Wolves, and by extension blutbads, were creatures naturally geared towards grooming. Unfortunately for Eddie, that grooming was almost strictly between pack members. Eddie could remember splashing around in the tub with his younger relatives, and his mother brushing his wild curls as a child.
Such memories were pleasantly painful, or painfully pleasant, like cutting adult teeth. Today, the day of Eddie's first date with Celina, they did not bode dwelling on. He didn't have a pack, not anymore.
Eddie stood in his slightly outdated bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, and tried to make sense of his frustrating, uncooperative hair. He'd tried it slicked back, but he'd looked too Godfather, so that warranted a trip to the shower to wash out the product. So he was stuck with his norm: a head full of curls genetically designed to make him want to rip them from his scalp.
Was this date, his first since going un-wild many years before, doomed to failure because he couldn't resist committing a fashion faux-pas?
What if she turned up even more stunning than before, and was embarrassed to be seen in public with him? What if she stood that distance apart from him, those few inches of difference shouting to the world that she didn't want to be there, with him.
Eddie sighed and rubbed his eyes, forcibly calming himself. It was just a date, not the Presidential caucus. Even if his hair was as useless as a screen door on a submarine, he had plenty of other things going for him. Those things were obviously enough to get her to notice him in a crowded room. Now, if only he knew what those things were.
After a heated argument with his beard, he moved on to wardrobe. He'd been wearing a t-shirt and windbreaker when they'd met in the coffee shop. That told him unequivocally that she did not judge by looks. Plus, she was herself a variation of the artsy-fartsy type. A carefree dresser. An untethered spirit. A gypsy, he thought to himself, with a faint smile. Just like her song.
He settled on a blue-orange-yellow-white plaid over a white t-shirt and jeans. Pleased, he smiled at his reflection and immediately felt foolish.
He quickly brushed his teeth to shake off the sudden bout of nerves.
And threw on a dash of cologne just to be safe.
The four band members shared a house in a quasi-suburban area on the sketchy side of the tracks. The boys had claimed the master suite and its attached nursery-sized room off the bathroom, because it was easier for Renee's wheelchair to maneuver. That had left the two bedrooms across the hall with the shared full bath to the girls. The quartet had no problem sharing space, as they had done so in college and were all good friends. With their mutual love for music and the band's fame slowly starting to pick up in the area, it was both frugal and prudent for them to live together, not to mention convenient for practice and composing.
Celina had all but disappeared in her closet, having wedged herself into the way back to get at her more special outfits.
"You shouldn't overthink it," advised Tracy from Celina's bed.
"I have to overthink it!" replied a distressed Celina with a muffle. "The first date sets the tone!" A wadded-up skirt sailed through the air to punctuate her statement.
"You said he was like you," pointed out Tracy. "Animals don't wear clothes, much less care what they look like."
Celina poked her head out, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "Technically, we're totally different species. Literally a cat and a dog. Feline and canine. And we're not just animals, thanks."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Tracy let a smirk grow on her face. "But seriously, what would your kids look like...?"
"Ew!" cried Celina, ducking back into the black hole that was her closet. "I don't wanna think about that! It's way too early." Her scrabbling faded to a halt. She poked her head back out. "Seriously, what do you think our kids would look like?" she asked reluctantly in a low voice.
Tracy leaned back on her hands, swinging her feet, thoughtfully studying the ceiling. "Your hair and cheekbones, his eyes and skin."
Celina considered. "Actually, that wouldn't be a bad mix." She twisted a wayward shirt sleeve in her grasp. "But would they be bottechats or blutbads?"
"You're the folklorist, you tell me." Celina's best friend reached to the floor and picked up the wrinkled skirt. "I like this one."
"Can you fluff it in the dryer for me? I still have to fix my hair."
"Of course, m'lady," replied Tracy with a sweeping curtsy. "Your wish is my command."
"You are way too Renaissance for your own good."
"Methinks she doth protest too much!" came the reply from the hallway.
"Shakespeare will win you no points!" shouted Celina back with a laugh. Extricating herself from the closet, she pulled on her good bra and the blouse she'd already picked out. She'd left the straightener preheating in the bathroom she and Tracy shared, and set about utilizing it on her deep copper locks. After an artful part to one side, she applied tinted lipbalm and a light blush.
Her eyes scrutinized her reflection critically. Her eyes had always been her best feature, but did she dare...?
"Yes," said Tracy, scaring Celina witless. "It's a mascara occasion."
"Jeezums! Could you scuffle your feet or cough of something?" begged Celina, clutching her chest.
"Learned from the best, kitty paws. Here's your skirt."
"Speaking of paws," rumbled Henry from the door to Celina's room. "Where are you going?"
Celina turned the corner long enough to beam at her brother. "I've got a date!"
"With the guy from Common Grounds?" asked Henry, crossing his arms. If he weren't her brother, he would look intimidating in his black t-shirt and black jeans, arm muscles bulging. Celina considered it an equal split between bummer and useful to have a brother who was a black belt in two styles.
"Yep," replied the bottechat. "We really hit it off."
"I see," said Henry sarcastically. "You sure he's on the up-and-up?"
"Hey, if a cat can sense a storm coming," reasoned Celina, running the brush laden with pigment delicately through her lashes. "They can certainly judge character."
"Daaa-ang girl!" hooted Renee, wheeling to the door behind Henry. "Lookin' fine!"
"I will end you," said Henry without venom.
"You wouldn't beat up on the disabled kid, now wouldja?" kidded the group's comedian. "Who's the lucky woman?" he asked Celina. "Does she have a sister?"
"Hilarious," snarked Celina from the bathroom, slipping into her skirt. "Questioning my sexuality just because I'm a cat is so old, Optimus Prime."
"Actually," replied Renee. "I question it 'cause you ain't had any, and I mean any action since we left school."
"Even before then," interjected Tracy helpfully. "You were always in the books."
"I thought you were on my side," muttered Celina, making a few minor adjustments.
"I am. We all are. All of us, even Tall Dark and Stoic over there couldn't be happier that you've got a date with a nice guy."
"Seemingly nice guy," corrected Henry. "Far too early to tell."
"Lighten up, big brother," said Celina, coming out of the bathroom. "We're in a public place."
Henry pegged her with his Sanctioned Protector look and chewed his lip. "Just be careful, okay?"
Celina stood on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. "I promise I will."
As she walked past them down the hall, Renee wolf-whistled. He was promptly smacked on the back of the head by Henry.
That made Celina laugh all the way to her car.