Filed to story: The One That Got Away
“Actually, you’re really a lot like my granny,” Louis says. “You hate cussing. You like to bake. You stay at home on Friday nights. Wow, I’m dating my granny. Gross.”
I start measuring again. One, two. “I don’t stay home every Friday night.” Three.
“I’ve never seen you out. You don’t go to parties. We used to hang out back in the day. Why’d you stop hanging out?”
Four. “I … I don’t know. Middle school was different.” What does he want me to say? That Genevivian decided I wasn’t cool enough so I got left behind? Why is he so clueless?
“I always wondered why you stopped hanging out with us.”
Was I on five or six? “Louis! You made me lose my count again!”
“I have that effect on women.”
I roll my eyes at him and he grins back at me, but before he can say anything else, I yell, “Kitty! Get down here!”
“I’m working-“
“Louis’s here!” I know that will get her.
In five seconds flat, Kitty’s running into the kitchen. She skids to a stop, all of a sudden shy. “Why are you here?” she asks him.
“To pick up Bella. Why aren’t you helping?”
“I was running an experiment. Wanna help me?”
I answer for him. “Sure, he’ll help you.” To Louis I say, “You’re distracting me. Go help Kitty.”
“I don’t know if you want my help, Katherine. See, I’m really distracting to women. I make them lose their count.” Louis winks at her and I make a gagging sound. “Why don’t you stay down here and help us bake?”
“Bo-ring!” Kitty turns tail and runs back up the stairs.
“Don’t you dare try to sprinkle or frost when it’s all over!” I yell. “You haven’t earned the right!”
I’m creaming the butter and Louis’s cracking eggs into a chipped salad bowl when my dad gets home. “Whose car is that out front?” Daddy asks as he walks into the kitchen. He stops short. “Hello,” he says, surprised. He has a Chan’s Chinese Bistro bag in his hands.
“Hey, Daddy,” I say, like it’s perfectly normal that Louis Kavinsky is cooking in our kitchen. “You look tired.”
Louis stands up straighter. “Hi, Dr Rupert.”
My dad sets the bag down on the kitchen table. “Oh, hello,” he says, clearing his throat. “Nice to see you. You’re Louis K., right?”
“Right.”
“One of the old gang,” my dad says jovially, and I cringe. “What are you kids up to tonight?”
“I’m baking cupcakes for Kitty’s PTA bake sale and Louis’s helping,” I say.
My dad nods. “Are you hungry, Louis? I have plenty.” He lifts the bag. “Shrimp lo mein, kung pao chicken.”
“Actually, Bella and I were going to stop by our friend’s party,” Louis says. “If that would be OK? I’ll bring her back early.”
Before my dad can answer, I say to Louis, “I told you I have to finish these cupcakes.”
“Kitty and I will finish them,” my dad interjects. “You two go to that birthday party.”
My stomach flips. “It’s really OK, Daddy. I have to be the one to do them; I’m decorating them specially.”
“Kitty and I will figure it out. You can go get changed. We’ll keep working on these cupcakes.”
I open and close my mouth like a trout. “All right, then.” And I don’t make a move, I just stand there, because I’m afraid to leave the two of them alone together.
Louis smiles at me broadly. “You heard the man. We’ve got this covered.”
I think, Don’t act too confident, because then my dad will think you’re arrogant.
There are certain outfits you have that make you feel good every time you wear them, and then there are outfits where you wore them too many times in a row because you liked them so much, and now they just feel like garbage. I’m looking at my closet now and everything looks like garbage. My anxiety is only compounded by the fact that I know Vivian will be wearing the exact right thing, because she always wears the exact right thing. And I have to be wearing the right thing too. Louis wouldn’t have come by and made such a point of going to this party if it weren’t important to him.
I pull on my jeans and try on different tops – a frilly peach one that suddenly looks prissy in my eyes, a long fuzzy sweater with a penguin on it that looks too kiddish. I’m stepping into a pair of grey shorts with black suspenders when someone knocks at my door. I freeze and grab a sweater to cover myself up.
“Bella?” It’s Louis.
“Yes?”
“Are you almost ready?”
“Almost! Just – just go downstairs. I’ll be down soon.”
He lets out an audible sigh. “OK. I’m gonna see what the kid’s doing.”
When I hear his footsteps walking away, I scramble and try a cream polka-dot blouse with the shorts-suspenders ensemble. It’s cute, but is it too cute? Too much? And should I do black tights or black knee socks? Alice said I look Parisian in this outfit. Parisian is a good thing. It’s sophisticated, romantic. I try on a beret, just to see the effect, and I immediately throw it off. Definitely too much.
I wish Louis hadn’t snuck up on me with this. I need time to plan, to prepare. Though truthfully, if he’d asked me ahead of time, I would have come up with an excuse not to go. It’s one thing to go to Tart and Tangy after school, but a party with all of Louis’s friends, not to mention Genevivian?