Taking the Leap Read online

  “I don’t see the point of killing something just for my pleasure,” I tell her as I stroke the silky petals of a flower that looks so real it would be hard to tell it’s made of plastic. “Artificial flowers last forever, anyway.”

  “What are they supposed to do with them after the reception, though? At least real flowers can decompose, go back to the source,” Sam says.

  We both have good points, and we’re not arguing about it, just discussing, which I find refreshing and delightful. We’ve spent the past half an hour wandering these aisles with the excuse that we are scouting for things off Sam’s mom’s list. So far, we haven’t found a single damned thing.

  Sam shrugs and gestures down the warehouse’s vast aisle. “All this money for a party. It’s such a waste.”

  “Yeah. When I get married, I’m going to spend my budget on food and booze. No centerpieces. No favors.”

  “I don’t plan to ever get married,” Sam says.

  I turn to face her, walking backwards as we leave the sunflowers and move toward the lilies. “No? Why not?”

  “Umm….” Sam gestures at her scrubs and short hair cut, like that’s supposed to be an answer, then adds, “you know. Gay?”

  “Marriage equality is a thing, you know. There’s nothing stopping you from getting hitched.”

  She shrugs. “Need a girlfriend before I can get a wife.”

  No girlfriend. My insides twist and tumble with this news, even though I’d already casually asked Abby if her sister was single. Hearing Sam confirm it, though, makes me happier than I want to admit. Before I can say anything, though, we’ve made the mistake of rounding the corner to find Abby, her mom and my mom all huddled together over a display of hundreds of spools of ribbon.

  “Uh oh,” I mutter, taking Sam quickly by the arm and pulling her into a small, dark nook with an emergency exit door. “Red alert.”

  She’s laughing but trying to be quiet. We’re pressed together in the small, dim space, surrounded on all sides by fronds of silk ferns. It’s a little like being in a jungle, so I let out a little, low growl. Like a purr. I’m trying to be funny, but it comes out sounding more sexy than I mean it to. Or maybe, I think as I breathe in the scent of her, it’s exactly as sexy as I meant it to be.

  I hear the rise of Sam’s mother’s voice. Sam and I go silent. Still. Her breath is hot against my cheek. I’ve turned my head. I can almost feel her lips on my ear. Our bodies press together.

  My hand finds her hip, the lean curve of it beneath her scrubs. My fingers curl. I’m shaking, trying not to laugh and give us away. I’m shaking, trying not to kiss her. I’m shaking.

  Her hand slips around the back of my neck, holding me still. Her other one finds my hand. Our fingers link. Squeeze.

  I close my eyes, waiting for a kiss that doesn’t come.

  A moment after that, her mother’s voice fades away. Sam steps back. I look at her. She won’t meet my eyes.

  “We should get back out there,” she says. “I’m sure they’re looking for us.”

  She pulls away, but I take a chance and reach to snag her sleeve. “Hey. Hang on. What are you doing after this whole debacle’s over? Are you going to lunch?”

  “No, I have to get back to work.”

  Shit.

  “What time do you get off? Work, I mean.” The innuendo was unintentional, but I decide to go with it.

  Sam’s lips twist into a small grin. “Tonight, seven.”

  “Have dinner with me. We can bitch about our mothers. And get to know each other. I’ll pick you up around eight?” Damn, I’m bold. I don’t care.

  “Sure. Okay.”

  “It’s a date,” I tell her.

  Seven

  Sam

  * * *

  It’s a date.

  That’s just something people say, right? Jenna didn’t mean it’s an actual…date…I curse at my hair, which, after my shower, was supposed to have the perfect slant of spike and swoop, but instead is just sticking up all over my head like I’m a hedgehog. In the mirror, I stick my tongue at myself. If this isn’t a date, it won’t matter if my hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

  This isn’t a date. Abby’s never said a word about Tony’s sister being into girls, and I think that’s something my sister would have mentioned to me at some point over the last four years that she’s been dating the guy. Or Tony would have said something himself, you know? I mean, one of the first things anyone ever tells me is about their gay friend, cousin, co-worker, college roomie, whatever. They’re usually trying to be nice, to connect. Be inclusive. It’s not a bad thing, even if most of the time it’s totally unnecessary and sometimes, just plain awkward.

  I drag the comb again through my hair, adding a little wax to the front. I turn my face from side to side. I moisturize. I don’t like wearing makeup, but I take care of my skin. I brush, floss, rinse, spit.

  I put on a pair of clean skinny jeans and a pristine white v-neck tee. Should I wear the black one, or maybe the green? Shit, maybe I should go with a button down. Are jeans too casual? I have a pair of black dress pants in the back of the closet, but then I can’t wear my Docs and will have to find the black wingtips I haven’t worn in about a year.

  If this isn’t a date, why do I care so much about what I’m going to wear?

  It’s almost eight by the time I get myself together. I grab my wallet, make sure I have enough cash. Shove it my pocket. Shrug into my jacket.

  The doorbell rings, and I’m down the stairs two at a time. Abby’s not home anyway, she’s out with Tony. Mom will be watching TV in the den. I’m not quite fast enough, because Mom answers the door.

  “Jenna? Abby’s not here, she’s out with your brother.” The way my mother makes it sound, my sister’s out with a serial killer.

  Jenna steps to the side to look past my mother, and spots me. Her smile, oh, God. I could get lost in that smile.

  “I’m here for Sam.”

  “Sam?” My mother shakes her head, confused, and I push gently past her.

  “We’re going to dinner,” Jenna continues. “Me and Sam. Sam and I. Heading on out for something to eat. Jusssst the two of us. You know. As you do.”

  I’m staring kind of goggle-eyed at Jenna because of the words tumbling out of her mouth, but she’s wide-eyed and seemingly innocent. The best part is Mom’s face. She’s not sure what the hell is going on, but clearly, something is.

  She doesn’t like that. Mom doesn’t like anything that’s not somehow, even indirectly, about her. She especially doesn’t like it if she thinks someone’s trying to pull something over on her.

  “Since when did you two girls become such good friends?” She asks suspiciously. “Are you getting together to talk about the wedding? Because if you are, maybe I’ll —”

  “Oh, we couldn’t ask you to tag along, Mrs. Donovan, that would be so boring for you. Sam and I are going to that trendy place downtown, you know, the one where they serve the drinks in weird containers.” Jenna reaches past my mother and grabs the sleeve of my jacket.

  She pulls me a few steps toward her and the door. Beyond my mother, whose mouth is gaping now. And then we’re down the front steps and I’m in the passenger seat of her turquoise VW bug, and we’re speeding off from my house with a squeal of tires.

  “Holy shit,” I say when I manage to catch my breath after all that. “What the hell?”

  Jenna laughs, loud and long, and if I thought her smile took my breath away, that laughter is like…it’s like coming up for air after suffocating for so long you didn’t think you’d ever breathe again.

  Yeah. It’s that powerful. Unexpected.

  She twists the radio knob to turn on the music, and we’re driving fast with some good tunes playing, and she rolls the windows down so her hair whips around and I think oh, I could do this forever.

  Or about ten minutes, anyway, until we pull up in front of the place she was talking about. A new bar downtown, and let me add this, it is abs