Naturally I overslept, so when I woke up I only had time to do the essentials and run the flat iron over my hair. It’s a shame too, I’d picked out this really cute skirt but, well, you know I was too damn lazy to shave my legs today.

            Instead I tried to overcompensate for this by putting on my most booty shaping jeans to hide my lack of a badonkadonk. I swear to God every woman in my family is notorious for her curves. Nothing but hourglasses and pear shapes. Then I come along and its Like God said, ‘Evie Harper I shall bestow upon you the hips of a boy-child. Mwahaha. Try and get ye groove back with that, missy!’

            But hopefully my date will be satisfied with a big smile as opposed to a big butt.

            I finished the look with a nice dress shirt and heels, styled my hair, and did my make-up. I was just putting on lipstick when the doorbell rang. He was standing in the hallway wearing a crisp white collared shirt and khaki slacks. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him.

            “You look great,” he said from the doorway.

            “Thank you.” We smiled at each other, holding eye contact for a little too long. I grabbed my purse and locked the door.

            “So,” he said as we walked down the hall. “I was thinking we’d see ‘Peace and Punishment’.”

            “Is that a cop movie?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

            “I like to count all the inaccuracies. What do you want to see, a chick flick?” He gave me this cute little lopsided smirk as we stepped into the elevator.

            “Why don’t we compromise with a horror flick?”

            “Are you trying to scare me into your arms?”

            “Am I that obvious? And I was trying to be so smooth.”

            When we got downstairs and to the parking lot he walked ahead and opened the passenger side door of his pick-up truck; an unnecessary gesture but too cute and much appreciated. We kept on with the casual flirting all the way to the theatre.

            As we were standing in line, me hugging my sweater closed against a slight unexpected chill, he said, “I can’t believe you’re an only child. I have three older brothers and one younger brother.”

            “Four? Seriously? I couldn’t even imagine.”

            “I couldn’t imagine being an only child. It must have been lonely.”

            “Naw, I spent a lot of time at Henry’s house anyway.”

            “You talk about Henry a lot. You two must be close.” The atmosphere grew tense for a moment as he cocked his head slightly, his eyes searching. I’m not sure if I like him trying to use his cop powers to read my reactions.

            I spoke deliberate and measured. “Yeah, like brother and sister.”

            The air around us calmed and his smile returned, pacified. When he saw me shiver he removed his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders.

            “Thank you,” I said. As he pulled the jacket around my shoulders his arms lingered. His face softened and he stared with pointed attention at my lips. From that intense but brief moment I knew he was contemplating whether or not it was too early in the relationship to kiss me.

            And it would have been way too soon. It’s like, five minutes into our very first date. Certainly we can’t just start making out in the ticket line. But then again, as my Grandma Sophie always says, “Bitch, you better seize that day.”  

            I was saved from having to give the go ahead signal and risk coming on too strong too fast by the clearing of a throat.

            “Excuse me, could you move up please?” said a man behind us.

            Manny let go of a frustrated sigh, “The line moved three feet buddy. I’m busy over here.”

             “We should all be so busy.” The three of us laughed at that as Manny and I stepped ahead three spaces.

            “So you have four brothers,” I said.

            “Yep. My little brother’s about your age.”

            “You say that like I’m so much younger than you?”

            “I’m thirty-one. That’s a five year age difference,” he grinned. “But I guess I’m not opposed to robbing the cradle just this once.”

            “Very funny—“ But before I could finish the right side of my body broke out into a pleasant tune, and started to vibrate. Manny reached into the right jacket pocket of his coat and pulled out his cell phone. Reading the screen his brows knitted together and his disposition stiffened.

            “Juarez.” He answered.

            My heart dropped and I started to let the disappointment sink in before he was even off the phone.

            “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” he said. “Uh huh.”

            When he hung up I sighed and looked down, trying not to let my feelings show. “It’s okay, really.”

            “I’m sorry, Scooby,” he said. “It’s important. Can we take a rain check?”

            “Of course.”

            The whole ten minute ride back to my apartment we tried to pack in a dates worth of getting to know each other. He learned that I never knew my father, hate hot weather, and that I am a Cancer. I learned his father died three years ago, that he’s always wanted to be a cop, and that he hates oranges and loves baseball.

            Despite our ruined date I still had fun the whole twenty-five total minutes we were hanging out. He’s surprisingly comfortable to be around—you know, for a cop.

            When he walked me to my door there was no kiss goodbye as the moment had passed, but he promised to call so we could try again.

            When I got inside my apartment my disappointment returned. I put on my badonkadonk shaping jeans for nothing. And I know he appreciated that, I caught him starring a couple times.

            I was beyond too hyped to sleep even though I wanted to, so instead I undressed and curled up in bed with a warm mug of tea and my laptop. I tried to do a little business, but got bored fast and resorted to spending the two hours before bedtime surfing the internet.

            With nothing to do I fell into the default of Google entertainment; searching for people I knew. On a whim I typed ‘Abbey’ into Google and got exactly nothing. It turns out Abbey is like a super popular name or something, so I was just going to have to cool my jets on that front until I could ask Harley.

            I ran across a couple of old articles about Jackson. Pasha’s Facebook page was just as annoying as you’d think. I almost gagged at the fortune cookie-esque words of wisdom, terrible underground bands that should stay buried, and its proud proclamation that yes, she is indeed vegan—as everyone should be. I looked up Harley, whose page was model centric, and even my accountant, Alice. Everyone else’s page was similar, a testament to who they were (or thought they were) as people.

            I myself did not have a Facebook page as I don’t really care that much, but Taste Teas did. My afternoon employee Lana insisted that it should have one. I didn’t see the harm, so I let her go crazy. It was surprisingly tasteful for something made by a teenager, she kept it clean, precise, and to the point.

            I was just about to doze off when on another whim I typed Johnny Ishikawa into Google. I’m not even sure why I did it or what made me think of that near constant scowl face of his, but I did. I got too many hits for that so I was going to have to try a line of keywords. What did I know about him? He’s from New York. He’s an artist…That’s about all he’s ever given me.

            But I typed it in anyway. I didn’t find him on Facebook, not that I expected to, but the fifth hit on Google caught my eye. The website was some small time art magazine published from New York. The article was dated from four years ago. When I opened the link my eyes immediately caught the picture of a beautiful young woman.

            The woman was standing in front of a large abstract painting, overalls on, hair in a sloppy bun, and smile on her face. I knew that face, even though we’d never met. It was the woman from the painting. This had to be about my Johnny.

            I’d only seen his painting one time, when I’d been snooping in his room at the Gregson’s boarding house. It was the same creamy skin and fine glossy black hair. The eyes were less troubled this time; happier—but still off. The headline was bleak:

            Local Artist Found Dead

            She must have been some artist to get her own article like this. Somehow it felt wrong; like I was crossing some boundary of his, but I read on anyway. Today the art world has lost a treasure, blah blah. Grace Narita (21) was a unique—so that’s her name. Her understanding and grasp of styles from abstract expressionism to cubism, the hell? Something, something tragedy when she—

            I stopped reading after that. It took me five minutes before I was able to regain my composure and push on.

       —When she took her own life. She was found by her boyfriend, Jonathon Ishikawa (23), who had stepped out to run an errand and cut her down after his return. After an initial investigation, the police have ruled the death a suicide. Beloved by all—

            But I couldn’t read anymore after that. I was too shocked, too shaken, and too…sad. I got what I wanted. I learned more than I ever knew I wanted to know. I can’t even imagine the pain he must have felt. To lose someone that way…

            I shut down the laptop and put it away, ready to finally end this whole miserable day when the phone rang. I picked it up off the nightstand and answered.

            “Hello.”

            “Hey Evie,” Henry said. “Dad and Harley finally got home.”

            “Oh yeah? How’d it go?” I slumped down on the edge of the bed.

            “Okay, I guess. He’s staying at my parent’s house. You want me to call and ask him for her name?”

            “No. It’s getting pretty late and I bet he’s tired. I’ll just go over there tomorrow and ask him everything I need to know.”

            There was pause on his end of the phone. “So I guess that means you’re going through with it.”

            “Henry if there’s a chance I can help your family, I have to at least try. All of you were always there for me when I needed you.”

            “I guess so,” he sighed. “How’d your day go?”

            I flopped back on the bed, starring at the ceiling. “Awful. I’m never drinking again.”

            “You always say that shit when you know you don’t mean it. Last night was crazy!”

            “You remember what happened?”

            He laughed. “Bits and pieces. Don’t you?”

            “I remember dancing…and drinking—and am I crazy or did we do a drunken performance of ‘Endless Love’?”

            “No, as usual when we kicked off our shoes and jumped on that table we sang our infamous rendition of ‘Summer Nights’ first. ‘Endless Love’ was the encore. That’s our show stopper. You know that.”

            I laughed, fully relaxing for the first time today. “As it should be. How’d we do?”

            “They loved it! We had people clapping and singing along…Lauren’s a little mad though. She was a little less than pleased when we got our feet print on those expensive tablecloths.”

            A deep yawn overcame me as I said, “Hey, that’s as good of an initiation into the family as anyone will ever get.”

            His soft laugh echoed in my ear as at last, I drifted off to sleep.