by Lee, Geneva
"Jess, too," Cassie said, reading my thoughts. "Do you remember that five-year plan we had to do our freshman year?"
"When Jess lost her mind that we weren't taking serious classes?" How could I forget that? I'd gone along with it to calm her down. Thank god Jess had chilled out since then.
"And your entire plan revolved around turning 21?" Cassie recalled, giggling so hard that Jimmy shot us a warning look.
"You're going to wind up with a crooked bird if you keep up the laughing," he told her.
"Sorry." Cassie's voice was full of sugar and Jimmy responded with a grudging smile.
"It really has been downhill since 21. I think I was onto something," I said.
"Whatever! You have a boyfriend now." Cassie fluttered her lashes and made a kissy face.
"You look like a fish when you do that."
"A sexy fish." She sucked her cheeks in more and widened her eyes.
"I'm sure you'll catch a fisherman soon," I assured her.
"I don't need to catch anyone. I have Trevor and you have Liam and Jess has Brett. Our boy catching days are behind us!"
I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. Was Cassie that in to Trevor? From the sound of it, she might as well have dragged me dress shopping. And Brett and Jess weren't that serious. Jess couldn't actually wind up with Brett. He would bore her to death. As far as Liam and I...
"Why are you frowning?" Cassie asked me. "You don't like Trevor."
It was a fair accusation, but the truth wasn't that I didn't dislike Trevor. I nothinged him, but I couldn't tell Cassie that. "Ohmigod, paranoid much? I was thinking."
"You're done," Jimmy announced.
Saved by the burly tattoo artist.
He launched into the proper care of healing tattoos, and I checked my phone for messages. Liam had texted me, wanting to get together, an hour ago. My thumb hovered over the delete button when Cassie flung her arm out for my approval.
"It looks amazing," I said, admiring the clean black lines of the art. "Does it hurt?"
"Not really. Feels like I scraped my arm repeatedly in the same spot."
"That doesn't sound bad at all," I teased, pushing the sleep button on my phone.
"Come on." Cassie linked her untouched arm through mine. "It's Jillian's turn to do something fun."
"Maybe a nose ring? Or a couple lip rings?" I suggested.
"I can do those," Jimmy called from the counter.
Cassie barely smothered the smirk that leapt onto her mouth. "Let's get out of here," she whispered. "Bye Jimmy!"
He grunted a farewell. He didn't look too put out that I wasn't going to be shoving metal rods through my body today. I guess you win some, you lose some. The bell on the door tinkled as it shut behind us.
"That was an adventure," I said to Cassie as we strolled through the hazy twilight in downtown. It was too early in the night for the night owls and bargoers, but long past the dinner hour, so we passed few people. Most of the shops were closed for the night, so we peeked in windows. I preferred being down here at this time of day since I had very little spending money. It was much more fun to look than to constantly go in stores and walk out empty-handed.
"What do you think Trevor is going to say?" she asked as I ogled a pair of knee-heigh suede boots through the glass of Taylor's Shoes.
"About?"
"The tattoo," Cassie said with a sigh.
I turned back to her and shrugged. "I guess I would be flattered, but I'm not sleeping with you. He'll either find it hot or think you've gone all Fatal Attraction on him."
"Thanks!" Cassie pressed her lips together into a flat line.
"I'm sure he'll think it's hot."
"I hope so." She dug her phone out of her purse, smiling as she read a message. "Speaking of..."
"The devil?" I offered. She had gotten a booty call from Trevor. I would place money on it.
Cassie winked at me as she typed a quick response. "Something like that. Trevor wants me to come over."
"Okay." I tried to keep my tone even like I was totally cool with this, but my heart sank. I hadn't spent an entire evening with Cassie since she started seeing Trevor last May.
"You should call Liam." Cassie thrust her hips a few times suggestively.
"Maybe," I said laughing her off. "I have some stuff to do anyway."
"Sure, you don't mind?" Cassie asked, here eyes still glued to her phone.
"Absolutely."
She threw her arms around my neck. "Thanks for coming with me, and wish me luck when I show Trevor."
"He's going to love it," I called after her as she practically skipped down the sidewalk toward Elm Street.
My iPhone stayed in my pocket, even when I felt it vibrate. Did being in a relationship mean constantly bailing on my friends for my boyfriend? Jess wasn't nearly as bad as Cassie, but they'd both done it multiple times in the last few months. It was no big deal if we were somewhere like Garrett's, but Cassie had made a fuss over spending time together tonight only to dash off the second Trevor called her. Love was like a diseases creeping into her and slowly brainwashing her. Spend a little time together, then more and more, until she never saw her friends outside of class, but maybe that was bitterness talking. It was Cassie's life and as one of my best friends, I needed to respect that. Besides Trevor wouldn't last forever, regardless of what Cassie thought right now. He had no sticking power, as my MeMa would say. According to MeMa, one person had to have sticking power to make a relationship work, because love wasn't all picnics and blow jobs. Those were her actual words. I loved MeMa, despite her questionable taste in crocheted decor, because her advice was never lofty or condescending.
I wouldn't be like that, I promised myself. If MeMa was right about relationships that meant there should be some boundaries. Having time with my friends was one thing I wasn't about to give up, not even for Liam or his waffles. I pulled out my iPhone and responded to Liam's message with a quick: I'm with friends.
His response was lightening quick, and I felt a small pang. Was he sitting around hoping I would call him? I hoped not. But all the message said was "Cool. Maybe tomorrow?"
Tomorrow I could commit to.
Chapter 18
My phone rang as soon as I walked into the apartment. Jess looked up from her textbook and made a kissy face, but when I pulled it from my pocket the number flashing across the screen wasn’t Liam’s. I’d spent the day floating on cloud nine, so trust Tara to sense that from hundred of miles away to ruin my high. I considered not answering it, but I’d avoided most of her calls the last few weeks, which meant I had to give in eventually or risk her wrath.
“Hi Mom,” I said, taking the phone into my room and shutting the door.
“You answered! It’s a miracle.” The tone of her voice said differently.
“I’ve been busy with midterms,” I explained, which was mostly true. I didn’t add that I’d also been caught up in a significant amount of extracurricular activity.
“That’s why I called. Your father and I will be arriving at 11 am sharp on Saturday,” she said. “So make sure you’re caught up with homework by then.”
“Saturday?” I repeated.
There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. “Parents’ Weekend.”
How could I have forgotten that was coming up? My father insisted on coming in to town each year for the football game and other festivities, meant to attract alumni and parental donations to the school. It normally wasn’t too bad.
“Bring that boy you’re seeing,” Tara instructed me.
I froze, grateful we were on the phone and she couldn't see my reaction. “What boy?”
“You know very well what boy,” she said. “Jess mentioned him.”
“She did, huh?” If I came with a warning indicator, it would be blinking red.
“Remember 11 sharp, and don’t dress like a hoochie.”
I hung up before I could ask Tara how a hoochie dressed, just so I could get it right to piss her off. Slamming
my door behind me, I trudged into the living room. Jess stared up at me.
“Your mom called me,” she confessed. “I didn’t get a chance to warn you.”
“And you told her about Liam?” I asked, planting my fists on my hips to reinforce the glare I leveled at her.
“I accidentally said ‘I think she’s with Liam.’” Jess chewed on her lip. I knew she was sorry, and I knew it was a mistake, but she certainly hadn’t made my life easier.
“Actually I was with Cassie, getting a tattoo,” I said. I dropped onto the couch beside her and hugged my knees to my chest.
“Hold it,” Jess said. “You got a tattoo?”
“Yeah, I got a huge ‘Loose lips sink ships’ tat on my ass,” I said.
Jess smacked me on the arm. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Cassie got a tattoo. Some picture Trevor drew.”
“Well, there goes their relationship,” Jess said, shaking her head.
“Mine will be over this weekend.”
“What? Why?”
“Parents’ Weekend,” I reminded her. Jess’s parents never bothered coming in, so last year she’d endured four hours of the Nichols family’s two favorite activities: torture and interrogation. Tara should work for a BlackOps devision—she could wear anyone down.
“Oh.” Her response was as small as her voice, confirming my suspicion that last year had been as terrible as I remembered.
“And she wants me to bring Liam,” I added.
“Maybe he could come down with the Plague or something?” Jess suggested.
“Do you have access to the Plague? He’d probably have to be quarantined to keep Tara away.”
“Good point. I do not have access to any pandemics,” she said. “Maybe it will be fine.”
Jess tacked on the last part for me, because I knew she didn’t believe it. I’d gone to college a thousand miles away to get away from Tara. There was a damn good reason for that.
Ever since Tara called to say she would be coming for Parents’ Day, my medications felt like were doing nothing. My hands were weak and I caught myself trembling several times. I’d become practiced enough at calming myself that I could usually handle it, but the thought of Tara sent my nerves into a frenzy. And thanks to Jess, she expected to meet Liam, too. He had been a good sport about the whole thing. He even sounded a little excited, and apparently no amount of forewarning could scare him off from coming along.
If there was one person in the world who would disapprove of me being in a relationship more than myself, it would be mother. She was such a giver, after all. I’d spent all night Friday, cleaning and organizing the apartment. Thanks to Jess’s OCD tendencies, it never got that bad, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to make sure that there was nothing controversial around. I made sure my stash of condoms and my birth control were tucked safely under some papers in my bedside table, knowing Tara would open it the second I wasn’t looking. She was a self-proclaimed snoop, a habit she blamed on me. Since I “refused to tell her about my life,” she apparently had the right to turn my room into a CSI scene.
In the living room, I caught a Playgirl, a birthday gag gift from Cassie, tucked in with our Cosmos. I even sprayed down the kitchen counters and rewashed my bed sheets, sure she would be able to smell sex all over the place. I lined up my medications, facing out in the bathroom cabinet. Tara would check to make sure I was using them. She’d look for any excuse to pull me out of Olympic State and take me home to California.
Liam stayed away per my instructions, but when I opened the door on Saturday morning, I found him standing there, holding a bouquet of daisies. Tara and Dad would be here any minute, but looking at him in a white button-down shirt with carefully-combed hair, I had the strongest urge to throw him on the floor and mess up that neat hair and ironed shirt.
“Thanks,” I said, reaching for the flowers and trying to keep myself in check. It took considerably more effort than I expected.
Liam caught me around the waist and kissed me slowly. “They’re for your mother actually.”
“My mom hates daisies,” I said without thinking.
“Oh.” Liam’s face fell and he looked down at the flowers.
“She’s allergic,” I lied. I couldn’t stand to see that look on his face. I hated Tara a little for her stupid flower prejudices. Only accept expensive flowers from men, or they'll think you're cheap, Jillian. That was her idea of dating advice. “But I love them. Can I put them in water?”
“Of course, chicken.” But before I could take them into the kitchen, his mouth found mine again. I ran my fingers down his chest and hooked them over his belt, tugging at it playfully.
“We might have a few minutes,” I whispered.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said with a groan. “I’d like to make a good impression on your parents, and,” he added in a low voice, “the next time I get you in to bed, I don’t want to rush.”
My breath caught in my throat. Liam had been very carefully tiptoeing around sex since we agreed to slow down. “Is it too late to cancel on my parents?”
A knock on the door answered my door. I whimpered a little. On the list of ways I would rather spend a Saturday than going to Parents’ Day activities, was getting beheaded, walking across coals, and being stung by a thousand bees. I couldn’t see a way this wasn’t going to be painful.
Liam released me, squeezing my shoulder as I turned to open the door. It swung open to reveal my parents, who both looked like they were in some stage of constipation.
“Ta…Mom,” I corrected myself immediately, but the flash of annoyance in her eyes showed she heard me. “Mom, Dad.”
There was an awkward hug, full of limp arms and too much space. As soon as they came in, my mother stopped and ran her eyes up and down Liam. He was still holding the inferior daisies, and when neither of my parents spoke, Liam dropped the daisies on the bar and held out his hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, it’s nice to meet you.” My father shook his hand and muttered something similar, but my mother just stared at him.
“This is Liam, Mom,” I said, hoping to break her icy stare.
“He’s Scottish,” she said. “You didn’t tell us he was Scottish.”
She might as well have said He’s a leper. You didn’t tell us he was a leper.
“Liam is studying in America this year,” I explained.
“And how did you meet?”
Apparently the interrogation was going to proceed immediately. I had hoped they would wait until we were at the stadium or the club. In other words, until we were somewhere public. I was fairly certain I was less likely to kill them in public.
“In class,” Liam said. His lie was smooth. It hadn’t even occurred to me that lying was an option, but it was the perfect story. We could have met in class. We would have met in class. There was no reason to mention that we’d actually met the night before at a bar.
“It’s nice to meet you, Liam.” My mother sounded like it gave her physical pain to utter these words. But now that she’d momentarily paused her interrogations into Liam’s life and motives, she turned on me.
“You look tired, and your hair isn’t behaving. We should get you an appointment at the salon. Have you thought about cutting it?” She spoke so quickly, bombarding me with so many ideas that my head was already spinning. I took an unsteady step forward to put the daisies in a vase, but stumbled. Liam caught me and steadied me.
“Okay, chicken?” he whispered. I gave him an annoyed look, but the concern didn’t vanish from his face.
Tara followed me into the kitchen. “Have you taken your medication?”
“Yes,” I hissed. Her eyes flashed to Liam and back to me, narrowing in the process.
Great, now she knew that I hadn’t told him anything yet. It would be just like to her let it spill before the weekend was over. I felt the familiar rawness of tears creeping up the back of my throat, but I pushed back. I wasn’t going to let her make me cry. But when I couldn’t fin
d a vase for the flowers, I just felt worse.
Liam was talking football with my dad and didn’t seem to notice Tara grilling me.
“We need to talk about this boy,” she said to me.
“Not now, Tara,” I said, shoving the daisies so roughly into an old Quiktrip cup that I broke some of the stems.
"Mom," she corrected me.
“Ladies, we should be going,” my father called in to us.
Tara straightened up and ran her hand over her slicked back hair. It was darker than normal, almost black, so she must have gotten desperate to cover the gray. Despite that, she looked like the essence of the upper middle class in her carefully assembled Talbots outfit and pearl earrings. Next to me in my jeans skirt and an Olympic State hoodie, she looked like she was going to watch a polo match at the country club. Not that we’d ever belonged to a country club. My mother’s sense of style was heavily influenced by what I liked to call wishful thinking. She came from money. Something that stressed my dad out so much that he'd placed most of her money in a living trust and forced her to live a more middle class existence. I'd never bothered to ask if I was the beneficiary of the will, because, other than to pay for school, I didn't want her money.
“We really should do something about your hair,” my mother said as Liam held open the door for us.
I turned to lock the door, and Liam’s hand softly smacked my butt and he leaned in once she had redirected her nit-picking at my father. “You look so hot, chicken.”
I couldn’t quite help but smile and since my parents backs were turned I kissed him swiftly. For a split second, I considered forcing Liam back into my apartment. I could just lock my parents out. Eventually, they would have to go home. Liam’s hand cupped my chin and he raised an eyebrow, trying to guess what I was thinking.
A cough startled us apart, and his hand dropped from my face. My parents were both watching us. Dad looked bemused, but Tara was unreadable.
“Are you coming?” she asked. “We’ll never get a parking spot if you two don’t stop necking.”