Free Sway by Amy Matayo

across the parking lot. An innocent gesture to the outside observer, but I’ve never been more aware of the feel of a girl’s hand in my life. I want to hold it as long as she’ll let me, but she lets go too soon.
    Once we’re at the destination I have in mind, I reach for the door and pull her inside, ignoring the look she flashes that suggests she’s seriously questioning my masculinity. Judging by the smell of artificial cinnamon and old-lady perfume currently blasting up my nose, the look isn’t without merit.
    “In the market for silk flowers and yarn, are you?” she teases.
    “Yes, for the toilet paper cozies I’m making for Christmas gifts. Let’s see, your bathroom was blue, right? I should remember, but I didn’t pay that much attention in between running for more towels.”
    She laughs and bumps my arm as she brushes past me, unintentionally giving me a good view of her backside. I wish she wasn’t so darn attractive because it makes it impossible to look away, as I should be doing right now. I force my eyes to a shopping cart filled with ninety-percent off Halloween decorations and mentally conjure up images of zombies and serial-killers stabbed through the heart to distract myself. It helps, but only a little.
    “Yes, it’s blue, and how do you know about cozies?” she asks over her shoulder.
    In truth, I know about them from grandmas and aunts and Wednesday night pot-lucks. No way I’m telling her that, though. “Don’t you wish you knew?” There. That sounded mysterious, right?
    “Actually, I don’t,” she says.
    Okay, maybe not.
    Brat. I reach for her arm and lead her down one aisle, then another. It surprises me that she doesn’t tell me to let go, but she doesn’t, just goes along with my seemingly aimless walking. It isn’t until the third aisle that she stops short, nearly causing me to bump into her from behind.
    “Why are we here?” Her voice is tight, and the expression on her face is almost anxious, but there’s some wonder in there as well. Even though her cautious gaze confuses me, it’s the wonder I see that tells me my decision was the right one, with or without permission. I move next to her and look up. About two feet up, if the sign in front of me is right.
    “I need a Christmas tree, and I want you to help me pick one out.” I don’t really need one, but it seems like an inspired idea, one to get her out of the miserable Christmas slump her parents have dumped her in. “It’s the first step in my three-part intervention program to cure you of your holiday aversion. Pass this one, and you get to move on to helping me choose a stocking. Pass that one, and you’ll make it to the last one. It’s a secret.” I feel myself nodding as if I know what the heck I’m talking about. I made this whole thing up two seconds ago, and it appears I’m going home with a tree I don’t even want. I make a mental note to hang on to the receipt.
    “So go ahead, Kate. Pick your favorite.”

10
    Kate
    “Not Myself”
    —John Mayer
    I must look like a caged animal, frightened beyond my comfort zone, completely threatened and twitchy. Because it’s exactly how I feel. Christmas trees? Stockings? And a mysterious third thing that scares me even more than the time my father threw me off the diving board to teach me how to swim. In his defense, I was eight years old and had wasted three years of lessons. Hundreds of dollars spent and I still couldn’t manage a dog paddle. In my defense, dog paddling is awkward and splashy and completely without technique. Who wants to move around in a pool using only their wrists? Not me. Definitely not me. In my younger mind, if I couldn’t swim the right way, I didn’t want to do it at all.
    But this. This .
    “Do you still live with your parents?” A stupid question, but it’s all I can think to say. What if he says yes? How am I supposed to respond?
    The look in his eyes catches me off guard, and a small part of my panic subsides. For