“I’m a little early,” Xander says when I look up, surprised.
The clock on the register says twelve thirty. The party was supposed to be done a half hour ago. I hadn’t realized it was so late. Had I noticed I would’ve gone to the back and hurried them along, like I have to do a lot.
He walks closer and rubs a finger across his cheek. “You have something on your face. Paint maybe?”
“Oh. Yeah.” I wipe at my cheek.
“It’s still there.”
He’s walking closer, and I realize I’m still holding the paintbrush with the gold paint and the doll with the gold-flecked eyes sits on the counter in front of me. “Will you watch the store for a minute?” I blurt out, jumping off the stool, grabbing the doll, and heading for the back without waiting for his answer.
“Mom, you’ve gone over.”
“What? I have?” She claps her hands together. “Time to finish up, girls.” She throws me a look over her shoulder—a combination of “I’m sorry” and “you know me.” I do know her and that look makes me laugh.
“Are you done with that doll?” She picks up the electric heater off the counter to dry the eyes.
I look down at the doll in my hands. “Yes. Oh, wait. No. I messed up on it.”
She studies the doll’s eyes. “That’s kind of pretty,” she says. The gold streak across its pupil looks purposeful, like a shimmer. “I think you should leave it.”
“Okay.” I hand her the doll. “My friend is here.” Her eyes fly around the room with the announcement. “I won’t leave until the girls are gone, but just leave the mess for when I get back. I’ll help you.”
“Sounds good.”
I head back out front. Behind me my mom says, “Okay, let’s get this dolly’s clothes on.”
Xander is staring at a business card again when I come back out.
“There’s no hidden message there,” I say.
He puts the card back down. “You don’t have a cell phone.”
“Did the card tell you that?” I clean up the paints, closing their lids, and then wrap the paintbrushes in a paper towel to rinse off in the back. I glance over my shoulder, hoping my mom doesn’t come out right now. I’m trying to figure out how to ask Xander to leave the store without making the reason obvious.
“You’re never holding one, you don’t have a square lump in the pocket of your jeans, and you haven’t given me the number.”
“Your observation skills are getting better. Although I don’t think the last factor proves your theory.” I put the paints in a plastic bin. “I’ll be right back again. Why don’t you wait for me in the car, okay?”
He doesn’t move.
“I shouldn’t be long. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.”
I wait for him to walk toward the door then take the paintbrushes to the sink in the party room, rinse them with soap and water, then put them in a jar to dry. The girls are gathering up their things and comparing dolls. I hurry ahead of the group and when I round the corner see Xander still standing there. I stop in my tracks and the kids push around me. He smiles as the girls sweep by his legs. I whirl back around and maneuver through a few girls, blocking my mom’s view.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I think one of the kids left her jacket back there.”
“Okay. I’ll go grab it.”
One little girl stops by Xander. “You look like my Ken doll,” she says, staring up at him.
“I do?” he says.
She nods.
“Do you know who you look like?” He squats and starts to pull out his phone, but by this time I’ve reached him. I grab hold of his arm and drag him out the door.
“We have to go.”
He lets out a grunt. “Caymen, I was talking to that little girl.”
“Who is clearly delusional.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Clearly you look more like Derek, the brunette, than Ken.” I walk him all the way to his car and then say, “I’ll be right back.”
My mom has come out of the back room by the time I get inside. “I didn’t see a jacket back there.”
“I must’ve heard her wrong. Sorry.”
“Okay.” She sighs. “That was a fun party. The birthday girl couldn’t stop hugging her doll.”
“They seemed to have a good time.” I shift nervously from one foot to another. “Anyway, my friend is waiting. I’ll see you later?” I head quickly for the door.
“Hey, Picasso!” she calls.
I stop, thinking she’s seen Xander outside and is going to call me out. I turn slowly.
“You have paint on your face.” She sticks her thumb in her mouth then comes at me with it.
“Don’t you dare.” I wipe at my cheek.
She laughs. “Have fun.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry to leave you by yourself.”
“It’s fine, Caymen.”
“Thanks.”
Xander is sitting in his car fiddling with the radio when I get in. The smell of new leather assaults my senses. His car has more buttons and screens than I’ve ever seen in a car in my life.
He turns off the radio as I buckle my seat belt. “So you’re saying even if you had a cell phone, you wouldn’t give me the phone number?”