The Distance Between Us
Page 25

The door lets out a whine as I open it. I can almost feel the tension hanging in the air waiting to combust. My mom sits stiffly at the kitchen table. The room is dim; only the under-cabinet lights shine onto the countertops. I flip on a light.
“How long?” is the first thing she says.
“A couple months.”
“He’s the boy you’ve been spending time with?”
“Yes.”
“What about Mason? I thought you and Mason . . .”
I shake my head no. “We’re just friends.”
She stands to face me. “Where did you meet him?”
I know she’s no longer talking about Mason. She’s back to Xander. “Here.”
“You met here.” She points at the floor.
“No, actually it was down there,” I say, pointing to the door. Maybe now isn’t a good time for a joke because her whole face tightens.
“You know that the Daltons are . . .” It’s like she can’t even say the word.
“Beyond rich? Yeah, I know.”
“Caymen . . .” She lets out a long sigh.
“What’s the problem? We like each other.”
“People like him don’t end up with people like us.”
I sigh. “Mom, please. This isn’t the eighteen hundreds.”
She laughs an ironic little laugh. “The richer you are, the slower time progresses.”
I give a fake gasp. “So are you saying he’ll be seventeen forever?”
“Caymen, this isn’t a joke.” She runs her hand down her face. “What will Mrs. Dalton think?”
I stare at her now-clenched fist, my state of euphoria finally gone. “What does this have to do with Mrs. Dalton?”
“You met her grandson in the store. She’ll think we’re unprofessional.”
“I think Mrs. Dalton likes me.”
“She likes you as the girl who waits on her, not as the girl who is dating her grandson.”
I blink once, the words shocked from my mouth. It feels like my mom just said, “Xander’s family won’t think you’re good enough for him, and guess what? You’re not.”
“You knew I wouldn’t want you to see him and that’s why you lied to me about who he was in the first place.”
I can’t believe my mom, who has been keeping so many secrets, has the gall to even speak right now. “Mom, you’re being ridiculous. We have fun together. Can’t you just be happy for us?”
“That’s all it is for him, though. Fun. Can’t you see that? You are just a little bit of excitement for him, Caymen, something different, until he’s ready to settle down for real.”
“Wait, did I give you the impression that I want him to propose marriage? I was going to wait at least another three weeks before I asked him about that.”
She completely ignores my sarcasm. “He’s having fun. It’s exciting: date the girl who lives above the doll store. An adventure. But he’s not playing for keeps. He’s going to break your heart.”
“Wow, no wonder why my dad never came to see me.”
“Your father never wanted to see you! That’s my point, Caymen. Don’t you get that? He left us.”
I’m breathing hard, my chest rising and falling in large movements and yet it feels like no oxygen is reaching my lungs. “Awesome. You think I can blackmail him? Show up at his work screaming, ‘Daddy’? Like Will Ferrell in Elf?”
“Caymen, joking about it isn’t going to help either of us feel better.”
It feels like someone is squeezing my heart in her fist. “Elf is no joking matter. That movie is a classic.”
My mom lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m here if you’d like to talk about how you’re really feeling. And I can’t stop you from seeing Xander, but if you trust my judgment or care about my opinion at all, you won’t.”
She doesn’t want to know how I’m really feeling. She just wants me to stop seeing Xander. “Your opinion has been noted.” I leave the room hoping I can breathe again soon.
Chapter 35
Saturday I wait outside the store. My mom and I have barely acknowledged each other all week, and I don’t want her to use this occasion as an excuse to restate her horrible opinions about Xander so I’m intercepting that possibility. I shift uncomfortably on my heels (which are actually Skye’s heels). I don’t wear heels a lot. But there are sacrifices I’m willing to make for Xander, and apparently I can add “heels” to the growing list . . . right after “relationship with mother.”
He pulls up in a sleek black sports car and I bite my lip. I had been kidding about him having more than one car. Why does he have to fit some stereotypes so well and disregard the others? It’s like he’s bent on proving my mom right on the surface so she actually has to make an effort to realize she’s wrong. She’s not going to make that effort.
He steps out of the car, and my heart lets me know that it still likes Xander, a lot. He looks amazing in a suit. His hair is slicked back tonight, making him look older than he is. His skin has a healthy glow from his trip to Florida.
“I missed you,” he says.
“Me, too.”
“You look gorgeous.”
Even though the dress fits me well it makes me self-conscious, hugging me in all the right places. And the fact that I bought it at a thrift store isn’t helping. The dresses tonight are going to be twice as fancy and a hundred times more expensive. “I feel like a fraud.”
“Why? Haven’t you been to a lifetime’s worth of these?”
“Oh yeah, tons.” I hit his arm.
“Well, you’re lucky. My mom forces me to go.”
“She’s right to force you. It would be a crime to deprive the world of seeing you in a suit.”
He tugs on the bottom of his jacket. “You like?”
“Yes. A lot.”
He wraps one arm around my waist and pulls me close, showering me with an array of scents, from toothpaste to aftershave. My heels make me stumble a bit, but I lean into him and catch my balance. I hug him and for a second worry that my mom is watching through the window, but his scent and his arms remind me what I’m fighting for. This. Him. It feels good to have him hug me. All the things my mom said about him and me seem to disappear in his arms.
He kisses my cheek. “You smell good.”
“You, too.”
He glances over my shoulder to the shop. “Are we going in?”
“No . . . no.” I hug him tighter. I wish I could take him inside. I wish my mom would get to know him, accept him like she did Mason.
“Okay.” He walks me to the other side of the car and opens the passenger-side door, helping me in.
After he climbs in as well, he starts the engine and then gives me a long look. “What’s wrong, babe?” Xander grabs my hand and puts it on his knee.
“Is that the pet name we’re going with? Babe?”
He backs out of the parking stall and starts driving. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s okay. It makes me think of the pig, though.”
“Are you putting in a request, then?”
“I’ve always been partial to sweetie, mostly because I’m not sweet so it makes me laugh.”
“How about dollface?”
“Ha! Only if you want me to cringe.”
“Okay, how about Subject Changer. That fits you well.” He squeezes my hand. “Nice try, but what’s wrong . . . dollface?”
I sigh. “My mom and I had a huge fight.”
“About me?”
“So arrogant. Do you think everything is always about you?”
“What was it about?”
“You.”
He smiles. I love his smile. I don’t want to talk about my mom. I want to talk about his smile or kissing. I could talk about kissing.
“What is it about me your mom doesn’t like?”
“Mainly that you’re rich. If you could just change that one thing, it would make my life a whole lot easier.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“Thanks. You’re so accommodating.”
“So she wants something different for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Different than her past?”
“Right. Basically she doesn’t want me to meet a rich guy, get pregnant, and have the rich guy run.”
“She attributes that to his money?”
“I know, it’s ridiculous.”
“So is that what started the whole living-above-a-doll-store thing?”
I think about how my father’s parents gave her the money to start the doll store. “Yes, actually.”
“So wait, have you lived there your whole life, then?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, she’s extreme.”
What does “extreme” have to do with living above a doll store? “In some ways, I guess.”
“I thought my mom was, but your mom wins the prize.”
The ballroom at the hotel is the most beautiful room I have ever seen in real life: big chandeliers, patterned tile floors, thick ceiling-high curtains. Xander steers me toward a table at the front and I take a deep breath. What was that lame advice Henry gave me before I met Mason? Oh yeah, be myself. I wasn’t sure that was going to work here. Maybe I could pick someone else to be for the night.
Then I see Mrs. Dalton, and I want to run and hide. Any other time in any other situation and her presence would’ve put me at ease, but after what my mom said, my hand feels hot in Xander’s, like a spotlight is being shone on our clasped fingers.
I stare at her too long because our eyes meet. Sweat beads along my forehead and I wipe at it. She smiles and waves.
“I think we’re being beckoned.” He winks at me with his word choice. I want to be playful back but I’m too nervous.
“Caymen,” Mrs. Dalton says. “I didn’t know you were coming. It’s so good to see you. I’m glad to see that Alex has worked his charm on you.”
“It was hard, Grammy. This girl wasn’t easy to sway.” He kisses my hand.
“Most things worth having aren’t.”
It might just be me, but that doesn’t sound like the response of someone who is mad her grandson is dating the help.
“You treat her nice or else.” She points at Xander with the warning.
“Aren’t you supposed to be saying that to her about me? I am your grandson, after all.” He bends over and kisses her cheek and whispers something that makes Mrs. Dalton laugh.
“What did you say to her?” I ask after we walk away.
“I told her that you are fully capable of giving and carrying out your own threats and you didn’t need additional bodyguards.”
“This is true.”
“I’m supposed to mingle for a little while before we sit down, but instead I will dance with you then we’ll find our table.”
“No.”
“You don’t want to dance with me?”
“No, I mean, sure, I’ll dance with you, but don’t pick tonight, your mom’s special night, to be the bad son. She’ll blame it on me.”
He laughs. “No, she won’t. My mom has actually commented recently about how much more responsible I’ve been. She attributes that to you.”
“I didn’t realize I was such a good influence on you, considering I’ve been the queen of irresponsibility lately.” According to my own mother.
“Come on, they’re playing our song.”
I listen for a minute. A live band in the corner is playing some classical piece, and as Lucas had mentioned there is no lead singer. “This is our song?”