Overprotected Page 18

  “I think there’s one more,” Mom says, counting the number of tables we’ve already put together.

  I look around the backyard and picture it the way I think it will be that evening, with the sun going down, the candles and flowers, the way it would look kind of dreamy. It was going to be beautiful.

  “Yep,” I agree. “One more table and then we can get to work on decorating them.”

  Zane tacks down the lights he’s handling with a few more cracks from the staple gun in his hand. I look in his direction. I’ve been doing that all morning. I can’t seem to make myself stop.

  I’d thought I’d gotten a good idea of his newfound gorgeousness the night before, but in the daylight it’s even more obvious. In jeans and T-shirt — both of them fitting him perfectly — I can see how much muscle he put on. His face lost most of the boyish look too and it really suits him.

  “Don’t work too hard,” Bev says, sitting on the patio. “I want you both to be able to actually enjoy the party tonight.”

  “Maybe I’ll take a nap,” I suggest.

  “You are far too young to need to take an afternoon nap before a party,” Mom tells me.

  Zane snickers from where he’s almost finished hanging up the strings of lights.

  “It’s just good sense,” I point out. “I used to do it in college too. Take a nap, that way you can stay up until four in the morning.”

  “Just admit it, you’ve turned into an old woman already,” Bev says, grinning at me.

  I roll my eyes. “Not at all!” I can feel my cheeks heating up.

  “Harper was always an old woman,” Zane chimes in.

  “Hush, you!” I scowl at him playfully. “You don’t get to have an opinion about me, considering you spent an entire year after high school doing little more than partying.”

  “I’d rather have been a party-boy in my younger years than old before my time,” Zane says, sticking out his tongue at me. Something about the way he does it, in spite of the fact that he’s done that to me hundreds of times from childhood through when we parted ways after high school, sends a little jolt of heat through me.

  “I’m not old before my time, I just believe in balance,” I say primly. “Besides which, I highly doubt this party is going to keep going until four in the morning.”

  “You never know,” Bev says. “Before we became mothers, we could have partied until dawn and then gone to work.”

  “Yeah, but that was before you had us,” Zane said. “You’re out of practice.”

  Mom and I grab the last table and pull it open, settling it onto the grass and making sure it’s not going to wobble, and we head for the patio, where Zane is finishing the lights.

  “Tables down, lights done,” Zane says, jumping from the last rung of the ladder. “What else have we got to do, Mom?”

  “Your dad and I have the living room cleared, so as soon as the flowers get here, we’ll be ready to finish everything up,” Bev says.

  “Do you want any help with the food before people start arriving?” Mom starts sorting through the candles, putting them into the groups that they should be in for the tables, and I help her.

  “I think I’ve got it under control,” Bev replies. “Besides, aren’t you bringing something too?”

  “We’re going to make a couple of things,” I say. “That yogurt dip everyone likes and Mom talked me into making pasta salad.”

  “I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” Zane says, giving me a little look that I might have thought was flirty coming from anyone else. “Five years out of high school and you’ve become the perfect woman.”

  “She works too much for that,” Mom counters. “Never goes out, always staying up late on some project.”

  “That’s because she hasn’t found a guy to sweep her off her feet yet,” Bev says. “Besides, nothing wrong with a woman who isn’t afraid of a little hard work. Most men are hard work.” She gives Zane a nudge. “If this one ever finds someone willing to put up with his crap, I will get down on my knees and worship her as a saint.”

  “I thought you army types got married young,” I tell Zane.

  “Some do,” he admits. “The rest of us enjoy being footloose and fancy free for a while.”

  “Neither of our children is ever going to give us grandkids,” Bev tells my mom with a sigh. “Maybe we should pool money and adopt a grandchild.”

  I roll my eyes and Zane does too. “Haven’t you heard? Our generation in general is having kids later,” I point out. “It isn’t that you won’t get grandkids, it’s that it’s not financially feasible for us to give them to you until we’re over thirty.”

  “You tell ‘em,” Zane says.

  “All right, all right,” Bev says. “I can wait a few more years to have grandkids. But if neither of you are married in five years, we’re going to get you both green card spouses.”

  “Besides, how do either of you expect to get to twenty-five years of marriage if you don’t get started until you’re over thirty?” My mom asks.

  “As proud of you as I’m sure both of us are,” I say, “I don’t know if I can even imagine being married for twenty-five years.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  ZANE LEWIS

  It’s about an hour and a half before the party, and everything for it is finally just about done. Mom has left the kitchen to get changed. Dad’s sitting in the living room waiting for people while watching a recap of the last football game. Harper and Nadine have even gone home. All I have left to do is to take a shower, put on some of my better clothes and present myself.

  I strip out of my sweaty T-shirt and jeans, kick off my shoes and grab a towel from the closet before I head to the shower. The house looks great, I can’t deny that. It’s nice to know I won’t be on duty for another several days and good to see Harper again too. I take off my boxers in the bathroom and kick them onto the floor, starting the water in the shower and giving it a chance to warm up before I step in. Really, really good to see her again.

  I grin to myself as I step over the ledge and let the water rain down on me. Before I’d left to start basic, Harper had still had that school nerd vibe down. All she was missing was glasses and one of those grandma sweaters to look like the campus librarian.

  I lather up and start scrubbing down, and I can’t help thinking about Harper a little more. If it weren’t for the fact that we lived next door to each other our entire lives, I don’t think we would have hung out at all in high school. We didn’t hang out that much anyway, at least not at school. I was busy with my buds, and Harper was busy doing all that extra-curricular stuff like honor society and drama club and whatever else it was she was doing.

  But this new Harper, the grown woman she’d become, was actually kind of cool. Living in the city, looking really good, with a good job. How the hell is she not with someone? I rinse myself off and get started on washing my hair, thinking about the question.

  I remember Harper’s mom and mine teasing her about being old before her time and joking about her lack of social life. It really isn’t all that surprising, when I think about it. Thinking about Harper makes me start to get hard, and I turn the water on cold for a quick blast. What’s wrong with me, thinking like that?

  I get out of the shower quickly before I can be tempted to indulge myself, and dry off and go back to my room. I look out through the window and catch sight of just a second of Harper moving past her own window. She’s got a bra and panties on, her hair done, but other than that she’s undressed and unaware that she’s being watched.

  I turn my back on the window, close the blinds and start getting dressed. I force myself to stop thinking about her like that. It’s not a formal event, so I decide to wear a pair of khakis and a dress shirt. I put on a pair of socks and my dress shoes, check to make sure my hair looks all right, and I’m done.

  Dad’s sitting in the living room, still watching the TV, and Mom is hurrying through the house back to the kitchen, her clothes on but her make-up not done yet.


  “Are you sure you don’t want me to help with anything, Mom?”

  “Thanks, sweetie. I’ve got everything under control.” Mom runs around the kitchen, pulling something out of the oven and setting it where it can cool. I have no idea what it is, but it smells amazing. After spending half the day setting up the house for the party, I’m already starving, but I know better than to ask Mom if I can snag some.

  “Wait until she goes to do her make-up and hair, and then we’ll grab some of the meatballs,” Dad mutters to me, and I snicker.

  “Done,” I agree.

  We wait for Mom to do whatever it is she’s doing in the kitchen, and she scurries back to the master bathroom to finish getting ready before people start coming over. As soon as Dad and I are both pretty sure that she’s occupied, we head into the kitchen and grab some of the meatballs simmering in the crock pot.

  “So it’s been a while since you saw Harper. She’s looking good these days,” Dad says, as we eat in the living room as quickly as we can.

  “Yeah, she doesn’t look bad at all,” I agree.

  “Weird she isn’t with anyone,” Dad adds. “Usually girls get into the city and then get involved with one guy after another until they find a good one.”

  I laugh, rolling my eyes. “She’s not a cliché,” I point out. “She’s picky, anyway. Always has been.”

  “Picky never lasts that long,” Dad counters.

  “Obviously it does,” I tell him. “Seeing as how she isn’t with anyone right now.”

  “Speaking of which,” Dad says, “when are you going to get tired of the merry-go-round and settle?”

  “Not anytime soon, I can tell you that,” I reply.

  “I get the allure,” Dad says, finishing off his meatballs. “But at some point, whatever your career trajectory, you’re going to appreciate having someone who can make things stable, hold everything down.”

  “I don’t even know what my ‘career trajectory’ is,” I tell him. “I don’t know what I’m going to be doing in the next six months.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Dad says. “I mean, after all, whether or not you’re seeing someone seriously will probably figure in whether or not you decide to reenlist.”

  “Whatever, old man,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m nowhere near figuring that out yet.”

  “You should figure it soon,” Dad says to me. “And expect that people are going to ask you about it this week.”

  “Not if you and Mom don’t tell them about it,” I point out.

  “People are going to do the math, son,” Dad counters. “They’re going to figure you’re close to finishing your time. Even if they don’t, you’re going to get the question of what you plan on doing after the army anyway.”

  Before I can say anything to that, there’s a knock at the door and I get up to answer it. The first of the guests is one of my dad’s coworkers and his wife. Mom comes out of her room before I have any chance to say anything other than hello, and I move out of the way to let my parents take over.

  It’s going to be rough until some people’s kids get here, I think. At least Harper should get here soon, and I’ll have someone to talk to.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HARPER POLSEN

  I follow my parents across the lawn to Bev and Nolan’s home where the party’s already in progress. The tables look great, the candles lit, the flowers all perfect, and with the sun starting to take on the gold-yellow glow of late afternoon, it’s magical. A few people are milling around outside, smoking cigarettes and chatting, eating the snacks that either Bev made or people brought with them.

  Most of the people at the party are folks I recognize more or less immediately. The neighborhood party would be in a few days, and then my parents were going to have the Lewises over for dinner after that.

  I’m carrying some stuff that Mom and I prepped for the party — pasta salad that I made, and Mom’s yogurt dip with some veggies and some pita chips. I hurry into the house while Mom and Dad are saying hello to everyone outside, and spot a handful of people my own age.

  “Hey, good to see you,” one of Bev’s coworkers’ kids says to me, and I smile at her. She helps me open up the yogurt dip and snags a taste of it, leaning in closer. “Be on the lookout,” she murmurs, “the parentals are trying to play matchmaker.”

  “Oh God,” I groan, opening my pasta salad container and shaking my head.

  “I know, right?” I remember suddenly that her name is Natasha. “I haven’t told my parents I’m seeing this guy, so they think I’m still single, and they have not got off my case all night.”

  “Probably something about how ‘romantic’ it is that we’re all celebrating a twenty-fifth anniversary,” I say, shaking my head again. “Ugh. At least we’re all drinking age.” I spot the table with the pitchers of red, white and rosé sangria, along with bottles of Champagne and soft drinks and I suddenly want nothing more than to mind the bottles and stay out of the way. But I know that’s not an option.

  “Harper! Good to see you, girl!” I give Natasha a wry grin and let myself be hugged by one of Zane’s aunts.

  “You too! Oh wow, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” I manage to stop her at the drink table and at least pour myself a glass of the red sangria before she’s steering me to other people in the room, reminding everyone that I was “Marshall’s daughter.”

  “You’ve been living in New York all this time, right?”

  “Since I graduated, yeah,” I reply, keeping a smile on my face.

  “How are you liking the city?”

  My attention is torn in five different directions. I’m not sure whether I should try to find my parents or try to make a break for it altogether. Instead, I tell everyone I’ve suddenly been surrounded by about my job with the publishing company, keeping mum on the big news I haven’t even told my parents about yet. Finally, my parents appear, and for a second I think I’m saved.

  “There you are, Harper!” Mom cuts through the crowd around me and pulls me away, saying that the guests should all be swarming the couple of the evening anyway. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “Mom,” I say, pulling my hand free of hers.

  “Just meet him, sweetie,” Mom says.

  “How am I going to meet anyone here? I already know everyone,” I point out.

  “There are at least six people at this party this evening that you don’t know,” Mom tells me. “Nolan’s department just hired four new people since you were last in town, and three of them have sons.”

  “Mom, don’t do this,” I insist.

  “Just meet them, sweetie. I’m not, like, trying to plan your wedding or anything,” Mom says. “I just thought you might like to meet some nice boys while you’re in town.”

  “So that I’ll go on dates with them, fall in love and move back from the city, I’m sure.” I roll my eyes at her. “Don’t you think it’s going to look really weird if my mother is introducing me?”

  “Not at all, sweetie,” Mom replies. “That’s what people do at parties, introduce people to folks they might not already know.”

  “Mom, let me meet people on my own,” I protest. “I’ve got a drink, I’m going to get something to eat as soon as I can get away from people trying to corner me, I’ll be fine. Go… meet people with Dad, or something.”

  I spot Zane. I can only hope that he’ll save me from the situation. I duck out of my mom’s sight and try to take the least obvious course to get to him. On the way, I grab some crab dip and some of my pasta salad, and make sure Mom isn’t following me.

  “Oh-my-God,” I mutter as I get close to him. “Are your parents going crazy with introducing you to people too?”

  “All the parents are trying to play matchmaker,” Zane replies. “Most of us aren’t having it.”

  “Most of us?” I look around the room. “Who’s the turncoat?”

  “Chelsea,” Zane says, pointing her out. “Apparently half the girls from her sorority are
married or engaged, so she’s looking to get on the fast track.” He sips his sangria.

  Zane then looks at me with a smirk, “It’d be better if my parents had thought to have something other than this to drink. Beer or some liquor.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “You didn’t get enough of that during your party year? Or at base bars?”

  “When a man finds his best option, he doesn’t vary the tune,” Zane says, looking at his glass of sangria with distaste.

  “Sangria is perfectly fine,” I insist. “Especially with everything else going on food-wise.”

  “Yeah, if you’re a woman,” Zane counters.

  “Get a life, Zane,” I say, turning away from him. In spite of myself I can feel a little jolt of warmth working through me. It’s because he’s dressed up and all muscly from being in the army, that’s all it is. That and because you’ve been deprived so long, I tell myself.

  I wander around the party, chatting with a few people, drinking sangria and trying to ignore Zane. I hear people asking him about the military, and every so often, we catch each other’s eyes and make faces at how ridiculous the whole situation we’re in is.

  I manage to get a decent buzz going on after a few glasses of sangria, and I actually start to loosen up a bit. I keep seeing Zane and can’t help but notice how hot he is, over and over again. I try to keep my mind on the party, and maybe even try to meet a few new guys, but by the time the party ends and Mom, Dad and I walk back across the lawn to the house, I don’t find anyone else worth really investigating.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ZANE LEWIS

  I finally walk into my room after the party, feeling almost as tired as I normally do after a personal training session, and almost as jazzed at the same time. I turn on the lights and untuck my dress shirt, kick off my shoes, and sit down in front of my TV, starting up my old PlayStation to play a few rounds against the computer to tire myself out.