Lydia seemed to take forever to get back from the car. But once she slumped back into her seat everything seemed back to normal. You were off the hook for the moment.
"Lydia, do you really need to wear that shirt in here? It looks awful," her mother says.
"They guy was real shady looking, too. I would not have been surprised to find that he was really dealing in something illegal," her father said describing the stall keeper who had the lamp.
The waiter delivered the food amongst the conversation.
"I felt cold from the pool, Mom," Lydia grumped. "It's the only thing I had."
"Something, illegal at a swap-meet?" you ask. You were able to find out a little more about the odd lamp Lydia's father had found. You were starting to realize that you would actually have to go find it to be sure it was the same one you had found.
Lydia shrunk away as the waiter topped up the water glasses again. You think she is distracted by the way she kept rubbing her legs together. She reaches out for your hand and you continue eating with the other one.
"At least take your hood off, dear. Its impolite." Lydia's mother said as she sipped from her wine glass.
"The guy probably hides drugs in the lamps that he sells. I doubt that the police would think to look in antiques." Her father was digging into his fish headless of everything else.
Lydia picked at the dish in front of her. Her used her thumb to gently trace circles on your hand as you hold them under the table. She seemed to be trying to get you to rub her thigh. You want to but not in public and certainly not with parents around.
"But my hair looks terrible, Mom. I'm just feeling a little cold." Lydia shivered a little to good effect.
It was not from cold, however. You could feel the warmth in her hand. As you concentrate you can feel something else also. Her thumb becomes softer and her hand slips in yours more easily. You get the unmistakable feeling of spandex fingers meshing with your own. You notice that Lydia seems to be hiding her other hand inside the pouch of her hoodie.
You glance at her and she seems to be trying to tell you something with her eyes. She smiles quickly. You get the message.
"How late does that swap-meet go?" you ask suddenly.
"Til, I think, five or so," Lydia's father grunted. "Why?"
"I may want to get something for my mother," you lie. "I should go quick before it closes."
"I'll come with you," Lydia says. She stands up quickly and buries her hands deep into the pouch of her shirt. "A nice walk in the sun will warm me up real good."
The two of you thank her parents for the nice lunch and hustle away. You assure them that you will be alright walking back to the school so you can get your car. But first you want to get to the swap-meet before it closed.
As you start down the street you wait patiently for Lydia to explain. Once out of possible sight of the restaurant windows she removes her hands from their hiding place. They were now shiny-red, spandex gloves.
"My sweater was damp," she explains. "I didn't think it would be this hard to keep dry."
You brush back her hood and kiss her deeply. Her hair is now almost fully white and the spandex has made its way fully up her neck. You wonder if you will be able to wait to get back to your car. If she kept changing it would soon be necessary to carry her.
"Don't worry," you say. "From what I got out of your father I think this guy might actually have the genie. If we can find him then we can figure this all out."
"Great," Lydia moans, "what if he has sold the lamp already? How are we supposed to know just which guy to look for?"
You turn and start walking again as you try to be reassuring. "Your dad said, it looked cheep and fake. No one looking for antiques would buy a cheep knock off. As for finding him we just have to look for someone that your father thinks looks like a drug dealer. It will be easy. We just have to be quick is all."
At this moment you realize that Lydia is not beside you. You turn to find her trailing behind. She is clearly trying to match your walking speed but her stride seems to have been cut down to half what it normally was. As you watch her take a few steps her knees seem disinclined to separate more than a few inches. Despite the fact that she is wearing jeans she walks like she is wearing a tight, knee-length skirt. Once she catches up to you she stops and her thighs seem to be pressing themselves together hard.
You give her a worried look, but she shakes her head.
"No, their not merging yet. I think the jeans are keeping them apart. But they sure want to be together. I'll manage." Lydia tries to smile.
Going quick just got harder.