A Notion of Love Read Free Page B

sparked in my eyes again, surprising me. For a moment I was so overwhelmed by my feelings for him that my chest literally hurt. In response, I hugged him as hard as I could. He turned his head and I leaned around to kiss him sideways.
    â€œThen I’m the luckiest girl alive,” I said back, and he scooted me around with a smooth motion to kiss me much more thoroughly.

Chapter Two
    April, 1985
    Prom was two weeks away and I’d finally chosen a dress, after much debating. Mom had driven Jo and me all the way to Minneapolis to check out the prom shops. The unspoken message was that if we didn’t pick something on this extensive excursion, we were up Shit Creek without a paddle, as Gran would say. At least if we wanted a dress that wasn’t from the dime store in Landon. Jo had a specific dress in mind: short, black and with sequins across the front. Since just about every prom dress on display was either black or teal, she had no problem locating one that could have been made to order. She tried it on with a pair of very high heels—which made Mom cluck with disapproval—but Jo had brought her own money for shoes. I looked at her admiringly; I told her Jackie was going to freak out when he saw her.
    â€œThat’s the idea,” she said, too low for Mom to hear as I joined her at the three-way mirror in the dressing room hallway. She pivoted again, asking, “Do you think the heels are too much?”
    â€œNo, they look great,” I said honestly. “I love the straps up your ankle.”
    â€œThanks, Jills,” she said, smoothing the short, tight skirt over her hips. “Now let’s find you something to knock Chris’s socks off.” And she raised her eyebrows up and down at me, suggestively. I giggled and felt myself blush and Jo added, “You’re so cute.”
    â€œI want something blue,” I said as we paced rows of possibilities, Jo clutching the dress-length bag containing her new get-up.
    â€œIndigo blue or baby blue, or what, honey?” Mom asked. She was following at a small distance, making sure I hadn’t passed up a good choice, I figured. Despite my protests, Mom loaded her arms with about ten choices, none the blue I’d been envisioning: sapphire, with a sparkle. Maybe glitter. Or with rhinestones over the front. Long, with a slit up to my thigh.
    I tried each one to humor Mom; one thing I could count on was an honest response from both of them. Jo vetoed the first four, but wolf-whistled at the fifth, a taffeta dress the color of June roses. Deep magenta, it fit simply, tight across the breasts and then flaring into a skirt, a basic A-line but knee-length. I twirled tentatively, trying to see the back.
    â€œOh, Jilly Bean, this is the one,” Jo insisted, turning me by the shoulders to face the mirror again. She gathered my hair and twisted it expertly on top of my head, holding it there to demonstrate the overall look. I met her eyes in our reflections and smiled. She winked at me. “This is it, I feel it. Don’t you?” she teased, nudging me with her elbow.
    â€œIt’s not like that,” I explained for the millionth time. “And it is pretty. But I wanted a blue one.”
    â€œNot when you have this one,” she said. Mom finally got up from the chair she’d perched on to watch.
    â€œI like that one, too, Jillian,” she said. “That is a lovely color on you.”
    â€œAll right,” I agreed. “Thanks, Mom.”
    ***
    After eating lunch at a fancy—by our standards, anyway—restaurant, we’d headed back to Landon. Jo elected to drive while Mom dozed in the passenger seat, so we made it home an hour or so sooner, since Jo wasn’t afraid to break the speed limit just a touch. We pulled into the café parking in the glow of early evening light; we’d driven out from beneath the thick gray quilt of clouds that had been blanketing the Twin Cities after an