“Be careful,” she chides you. “Mom’s going down on Thursday. I don’t know when, but I’ll send you a text to let you know the time, okay?”
“Okay!” Your voice is loud, probably far louder than is really acceptable. You see several heads at nearby tables turn to look at you, causing you to shrink back in your chair, ears burning. “Okay,” you mumble. “That would be nice.” She nods, the corner of her mouth turned upwards.
Before either of you can say anything more, though, the server returns, bearing with her two plates. “Here you go, little ladies,” Esmerelda greets the two of you, carefully placing two covered plates in front of you without disturbing your still-entwined hands. “Enjoy your meals.” She gives the two of you a practiced smile before walking away.
The conversation grows rather stilted after that. Now that the immediate topics of conversation have passed, you find yourself struggling for anything to talk about. You could ask how she’s doing with her lessons, but that seems kind of banal in the face of admitting your other relationships to her and being invited on an out-of-town trip. You could ask her about her work, but she always seems kind of stressed out about that, so that’s probably not a good topic.
Instead, the two of you just eat your lunch together in awkward silence. Even after finishing it, you can only sit there in an uncomfortable silence, staring at Amy as she finishes eating hers.
She’s cute when she eats. She hunches over the table slightly, and only ever takes small nibbles of her pasta, as though she’s afraid of dropping her food everywhere. Her tongue keeps flicking out over her lips, licking up the little bits of sauce that she can’t keep secured to the food.
Finally, she finishes, and looks up to see you staring at her. She squeaks, blushing a little. “What?”
You shake your head, smiling. “Nothing! You just look really cute, that’s all.”
She stares down at her plate, then looks back up at you and pouts. Your grin broadens.
Conversation you might not be so good at, but teasing? That you can do.
It’s nearly three by the time you stroll out of the restaurant beside a mirthful Amy. Your cheeks are bright red, as are hers; hers because you keep teasing her about her predilection for flat chests (“I don’t like flat chests!” she’d said indignantly, only to hastily backtrack when you’d glanced down at your own; “N-Not that there’s anything wrong with them! I bet they’re pretty great, but they’re not, but, they— shut up, Taylor!”), and yours because Amy is really, really cute when she laughs.
There’s still a lingering air of uncertainty between the two of you, though. It’s certainly amusing to poke fun at her tendency to blush all the time, but ever since your confession about your other girlfriends, you’ve been afraid to say anything too serious. You’re pretty sure she’s noticed—and she conspicuously avoided talking about it too.
Still, she didn’t slap you in the face and storm off, as you were half-afraid would happen. You can take silence on the topic.
“Alright,” Amy says finally, as the two of you come to a stop at the street. “I had a good time, but Mom will be here to pick me up soon. I’ll see you on Thursday?”
You nod firmly. “Definitely. I’ll be there.” She smiles at you, although unfortunately, doesn’t step forwards for a hug or a kiss or anything. Maybe your relationship isn’t there yet.
Her mother arrives around two minutes later. Amy gives you a wave, and her mother gives you a short nod of acknowledgement. You return Amy’s wave, hoping that neither of the two of them can see that your face is still red after you catch a glimpse of Amy’s mother. That woman is absurdly attractive.
Once the two of them have pulled away from the curb and began driving off, you pull out your phone and send Madison a short text—“Are you free for dinner tonight?”. Then you head back to the bus stop.
There’s something odd about taking two separate girls out on dates on the same day. You’re not opposed to the idea, not at all, but it still feels a little odd.
Madison texts you back once you’re on the bus. “Yes!! Where do you want me to go!! And what time!!”
You reply, having already considered it earlier in the day. “Remember your question marks. I want to eat at six. Do you like Mexican food?”
Her reply again takes a disconcerting length of time, well over twenty minutes. You’re used to her replying within five. “I’m not very good with spicy food, but I’m sure they’ll have some food I can eat.
”
“Good.” You send that as its own text message, then rapidly type out another. “Don’t forget your pajamas, since you’re staying the night.
” The address of the restaurant follows soon after.
The minutes tick down as you wait for your bus to get to the stop nearest to your house. Once you’re there, you head home, a small smile on your face as you go. The smile lasts until you open the front door, at which point it slides off your face almost immediately, transforming into a neutral look.
Dad’s in the living room, you find. He’s often in here—it’s where both the TV and the computer are. He turns his head as you walk in, giving you a rumbled “Welcome back, Taylor”.
You smile at him then. “Thanks, Dad.” You step into the room, taking a deep breath. “Would it be okay if Madison stayed the night tonight?”
He turns to look at you at that. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning, either. “Sure,” he says gruffly. “Do you want me to make some extra dinner for her tonight, or will she eat at her house?”
You shake your head. “I’m going out for dinner with Madison…’s family,” you lie glibly. He gives you a strange look, but doesn’t comment. “I’ll be going at about five thirty, but we’ll be back before eight, I promise.” You give him your most charming smile.
Dad nods slowly. “If you’re sure. Do you need me to drop you off?”
You pause. “Actually, that would be good,” you reply. “Um, I need to go have a shower first, though, and get changed.”
“Okay.”
It’s lucky that Victoria bought you so many clothes during her shopping trip, or you might be forced to dress less nicely for you dinner with Madison than you did for Amy. As it is, once you’re finished in the shower, you’re able to pull on an entirely different set of clothes that still feel presentable for having a formal dinner with someone in.
It’s not time to leave, so you head back out to the living room and sit next to Dad, bringing Victoria’s Harry Potter book with you as you go. You’ve already finished it, but you’re giving it back tomorrow, hopefully, so you might as well spend a bit of time rereading it.
A little before five thirty, Dad reaches over and grabs the remote. He turns to look at you, noting your sprawled form as you hold the book above you, trying to read it without having to bend your neck. His voice sounds amused when he asks, “Are you ready to go, Taylor?”
You nod, then wince as the movement causes you to hit your head on the arm of the couch. “Yes. I’ll just go put this book back.” You hurriedly run to your room and put the book back on your desk, then scurry back out to find Dad waiting by the front door, his car keys already in his hand. He turns and opens the door, leading you out to his car.
The drive to the restaurant is mostly silent, except for you giving Dad directions and the low sound of the radio. It’s not an unpleasant silence, just the kind of silence that grows between two people who live in the same house and don’t need to talk much. You’re used to this kind of silence.
Eventually, he pulls up in front of the parking lot of Tommy’s, the Mexican restaurant you’d asked Madison to meet you at. You kind of want to take Madison out to Moretti’s instead, but it’s probably not a good idea to take two different girls out on dates to the same restaurant on the same day.
You wave goodbye to Dad, who calls out his goodbyes and asks you to call when you need to be picked up as he peels away. Then, you head inside the restaurant.
It’s still ten to six, so unsurprisingly, Madison isn’t here yet. You pick a table in the quietest section of the restaurant, up near the back; you have to shy away from the corners, as there’s a family sitting in one and a large, fat man with a walrus-like moustache in the other. You pick one closer to the family than that man, then sit and wait.
Thankfully, it only takes Madison a couple of minutes to arrive. And when she does, you can’t drag your attention away from her.
Madison always looks cute, but there’s something sublime about seeing her wearing the clothes you picked out for her in public—not just in school, but out where strangers can see her, in your presence. You have to swallow dryly. Suddenly, you’re almost regretting telling Madison that she’s not allowed to spend all her money buying more.
You can tell when she notices you, because a smile immediately spreads over her face as she begins hurrying towards you. You give her a little wave, giving her a bemused look as she slides into the seat opposite you with a soft “Huzzah!”. Only then does she look up, her grin growing even wider as she greets you with, “Hello, Taylor!”
“Hello, Madison,” you return. “Did you remember to bring your clothes?”
“Mhm.” She nods, her grin diminishing until it’s back to its usual warm demeanour. “I left it with the receptionist. He said I could get it and my handbag back when we leave.”
You give her a pleased nod, causing her grin to widen once again. “That’s smart,” you praise her. “Did you remember to bring the clothes I told you to?”
She makes a pleased sound. “Of course. I even brought more of these to wear tomorrow.” She tugs on her clothes to demonstrate what she means.
You reach over the table, gesturing for her to give you her hand. She does so, her eyelids fluttering. “Good girl,” you purr. “But you won’t be needing them. I want you to wear my clothes tomorrow.”
“B—“ Madison inhales shakily. “Y—Yes. But, um, won’t your clothes be too big?”
“Yes.” You nod, giving her a sweet smile. “That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”
She nods quickly, letting out a breathy sigh. “Yes. Yes it is.” She shivers.
You give her a pleased smile. You weren’t sure whether she would take well to the idea. It’d struck you recently, when you’d remembered her reaction after you’d bought that jacket for the two of you to share. It’s not quite the same—wearing your clothes won’t restrict her movements, won’t bind her tightly against you—but your clothes do smell like you. And the idea of Madison going home in your clothes, being surrounded by your scent even while she’s away from you, well. You’re not going to lie to yourself; that’s an extremely appealing image.
You pick up the menu, humming a little. “You said you don’t like spicy food, didn’t you?” Then you lower it just enough that you can see her nodding her head.
“I’m not very good with spicy foods, sorry,” she says with a pout. “They sting my mouth.”
You hum, then quickly glance around the restaurant. Nobody is close enough to hear if you say anything, so you turn back to Madison and flash her a smirk. “If anything I bought you burned your mouth, I’d kiss it better,” you say stalwartly. “But you should just try the chicken enchiladas today. They’re not spicy.” With that said, you put up your arm, trying to wave one of the servers over to you.
It’s not all that easy to decide what you want for yourself—you’re not much for spicy foods yourself either. In the end, you settle on getting Madison some chicken enchiladas, and yourself a beef quesadilla.
The food doesn’t take too long to cook and bring out—a server is placing it in front of you barely fifteen minutes from the time you ordered it. You’re still busy asking Madison after her family (“Terry keeps asking me if you’re going to come over any time soon,” she complains. “I think he likes you better than me.”) and her job (“I just started this morning,” she informs you. “Dad has me cooking desserts, since that’s what I’m best at. He was impressed at how fast I was working, I think.”) when the plates are put down in front of you.
In between bites of your quesadilla, you continue asking after Madison’s personal life. There are some questions you’ve been meaning to ask her, anyway.
You wait until she’s finished most of her enchilada before you ask your first question. “By the way, Madison,” you begin. “I’ve been wondering, why don’t you hang around with your old friends anymore?”
She half-shrugs, the movement almost causing her to drop her enchilada. You grin a little, causing her to look down at her plate, abashed. “They weren’t my friends,” she mumbles. Neither of you has to clarify who you’re talking about—the gaggle of people that used to surround the Trio are clearly imprinted in both your memories.
“I thought they were,” you respond, slightly confused. “You used to hang around them a lot, didn’t you?”
She shrugs. “They used to hang around Emma, too,” she replies matter-of-factly. “But they weren’t her friends, either. They were all like me. They just wanted to hang around whoever was cool at the time.”
That’s a bit odd. They used to hang around Emma? Come to think of it, you haven’t seen Emma with anyone but Sophia lately at school. Actually, you haven’t even seen Sophia hanging around anyone except Emma. “And they don’t think you’re cool any more?” you ask, still a bit confused.
