Shave Your Fucking Legs
Asa
“Dad. I’m out.”
Levi is standing near the garage door with his workout bag in one hand and the keys to his Jeep in the other as I come up from the basement wiping my face with a towel after working out. I have always used Crew’s gym, but I want to be with the kids more, so I set up weights and a rowing machine here.
“What’re your plans?” I ask. He graduates in two and a half months and will turn eighteen before that. He’s got his head screwed on straight, but he’s still a kid.
“Headed to the gym with the guys and then some of us are getting together at Jack’s.”
“Where does Jack live?”
He looks put-out, but tells me.
“Will Carissa be there?” I ask. He’s had a girl now for a couple months. He doesn’t bring her here often, but from what I can tell, it’s steady. I talk to him about respect, and each time he rolls his eyes like he’s heard it before, which he probably has from his mother, but I still shoot straight.
“Yeah, she’ll be there.”
“You need money?” I go on.
“I just got paid. I’m good.”
Maybe it’s the guilt in me for not being around enough when they were young, but I’ve never been stingy with my kids. They want it, I get it for them. I have the means to do it, so it’s easy. But, they’ve never taken advantage either. With spring around the corner, Levi has started back up at the golf course where he’s worked for the last year. He’ll take money if he needs it, but for the most part, he’s independent even though I still move money into his account every month.
I nod. “Home by midnight, bud.”
“I know. See ya.”
I move up the stairs to take a shower, but stop in front of Emma’s room. A room she hides out in for hours every day.
When she started this quiet shit, I let her be—gave her the space she wanted. When I started questioning her, she got defensive. Her defensiveness turned into teenage petulance, which then morphed into withdrawn, sullen behavior. When I get right down to it, I’ll take defensive and complaining all day long over this reclusive shit.
This scares the hell out of me.
I lean into the wall next to her door.
Exhaling, I decide to go with my gut. I’m over it. It’s time to get her shit figured out and that’s not going to happen by letting her lay around in her room all day.
I knock and wait. When I hear her small voice, I open the door. She’s bundled up in her bed watching something on her MacBook and doesn’t even look up to me.
“It’s four o’clock. Time to get up.”
She still doesn’t give me a glance. “I’m good.”
“It’s nice out. Let’s get out and do something.”
“I’m tired.”
I shoot straight with everyone and it’s time I start doing it with her, too. “I talked to Ms. Lockhart this week.”
Her head pops up and her eyes go big.
I don’t give her a chance to speak. “I’d met her once before but didn’t know who she was. I stopped to change her tire last week.”
She starts to frown.
“She’s pretty,” I offer the understatement of the century. Keelie’s fucking gorgeous.
That finally gets a rise out of her. She sits straight up in her bed and raises her voice. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to take her to dinner.”
“What!” she exclaims, her voice so high I’m surprised she didn’t shatter the fucking windows.
“I’ve decided that’s happening tonight.”
“Are you crazy? You cannot date my counselor.”
I enjoy the most reaction I’ve gotten out of my daughter in months. “Sure I can.”
“No, Dad. You can’t. It’ll be embarrassing.”
“Why?” I smirk, leaning into the door jamb. “Is she a bitch at school?”
“What?” She shakes her head a little. “No, not at all. She’s super cool and everyone who has another counselor wishes she was theirs.”
“Then it won’t be embarrassing.”
“Dad!”
“Get up and get ready. You’re going to dinner with us,” I inform her.
She gasps. “I am not going to dinner with you and Ms. Lockhart!”
“Your choice.” I reach for her door handle. “You staying home, burrowed in bed is a surefire way to guarantee we talk about you all night. She said she’s got little kids, so I assume they’ll be coming, too. You tag along—we’ll talk about the weather. You stay home—we’ll talk about you. I’m leaving in an hour.”
She starts to scramble out from under her covers in desperation. “Dad, you can’t—”
I don’t give her a chance to finish and slam the door as I announce, “I’m getting in the shower. Be there or be talked about.”
“Dad!” she yells again, but this time it’s drawled out into a million syllables.
When her door flies open to protest my plans, I’m in the process of shutting mine from across the hall. “See you in an hour.”
The last thing I see is my beautiful daughter standing in her bedroom doorway. Her chestnut hair is disheveled, she’s wearing pajamas that hang on her more than they used to from the weight loss she couldn’t afford, and her green eyes look tired. She’s a ghost of who she was months ago.
But moments later when I hear her bedroom door slam and banging around in her private bathroom, I smile.
I have no idea if pissing off my teenage daughter will work out in the end, but I’m sick of doing nothing.
And bonus. I’ll get to see Keelie in the process.
*****
We’re on our way to Keelie’s. Emma hasn’t spoken one word.
But she’s out of the house. Score one for me.
“I have to tell you something before we get there,” I announce to the silent cab of my truck.
She says nothing but shifts in her seat. When I look over, she’s scowling out the window at the passing woods. She took a shower and threw on jeans and a hoodie, but her hair is thrown up and still half wet.
I keep on as if she asked me to. “Ms. Lockhart doesn’t know we’re coming.”
When I glance over, she’s staring at me, this time with her mouth open. She whispers, “Are you serious?”
“Yup.”
“Are you serious?” she repeats, this time in a yell.
“Yup.”
She flops back into her seat and shakes her head. “I cannot believe this. Are you trying to kill me? Seriously. Just kill me. Tear me up and rip me to shreds. This is so embarrassing! I’m going to have to see her at school and she’s going to know my dad’s a freak.” Her eyes shift back to me. “You’re a freak. Who does shi—, I mean, stuff like this?”
I look back to the road and tip my head, wondering that same thing.
“Do you always do stuff like this?” she asks.
I throw her a frown. “No.”
She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “It’s like you’re desperate. That’s even more embarrassing. I should’ve let you talk about me all night. This is going to be miserable.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I told her I was taking her to dinner, she just doesn’t know it’s tonight.”
“It’s even worse than I thought,” she groans. “Maybe she’ll flat out turn you down and we can go home. I’m hiding in the truck. There’s no way I’m going to be present when my school counselor tells you to take a hike.”
“She’s not going to tell me to take a hike,” I promise, though at this point, I just hope she’s home. For some reason, I have a feeling she will be since she hates Saturdays, but who knows. I’m just glad I got Emma out of the house. “And you’re not hiding. She’s got kids—you need to get out and speak to some other humans for a change.”
She doesn’t have a chance to argue because I pull into Keelie’s drive and Emma sits up straight to look around. “Ms. Lockhart lives here?”
“I thought the same thing.” I throw it in park. The animals are making just as much of a commotion as yesterday, but today there’s a little girl added to the mix with miniature goats running all around her. She’s a little version of Keelie with lighter hair.
I climb out of my truck. “Come on. Don’t be rude.”
Even though our arrival has roused the animals, it doesn’t deter the child. Juggling what looks to be a baby goat in her arms, she somehow manages the gate and starts walking toward us. “Who are you?”
I put my hands on my hips and look down at her. “I’m Asa, a friend of your mom’s. What’s your name?”
“Saylor.” She struggles with the wiggling goat. It almost frees itself, but she holds firm. “This is Buffy.”
Emma must have remembered her manners, because when I look over, there’s a ghost of a smile on her face as she looks down at Keelie’s daughter with the goat. I almost have to do a double take because it’s the first time I’ve seen anything that resembles happiness on her face in months.
“Saylor, did I hear someone drive up—”
I turn around and Keelie appears from the garage and her words catch as soon as she lays eyes on me.
Her strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back and her face is makeup free. Wearing jeans and an old, oversized green t-shirt that advertises my kids’ high school football team, she’s spotted with white paint from head to toe. Without any of her curves on display, she seems even smaller as she stands barefoot in her garage with a paintbrush in her hand.
Her voice is low and breathy when she finally speaks. “What are you doing here?”
Liking what I see, I feel a slow smile spread across my face and announce, “Dinner.”
“Dinner?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah, dinner. I thought you might have your kids, so I brought Emma.”
She shakes her head and her eyes shoot to Emma, trying to find her words. “Yes, Emma. Hi. How are you?”
Emma shrugs and stuffs her hands in the front pockets of her hoodie and mumbles, “I mean, I’ve been less embarrassed, that’s for sure.”
Keelie gives Emma a small but genuine smile. “I can only imagine.”
“Mom!” Another voice comes from around the corner. “I’m hungry. When are we gonna hav—”
A boy appears and stops in his tracks when he sees us. Bigger than his sister, he has Keelie’s deep blue eyes, but he’s dark headed.
Keelie sighs. “Guys, this is Mr. Hollingsworth and his daughter, Emma. She’s one of my students. They just stopped by to say hi, but they’re leaving.”
“I’m hungry,” Saylor adds as her goat squeals.
“So am I,” I announce. “Where should we go to dinner?”
“We’re not going to dinner,” Keelie argues.
“Brooklyn Brothers!” Saylor sings, making her goat shriek even louder. “Pizza!”
“No—” Keelie tries again.
“Pizza sounds good,” the boy adds.
“It’s decided then. We’re going for pizza,” I say and offer my hand to her son. “I’m Asa.”
Forcing himself to move forward, he gives me his for a small shake. “Um…I’m Knox.”
“Good to meet you, Knox.” I look back to Keelie, whose eyes are wide. “Clean up your paint brush and we’ll go.”
She frowns and looks down at herself. “I’m covered in paint.”
She’s not lying. She even has some in her hair and on her cheek. “Get cleaned up. We’ll wait.”
“You wanna come see the rest of my goats?” I look down to see Saylor talking to Emma.
Emma shrugs. “I guess.”
I clap my hands once, causing Keelie to jerk. “It’s settled. You go get ready and we’ll hang out with the animals.”
Keelie looks down at herself again before glaring up at me shaking her head.
“Can you hurry, Mom? I’m starving,” Knox pleads as he moves past us toward the barn. “Come on, Saylor. You need to put Buffy back before you drop her.”
Saylor follows her brother, and it shocks me when Emma follows them both.
When they get out of earshot, Keelie lowers her voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I look to the kids who are distracted by the animals and couldn’t hear us if they tried.
Taking a step, I look down into her blue eyes as I bring my hand up. She tenses, but I don’t stop and brush my thumb over the paint smudged on her cheek. She pulls her lips in and shuts her eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was in pain.
This takes me by surprise. Instead of saying what I wanted to say, or touch her hair, or even pull her to me the way I did yesterday, I drop my arm. When she opens her eyes, they’re strained and full of something I can’t pinpoint.
As of right now, my goal is to figure out what that’s all about.
I lower my voice. “Let’s go feed our kids, Keelie. It’s just pizza. Everyone needs to eat and I dragged Emma out of the house. I’ll feel better if I get some food in her.”
She sighs, her expression resigned as she takes a step back. “Fine. But I need to get ready.”
“Take your time.” I smirk. “But not too much time. They’re hungry and so am I.”
She glares at me before moving back to the house.
*****
Keelie
“So, wait. Mr. I Can Change a Tire is at your house?” Stephie screams.
I finish brushing and spit toothpaste into the sink.
“Stop yelling at me.” I glare at her on Facetime as I rinse my mouth and spit two more times.
I wrapped up my paintbrush for later and cleaned up my paint tray, then proceeded to take the quickest shower known to womankind. I had no choice but to wash my hair since it was sprinkled with a neutral eggshell latex. I can’t seem to do anything in this damn house without covering myself in a mess.
“How does he know where you live?”
After we did our finest job making fun of Stan’s outfit last Saturday night, I told her all about my tire-changing hunk-of-a-stranger who came to my rescue. I went on and on about how he saved my white blouse, fancy heels, got me out of the ditch, and away from the sweater vest. But I’ve been busy and haven’t had a chance to tell her that Asa showed up at school and ended up being a parent of two of my students.
I give her the condensed version as I slap some powder foundation on my face.
Silence fills my bathroom and when I look to the screen, she’s deep in thought.
“What?” I ask.
“So, you’re telling me the man who came to your aid in your hour of need, the man who you described as sex on legs—and after two glasses of wine, lectured me that if I ever set you up with anyone else, it needed to be a man like him—is the actual man who is at your house right now? That same man wants to take my sister and her kids for pizza?”
“Yes,” I confirm before arguing. “But I didn’t mean I actually wanted to go out with him. I don’t want to go out with anyone.”
“But you did say that if you had to go out with anyone, it would need to be someone like him. And if my memory serves, your exact words were, ‘I need a real man who can change a tire without making a fucking phone call or looking it up online. That’s the kind of man I need in my life.’”
“Yes, but—”
“And you’re telling me that exact man—whom you compared all other men to—is outside right now hanging out with those damned goats?”
I drop my mascara and look at myself in the mirror, realizing what Stephie is saying. “And Jasmine.”
“Oh yeah. I didn’t mean to leave out the fucking donkey. Of course, he’s hanging out with Jasmine.” She raises her voice. “He must be fucking perfect if he’s hanging out with your donkey. Fuck me.” My sister’s language is worse than mine, especially when she’s throwing her trademark sarcasm around. “No, not fuck me. Fuck you! This is your chance, Keelie. Please, tell me you shaved your legs.”
Staring at myself in the mirror, my face is filled with horror at the thought of fucking anyone. As I stand here in my panties and bra with my hair rolled up in a towel, I bring my hands up to my body and really look at myself.
“Oh shit, Stephie. I have a mom-body.” Frowning, I push my boobs up a little, squishing them together, wishing they’d stay that way. Running my hands down my stomach that isn’t flabby, but it sure isn’t firm anymore, I think about how much I’ve changed since the last time I let a man touch me.
I never, ever officially work out. Who has the time with two kids, a house in constant disarray, and a shitload of animals to take care of? My workouts include climbing ladders, throwing a baseball, and literally, shoveling shit.
“Of course, you have a mom-body. You’re a mom, but a hot one. Why do you think Mr. Sexy-Arms stopped to change your tire to begin with? It damn well wasn’t because of Stan’s ill-fitted sweater vest.”
I look away from my boobs that nursed two babies to my sister on the screen. “I’m telling you, that sweater vest was the worst. It takes a special man to pull off a sweater vest. I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen it done in real life. Maybe only Ralph Lauren models on a horse.”
“Could this Asa pull off a sweater vest?”
I shake my head. “If Asa Hollingsworth has ever touched a sweater vest with a ten-foot pole, it’d surprise the shit out of me.”
“Well, there you go.” She raises her voice at me again. “For the love of God, shave your fucking legs!”
I close my eyes, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
“And what are you wearing? I wish I was there to pick your outfit, dammit.”
I say nothing. I haven’t given a thought as to what I should wear.
“Keelie?” she calls for me.
“Yeah?” I breathe, looking at myself in the mirror again.
She calms her voice. “Stop stressing. You know you aren’t going to let him fuck you tonight. Not with your kids and his daughter in tow. If I know my niece, she’ll monopolize him anyway. Still, shave your legs. It’ll make you feel pretty.”
I nod at myself in the mirror. Yes. I need that. I need to feel pretty.
I flip on the hot water in the sink and move to the shower to grab my razor.
“I’ve decided you need to go casual. So casual, it shouldn’t even be considered casual.” Stephie keeps talking, carrying on the conversation by herself. “It’s not like he called and asked you out, and you’re only going for pizza. Wear your tightest jeans with that long sleeve tee that says some shit about mimosas—it hugs your boobs. Then wear the baseball cap you bought when we were in the Outer Banks last summer. They don’t match, which is even better. You don’t want to look like you’re trying.”
I bring my leg up and put my foot in the sink to start shaving my legs, thinking the hat is a good idea. I don’t have time to do anything with my hair anyway.