Natural Love

by S. Celi

  “Do you like it?” I said, still trying to shake of the annoying thought of Mitchell as her date to this party.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You should. This is your party, Avery.”

  She nudged me with her elbow. “Not it’s not.”

  “Yeah, it is. An early birthday party, in a way.”

  I eyed the bartender near the band. God, I could use a drink, or seven. I knew better than to get one before the party started, though. Once it began, I could hide it better with Dad and Linda’s eyes and attention on everyone else. Opaque plastic cups always came in handy for this. Since that’s how the staff always served non-alcoholic stuff at this party, that’s how they’d serve me a bourbon on the rocks. Or a straight vodka. Or some rum with no mixer. Anything, really.

  Anything to help me blot out the night.

  “I can’t believe I’m twenty-two,” she said.

  My attention snapped back to her. “You’re not twenty-two yet.”

  “I will be in, like, seven hours. 2:17 AM.”

  “Well, still. Not yet.”

  “What’s going on with you?” she said, and put her hand on the elbow of my lightweight blazer. “You’re always so weird around my birthday.”

  “Weirder than normal?”

  “Yeah. Weirder than normal.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you getting older.” I tried to make a joke. God, I was starting to sound like a fucking creep. “Maybe I want you to stay young and innocent forever. I like you better that way.”

  She looked at the concrete pattern on the patio. “You know I’m not innocent.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “No, I’m not. Not ever since—”

  I put a hand on her arm to stop her. I knew just where this conversation would go, and it didn’t have to be like this. It needed to stop before it started. “Let’s not go there, okay? Not tonight.”

  “I think about it a lot, though.” When her eyes met mine again, they looked watery and sad. “All the time. Especially now that you’re back.”

  “I wish you’d stop thinking about it.”

  “When you were gone, I could forget.” She sighed.

  “Forget it,” I said. “It was years ago. Forgetting it is a great idea.”

  “It’s just that,” she stepped a bit closer to me, “you were the only one there. No one else knows what it was like to be there.”

  “Avery. Stop. We’re not doing this. Not on your twenty-second birthday.”

  “But I relive it every time I close my eyes.” Her voice shook. “I do.”

  My hand tightened around her bony bicep. If we’d had no staff around, I would have pulled her into my arms and held her until she cried it out. I might have kissed her the way I wanted to, or told her how I loved her more than anyone ever would. If we’d been all alone, we would have been free.

  But we didn’t have freedom, at all.

  Avery wiped away an escaped tear. “I’m going to ruin my makeup, aren’t I? Don’t want that.”

  From my pocket, I pulled out the handkerchief Dad gave me the year I graduated high school, back when he seemed happier with me and I didn’t drink my liver into a stupor. “Here. Take this.”

  “Thanks.” She blotted her face with it once and gave it back to me. “Did you wind up getting a date for tonight?”

  “No.” I shut my eyes and groaned. “I mean, yes.”

  “Some random girl?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Some random girl. One of Grant’s friends. Or his girlfriend’s friends. I’m not really sure.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Sounds mindless. It’s not really a date. I wouldn’t call it that at all. Not close.”

  She took a deep breath. “I guess we should go back in there. The guests will be here soon. And you know how Dad and Linda like for us to be ready.”

  “Yep.”

  I followed her back to the entrance to the kitchen, and when we paused at the door, I looked back at the set-up for the party. Five bars. Thousands of dollars in high-end liquor. And I hoped by end of the night that I’d get my hands on enough of it to block the pain that wrapped my heart.

  So much for good impressions.

  BY NINE THIRTY that night, three hundred and fifty guests dotted the back lawn of Chadwick Gardens like freckles. They stood in clumps of designer clothes that reminded me of sugary frosting. Dad and Linda had friends who liked to be seen, associates who obsessed about attending the right parties, and employees who showed up just for the free food and drink.

  I knew it. They knew it. We all knew it. But no one ever admitted it.

  “Here you go, Mr. Plastic Cup.” Grant gave the drink to me and raised his Chimay bottle in a toast. “Bourbon and Coke.” A pause. “Mostly bourbon.”

  “Good.” I swallowed some and relished the way the alcohol slid down my throat. “Just what I needed.”

  “It’s your third one in a half hour,” a nameless redhead next to me said. She chugged some of her own wine. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “My friend Spencer here likes his liquor. He always has.” Grant grinned at Heather, his date, who also happened to be the woman from that night at Ovation. He wrapped his free arm back around her waist, and she smiled as if she expected it.

  “This is such a fun party,” Redhead said.

  From where she stood, Redhead had a view of the whole event, which by then also featured actors walking around in colonial outfits and a few dressed as Uncle Sam and the Statue of Liberty. A couple near us flagged a man dressed in a 1780s military uniform and posed with him for a photo on their phone.

  “Can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” she went on to say. “You guys are so fucking rich.”

  I winced at her words and the smell of alcohol on her breath. Redhead had on a blue-banded dress and her breasts looked tiny. Her mascara had started melting off her face. Not sexy. I could sleep with her if I wanted, and I knew it, but she didn’t fit my type at all.

  Only one person at the party fit that description. And she stood nowhere near me.

  “It is a fun party,” I lied.

  “Fun . . . pffffttt . . . This party is amazing.”

  Grant grinned at the Redhead.

  Everyone else was having fun, no doubt, but not me. I couldn’t make it through five minutes of this event without my eyes finding Avery in the crowd. And that made this party a slow torture. They might as well just put me on the rack and stretch my body to oblivion; that would have been less painful.

  “What time are the fireworks again?”

  “Ten.”

  “And who puts it on?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Someone around here. Neighbors?”

  “You’ll be able to see it so well, though.” Grant pointed down the hill to the tree-line. “Over there.”

  “Woooooowww,” Redhead said. “So clear.”

  “Always loved watching the fireworks at your house, bro,” Grant said to me. “Even before your parents started throwing the party of the year.”

  “The party of the year?” I laughed.

  “You know it,” Grant said. “Three hundred and fifty of your family’s closest friends.”

  Redhead perked up at that number. “Three hundred and fifty?”

  “Yep,” I said. What remained of drink number four swirled around in the bottom of the red cup. Damn, I had an alcohol tolerance. And I needed more. Much more.

  “Are you kidding?” Redhead said to me. “Three hundred and fifty people are here?”

  “Three hundred and fifty people who need to kiss my Dad’s ass.”

  “Ya don’t . . . Ya don’t mean that . . . do ya?” She laughed. “Da . . . people really throw . . . really?”

  Over the last half hour, Redhead’s speech had slowed, her volume had gotten louder, and her eyes looked foggy. She teetered on the edge of drop-dead drunk, and this repelled me from her. I didn’t need a drunk, clingy, messy girl on my arm to take care of. Not that night. Not when all I
wanted was one thing: more time with Avery.

  Screw networking and trying to impress anyone. Fuck it. Time to leave. And I didn’t mean leave with a drunken redhead.

  “Listen.” I grabbed Redhead’s elbow. “I need to go check on a few things” I added a wink. “You know, help host and all.”

  “Okay,” she said, but she didn’t sound very happy about that. I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  “I’ll see you all in a bit. Maybe I’ll come back with some dessert.” I pulled away from her and gave Grant a knowing look. He looked ready to dive back into whatever flirtation he had going on with Heather, anyway. He wouldn’t miss my company, and hopefully the Redhead was too blitzed to miss it, too.

  Once I walked away from them, I wove my way through the thickening, tipsy crowd. The band started its second major set of the night, and I overheard guests’ mindless chatter about what the fireworks would look like this year, their latest vacations to Europe, humble brags about their children’s accomplishments and small talk about current events. Two years might have passed since the last one of these parties that I’d attended, but the script hadn’t changed.

  Sycophants.

  I still hadn’t found Avery by the time I reached the buffet. Despite hundreds of guest and ample appetites, the spread still looked stocked beyond belief. Dad and Linda had outdone themselves; Chadwick Properties and Construction must have had a memorable year. I grabbed a small plate and a tray of cookies and fudge bites near the far end of the tables. They didn’t count as the formal dessert, that would come later, but at least they’d keep my stomach from growling and mop up some of the bourbon that sloshed around inside of it.

  I had just turned away from the table when I heard the voices.

  “Come on. You’re drunk,” Avery said. “Really drunk.”

  “I’m not, sweetheart.” The male voice had this awful dullness I knew came from unschooled drinking. He didn’t know how to drink like a man. Instead, he sounded worse than a freshman pledge at a fraternity keg party. “Let me show you.”

  “No,” Avery said. She was pissed. “Stop it, okay?”

  “Come on, baby,” the man said. “Just let me. Don’t be such a bitch.”

  Oh, hell no. No one called my stepsister a bitch.

  My left hand clenched into a fist and I took a step toward them. This guy needed to learn a lesson, and he needed someone to rearrange his face. He could do without his nose. And a black eye wouldn’t hurt.

  “I’m not a bitch. No one calls me that,” she said, and I silently cheered Avery for defending herself. “Not even close. And you’re a drunken asshole.”

  “Asshole or not, at least I know how to have fun,” the guy said. “Tight-ass girls like you don’t.”

  I didn’t need to hear anymore. The plate found a place on the already overloaded table, and I walked over to them in two quick strides. Avery stood next to a person I guessed was Mitchell: a skinny guy with too much gel in his hair and the kind of tan sported by douchebags who liked to take selfies at the gym.

  “Hey, man,” I said. “Sounds like you’ve had too much to drink.”

  A sloppy grin spread over his face. “So have you, jerkoff. I smell it on your breath.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “Shut up right now.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Mitchell said, so drunk he couldn’t pronounce most of his words.

  “I’m her goddamn Brother,” I said, and grabbed the lapel of Mitchell’s shirt. “And you, motherfucker, better watch what you say about her.”

  “Spencer.” Avery put her hand out between us. “Stop. It’s not a big deal. It’s okay.”

  My eyes fell on her, still a vision in that sexy red dress. “It didn’t sound like everything was okay here.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Let’s not do this at a party, okay?” She tried to act flippant, and added a fake, nervous laugh, but it gave her real feelings away. “I was just going to call Mitchell a cab.”

  I stared at the douchebag again, still holding onto his lapel with a tight grip. He still wore that stupid grin, and I wanted to punch it off of his face.

  “Nice to meet you,” Mitchell said with drunken sarcasm. “You must be Spencer, right? Heard a lot about you.”

  “Well, I’ve heard nothing about you,” I said through gritted teeth. “Nothing at all.”

  “Oooohhh . . . Should I be scared?” Mitchell’s jaw slackened and he weaved back and forth on his unsteady feet.

  “I’m serious, Spencer. Let’s not do this here,” Avery said. “Mitchell, I’m calling you a cab. Right. Now.” She whirled around on the heel of her shoe and stomped into the kitchen.

  AT LEAST MITCHELL didn’t argue when the cab pulled up to the house about a half hour later. A couple of menacing, serious looks from me shut him up fast once we hit the kitchen. Avery made her annoyance clear, too, chastising and cajoling him as he tried to sober up and failed.

  Once we slid the skinny bastard into the cab, I let out a long exhale.

  “Don’t act so relieved,” Avery said. We both signaled the cab from the front stoop and it drove away past the long lines of parked imports driven by partygoers who wanted to impress themselves as much as each other.

  “Why not? That guy’s a dickweed.”

  Avery grinned at me, and I pressed onward with Mitchell’s indictment. “Seriously, he looked like a Hollywood casting for the typical arrogant rich douchebag. Asshats like that don’t deserve someone like you.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her, her gaze still on the taillights of the disappearing taxi. “Oh, I see. You don’t want me, but you want to tell me who to date.”

  “Avery, just listen to me.”

  “I’m joking, Spencer. And he’s not that bad when he’s sober.” She clapped me on the shoulder. “Neither are you.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him. Besides, I’m not drunk right now, Avery.”

  We needed to head back to the party, to resume our host and hostess duties and keep up family appearances, but I made no move to go back to there, and neither did she.

  “You might not be drunk, but you’ve been drinking. I can tell.”

  I turned to her. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Yeah, you have.” She still faced the driveway, which had fallen into darkness once more. After a beat, she rubbed her shoulders and I wondered how she could be cold. July in Ohio never meant cold, not on that night or any other.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine,” she said in a tone that told me the exact opposite.

  Out of instinct, my arm wrapped around her shoulders and she fell against me a little. I knew how it looked; I didn’t care. The two valet guys Dad hired for events were on break, anyway, buying us a few stolen minutes. The two of us stood alone at the front of the house, and the sounds of laughter and music from the party faded into the background like a television on low volume.

  “Are you having a good time?” I couldn’t have resisted her if I’d wanted to. My hand moved up and down her right arm, giving her elbow and bicep a gentle massage.

  “Yeah, it’s fun.” I looked at her, and she smiled at me, making no move to pull away. “But I’d have more fun if I knew that you were having fun, too.”

  “I’m enjoying myself.”

  “No, you aren’t.” She nuzzled her face against my chest, and on instinct my arm tightened around her. “I saw you talking to that redheaded woman. She looked like tons of fun.”

  “Now, she’s the one who’s drunk, not me.” I focused back on the driveway and the dark oblivion in front of us. That felt safer than focusing on my stepsister.

  After a few more moments, Avery straightened from the crook of my arm and placed both of her hands on it, so that I naturally twisted in her direction. “When are you going to stop being so angry all the time?”

  “Angry? I’m not angry.”

  Lies. All lies.

  Her eyes searched my face and I knew from her e
xpression that she didn’t buy my answer. “You’re more than just upset at Dad. You’re carrying something else around, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I lied again.

  “Something between us?”

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  Lies also came easier if I kept them short. Succinct. One or two words. Too many more and they started to resemble quicksand.

  She shook her head. “I always thought you’d tell me everything.”

  “Let’s not talk about this now, okay? We should get back to the party. People will notice.”

  Still entwined with her, I walked us off the front steps and headed toward the small stone walkway on the side of the house. Ivy climbed the walls of this part of Chadwick Gardens, and a trellis decorated with roses that stood at the start of the path. From here, the walkway wound around the corner of the east wing, and would take us back to the party.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” I said.

  “Thank you. I hoped you’d like this dress.”

  We stopped walking just under the trellis, next to a corner of the house. From here, we couldn’t see the rest of the party, but we could hear everything. Hundreds of people stood just a few feet away from us, and they’d come looking for us soon. We had commitments and expectations to fulfill, but at that moment, my eyes and my attention were on her.

  Only her.

  “Did you wear it just for me?” I said.

  “Yes,” she said under her breath. “Just for you. I do everything just for you.”

  My mouth covered hers in a rough, intense kiss. I gripped her face with one hand and the small of her back with the other, crushing her to me in a split second of passion that didn’t have any boundaries, a passion that broke every rule and defied everything that made sense in my life. My tongue twisted and shoved against hers, and she opened her body beneath me as our kisses deepened. Before long, I forced us against the ivy wall of the house, and there we were, locked together in a moment that somehow we’d claimed as ours and ours alone.