some reason I do. Frumpy. That’s the word I associate with myself. Plain, brown, over-curly hair with brown eyes that are dull, and way too many curves and rolls along the highway I call my body. You would think after almost thirty years I would learn to like the woman who stares back at me in the mirror. Most days I do. At least I like the woman on the inside. As for the outside, there have been too many men that have whittled away at my self-confidence and made me feel less. Just less.
It probably doesn’t help that the one man I love and will always love has never seen me as girlfriend material. We’re friends. He’s my best friend. His family is the only family I’ve ever known.
I have a half-sister who I’m not extremely close to. Rachel. Rachel is everything that I’m not. Beautiful with long-flowing straight blonde locks, skinny, able to fit into the latest hip fashions, and she is never socially awkward. Tonight, she would be fantastic in dealing with Tommy’s family. Me? I’d rather be on my couch in sweats watching movies and gorging myself on pizza—which might explain my hips.
Finally giving up—because honestly there’s nothing more I can do and I’m going to be ten minutes late to meet Tommy and his family at Rodrigo’s Restaurant as it is—I move from the mirror to find my heels. I love them. At least they will look great. I wouldn’t be so nervous if I wasn’t showing up all alone for a family dinner. Truthfully, I don’t have anyone to bring. Rachel and I barely talk and that was before I found out she slept with White. Now, I’d just rather not deal with her at all.
Our mother died when I was sixteen. Eventually my stepfather took his real daughter and moved to Galveston. If not for Ida Sue, I probably would have wound up in an orphanage. She took me in, took the necessary classes to become a foster parent, and never once made me feel like anything less than her own child. Heck, she even called me Buttercup when I was little because she said the dark centers of the flower reminded her of my eyes. It didn’t make sense, but I was just grateful to belong.
I would have brought Ida Sue and Jansen with me tonight, but Tommy’s ex-wife Cynthia will be there. I’m pretty sure Ida Sue would end up in jail by the end of the night if I put her in the same room as Green’s ex. I wouldn’t be able to blame her. Actually, I probably would have cheered her on because I can’t stand Cynthia. I don’t like the fact that she’ll be at this dinner, but Tommy says that as the mother of his daughter she needed to be there because she’s part of his family. We fought about it a couple of times, but in the end, I gave in mostly because I got tired of listening to him justify it. It became clear that he wasn’t going to change his mind.
With a sigh, I shake away my thoughts. I’ve put it off long enough. I walk to the door, gather my small purse, wrap, and the keys lying on the small table by the door. I take a deep breath to try and steady my nerves, then open the door.
A small gasp of surprise leaves my lips when I find White standing there looking devastatingly handsome in black casual slacks and a Kelly green pullover. His sandy-brown hair is a little on the shaggy side with small curls around the ends. Everything about this man always makes me happy. The fact that his hair looks rumpled and in need of a cut only makes him more appealing.
“White! What are you doing here?” I whisper so quietly I’m surprised he can hear me. I wasn’t ready to face him this soon.
“We need to talk, Kayla. Fuck, you look beautiful.”
His compliment takes me aback. I’m not used to him talking like that—especially about me.
“Um… okay. Is something wrong?”
“How come I’ve never seen you dress like this before?”
“Because we never go anywhere other than Hooters or the movies. Actually, we hardly ever leave our apartments together. I’d look pretty silly wearing a dress for that.”
“If I’d known you had shoes like that, I would have made sure we went somewhere just so I could see you in them,” he says, staring at my feet.