by Brit Benson
“What do you say we head to your place and see what magical cookie concoction Bailey has conjured up?”
I smile and grab his outstretched hands, letting him pull me up off the floor, literally and metaphorically.
“I think that sounds great.”
Hours later, I wake up in a cold sweat with tears streaming down my face, my breath ragged and gasping. I can’t recall the dream, but I never can.
Sometimes I wish there would be a lingering memory of the nightmare that has such a violent effect on my body, for answers or closure or regaining some semblance of power. But tonight, I’m happy for the darkness. I grab my phone off the nightstand and check the time.
4:06 a.m. It’s always 4:06 a.m.
It’s been a while since this has happened to me. Eight months, to be exact, and I feel a niggling worry that tonight’s events have caused a regression in my progress. I take a few steadying breaths to calm my racing heart and decide there’s no way I’ll be able to go back to sleep.
I guess there’s comfort in this breakdown, considering it’s always the same. Triggered panic attack, followed by the nightmares and a few extra therapy sessions with Dr. Joyner. It’s just been so long since it’s happened that I started to let myself believe I was over the worst of it.
Naive, really.
Dr. Joyner has always been clear on that topic. There is no real cure, and all I can do is work to manage the symptoms.
My first desire is to call Kelley—just the thought of hearing his comforting voice calms my nerves a bit—but I remind myself of all the reasons that’s a bad idea. I’m not ready for him to know, and I definitely don’t want to disclose it all when I’m a mess like this.
Instead, I open the browser on my phone and click the bookmark for my support group forum. After posting on the forum, I click over to my email app and send a message to Dr. Joyner’s office, my therapist in Bowen. It’s been a few weeks since our last check in, and I know she’ll want to know about this episode.
When that’s done, I pull up an LSAT practice test and do my best to block everything else out.
7
12th Grade
I’m at lunch, sitting at my table in the back and flipping through the magazine I “borrowed” from the health department last weekend. I say borrowed because I’ll probably return it on Saturday. I’m starting to feel guilty. I don’t want to be the reason some poor single mom has nothing to read while she and her three kids are waiting to be seen.
At the time I didn’t consider that, though.
I was irritated because I had to wait with Jacob for two hours before anyone would see us, and then I had to throw a fit to even be seen without a parent.
Never mind that I’m almost eighteen; they didn’t seem to care about that fact.
Mom was working a double and Jacob’s fever was 102, even after I gave him ibuprofen. We can’t afford for her to leave a shift and risk being fired, so I brought him in myself. It took up most of my Saturday for them just to tell me to that there was nothing they could do.
“Give him ibuprofen every four hours and make sure he’s getting a lot of fluids,” they said.
Just keep doing what you’ve been doing, this trip was a waste, is what I heard.
So yeah, I was bitter.
And then I stole the magazine.
But now? Now I’m feeling guilty, and I’m cursing whatever genetic defect it is that makes me so empathetic that I can’t even enjoy the spoils of my thievery. A life of crime is unfortunately not for me.
“Ivy!” I hear Kelley yell from across the cafeteria. I smile, but I don’t bother looking up. I know he’s walking over here with everyone’s eyes on him, and honestly, I absolutely love it when he draws attention to our friendship.
“Ivy,” he says again as he plops onto the bench beside me, draping an arm over my shoulders and snatching the magazine out of my hands.
“Ugh, get off me. You smell,” I lie. “I told you not to hang all over me unless you’ve showered after gym.”
I half-heartedly shrug off his arm and grab back my magazine, setting it next to my lunch tray. He then uses his free hand to steal what’s left of my pizza and shoves it all in his mouth. I’m certain he’s just returning from getting lunch off campus, so how he’s still hungry is beyond me, but I let it slide. I also glance around to see if any of his friends or his girlfriend will be joining us, but he’s alone.
Thank you for going easy on me, Gods of Unwanted Company.
“Here’s your calculus homework,” I say, sliding the papers in front of him. “You got three wrong. I fixed them, but I’ll show you how to do them tonight.”
“Ivy, you’re the best,” Kelley says around a mouthful of pizza. “Can I come over when I get out of practice?”
“Of course. It’ll just be me and Jacob. Mom’s on the closing shift all week.”
Nodding his head, Kelley slides his arm back over my shoulders in a side-hug. “Thank you. Seriously. Whatchya reading?” He makes a grab for the magazine again, but I swat at his hand. He laughs loudly.
“Just a magazine.” I make eye contact, push my glasses up on the bridge of my nose and state matter-of-factly, “I was getting tips for how to give mind-blowing oral.”
Kelley’s eyes go wide, and he coughs violently, so I pat his back and slide him my lemonade.
“You asked.” I shrug.
He chugs my drink and starts to laugh. “What the fuck, Ives? Lemme see.” He grabs for the magazine once more, and I quickly shove it under my butt. I hear the sound of ripping pages and cringe. I hope the single mom with three kids doesn’t mind a few torn pages.
“Leave my magazine alone, you heathen,” I say, and make an attempt to shove him backward. “I don’t want your greasy pizza fingers all over it.”
Suddenly Kelley’s laughter stops, and when I meet his eyes, there’s a slight glare in them, as if he’s angry with me.
“Wait, are you serious? Why are you reading about blowjob tips?” he interrogates, lowering his voice like the topic requires secretive discretion.
“Many reasons.” I shrug and pop a grape in my mouth. “Why do you care?” I ask while chewing.
“I don’t care. I just don’t know why you’d need it.” He lifts a brow at me while his statement trails off. I can guess what he wants to know, but I’m not giving him any answers until he asks the question.
Our gazes remain locked for several seconds, and when he widens his eyes at me, I mirror the expression. Spit it out, Kell.
He scoots closer and lowers his voice to just above a whisper.
“Are you...” He runs his hands through his hair nervously, and his eyes scan the cafeteria as if checking for eavesdroppers. “You want these tips for him?”
I sigh and give a sympathetic smile.
“No, Kelley, I’m not interested in these tips for him,” I reply, my voice at a normal speaking volume, and Kelley visibly relaxes before I catch him off guard with my next statement. “I am interested in these tips for me. Because I would like to be able to give mind-blowing oral. But I’m sure Tyler, my boyfriend, will benefit from it.”
The mortified look on Kelley’s face makes me huff out a laugh. It’s not often I’m able to shock him. Usually, he’s the one rendering me speechless, and since I am enjoying this victory far too much, I add, “I’m sure the last few times I’ve gone down on him were great and all, but there’s no shame in wanting to improve my technique.”
I smirk and return my focus to my grapes, popping two more in my mouth since the barbarian beside me stole my pizza. I can feel his stare on the side of my face, but I say nothing and refuse to look back at him. Instead, I slide the magazine back out from under me and open it.
I start flipping the pages and try to feign interest, but I can’t focus. At first this was funny. I thought it was playful, friendly. But if it is playful, then why isn’t he laughing? Why isn’t he teasing me about the magazine? Why is he still staring holes into the side of my head? And why
am I overthinking this? Why do I feel guilty? I almost sigh with relief when he puts his hand down on the magazine, halting my aimless page-turning.
“Ivy,” he says firmly, and I turn so my eyes, once more, meet his.
“Kelley.”
“Ivy, have you...ya know...with Tyler?” He widens his eyes and stares at me with apprehension.
I have a feeling I know what he wants me to say, and it’s times like these when I get so confused. Kelley is my best friend. I should be able to talk to him about this stuff without this weird tension, but instead, he looks like he’s in pain. It doesn’t make any sense.
I shake my head slowly, maintaining eye contact. “No,” I say, and I see his body sag slightly, but the tension returns to his shoulders when I add honestly, “not yet anyway.”
“What do you mean, not yet?” Kelley raises his voice, and this time, it’s me scanning the neighboring tables for anyone who might be paying too close attention to our conversation.
“Ivy, you can’t be serious,” he sputters. “With Tyler? But he’s...Tyler.”
And now I’m offended.
“Actually, Kelley, I am serious.” I puff up my chest and straighten my shoulders, preparing for the argument that’s bubbling inside me. “And what exactly do you mean, he’s Tyler? I am well aware of who he is, Kelley. I’ve been dating him for four months.”
“That’s exactly what I mean! Only four months, Ivy. That’s it. You tryin’ to tell me that you love him enough to lose your virginity? To him!?” Kelley is nearly irate at this point. His face is a mixture of complete shock and pure agony, but at least he hasn’t gotten any louder.
“Oh my gosh, Kelley, we’ve been over this. I may not love Tyler, but I like him, and I trust him, and I am very attracted to him. He’s kind, and he cares about me.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I want to have sex. Why not with Tyler?”
Kelley’s face is turning bright red, and his eyebrows are scrunched so tightly that they’re practically meeting in the middle, giving him an almost-unibrow. It’s like I can see the wheels turning frantically inside his head, smoke pluming out his ears.
“But what if you get pregnant?” he whisper-yells. “What about STDs?”
My best friend is losing it, and for fear that he might actually combust, I soften my approach.
“Kelley...I know how to buy condoms, and I’m on birth control.”
“What!” he shouts, and I jump at the outburst. Now, several of our classmates have their eyes trained on us, no doubt dying for some sign that there’s trouble in our paradise.
Kelley looks around and lowers his voice once more before continuing, “Why? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’m silent for a few seconds. I’m honestly surprised by Kelley’s sudden line of questioning and his intense interest in my budding sex life. We’ve talked about sex, kind of. We discuss our relationships, and we’ve even, at times, talked about the things we’ve done within those relationships. But this is the first time that Kelley has reacted like this.
I take a deep breath, and then another.
This is weird. This feels weird, and I respond carefully, as if I’m tiptoeing through a mine field and each of my words is an errant boot in danger of blowing the whole thing to smithereens.
“Since about a month and a half ago. And I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. It just never came up.”
“Why?”
“Why did it never come up?”
“No, why did you go on birth control a month and a half ago?”
I give him an are you serious right now type of glare and answer slowly, “...because I want to have sex, Kelley. I’m ready, so I want to be prepared.” I shrug.
Why does he look like I just told him that I ran over his grandma?
He starts to say something else, but before he can even get the first word out, I interject. I know what he’s going to say, so I might as well just cut to the chase. This whole conversation is filling me with anxiety and the sooner it ends, the better.
“It’s really not that big of a deal, Kelley. It’s just sex. It’s not like I’ll actually be losing anything by having sex with Tyler. Virginity is a social construct. I’ll still be the same person the next day. I’m not going to become someone entirely different just because I’m going to ask him to insert his penis into my vagina.”
Kelley winces, but he’s listening.
“I’m informed, I’m prepared, and I’m ready for this,” I state, watching him closely. When he doesn’t respond, I reach out my hand and place it over his. Quietly, I reassure him, “it’s not going to change who I am, Kelley. I’ll still be your best friend. I’m not going to drop you.”
He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s staring down at the cafeteria table when he pushes out, just above a whisper, “But you’re not in love with him. Don’t you want your first time to be special and with someone you love?”
“Just because I’m not in love with him doesn’t mean it’s not going to be special, Kelley.” I’m frustrated. It’s times like this when I feel like I’d be better off with a girl as my best friend instead of a boy.
Am I in love with Tyler? I don’t think so. But I care about him a lot, and I trust him. I’m ready to have sex. Isn’t it a good thing that I do it with someone I care about and trust after taking the time to prepare and become informed?
Heck, I feel like I deserve a pat on the back for how mature I’m being about this whole thing.
Why can’t Kelley be supportive?
I’m just about to ask him that question when something dawns on me, and instead of ending the conversation like I probably should, I voice the thought that’s come to my mind.
“Kelley, are you upset because you haven’t had sex yet? Are you mad that I’ll be doing it first?” I watch him carefully as I wait for his answer.
I’d always just assumed he was having sex. He’d never told me for sure that it happened, but Shelby made a big scene about it in the locker room earlier this year. Shelby and Kelley started talking over the summer, and the fact that the relationship lasted this long—albeit on and off—is unprecedented. Kelley dates. A lot. But never keeps a girl around for long.
“What? Fuck, Ivy, no.”
“So, you’re not a virgin?” I press.
Kelley laughs loudly, and it sounds like he’s mocking me. I’ve never, ever felt hurt by Kelley until right now, in this moment, because of the way he is laughing at me, and I find myself rubbing at an ache in my chest.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding, Ivy? You know I’m not.”
He stands from the table and grabs my empty lunch tray, but I remain sitting. Kelley’s been getting snappier lately. Easily irritated. But usually with his parents, Shelby, his teammates. Never with me. I don’t like how it feels.
“Okay, so then why are you being such a jerk about this? Awfully hypocritical of you, right? Unless you’re telling me you’re in love with Shelby?”
Kelley looks down at me, and for a brief moment, all I see in his eyes is agony. Loss. Grief. But in an instant, he blinks, and all those emotions vanish.
“You’re right, Ives. I’m being an asshole,” he says, but he’s not sincere. He’s being condescending, and as he stoops down to pick up his backpack, he adds, “Let me know when you’re tryin’ to fuck Tyler and I’ll give you some of my condoms.” With my empty lunch tray in his hand, he walks away without a backward glance.
And I’m left sitting with a pain in my chest, watching him go and replaying every word of the strange conversation we just had. Questioning everything I thought I knew about Kelley. Questioning what I thought I knew about our friendship.
8
Walking into Ivy’s apartment, I’m hit with an aroma of chocolate and something sweet and find Bailey in the kitchen wearing the Wonder Woman apron Ivy got her for National Cookie Day. We all thought it was a holiday Ives made up but turns out there’s actually a National Cookie Day in December.
“What are you baking, Baile
y?” I ask her as I slide up to the kitchen island. There are rows of chocolate cookies cooling on wax paper, and when I reach out to grab one, she smacks my hand with a plastic spatula.
“Ow! Fuck, Bailey!” I cradle my hand to my chest and flash her a shocked glare.
“Oh, that didn’t hurt, ya baby. Don’t touch ‘em.” She points to me with the spatula and then to the cookies. “They have to cool first. That way you can experience the proper texture and consistency.”
I pout at her, and she laughs.
“Nope. That shit doesn’t work on me like it does V. Go point that lip at someone else.”
“You’re stingy,” I tease. “Is she getting ready?”
“I think she’s finishing up. I offered to help, but you know how that goes.” Bailey flashes me a grin and then mimics Ivy’s voice when she says, “I’m good. But thanks!”
I chuckle. “Sounds about right.” Ivy only accepts help when it’s something she absolutely cannot do herself. “So, for real, what are these?” I point at the rows of cookies again, and Bailey smiles, her body vibrating with excitement.
“They’re double chocolate cherry cookies. I used a fudgey brownie recipe but tweaked it so it’s a brownie/cookie hybrid, and then added chopped maraschino cherries. I think they’re going to be very yum.”
“They smell very yum,” Ivy says as she appears around the corner, and I have to work to tame the look of appreciation that takes over my face.
Ivy is wearing tight yoga pants and one of my old soccer t-shirts with the bottom tied up on her hip. When she leans over the island to snatch a cookie, a sliver of her skin shows, and I look away.
“Hey, wait! How come she can take one, but I got attacked?”
“Because she loves me more.” Ivy giggles and takes a bite of her cookie. I turn my pout on her and she rolls her eyes. “Ugh, fine, you big baby. Here,” and she shoves the cookie in my mouth.
I turn to Bailey and flash her a gloating smile while chewing. She snarls at me in return.