All the Rage

I face the door. Leon’s out of the Pontiac, leaning against it and staring uncertainly at the house. No—me. He can see me through the screen and I wonder what that looks like from here. The shaded-out figure of a girl in a sloppy shirt that’s longer than her shorts.

I run my hands through my hair and then I push through the doors. I meet him on the walk and take him in taking me in. The way his eyes go over my torn-up legs and past my abdomen. I cross my arms, like he could see through my shirt, see a hint of what was written there. He frowns. He brings his hand to my cheek and the way he’s looking at me feels wrong, goes all the way to his touch. It’s like when you’re a kid and you start testing the taps, turning the water on as hot or as cold as you can get it and holding your hands underneath for as long as you can stand it. I don’t know which one of us is outlasting the other.

He lowers his hand.

“Holly said you had a bad customer and you got upset. Thought you went to the parking lot to cool off,” he says. “It was break, but I figured maybe you’d want some space. It wasn’t until after we realized you’d left. I called you and you didn’t pick up.”

“I lost my phone,” I say.

“And then your mom called and then Todd came—”

“You want to go inside?” I ask quickly, as a car rounds the corner. It could be anyone, but odds are it’s someone who knows me. Welcome to Grebe, Leon. No. They can’t ever know you here. “We should go in.”

“But—”

“Let’s go in.” I grab his hand. “My mom wants to see you.”

“Romy—”

“Leon, I know.” I lead him in, sensing his confusion, but I offer him nothing more for it. Todd is up and about now, setting the table. Mom moves away from a cutting board of veggies and gives Leon a warm if restrained smile, like she’s meeting someone likable at a funeral.

“Leon.” She wipes her hands on a cloth and then grasps him by the arm. “Not just a voice on the phone. It’s so good to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, Mrs.—”

“Alice Jane, please. Or just Alice. No need to be so formal.”

He smiles and I stand there awkwardly, introductions taken right out from under me. Todd reaches out his hand for Leon’s and they shake. I built this and I wasn’t even there when I did it. It’s like I’m living in two different spaces at once, that I’m here, but I’m not here. I bring my hand to my mouth and—I’m not wearing my lipstick.

No wonder Leon wasn’t looking at me right.

“I’ll be right back.” I gesture over my shoulder. “I just have to…”

“Sure,” Mom says. “You want something to do, Leon?”

“Absolutely. How can I help?”

She sets him to work chopping vegetables for the salad she’s making. I head upstairs to the bathroom where I open the drawer Todd set aside just for me and find my lipstick. I take the cap off and bring it to my mouth and then stop. The tip, all smashed into nothing. I tighten my grip on the tube, but I can’t get myself to put the color on. I stare at it and I see words, vivid on skin even in the dark. A girl on the road with her shirt open and her bra undone, waiting to be read. If I put this on and open my mouth, what will come out?

The red makes me, though.

That’s what Leon said.

And he stopped for that girl.

“Romy,” Mom calls. “You coming down?”

I toss the lipstick into the garbage and then I go into the drawer for another unopened tube. I rip the plastic off the cap and twist the bottom until that burst of color appears and it’s different. Same color, but not the same lipstick and that matters. It matters that there’s only one place this lipstick will have touched. I put it to my bottom lip. From the center out, I think. From the center of the lip out. My hand shakes. I tighten my grip. Pressure. Just give it some pressure. I push in, make my lips red, and it doesn’t feel there. I don’t feel ready.

But maybe it’s like the nail polish now.

Maybe I need something to seal it in.

“Romy?” Mom.

I tell her yes, I’m coming, and I run the water, rinse my hands. I hurry down the stairs and find food on the table. When Leon looks my way, he sees the red—he smiles. We sit and eat a salad that tastes like summer, even though it’s not.

“So,” Mom says to Leon. “How long have you worked at Swan’s?”

“I’ve worked there for a while. I worked there through high school and stopped for college—briefly—and then came back.”

“You’re not in school now?”

He shakes his head. “Wasn’t my thing.”

“Wasn’t mine, either,” Todd says.

“What is your thing?” Mom asks Leon.

“Uh.” He gives a nervous sort of smile, like he’s not selling himself so well here, but he looked for me last night. They’re already sold. He says, “I kind of run this Web site design and development business, actually. That’s my thing.”

“What?” I stare at him stupidly. “I didn’t know.”

“Really?” Mom asks.

“Yeah. I have a knack for coding and design, I guess. I started out making themes for blogging platforms and selling them and one of my themes got really popular about a year and a half ago and now I’ve extended my business into designing and developing personal and professional Web sites.”

“Nice,” Todd says. “So it’s doing well?”

“Yeah. I’m doing some author and up-and-coming band sites, some local businesses in Ibis. My sister sends all her friends my way,” he says. “I’ve got a few in the works right now. It looks like I’m on an upswing and I’d like to keep it going and turn it into my primary source of income. Scale back on hours at Swan’s.”

I’m stuck between the surprise of this and the guilt of finding it out, like I should’ve known or asked. I don’t know what to say.

“Well, that’s fantastic,” Mom says. “Holding two jobs like that. You like Swan’s?”

“It’s all right. I like the pace. Very fast. I like the people.”

“Like my daughter.”

Leon’s fork hovers over his plate.

“Mom,” I say.