I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “You. Tucker Scott. Don’t have anything?”
His fingers continued moving between my thighs and he shook his head as my hips reacted.
Leaning in, I kissed him and ran my tongue across his. “You should.” Between us, we took in shaky gulps of air and I sighed with force. “I don’t want my first time to be in the back seat of a car anyway.”
“Understandable.”
Brushing the back of my fingers against him, I lifted up on my knees once more to sink down on his thighs. “I should at least reciprocate.”
He laughed. “Again, I’m not prepared.”
Setting back on my haunches, I pulled at his jeans anyway. He let me budge them down and then, with his hands in my hair, he taught me a whole new version of breath control.
Mal,
You know what I’m thankful for? I’m thankful that I was a teenager in the late eighties and not today. The pressure your generation feels to be noticed and adored by faceless masses makes my stomach and heart hurt. I thank God all the time that we didn’t have Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Tumblr and, and, and. My mistakes and asinine activities were relegated to long forgotten rolls of film in disposable cameras.
Disposable cameras were these things you bought . . . never mind. I doubt you’d understand and explaining it makes me feel so damn old.
Pictures included multiple people, not just you. They were usually taken by a third party. If I’d been caught taking a picture of myself in the hallway at school, I’m sure I’d have been ostracized beyond belief. And if a video of my drunken high school behavior had ended up online, I would have inevitably had to change my name and go into Witness Protection – make no mistake that your grandmother would not have stood for that nonsense.
Death threats on twitter. Confessionals on Tumblr. Snapchats of boobs. Horrible. And yet, your generation returns again and again to up the ante. I hope, above hope, that you’ll get out alive without something coming back to bite you in the ass.
I’m nostalgic for the days when your private life was your own. It was nobody’s business. And you were safe in your own home.
Maybe someday it will all fade away and we’ll return to the good old days of actually speaking to one another face to face.
Maybe in another decade people will take road trips free of any technology and see the world with their own eyes instead of through Google Earth.
Sam
~*~10~*~
Everything was happening so fast that I’d barely been able to take it all in. It was all moving so quickly.
Except for Sam, who’d become increasingly listless and lazy. She rarely left the house, and when she did, she asked me to drive, saying that I needed more practice. But her attention was rarely focused and once we’d get to our destination, more times than not, she’d forget why she needed to be there in the first place.
“Maybe we’re out of milk.” She’d laugh and then stand in front of the dairy section for ten minutes before grabbing a gallon. When we got home, she opened the refrigerator door to find two more gallons that she’d purchased just the week before but couldn’t remember buying.
For the first time in my life, I was worried about my aunt.
“It’s like she’s imploding,” I told Tucker over the phone one night. He’d taken an additional shift in order to have extra Christmas money for Eliza. I’d asked to meet his sister once and he told me that I could, but that he’d have to time it so that she was in a good mood and feeling up to it.
The introduction hadn’t happened yet.
“Maybe you should get her out of the house for more than an hour. To a movie, maybe? I’m shit at these things.”
“You really are. We don’t even pay attention to the movies we go to.”
His voice dropped lower when he responded. “Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know. I really like when you come over and watch them here.”
“Did you do finger quotes when you said ‘watch them?’ Because I don’t remember finishing a single one we started.”
A tingling started in my stomach and I chuckled. “Yes. Yes, I did. Come over and let’s not watch a movie later.”
“I wish I could, but my dad’s working overtime and I need to be here.”
“Want me to come over?”
“Not tonight. It’s a rough one. Plus I have to study . . .”
“I never thought I’d hear you say you’d rather study than . . .”
He groaned. “Trust me. It’s not my first choice . . .” He paused and I could hear his smile through the phone when he said, “Remind me to tell you something the next time I see you.”
“Tell me now.”
He chuckled. “It’s a surprise.”
We said our goodbyes and I sat on my bed, surrounded by the echoes of nothing but the muffled volume of the television downstairs. I made my way down to the living room and bent over the couch where Sam was wrapped in my grandmother’s old afghan.
“Should I order some food?”
Her head swiveled, heavy and almost wobbling. It occurred to me that maybe she’d started drinking a lot – but I’d never seen a bunch of wine bottles or any beer cans lying around, like with my parents.
“I’m not really all that hungry. But if you want something, I can give you some money.”
“I have my own money,” I reminded her.
She pushed her hair from her face and forced a smile. “Right. Of course you do.” Her arm dropped heavily at her side and her shoulder twitched a little. She rubbed the spot and patted the couch next to her in invitation. “Come ‘ere. Sit with me.”
I sank down next to her and accepted the blanket edge she offered, warm with her body heat and smelling faintly of the old cedar chest in my mom’s room.
“It smells like her, you know.” Sam had the blanket to her nose and closed her eyes to inhale. “My mom. She always smelled like cedar in the winter because she kept her sweaters in the chest. For as long as I live, there will never be a better smell.”
“I remember.”
She smiled, small and wistful. “There’s so much history in this house. Did your mom ever tell you stories about when we were younger?”
“Not really.” I leaned my head back and watched her profile as she looked around the room. Her attention reverted to the television for a minute, another one of her old movies playing on the screen.
“We used to read books in the sunroom and your grandma made the world’s best sweet tea to drink while we sat around. It was that really good sun tea – not the boiled stuff that your mom makes now. Perfect amount of sugar. In her famous yellow tea jar. The one with the little spigot?”
I nodded like I knew what she was saying.
“We were hellions, you know. I thought she’d have a heart attack by the time she was fifty. But she was spunky. Sarcastic. She didn’t take shit from anybody and made sure that we were raised to be that way, too.” She trailed off and stared blankly in the direction of the sunroom, the night sky cloaking the wicker furniture in darkness.
She rubbed her face and pulled the blanket tighter. “I lost my virginity in the room I’m in now.” A laugh cracked through her chest. “Oh God, when your mom found out, she was pissed. Not that she had any room to talk. She lost hers in your room.”
“Why would you tell me that?” I choked on my laughter and made a face of disgust.
“I never said where it happened in your room. Now you’ll be afraid to sit anywhere . . .” She practically cackled and I could see a glimpse of the aunt I once knew. Sam patted my hand beneath the worn fabric of the blanket. “Don’t go keeping up tradition.” She looked thoughtful. “Or do. I don’t know. That’s just another adventure.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She lost herself in the movie again and I just sat by her side, unable to move for fear of missing something huge that she needed to say. Eventually she spoke again.
“You know what I miss?” She p
ointed to the television and I saw a boy leaning against a car, red and shiny, his eyes crinkled up in a smile.
“Old movies?”
“No, smart-ass. Chivalry. True love. Your generation doesn’t know about The Grand Gesture. Showing how damn much you love someone in the most over the top, movie worthy way you could possibly imagine. The declaration of undying devotion.”
“Those still happen.”
She glared at the television, the scene on the screen reflecting in her glassy eyes. “Youtube proposals and flash mobs don’t count.” Leaning over, she placed her head on one of our couch pillows and I let go of the blanket as she wrapped herself tighter. “We need more grand gestures.”
I reached out a hand and tucked the blanket under her feet. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” It had just occurred to me that she looked like she’d lost some weight since she’d moved back in.
“No. I think I’m coming down with something.” Her shoulder twitched again and she anchored it with her other hand.
“Maybe you should see a doctor?”
“No insurance anymore, kiddo. My Cobra coverage is over. I’ll ride it out.”
“Have you thought about calling some of your old friends? Maybe getting out for dinner or something would make you feel better.”
Sam sighed and closed her eyes. “Mallory. I have three contacts in my phone. And you’re one of them.”
It struck me as a sad reality that she was as alone as she could be. Even with me by her side.
With her eyes closed she mumbled, “Do me a favor and don’t end up forty-three years old with three numbers in your phone. I want more for you.”
The soft sound of her snoring signaled that I could leave. I got up and made sure she was covered, turned off the television, and killed the lights. Up in my room, I checked my email and a few other places before deciding I’d had enough waiting to be called. I had more than three names in my phone. So I called one.
Sarah answered on the first ring.
“Are you doing anything right now? I need to rehearse my audition pieces.”
With my newly acquired confidence, there was no way I wasn’t going to pursue a part in the musical Tucker kept talking about. He seemed overly excited about the production, and I wanted to be a part of it. No matter how small my part was.
***
The first step in not being alone is . . . not being alone. Not in a desperate way. In a ‘hey, I’m interested in being your friend – this is a two way street’ way. I’d always waited to be invited. Always been expected to just tag along. But I couldn’t for the life of me remember why.
It’s one thing to be part of a group but it’s completely different to be the one that’s there as a silent bystander. I’d been the extra. The secondary. I’d been the one walking behind the others because there wasn’t enough room on the sidewalk or in the hallway. Now I was keeping up step for step.
Doubt still crept in every once in a while but it was fleeting.
Because the holidays were just around the corner and time together would be tight, we’d planned one last dinner with our circle of friends, each person responsible for bringing a dish. It turned out to be a night I’d never forget.
“How do you not know how to cook anything? You work in a restaurant.”
Tucker threw a dirty look Sara’s way. “I’m not a line cook. But if you want some eggs, you let me know.” He slid the store bought pumpkin pie across the counter at her and she stopped it before it collided with the wall.
“Testy,” she tsked.
“I made green bean casserole. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.” I lifted the covered dish.
“Very domestic.” Marcus chuckled and gave a pointed look at Tucker.
Berkley was hosting and she’d already plated a huge roast and a few sides, claiming that she’d made it herself. But I’d caught a glimpse of the restaurant bags in the trash bin in her garage when I was getting drinks from the second refrigerator.
We sat and pretended to be civilized individuals; though it only lasted a few minutes before something perverted was said and then all hell broke loose around the table.
Berkley lifted her glass and tapped it with her fork, causing all of us to quiet down. “It’s our last supper. And I just wanted to say that I’m glad that I got to know all of you. Whether it was for a couple years or less than one,” she smiled at me, “I think we’re going to be friends for a long time.”
I lifted my glass and pretended to toast with enthusiasm but it was lost somewhere between my head and my heart.
Conversation turned toward future plans and Marcus shrugged a little because he hadn’t planned anything past getting his certification.
Sara was still banking on Juilliard.
I had started filling out the paperwork for the Pell Grant and a few other financial aid options my adviser had suggested.
Tucker, of course, didn’t have an answer.
“You are going somewhere,” I told him quietly.
He slipped his hand into mine and squeezed. “I know. Let’s not talk about it tonight.”
We spent the rest of the evening playing music, reminiscing about the last few months, and eventually ended up watching a movie in Berkley’s home theater. The others drifted off to sleep, and Tucker and I were left awake, snuggled into two plush seats. Making out was our favorite hobby, and we wasted no time taking advantage of the gentle snoring of our friends.
“Come on,” he whispered in my ear, tugging my hand to lead us quietly out of the room. Once we cleared the door, he had my back against the wall, kissing me with such force that I pushed back a little.
“We’re not at my house,” I chided him.
“Then let’s go there.”
“We can’t just leave . . .”
He placed a kiss by my ear and his voice shook a little. “Yes. We can.”
In no time at all, I was standing in my bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I’d prepared myself for this moment over the last few days, going so far as buying a pretty white underwear set. It was completely see through, and when I picked it out I had a fleeting rush of shame that I was using my mom’s money to buy sex clothes. But it passed.
Sam was asleep, and even though she’d given us a midnight curfew, we had snuck in well after 1 a.m. I tried not to feel guilty about that, too. This was something that I wanted for me. Or at least I was convincing myself I did.
I stepped into my room, suddenly feeling shy and vulnerable in the tiny lingerie that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Tucker was distracted by my alarm clock again, fiddling with the radio knobs, shoeless as usual. But when the bathroom door quietly hit the stopper on the baseboard, he turned to look my way. The shock on his face was enough to make my chest bloom bright red.
“You don’t like it?’
He stood stone still, his eyes raking across every inch of my body from my face to my toes and back up again. “Of course I do.”
With wobbly legs, I crossed the room to stand in front of him. His hands reached for my waist, greedy to close the space between us. The bed felt the brunt of our weight when we fell onto it, tangled up in one another, me pulling at his clothes until they began to drop onto the floor. Each piece that was removed made my skin prickle with anticipation. I listened intently for any sounds from the room across the hall as Tucker breathed heavy across my shoulder, his finger lifting my bra strap off my shoulder.
“Do you hear that?” I whispered, leaning up on my elbows to listen for the tell-tale creak of my aunt’s door being opened.
He palmed my bra cup and moved his face to kiss my stomach. “You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough.”
Like I’d slapped him in the face, he sat up and scooted to the side, his elbows resting on his knees. “What’s this really about? Because you’re clearly into it – here.” He pointed at my thighs. “But your head is off somewhere else.”
He was right. There was more to it. I just
couldn’t muster the courage to say it out loud. Until I did. “I need to know what happens next.”
Tucker rubbed at his ear and eyed me slyly. “Well, if you hadn’t interrupted me I was going to . . .”
I nudged his thigh with my toe and curled my legs into my shaking chest. “Be serious.”
“I am serious. You’re practically naked.”
Pushing up to sitting, I sighed and reached for my comforter. Once I was covered, I grazed his thigh with my fingers. “What happens next? With us? I can’t just . . . I need to have something to hold onto, if I’m going to give you this.”
He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face roughly. “I can’t answer that. How can anyone answer that right now?”
“You’re right.” My throat tightened. “It was a dumb thing to ask.”
He reached over and ran his fingers across my neck. “Why are you like this?”
Mustering the courage to tell the truth was an inner battle I was quickly losing. I wanted to say, I’m scared. All the time. Even when I think I’m not, I am. My mom’s not coming home anytime soon. Sam’s . . . not the same. My dad moved halfway across the country. I’ve been left behind. I feel alone all the time. Everywhere. And no matter how good it gets between us, I can’t help but feel like this won’t last either.
Instead I gripped his elbow and settled onto my back, pulling him down to anchor my body with his weight. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry I brought it up.” My kiss was timid. Unsure. “I just want this.” I could think about all of that stuff another day. What I needed was to allow myself to just be in that bed with him and forget about anything else. “I want you.”
He exhaled slowly, the air ruffling my hair as he moved a wayward lock from my forehead and bent his face to mine. “I want you, too.” His mouth was warm and inviting, teeth tugging and nipping my swollen lower lip. The comforter was pulled away and I lay beneath him, searching his eyes for some semblance of understanding about how huge of a deal this would be for me. Fooling around and making out in libraries or cars was one thing. And I’d thought I’d been ready that night, but my head was speaking louder than my heart or any other part of my body as I waited on that bed.
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