I carry it over my shoulder.
One of her classmates looks at me funny. Like I'm a disgusting pervert dating a teenager.
Usually, I don't mind the judgment. I'm not old enough it's clear I'm her father. We both have Dad's blue eyes, but otherwise, we don't look like brother and sister.
People see a thirty-something guy in a suit with a teenage girl and they assume.
It isn't going to stop me from helping my kid sister.
I still carry her backpack, walk her out of the building, try to change the subject as we find seats at the restaurant.
But it wears on me today.
Is that how people see me, as the kind of asshole who dates teenagers?
No, not people.
Vanessa?
I care about her opinion.
As more than a friend.
More than a fuck.
Something else, something deeper and infinitely more terrifying.
Chapter Eighteen
SIMON
"This might work with Liam." Opal folds her menu. Sets her hands on the table. Looks me dead in the eyes. "But it won't work with me."
"What won't?" I ask.
"Really, Simon? You think I don't see the bait you're throwing at me? 'What are you wearing tomorrow?'"
"It's an honest question."
"You care what I'm wearing to the opera? Really?"
"I'm responsible for you."
"I'm eighteen. I'm responsible for myself. And Briar is coming over early to help me pick out an outfit."
"Isn't that what you did last night?"
"We picked finalists. Obviously. Nice try, though. Asking me about last night so I don't ask you where you were. Or who you were doing?"
"It's not interesting."
"Then why are you hiding it?" She shakes her head try selling that story to someone who buys it. Looks to the server as he drops off our drinks. Water. And Thai iced tea with coconut milk instead of sweetened condensed milk.
Opal hates when I "interrogate" the server, chef, or manager, but I don't let that stop me. If we go to a new restaurant, I'm going to make sure they take allergies seriously.
I call ahead. Spare her the horror of my concern.
But I still check when I arrive.
After we order, hand over our menus, thank the server, she reaches for her drink.
I stop her.
She sighs in that you're so annoying, Dad way of hers. I'm not her father, but I'm the closest thing she has. I don't mind the irritation.
It's my job. As her older brother. "Humor me."
She nods go ahead.
I test my drink. The unique flavor of Thai tea, creamy coconut, a hint of sweetness. "Perfect."
She nearly dives into hers. "Mmm. That is perfect." Once she knows food is safe, she eats and drinks with gusto.
With new foods or at a new place, she hesitates.
She doesn't think I notice, but I do.
"It's not a big deal if I accidentally have some milk," she says. "I carry Benadryl and an epi-pen."
"It's not a big deal to test drinks and talk to staff."
"Okay, fine. It's not a big deal. Now, you, hiding your activities last night… could be a big deal."
"Which dresses are your finalists?"
"The long black one, with the off-the-shoulder sleeves. But Bri got me opera gloves. So I'm leaning more toward the black dress with the thick straps."
"The short one?"
"You have my closet memorized?"
"I notice things."
"Uh-huh." She shoots me a get real look. "Are you going to pull out a ruler and check if the skirt is too short too?"
"No." I'm going to think it's too short. And hate the way men stare at her. But this isn't a fight I'm going to win.
"You're just thinking it hard."
"I didn't say anything."
"What was Vanessa wearing last night? Something short?"
I return her get real.
She laughs. "You look so weird when you do Liam expressions."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. It's just… off."
"Did you decide on hair and makeup?"
"Really? You want to talk about how I'm doing my hair?"
"Do you need help?"
"With…"
"I learned to braid."
She laughs. Looks to her long, dark locks hanging over her shoulders. "You're not bad. French. Dutch. Reverse Dutch. Maybe a crown braid." She drifts into the land of fashion.
I had no idea how much women think about hair, makeup, attire. I knew they put in effort. I appreciated the effort.
But I didn't notice they were held to high standards.
Expected to look polished without looking overdone.
Judged by the shade of their lipstick and hemline of their dress.
Of course, Opal spends a lot of time thinking about what she wears. To the rest of the world, that's who she is.
She's young. Still figuring out who she is. Still trying on different identities.
The sleek socialite.
The stylish artist.
The casual student.
The girly girl.
She pulls her hot pink backpack onto her lap. Finds her cell phone. "If you really want to talk about hair and makeup, I'll start pulling tutorials. Bri can do a great smoky eye, but she rocks her short hair. She doesn't know updos."
"I'm always ready to master a new skill."
Opal groans. "Simon… come on… Vanessa is coming tomorrow. Are you really going to make me wait twenty-four hours?"