Handcuffs

by Griffin, Bethany

  “I don’t like to go to the grocery store,” he says, “and the convenience store only has something called ‘cheese food’. I don’t think it’s really cheese.”

  I stare at the bag of cheese in his hand, wondering if it’s real cheese or another substitute that poor people like us buy. Too lazy to go the big supermarket, too snobby to eat imitation cheese. What an amazing guy my sister snagged. For some reason my parents think he’s the perfect son-in-law, and even my brother likes him. He ruffles my hair. Stupid oblivious West has no idea that his free-food emporium is about to have the power shut off.

  “You know,” he says, as if we were having a conversation, “I think I’m going to trade in the car for a truck.”

  “Really, you could get a trade-in on that thing?” He had a Mustang. Well, he still has a Mustang, but he backed it into a parked dump truck. Then later he drove right off the road and into a ditch. The only place it isn’t smashed is on the driver’s side. Our parents keep expecting West’s parents to buy him a new one, but so far they haven’t. Sometimes he shows up in his dad’s Jaguar, but mostly he just drives around in Paige’s car. I think it maybe says something about them as a couple that they both drive red cars, though his was flashier than hers. Before the wreck and then the other wreck.

  “I meant the Volkswagen.” He puts a banana in his pocket. Then he turns to go and says, “Stay out of trouble, Parker!” West smiles at me with his big white teeth. The smile that made all the girls swoon, once upon a time. Does he think he can charm me out of even more food? With our ketchup, our shredded cheese, and our last banana, he heads out to my sister’s shiny still-new-looking car.

  The phone rings again. I peer cautiously at the caller ID. I’m miserable enough right now without hearing how they are going to come and repossess our couch and fine us a hundred dollars because Preston broke the handle on the reclining part or something crazy like that. Do they repossess couches? Ours is kind of new, so I’m betting we still owe somebody for it.

  The caller ID reads Chris Prescott. Mom said Dad didn’t need to see me or talk to me before his big job interview on Tuesday, and he had a second interview this morning, so I tried not to get around him, to distract him or remind him, or whatever. I’ve been avoiding my father, and I hate that, because he’s one of my favorite people in the world. I put the phone to my ear.

  “Daddy?” My voice shakes a little, I’m that nervous. I hate talking to him now, he makes me all uncomfortable and scared I’ll say the wrong thing.

  “Hi, Parker, is your mom there?”

  “No, isn’t she at work?” Um, why wouldn’t Mom be at work? I’m so confused.

  “She thought she might come home and check on you if she wasn’t too busy.”

  “I guess she got too busy.” Mom used to work part-time, but she’s been working all the hours she can get lately, trying to cover our bills. They fight about it and talk about all the things they should’ve done (save money) but it’s too late now.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, honey, would you tell her that I’m sticking around here for a few hours? I want to meet the corporate manager and he’s not going to be in until after lunch.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  “You guys have dinner without me, okay?”

  “I’ll tell her.” It’s good, I think, that he sounds so okay talking to me, like maybe things could go back to normal between us.

  “And Parker, keep the doors locked. There are crazy people out there.” I know he’s thinking of Kyle Henessy back when he used to lurk around. If the neighbor kid you’ve known all your life is capable of criminal behavior, what might some stranger do?

  “I will, Daddy, I will.” We say quick goodbyes and I sit down again. The hand that’s holding the phone shakes just a little. Yeah, I’m cold, but I’m suddenly really nervous too. Think about it. Daddy not home until after dinner. Mom too busy to come home and check on me. Last day of Christmas break, and I’m spending it alone and freezing in my own house.

  I know a place where it’s warm, and where I won’t be alone.

  15

  I sent him an e-mail, but I doubt he’s online and I don’t have any way to let him know I’m coming over, so when I walk up to the side door that leads into the basement my stomach starts dancing around. He comes to the door wearing Levi’s and no shirt, and that makes me feel kind of light-headed, walking inside with him. It takes me back to our third date, the first time things really got hot between us.

  We were on the floor, on the striped comforter, and he was propped on one arm, kissing me. I heard the front door open and his little brother go pounding up the steps. His mother called down to the basement for him to help her carry in some bags. I panicked, was desperately trying to button my button-fly jeans. Those things are easy to open but a bitch to refasten from a horizontal position.

  He put his hand on my arm. “Don’t worry about it,” he said softly, and buttoned his own jeans, gave them a little adjusting, and ran out without even pulling on a shirt.

  I huddled in the corner of his room, mortified. I was sure his parents knew exactly what we had been doing. And maybe they did, because they never called him to run up and help with anything again. I hoped that he didn’t say anything to them, like “Don’t ask me to carry in groceries when Parker’s here,” or more likely, “Leave me alone when I have a girl over, okay?” Part of me is uncomfortable imagining what his parents must think, but another part of me doesn’t care. This is what he does to me.

  “I needed to talk to you,” I tell him, feeling incredibly dumb. Why else would I be here?

  He breathes out hard and reaches for me. When I step back, he grins at me and ushers me in ahead of him.

  “I thought you were under house arrest.”

  “I am. I escaped.” I stand there, unsure what to do with myself. Finally, I decide to put my hands in my pockets, but my jeans are pretty tight, so then I don’t. All this thinking and I’m still standing here not knowing what to do with my hands. He ties all of me in knots, including my brain.

  “I’m glad to see you.” He’s playing shy with me now, staying just out of reach, watching me.

  “We need to talk,” I tell him. I take off my hat and gloves, take a step over and put them on the striped bedspread. Finally something to do, and then the task is done and I have to turn to look at him again.

  “We talked before.” He sounds irritated, almost mad. He means after the breakup. At least, I think that’s what he means.

  “I know.”

  “You walked out on me.” He’s right, and I’m so upset with myself for this, and yet it seemed like my only choice. The only way to retain some control of myself and the situation. I need to have some control.

  “You pushed me too far.” Does he know what I mean? Is he aware how it was all going too fast and crazy?

  “I know. I guess I did and I’m sorry. Look, if you want to talk, come with me.”

  He grabs my hand loosely and pulls me behind him, out of his house into the January chill. I move closer to him instinctively; my gloves and hat are still lying in his basement.

  “C’mon.” He breaks into a run, has to be freezing out here with no shirt, but his enthusiasm is contagious. I stumble after him. He pulls me into his neighbors’ yard, not Erin Glasgow’s but the one that belongs to the older couple who live directly behind him. A frosted glass enclosure wraps halfway around the wooden deck. Cobalt blue tiles line the area around a sunken hot tub. He drops my hand and pulls the cover back. Steam rushes out and blinds me. I feel trapped between the vicious cold and the pull of the humid warmth. And now I see. He will have this discussion, but it will be on his terms, and we will be together in the steaming hot water while we talk.

  “Let’s get in. We can talk all you want here.”

  “What about your neighbors?” I look up at the back windows nervously. I’m not ready to go through the whole getting-caught thing again.

  “They’re in Jamaica for a month. I know whe
re the key to the house is, if you want to go in.”

  I look up at the huge house, terrified that he’ll try to get me to trespass into another person’s private space.

  “No, I don’t want to go in.”

  He laughs. “Don’t worry, my mom is watering their orchids. We have a key and permission to watch their enormous TV and use their hot tub. We aren’t trespassing, relax, Park.” I breathe out and let the tension go. Does he do this to me on purpose?

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “The hot water will help. It’s, uh, soothing.” I look at him. “Soothing” doesn’t sound like something he would say, but I don’t ask him because I get distracted. He’s unbuttoning his pants.

  “I’m freezing, Parker. Let’s get in and warm up.”

  “This isn’t what I wanted. . . .” I am not going to take my clothes off, I tell myself. No way.

  “Parker.” He pulls me into his arms. “I promise I won’t push you any further or faster than you want to go. I’ll set the rules right now. No touching in the hot tub unless you initiate it, okay? You can trust me.”

  “Right.” I half roll my eyes and he laughs. There is a long silence. He pushes the button and the water comes to life.

  “Well, we’d better get in or we’re going to die of hypothermia,” I say, like I’ve wanted to get in the hot tub all along.

  “That’s my girl.” And that approval in his voice, the warmth, is what gets me. I pull off my sweater and fold it neatly, putting it on the cedar bench behind me.

  He’s already sinking into the water, completely naked. I peel off my jeans quickly and fold them because I just can’t stand to leave them in a heap on the deck. After a very long hesitation, I put my foot in.

  With the cold wind rushing right through me, the water feels like it might boil my skin off. Through the steam I see him watching me.

  When you think about it, your panties and bra are about the same as the average bikini, so I shouldn’t feel too self-conscious, but I can’t stop the thought of my parents’ stunned expressions in Dad’s office, and picturing them makes me feel all gross and embarrassed, and not at all what he wants. He wants someone comfortable with her body, someone who feels sexy, and I’m not that person.

  I take a deep breath and plunge into the heat. My body feels boneless, like I’ve melted and become part of the water. The cold against my face and the tops of my shoulders feels marvelously cruel, burning away last week’s loneliness and my parents’ shock. True to his word, he doesn’t lay a finger on me, though our thighs are just barely whispering against each other.

  “Do you want to get back together?” he asks. I feel a quick burst of excitement. Hope. I’ve been so lonely since we’ve been apart. I don’t know how to answer. He has pushed his hair back with a wet hand and it curls damply against his face. He looks vulnerable.

  “We aren’t good together. We make each other crazy,” I say, because I need him to talk me into it.

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Look, you have to tell me what happened with Kandace. Don’t hold anything back.” I look at his face, look away from his face, look at his face. I need to know, but I dread what he’s going to say.

  “You walked away from me, Parker.”

  “I know. But I have to know where you’ve been before I consider walking back in.” He leans back and rests his arms against the sides of the hot tub.

  “Did you know that I noticed you my very first day at Allenville? That was surreal, going back to regular school. Penbrook was quiet. There were hardwood floors, and of course, there were no girls. At Allenville it was all giggling and flirting and silliness. Then there was you. You were so aloof, so beautiful. I think I fell for you that first day. You met my eyes, but you didn’t react to me, so cool.”

  “Did you sleep with Kandace Freemont?”

  “Okay, okay, Park. You want complete honesty. I felt pretty bad, pretty rejected by the way things ended with us. She was there, and she was willing. I didn’t, we didn’t go the whole way, but we got a good start.”

  “Oral?” He doesn’t meet my eyes, and my stomach drops. I knew this was a possibility. I knew they probably had. I wish I could stop tormenting myself like this, I really do.

  “She offered.”

  “And?” Now I have to pretend like I want to know, even though I don’t, not exactly. It wouldn’t be cheating exactly, and yet if he wanted to get back together with me, why would he do something like that?

  “I wanted to. Really, I mean, really I wanted to. But it felt wrong and I kept thinking about you.”

  “You were thinking about me when you were with her.” This is both good and bad. I want him to think about me, but I don’t want him to be with her at all. Still, it’s better than nothing.

  “Well, yeah, thinking about how hot it is with you even when we’re just kissing. Thinking how I was a jerk when we had that last fight.”

  “She said you were amazing on Marion’s blog.” I just can’t seem to let it go.

  “I wasn’t amazing. I drove her home and told her I’d see her later, nothing really happened. Did you see what I wrote about you?”

  “Let me think.” Our thighs are pressed tightly together now, the only physical connection between us, but that connection is alive, and it’s present in all my thoughts.

  “Did it go something like”—I take a deep breath—“ ‘I would rather abuse myself on a nightly basis thinking about Parker Prescott than have Kandace Freemont spread-eagled on my bed’? ‘Hip-anonymous’?”

  “You do know me too well.” He fakes a goofy accent, leans forward, but I don’t move in to kiss him, and by his own promise he can’t press his lips against mine. Our eyes are level, though, and I see that challenge in his again. “It’s true, you know. Do you want to see?”

  “What?”

  “Are you curious, Parker?” He’s taunting me, and even though I know it, I can’t stop myself from blushing. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been curious, hadn’t wondered about the darkest, most private things that guys do, but some things are better kept secret. I lunge out of the water to stop him, even though I know he’s just teasing. I put my hands against his shoulders and push him down, and somehow I slip forward. My body rests for a moment on top of him and then we sink down back into the water together.

  I am balanced on the end of his knees, I feel him. He has gone stone still. His knuckles are white as he holds the beveled edge of the hot tub. I know that with one movement, I could change everything between us forever, that’s all it would take.

  I think about him for a second, not sex, just him, how much I love him and how much it hurts to love him. Then I propel myself back across the hot tub, out of his reach. I don’t feel like I did before, powerful because of his silly promise to me. I feel angry. I want to hurt him. The good feelings have been replaced by frustration. Maybe because I don’t believe his bullshit story about Kandace. Just because it’s what I want to hear doesn’t mean it’s true.

  “Parker, I am sorry I pushed you so hard before. I’ll wait as long as you want.” Somehow things have changed in the last ten minutes. He’s looking at me differently, like he can’t keep his eyes off me. Can I believe him? Should I? I want to. I glance at my watch. Good thing it’s waterproof.

  “I really need to get home.” I want to curl up under my pink bedspread and stare up at the ceiling for about a week, and try not to think about this or about him.

  “There are towels in that bench, the seat folds back.” He jumps out and hands me a towel. It’s a huge fluffy one, though I’m not properly appreciative of the cottony softness since I am now freezing to death. Not exaggerating here, I am facing certain death if I don’t press myself against him and force him to share his towel. Unless we share our body heat and our supersized towels we will surely die.

  Wrapped with him in his towel, I use my own to wipe every drop of moisture from my body before I shimmy into my jeans. My panties are dripping and it feels
terrible in the cold. My bra is soaked too. Miserable.

  “I don’t want you to walk home in the cold,” he says.

  “I don’t want to get caught with you. If my parents show up, I can pretend I just went out for a walk to clear my head and ponder the error of my ways.” I’m starting to worry, but somehow I can’t focus on my parents’ beating me home when I’m standing here with him.

  “They might wonder why you smell like chlorine and why you’re soaking through your clothes. Let me take you.” He’s right. They probably would wonder about that, especially since they don’t trust me anymore. And because it’s pretty hard to explain why I’m dripping wet and my hair is frazzled from the steam. I should definitely ride with him. He’ll get me home faster.

  It’s easy enough to follow him and climb into his shiny black Saab. It’s hard to keep from touching him. He pulls smoothly out of the driveway and turns left. Timid little mouse that I am, I put my hand on his thigh, very lightly. He stops at a light and then turns left again. I jerk my hand back, unsure of my instincts. He gives me a little half smile that I can barely see because he’s looking at the road.

  He parallels right in front of my house, pulls me to him, and gives me one of those “I know your parents are watching out the window” kisses. Very showy and dramatic. More head action than tongue action, which isn’t his style at all. A weird show since there isn’t an audience. I know I should stop him, that if anyone is looking I’m in more trouble than ever, but somehow I just can’t.

  16

  “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” I disengage my face, disengage my throbbing lips from his perfect, perfect mouth.