Out from Under You

by Sophie Swift

  Alex fidgets with the bottom of her coffee mug. Another very un-Alex thing to do. Insecure people fidget. People who didn’t grow up the envy of every guy and girl in their high school fidget. I fidget.

  “I don’t know. I just thought, it would be fun to…” Her voice trails off and she shoots another uneasy glance toward Dad. “Never mind. You’re right. I should just shop in the city. I have some friends that have offered to go, given that…Yeah. I’ll just go with them.”

  And that’s when it hits me.

  The nervous looks at our dad. The fidgeting. The anxiety.

  Wedding dress shopping is normally something you do with your mom.

  And with ours out of the picture, she figured I was as close as she was going to get.

  “I’ll go with you,” I suddenly hear myself blurting out, before I can stop to think what I’m agreeing to.

  Alex’s face lights up and I feel a pang in my chest. “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  She beams at me over her coffee cup, bouncing a little on her toes. “Great!”

  I can’t believe how genuinely excited she sounds. At just the thought of shopping with me. When I was twelve and she was fifteen, I would have jumped at the chance to go shopping with my cool, popular, older sister. And the twelve-year-old that’s still in me now feels just the tiniest thrill that Alex actually wants me to come. That she might value my opinion. That I’m some kind of suitable replacement for our mother.

  My heart starts to swell.

  But the sensation bursts like a popped water balloon a second later when Grayson strolls into the kitchen.

  “What’s great?” he asks, giving my dad an affectionate pat on the shoulder and me a fleeting, awkward glance. He reaches into the cabinet above the coffee-maker and removes a ceramic mug.

  “Lia is going to go wedding dress shopping with me today.”

  There’s a loud crash and we all jump. I spin around to see that Grayson has dropped the coffee cup and it’s shattered into a hundred pieces in the kitchen sink.

  “Klutz much?” Alex says with a giggle.

  Grayson blinks rapidly and then gets to work scooping up the larger pieces and tossing them in the trash. “Sorry about that, Jack,” he says to my dad. “I’ll buy you another mug in town today.”

  My dad waves it away with his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I hated that mug.”

  I watch Grayson carefully as he runs the faucet, washing the smaller pieces down the garbage disposal.

  He peers up and catches my eye momentarily. I feel my cheeks flush with heat and then we both turn away.

  “So,” he says with a clearing of his throat, “wedding dress shopping. I…uh…thought you would buy a dress in the city.”

  Is he nervous?

  His voice sounds strained and kind of wobbly.

  Is he worried I’m going to tell her something? That two hours alone in a mirrored dressing room with my sister will somehow turn me into a blabbing idiot?

  Like I would ever do that to Alex. Let alone, while she’s picking out her wedding dress.

  I roll my eyes and fight back an audible groan.

  Wow. He really is self-centered.

  It’s all about Grayson, isn’t it?

  Keeping Grayson’s secret. Making sure Grayson doesn’t get in trouble. Preserving Grayson’s relationship so he can continue to get spontaneous blow jobs in the bathroom.

  The whole thing makes me want to gag.

  Alex shrugs, watching Grayson wipe down the sink with a sponge. “I thought it’d be nice to shop with my little sister. You know, a sibling bonding thing.”

  His cheeks seem to spasm as he smiles back at her. “Sure. I guess that makes sense. But—”

  “And I want to go.” I interrupt him before he can try to talk her out of it for his own selfish reasons. I stand up and look pointedly at him, raising my eyebrows. “I never see my sister and I feel like we have a lot to catch up on.”

  I down the rest of my coffee, rinse the cup, and place it in the dishwasher, closing the door with a bump of my hip.

  “I can be ready in twenty minutes, Alex,” I tell her and then stalk out of the room without another look back.

  I smile to myself as I climb the stairs.

  He’s nervous.

  Well, good.

  Let him sweat it out. Let him spend the day agonizing about what’s going on behind closed doors.

  It’ll be a nice change.

  “You are an asshole,” I say to myself in the bathroom mirror. “You are a massive, fucking fuck-up.”

  My reflection stares blankly back at me. As though it doesn’t understand. As though it doesn’t comprehend just how much shit I’m in right now.

  Alex and Lia left a half hour ago. And Lia seemed really pissed off. After what she witnessed, I can’t say I blame her. I must look like a complete jerkwad to her. Just some stupid, cheating, bachelor playboy who can’t keep his dick in his pants.

  I wish I could say it’s not like that. I wish I could convince myself that’s not who I am, but right now, that’s exactly who I am. At least, that’s how it feels. I should have stopped Alex before she started. I should have pulled her back to her feet. It was careless of me. Stupid.

  Fucking stupid stupid stupid.

  By now, Lia has probably told her sister everything. By now they’re probably roasting cocktail weenies over a bonfire flame on the beach, pretending they’re my manhood.

  I have no idea what to do.

  I can’t lose Alex. She’s everything to me. My life somehow fell back into place after we found each other again.

  But Lia…

  Oh God, Lia.

  I tip my head forward, resting my chin on my chest. I can’t stop thinking about her. The way her skin tasted on my tongue. The way her hair tangled around my fingers. The way she brought out some animalistic side of me that I’ve never seen before.

  What Alex said in the bathroom this morning was right. I am quiet. I am reserved. I’ve always been that way. When I come, I come softly. I come politely. When we fight, I fight calmly. With civility.

  Alex has always been the wild, fierce one. The one who can’t control herself. The one who doesn’t care if people hear her scream—either in anger or in ecstasy. Sometimes her orgasms are so loud I have to kiss her hard on the mouth to keep her quiet. I have to absorb her passion into me. And most of the time, I feel like it’s the only way I can share her intensity. To suck it straight out from her lips. But it never quite does the trick. It never quite satisfies me. I’m always left feeling disappointed. Like I’m breathing second-hand air. Trying to extract the few oxygen molecules still left in it.

  But when I was with Lia last night, everything was different.

  I was different.

  I was crazy. And reckless. And ferocious. The world and all its consequences seemed to just vanish into thin air. I didn’t care what happened after that moment. And I didn’t care what had happened before it. All that mattered was right then and there.

  All that mattered was her.

  NO!

  I dig my nails into my palms until my skin starts to scream.

  I can’t do this. I can’t be this guy. I built a life around a promise not to be this guy. The one who throws caution to the wind. The one who follows his fickle impulses and careless whims. The one who leaves.

  My father was a leaver.

  And my mother spent her entire life chasing a ghost.

  I won’t be that ghost.

  I lift my head and lean close to the mirror. So close that I could stick out my tongue and lick my own reflection. I stare into my dilated pupils.

  Get your shit together, I tell myself.

  Put an end to this.

  NOW.

  There’s a knock on the door and I am so startled I bang my head against the mirror. Rubbing my forehead, I call out, “Yeah?”

  “Any interest in a round of golf?”

  It’s Jack.

  “I’ve got a tee-time at
eleven and one of the guys dropped out.”

  He wants to golf.

  Of course he does.

  He has no idea anything is wrong. He has no idea I’m in here screaming at myself in the mirror. He has no idea I’ve now kissed both of his daughters.

  He’s just going about today like any other day.

  As should I.

  “Sure,” I call back, cringing at how broken my voice sounds. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Golf. Yes, golf will be good. The fresh air will clear my head. Maybe the sunshine will fry my brain into functioning correctly.

  Yeah, and maybe magic pyro elves will show up in the middle of the night and light my sorry ass on fire.

  Shopping with Alex has never been a particularly rewarding experience. At least not for me. For Alex, I imagine, it’s like shopping in a fantasyland with a fairy Godmother waiting in the wings to make sure everything fits right, nothing bulges in the wrong places, and the correct sizes simply poof out of thin air.

  Alex is one of those people who pretty much looks good in everything. She was a junior model for a local clothing boutique in Eastbrook when she was twelve. They paid her in clothes. When news of this broke out at Eastbrook Middle School, her stock skyrocketed.

  I, of course, eventually received all of these free clothes as hand-me-downs but by then, they seemed to have lost their shine. Even though I wore them in the same combinations as she had and paired them with similar shoes and accessories, for some reason it didn’t have the same effect as when Alex would show up to school in one of her hand-picked ensembles. People would gather around, touch the fabric while making squirrel noises. I can’t remember anyone ever making squirrel noises about anything I’ve worn. Or any kind of noises for that matter.

  Things just tended to sparkle on Alex.

  She made the clothes, not the other way around.

  To be honest, she could have dressed in a wardrobe provided entirely by Kmart and received the same reaction.

  So yes, shopping with Alex has never been a particular self-esteem booster for me. But after what transpired last night, it’s especially painful today.

  Alex steps out of the dressing room in a gorgeous lace and silk gown. Her fifth dress this morning. This one is a strapless number that cinches above her left hip, the skirt cascading delicately to her feet like satiny milk being poured in slow motion.

  I take one look at it, then peer down at my juvenile polka-dotted blue sundress, and polish off the rest of the complimentary champagne in my glass.

  I knew it was a mistake to come here.

  She stands in front of the three-way mirror, a scowl disfiguring her mouth.

  The way-too-chipper saleslady (is there such a thing as a not chipper wedding dress saleslady?) stands behind her, straightening the train and sounding not too dissimilar to the sixth-grade girls who used to gather around Alex in the halls of the middle school. “Oh wow. Just wow. I cannot believe how well this fits you, Alex. You were born to wear a wedding dress, weren’t you? My, my, my, what precious little hips you have and that scrumptious waist!”

  I think about my own waist. Wondering if I can remember anyone ever describing it as “scrumptious.”

  Nope. Not so much.

  And then suddenly I’m seized by a flash of Grayson’s hand on me. Chilled by the ice. Running hungrily down my chest, clutching at the skin around my waist. Then both of his large hands were encircling me, his fingers pressing into the sides of my stomach, leaving passionate indents on my skin.

  “Well,” the saleslady is yammering, “I’ll tell you, I would give my firstborn for that waist.” She leans in conspiratorially to Alex. “Don’t tell my daughter I said that!” And then breaks into a laugh that would scare even a hyena. “My dear, I am just speechless!”

  All evidence to the contrary, I think, helping myself to the open champagne bottle on the coffee table in front of me and filling my glass to the very top.

  Alex catches my eye in the center mirror. “Lia, what do you think?”

  “Gorgeous,” I confirm, trying my best to infuse the word with some kind of emotion.

  Once again with feeling!

  “Gorgeous,” I repeat. But it still sounds like it’s being spoken by a Star Wars droid.

  Alex frowns back at her reflection. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s not to know?” the saleslady whinnies. “It’s breathtaking!”

  I catch Alex’s subtle eye roll in the mirror and have to hide my smile behind a sip of champagne.

  “It’s not it,” Alex decrees with finality in her tone. “Unzip me, please.”

  Surprisingly, the saleslady doesn’t argue. “Well, I have plenty of others,” she says, tugging gingerly on the zipper. “I’ll go fetch some divine choices.”

  Alex shimmies out of the dress, not even bothering to retreat into the dressing room. The shop is deserted apart from us, but anyone passing by on the street could easily get an eyeful.

  She tosses the dress over a chair and flops down on the small sofa beside me in only her strapless bra and nude thong, grabbing her champagne and taking a long sip.

  Although I warn my eyes not to do it, I can’t help but rove. Up her long, slender legs, over her flawless, flab-free thighs, across her smooth, flat belly (that somehow magically manages to look concave even when she’s sitting down), and finally landing on her round, buoyant breasts, peeking over the top of the bra, looking like two perfect scoops of butter pecan ice cream...minus the pecans.

  Alex and I share many similar features. We both have blue eyes and hair the color of coffee with too much milk. We’re approximately the same height, we wear the same size shoes, same size bra, and are even relatively the same weight. But for some reason, Alex always seemed to carry all those attributes better than I did. Like some kind of optical illusion.

  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was so sick and fragile as a baby. Or perhaps it’s her unwavering confidence or ability to pick out the more flattering clothes. But as I try not to stare at my sister’s body, I can’t help but wonder why any guy—Grayson or otherwise—would ever pass up the opportunity to be with her.

  Which only confirms my suspicions that last night was a fluke. A mistake not to be repeated. And certainly not to be reflected upon.

  Because there’s no way Grayson would have disappeared up those stairs last night thinking, “Well, I certainly have been missing out.” More than likely he was congratulating himself on picking the hotter sibling. He verified his selection. Like when you buy a new computer and then see it for twenty bucks more at some other store. You pat yourself on the back and commend yourself on your excellent shopping skills.

  Was that all I was?

  A test? A quick dip in some other lake to confirm that the water isn’t more swimmable elsewhere?

  The realization leaves me feeling incredibly sad. Like a small fissure is opening up in my heart, letting hope spill out droplet by tiny droplet.

  I don’t know how Grayson could have not compared us in his mind. He had to have taken notes, made assessments. Maybe not in the heat of the moment. Maybe not while his rock-hard body was crushed against mine and his tongue was flickering against my nipple like a wild, glorious flame, but certainly after. After the rush of excitement died down. After he climbed back into bed next to Alex and was reminded of what he had. What he’s always had.

  Alex sighs next to me. “I don’t know, Li. I’m starting to think that wedding dresses are like sushi. You simply can’t find anything decent outside of Manhattan.”

  “Why are you shopping for one here, then?”

  She shrugs. “Because I wanted to do it with you.”

  The guilt swoops back over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me.

  God, I’m a crappy, crappy sister.

  Here we are shopping for my sister’s wedding dress and all I can do is sit here and lament about how her fiancé thinks she has a sexier body than me.

  I wash down my disgust w
ith a large swig of champagne.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” she says, resting her hand casually on my leg. “It means a lot. Especially since Mom...” her voice wavers and I watch her bite back her tears, turning her head and scratching at her ear.

  I put my hand on top of hers and give it a squeeze. “I know. I’m happy to do this with you.”

  Once she gets her emotions under control, she turns back to me and flashes me a glassy-eyed smile.

  “I think you should at least try on a few more,” I tell her. “I drank almost that entire bottle of champagne.” I nod in the direction of the saleslady, who is humming to herself on the other side of the store as she plucks dresses from the rack. “I’d hate for Rainbow Bright over there to think we’re only here for the free booze.”

  Alex lets out a jovial laugh. It’s one thing I’ve always been able to do: make her laugh.

  It’s amazing how fast you forget about the important stuff like that.

  She nods and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Love you, Natalia-lia.”

  I swallow a massive, growing lump in my throat. It tastes sour and bubbly. Champagne mixed with betrayal.

  Even though my tongue is thick and swollen with remorse, I manage to get out a quiet “Love you, too.”

  I slip into Alex’s bedroom to change. I didn’t bring any golf clothes, but I figure my khaki shorts and a polo shirt will have to do. I doubt anyone will say anything.

  The ride to the club is pretty quiet. Jack never was much of a talker. He’s always been more introspective, choosing his words carefully before speaking, contributing to the conversation only when he has something worthwhile to add. Alex got her chatty side from her mother. Marianne was the life of every party. Gatherings at the Smart house were full of fun and games and singing. I can see why Jack fell in love with her. She breathed life into everything she did. She was creative and interesting, and tackled every project with an obsessive zealousness.

  Marianne Smart was like Kahlúa in coffee.

  She just made things better.

  The first few weeks that Alex and I were back together, all she talked about was her mother. She told me about her impulsive departure. How it broke her and her father’s heart. Alex swore she would never forgive her mom for as long as she lived.