Lipstick & Lattes Read online

  I nod, and in this moment I’m feeling more love inside me than I have in a very long time. I’m here with my entire family and everyone is smiling, and Ed is next to me, his arm around me, and out of the corner of my eye, I can make out his beaming smile, even that dimple. The happiness on their faces, I want to experience that forever. Every day. If my painting can do that, maybe I should consider it.

  “This is something, dear. Thank you.” My dad kisses me on the cheek—something he hasn’t done for years—and sets the painting down by the stoop. “We’ll hang that right in the living room.”

  My brother winks at me, and I mouth a thank you to him. This moment could not have happened without him.

  “Dinner is served!” Ricky pulls the meat off of the grill and places them on a platter. My mom brings out a couple of side dishes. I sit next to Ricky, and Ed next to me. My parents seat themselves across from us.

  “I’m glad you’re painting again.” My mom takes a piece of chicken with the tongs and puts it on my plate as though I’m a little kid.

  I was happy to paint the portrait for them, but I don’t want our conversation to turn into something about my career. I’ve had about as much as I can handle, being a disappointment. Even if I’m gravitating toward making a change, I still am certain the discussion will end up upsetting me. “I started again a few weeks ago.”

  “Well, I think it’s great.” The wide-mouthed grin on my dad’s face is rare. I want to photograph it and keep it in my pocket. A proud moment. “Has Whitney shown you any of her paintings?” His voice increases a few octaves as he questions Ed.

  “No, she hasn’t.” Ed takes my hand, touching his warm lips to it. “I hope she’ll show me more sometime.” When he winks at me, I want nothing more than to tug at his beard and pull him in for a passionate kiss. If I weren’t sitting in front of my family, I probably would.

  “She could have been an arts major.” My dad snaps off a piece of his asparagus and bears down on me with assuming eyes. “She chose a degree in makeup instead. Makeup. Did you even know there was such a thing?”

  Stay calm, Whitney. What would Drew Barrymore do? I don’t want to argue in front of Ed. This is his first time meeting my family, and it’s already going how I didn’t want it to, but I honestly thought it would. I called it from the get-go. Right now, I want to climb the tree in the backyard, sit on a branch, and never come down.

  “I’ve seen some of the makeovers Whitney has done. She’s a miracle worker.”

  Ed has never seen anything I’ve ever done. I appreciate him stepping in, though. I like he’s willing to go to bat for me, stand up for me even if he doesn’t know which side he should be taking. I think it’s time I show him another piece of me.

  “Mom, I want to take a weekend off and stay at grandma’s place.” I interlace my fingers with Ed’s, the desire for closeness required anytime I discuss my grandmother. “My grandma passed away about a year ago, but my parents still own her home up north. It’s on a lake. It’s gorgeous.” I direct my attention back to my mom. “I was thinking about July sixteenth and seventeenth.” That gives me time to give work a week’s notice.

  My mom’s face sinks, and she and my dad exchange troubling glances. I’ve seen these looks before, and they always end with me upset.

  “What’s going on?” I look to Ricky for answers. He only shrugs and scoops his baked beans with his fork, filling his mouth so he can’t reply.

  “Would someone care to tell me what’s going on?”

  This isn’t good. At all. I have an idea of what may be happening, but I want them to say it. I want to hear it from them.

  “Sweetie.” My dad begins as though a term of endearment will make everything better. “We had to sell it.”

  “What?” My throat tightens, and I yank at my collar for air. All my breath is being sucked out at me. My grandma’s house isn’t her house anymore? How can this be?

  “We closed two weeks ago.”

  “Two weeks ago? Why didn’t you tell me? We should have discussed this before you sold it to some stranger.”

  “We knew you would be upset, but we can’t keep up with the maintenance or the bills just to hold onto it for when you’re older. We want to retire some day, and it was sucking away our money.”

  “You can’t retire for like another twenty years so why give it up?” Harsh, yes, but I don’t understand. “Wasn’t her house paid for? How could it possibly be a money pit?”

  “Whitney, it’s not that it was a money pit.” Why is my dad even bothering to explain then? He scratches his balding head and releases a sigh. “The house wasn’t paid for. They took out a second mortgage years ago, and there are gas and electric bills, water, someone needs to take care of the land. That’s money your mother and I need for other things, to plan for our future.”

  As my dad pulls the rug from underneath me, everything blurs, and I’m trying to control my breathing. In and out, in and out, I can’t slow the pace.

  “Whitney,” Ed wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “Ssh, ssh, ssh. Take a deep breath. I need you to take a deep breath.”

  My grandmother’s house. The place we spent tons of Christmases, and swam in the lake in the summer, hiked through the trails, and picked apples in the fall. Gone. Gone.

  “Honey, we’re sorry but it had to be done.”

  I don’t want to hear what my mother’s excuse is. Even if as a family we made the decision to sell it, the difference is we would have made it as a family.

  Okay. I’m okay. I inhale as I close my eyes, pushing the tears away and settling my breaths. This is a lot of information to comprehend at one time. What’s done is done and there’s no going back. But one thing is for sure.

  I’ve lost my appetite, and I’m leaving.

  ••••••••

  I can’t go home. I don’t want to be alone, but I can’t deal with Josie’s sarcasm right now. There are certain times her sassy comments make me feel better, but this isn’t one of them. Hannah is at her mom’s house. When Ed offers to bring me to his apartment and make me coffee, I can’t deny him.

  His building is a four-family structure, so much nicer than the sixteen-apartment unit I live in. Not only is the building the perfect size, but his two-bedroom apartment is spacious with an open concept. I can see clear across from the kitchen to the living room and even sneak a peek into a bedroom. I wish I had this kind of space.

  I sink down into a chair at the kitchen table, pressing my elbows into the wood and my fists into my cheeks.

  “That was a tough meal.” The fact Ed says this brings me a little comfort, like I’m not wrong for how I reacted. He swings open a cabinet door and takes out two mugs. “How about a latte?”

  “A latte? I thought you invited me for coffee.” Did I enter The Twilight Zone? Since when is a latte considered coffee?

  “Oh, are you too much of a coffee snob to enjoy a latte?” He sticks his finger on the tip of his nose and pushes it up. When he returns his face back to normal, he chuckles.

  “No. I’ve never had one. I’ve tried those frappucino things but never a latte.” These are the drinks the people in front of me order that make me late for everything. Coffee, plain, takes ten seconds. A fancy one takes a couple. And I assume they’re sweet. Why does anyone want sweet coffee? If I crave something sweet, I’ll order a milkshake.

  “Prepare to be amazed.” He lifts his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes back, though I probably will be in awe of his skills. He does own my favorite coffee shop. He can’t brew for shit or put a cover on a travel mug, but maybe he can prepare a latte like no other.

  I observe him as he brews the coffee and then steams the milk with the frother. He grabs a tall bottle and pours something inside and then leans over my cup so I can’t see. A minute later he places the cup in front of me. In the center is a beautiful, artsy heart he’s drawn with the froth.

  “Go ahead. Try it.”

  He stands there waiting. What if I don’t lik
e it? What if I want to spit it out and demand a dark roast? I don’t want to be rude. I’m left with no choice but to fake it.

  I bring the cup up to my lips and cautiously tip it back so I only drink a little. The flavor shocks my system. What am I drinking? “This is like swallowing a flower. What is this?”

  “A honey-lavender latte. Do you like it?”

  I drink it again. And some more. I can’t even fake it. This may be the most spectacular thing to ever touch my lips. Well, besides Ed. “Yes! Should I follow this with yoga? I feel like I should. It’s so earthy.”

  “You can. Do you practice?”

  “No. I can hardly touch my toes. I’m not meant to bend that way.”

  He raises an eyebrow, and I realize how what I said must have sounded. I leave the remark hanging in midair. Let him think what he wants. I like that.

  “Am I being ridiculous about my parents selling that house?” I value Ed’s opinion. I need to know if I’m out of line.

  He lifts his coffee mug up and takes a long drink. He’s taking so long to set his cup back down on the table that I want to reach across and slam it down myself. I’m craving an answer. The entire situation is driving me nuts. Meanwhile, his face is expressionless and his lips are barely visible beneath the beard. He opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again. Speak! His delayed response makes me doubt myself. I want him to say what is on his mind, the first thing he thinks of. Most times the first reaction is the most honest one.

  “Please. Don’t try to sugar coat anything.” Sparing my feelings won’t do anything but make the situation worse.

  “It’s hard to say. I don’t know your family or the history with your grandmother. It sounds like she and the house were very important to you so I can certainly understand why something like this would be so upsetting.”

  “They sold it from underneath me.”

  He scratches his beard. “Tell me this. If they offered to sell the house to you, would you have been able to purchase it?”

  “No. I have student loans, and I make minimum wage at the mall. I need to plan for my future. Maybe eventually, I wanted to, but not now.”

  “Don’t you think your parents feel the same way? I’m sure they would have loved to have kept the house in the family but sometimes you need to make sacrifices to better your future.”

  He’s right. Damn if he isn’t right. My mom loved the house as much as I did and I’m sure Grandma would’ve hated it to be sold, but she would’ve understood. And I should, too. “I still think they should have told me before they did it.” Regardless of the decision, I won’t cave on the fact I should have been consulted. Sure, I can’t make the decision—the house wasn’t mine to sell—but I think my opinion should have been asked.

  He stands up from the table. “Maybe. They probably assumed you would react this way and thought it would be better to have the deal closed before they brought it up.” He reaches his hand out to me. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

  Intrigued, I follow him after I take another quick drink of my latte. This is fabulous, and I want the taste to remain for a while. He leads me through a hallway into his bedroom. I stop in the doorway.

  “No worries. I didn’t bring you in here to see how flexible you are. What I have to show you is in my drawer.”

  I’m still a little apprehensive about what it could be. Don’t most men keep their condoms in their drawer? I step in the room but stay close to the wall. It’s not that I wouldn’t be open to sleeping with him—I want to—but now I’m nervous. What if I do something wrong? What if I read his signals incorrectly? What if he imagines this incredible night, and I’m average?

  “Don’t be so afraid.” He opens his drawer and retrieves a photo album. “This is what I came in here for.”

  He sits down at the end of his bed which is covered by a plain, dark blue duvet. He holds the album in his hands as he waits for me to sit next to him. I sit on his left side and he opens the album up immediately.

  When he flips open the album, the first photo is a Polaroid of a middle-aged man standing in front of a building. “This is my grandfather. And this was his coffee shop.”

  “He owned one too?”

  “He sure did. The shop was very successful, but he ran into some difficult times and fell behind on a few things. He was forced to shut down, too.”

  I hate he adds “too” to the end of the sentence. He’s not losing Perc Me Up. His grandfather may not have been awarded a second chance, but Ed is. “That’s terrible.” There is definitely resemblance between Ed and his grandfather. From the bright eyes to the beard, except his grandpa’s is longer. “He looks so happy.”

  “That’s because he was. He was so upset when he had to shut down the shop and go back to working in the factory for his dad but one great thing came out of his café.”

  “What’s that?”

  He flips the page in the next photo is his grandfather with a beautiful woman in a wedding gown. They appear to be standing inside the coffee shop. “He met the love of his life there.”

  A little whimper comes out as I hold back tears. The two are smiling at each other in matching adoration, her arm draped around his neck, the bouquet of flowers resting on his shoulder. “That’s amazing.”

  “It is. My grandparents were wonderful people. I really wish I could have owned his coffee shop, but it closed before I was even born. Sometimes I drive past the building. Now it’s a paint store. Prior to that an auto store. Before that, dry-cleaning. I’m sad I couldn’t open Perc Me Up there, but that didn’t stop me. The sentimental value isn’t gone because our cafes don’t share the same soil. Things change but you just need to change with them.”

  I’m touched by the story and appreciate where he’s going with it, but I’m still upset with my parents. Dropping a bomb on me like they did is a big one, one that I can’t see the good in the change quite yet. Maybe I will, eventually, but not now. Now it’s too much.

  “Coffee shops are my favorite place in the world. I visit them wherever I go. Forget the big chains. I want to spend time in the small shops like mine. The small businesses. My grandpa met the love of his life at one, and I think I may have, too.” With his hands still on the photo album he leans in and presses his lips to mine, his mustache tickling my skin.

  I giggle as we separate and he stares into my eyes. In a roundabout way, I think he’s telling me he loves me. Who knew that April Fool’s Day would lead me from a disastrous day to such a wonderful man? I guess the joke was on me. “Ed,” I whisper, “I’m ready to see that cute butt of yours.”

  The photo album crashes to the floor as he wraps his arms around me and we fall back onto the bed. I can’t believe this finally is happening. I’ve waited weeks for this. As his hands move down my side and he pulls my shirt up, his warm kisses against my neck, I’m lost in him, and I never want to be found.

  ••••••••

  Ed’s hands interlaced with mine as we lie in his bed together is as close to perfection as I think I’ll ever find. What did I do to get so lucky? How did I land such an amazing guy? Ed is so different from the men I usually date. Hell, after being with Ed, I barely classify any past suitors as men. Boys. Boys with no direction in their lives. No hopes. No dreams. I’m in love with Ed’s ambition for work and life. It matches mine. He’s light years ahead of me, but I’ll get there. With him by my side, I can do anything.

  “Tell me, have you ever thought about going out on your own?”

  I’m lacing my fingers and stroking his palm as the late afternoon sun steals its way through the blinds. “What do you mean? Like getting my own place?”

  “No. Like in your career. That Mary Kay lady built an empire with makeup. Maybe you could do the same. Or Avon.”

  I don’t know why but I break into a chuckle which leads to uncontrollable laughter. He might as well be tickling me.

  “What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?”

  “I’m sorry.” I say it four time
s before I finally gain control of myself. “It’s… I’ve never imagined myself as this successful businesswoman.”

  “Then what are your goals? I never knew you liked painting. Maybe there’s something there. You’re so talented.”

  “What, though? I don’t want to be a starving artist. With this job I at least have stability.”

  He strokes my hair, gently tugging at it as he moves it behind my ears. “I thought I had stability at the café.”

  “That’s it. We’re getting this fundraiser under way. We’ve been so preoccupied with other things we haven’t moved forward with this. We only need about a month to plan. So what is today? The Fourth of July?”

  “How could you forget a day like today? Especially after the fireworks show we just had.”

  I reach up and press my lips to his. He’s not kidding. After all my worry, we fit together perfectly. “The first weekend in August. That will be the fundraiser.”

  “Perfect. Now that we’ve made a decision on that, have you made a decision on your career?”

  “There’s not really a decision to make.”

  “Are you going to work at the makeup counter your entire life?”

  His question stops me. Is this Ed talking to me or Ricky and my parents? Why is everyone questioning what I’m doing with my life? “What if I do? Does that somehow make me less attractive to you? Would you consider me a failure because you own your own business, and I spend my days playing makeup?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Maybe not directly, but it sure sounded that way.”