Standing Still

Chapter 19: Dinner Do's and Don'ts

'You're adorable.'

It was only a text, and still, my cheeks burned. There was something thrilling about seeing Dylan's name pop up on the screen of my phone, or hearing the little trill of my ringtone at random points throughout the day. The little ding, signaling a text message, had become my favorite sound in the whole world, next to the popping of the coffee maker in the early morning, or the sound of the waves crashing ashore at night on our yearly trips to North Carolina every late June. We hadn't been able to go this year or last because it was too expensive, but I hoped next summer would be different. There was something so beautiful about the sand in summer; just like there was something so beautiful about the snow in winter. Temperatures hardly mattered to me - it was the magnitude of it all. There came a certain calm with the changing of the seasons, along with a sense of excitement. In a way, it felt like you were starting anew, when really the only things that changed were the number of layers you wore, whether you were spooning soup or licking ice cream cones, and the warmth of the tip of your nose. Still, it felt like more, somehow. Like the world was moving and turning, urging you to adapt. I could only sit back and marvel, wondering when I, too, would change in such a way, a way that moved other people to adapt. 

There were some things I didn't like about winter, though - one of those being the odd-fitting, itchy sweater that my grandmother had knitted for me years ago, and asked me to wear every time we got together. The gesture was nice, and I loved my grandmother, so I wore it, although it made me look twelve - not to mention that the hem was too short and the sleeves were so long they had to be rolled up. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror above my vanity, staring at the big moose on the front of the sweater with utter contempt, I pictured twelve-year-old me, sporting braces and pigtails, as she gave herself an a-okay before skipping off to allow far, far too many pictures taken. I wondered what I'd ever been thinking, walking around like I was some sort of beauty queen as I wiped the drool from my chin after I'd laughed too hard. No wonder it was only a matter of time before I started wedging myself back in family pictures, smiling without teeth, and hiding my embarrassingly small figure as best I could.

Now, I popped the cap off the bottle of foundation my mother had left in my room. I'd been wearing a little makeup every day at school ever since my first date with Dylan, which was last week. Since then, we'd gone to see a movie with his polite group of friends, and he drove me to work on Thursday and Friday. The more we talked, the easier it got; I was beginning to see him as a real person, instead of just this fantasy in my mind. He was sweet, and kind, and funny, and he held my hand whenever we walked, plus during the one movie. He hadn't kissed me yet, but that was okay. Besides, we weren't alone often anyway, and I didn't expect him to make out with me in front of all his friends while we made banners for his campaign. For now, it was plenty to just hear him talk about his life, and the things he did and didn't like. I'd already learned so much, and barely any time had passed at all.

Wearing makeup made me feel prettier, especially when we talked. It made me feel a little more confident in general, too, so after I sent him a text in reply to the conversation we were having about this band that was coming to town, I took a few minutes to dab some on. Apparently, the band was awesome, and I "so need to see them play." I wasn't sure whether or not this was a direct invitation, but I agreed, anyway. I liked music as much as anyone.

As I pulled socks over my feet, adjusting the collar of my sweater so it wouldn't itch my neck, I heard Sam's feet on the hallway floor above me. He hadn't wanted to go today to have dinner with Dad, Audrey, and our grandparents - he really hadn't wanted to go - but Mom made him. Mostly because she'd guilted him into it with sayings like, "Nana will be so upset, Sam." Nevertheless, he wasn't happy about it. As far as I knew, he planned to get in there, say hi to Nana and Grandpa, eat some chicken, and leave. Now, his feet sounded heavy and angry, like the general aura he carried.