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were always a bitch to get off. When I had finally worked up what I considered my daily workout routine of sweat and had it off, I tossed it carelessly on the floor. Then I walked to my mirror and stared. I stared until my eyes blurred and the picture faded. I stared until I couldn’t see the little piece of silver hiding behind the floor runner. I stared until I nearly passed out and crashed into my bed. My mind was racing with all the information that had been tossed at me today. Between what Brock had revealed about himself, his plans for dating me, and my dad’s revelations, I didn’t think I would ever get to sleep. Turns out, all of that was enough to completely shut down my brain. I hit the pillow and was out. That night I dreamt of dark messy hair, eyes, tattoos, and kindness.
    *****
    I awoke before my alarm had even gone off and ran for the shower to wash the dream away. Men like Brock just did not go for women like me.  As I washed I let the soothing scent of mint calm my heart and mind. I had to face him at work today and it would be no good to show up letting him know how frazzled he had me. Then, I remembered the note and began to hope that it had gotten thrown away with the trash.
    Once out of the shower, I realized I hadn’t spent any time trying to wash away my faults. At all. I was completely focused elsewhere.  Now, I was focused on getting the Jackie’O look I wanted today and then found my carharts. People like to call them coveralls, but these babies let nothing in. Except sweat. In the summer that was a huge problem. Just because I was forced to wear this gender-killing getup to work didn’t mean I was going to allow it to wash away my femininity. If anything, it made me do myself up more. I was probably the only woman in the car repair world that went to work in full makeup and hair every day, just to climb into engines and under cars.
    When I got to the shop I eyed my baby, my own 1970 Plymouth Barracuda and sighed. I was never going to have the time to work on her. I had bought her sometime after my dad had finished his because I liked it so much and now she sat in the carport, further rusting away.  I frowned and turned in to the office to see what was needed today. Dad looked up and smirked when he handed me a set of keys to a car that needed an oil change. Looking up the car that matched the keys I saw why he had smirked.
    Holy fucking mom mobile. Seriously. The thing had about 8 bumper stickers about how proud she was of her family and, apparently, how profuse they were since there were 6 little stick figures to go with the 2 adults.  I wonder if they ever thought about having to pay 6 college tuitions?  If I ever had kids, and that was a HUGE if, I would NOT be having that many. I wanted mine to have all the chances in life I hadn’t gotten. With that thought in my head and the notes about an oil change (hell- lady, you need a new car) I went to get started.
    All of the sudden I heard my name from across the workroom floor, “TEEEEAAAGGGAANNN!!! Is that you?” the voice screeched.
    I turned, shocked, and realized that I knew the name that went with the car. It was Ms. Prom Queen 1987 herself, only about 50 lbs. heavier and 20 years older looking – apparently kids did that to you.
    “What a…” Brock grabbed me first.
    While what’s her name batted her lashes at him.
    Brock reached around me and snagged the clipboard from where I had set it on the engine. “An oil change huh?” He looked at me.
    I must have had a “duh” look on my face because surprise to see you!  “You working your dad’s car shop?” She asked, with a sneer on her face as if this wasn’t a great job and working with my dad was not respectable.
    “No.” I deadpanned, “I come for the outfits and then head to my job down on the corner over there. See that one? Your husband knows it pretty well.”
    I heard a laugh, the same deep laugh I knew from before, from behind me.
    “She’s kidding. She’s