Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  It sounds fucking terrible, but I know better than to say that.

  “Well, you’ve done one thing very, very right.”

  His eyebrows raise. “And what’s that?”

  “You’ve made your parents proud, I’m sure.”

  Brady laughs without a sound, lifting his glass to his mouth and draining the contents.

  “That I have,” he agrees, nodding. “But who really knows what that’s worth anymore.” He inclines his head my way. “You ready for dinner?”

  I drain my wine while Brady tosses two twenties on the bar.

  After dinner Brady walks me home. He’s impressed by my building, and I tell him it’s a luxury afforded to me courtesy of Laine.

  Brady steps on the elevator with me, and it’s as if that one step turns a dial on the whole evening. Every breath, every thought, every word, is more. Anticipation so strong I can taste it, but of what? Adrenaline quickens my heartbeats, until I feel the thrumming not only in my chest, but in my throat.

  “This is me,” I say softly, stopping in front of my door.

  Brady pauses beside me, and suddenly I’m aware of how much he has filled out. Baseball had given him the muscle, and adulthood gave him the mass. Even in my heels, the top of my head only reaches his nose.

  Brady reaches for me, folding me into him like he did when I first approached him at the bar earlier, but this time he is not careful of what’s touching. His hand runs the length of my back, over and over. Before I can stop it, a small sigh of pleasure escapes my mouth.

  I look up, alarmed. Brady’s gaze is heavy, his eyes hooded. He’s not scared by my sigh of pleasure, by his hand dipping dangerously low on my back, by any of this.

  The look he gives me is one I hope I never stop seeing. Longing mixed with content. “Do you have to go?” he asks, his mouth near my ear. “I’m not done seeing you yet.”

  I lean back, letting my head fall against the apartment door. “I’d invite you in, but”—I glance down at Brady’s hand, where it has left my back and come to rest on my hip—“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

  “Why?” Brady uses one finger to tip my chin to the ceiling. My throat is exposed, and he leans in, his lips hovering just above my skin.

  “Lines,” I manage to say around my galloping pulse, my tangled thoughts.

  “Lines…” Brady repeats, his breath hot on my throat. “Crossing lines?”

  I attempt to nod, but find I can’t, not with my head tipped up that way. “Yes,” I breathe.

  The tip of Brady’s nose touches me, and he lets it slide down to the hollow space at the base of my neck. He runs it back up the other side of my throat, careful to touch me with nothing more than that.

  “Tell me, Lennon, do you like this?”

  “Mmmm,” I answer. I can’t say yes, and I can’t say no. The truth is that I like it, very, very much, and I fear how much I like it. It makes me uneasy. Once we cross this line, it can’t be uncrossed. But really, isn’t it already crossed? The second I chose to wear this black dress I knew I was toeing the line. The second we stepped into that elevator and the air changed, we’d crossed the line. The truth was that we didn’t need to cross the line physically; emotional line crossing was enough to alter us.

  Brady’s mouth moves lower, until I can feel his breath on my cleavage. My hand finds his hair, winding through it. He still isn’t touching me, and damn if it isn’t the most erotic and frustrating thing I’ve ever experienced. I lower my gaze to watch him, sneaking a glance down the hall. If anyone came out right now...

  “Has Finn ever touched you like this, Lennon?” Brady’s hand slips from my hip, traveling down the outside of my thigh until it reaches the hem of my dress.

  “No,” I say sharply, gruffer than I intended.

  “Good,” Brady growls against me. “Do you want me to stop?”

  No.

  God, no.

  “Yes,” I hear myself say. The word bounces around my body, zinging past my heart and out into the air, halting the scene like a wrench thrown in a system of moving parts.

  Brady straightens. His confidence turns to apprehension, his eyes crinkling with concern.

  “Lines,” I say, trying to explain something I don’t understand myself.

  He nods. “Right. Lines.” He steps back from me. “I better go.”

  My hand flies out to stop him, but he’s already turned, striding for the elevator. When he gets there, he turns back to me.

  “I’m sorry for what I did in high school, Lennon. I’m sorry I didn’t make you mine. I’m sorry for it all.”

  Then he’s gone, stepping on the elevator and disappearing.

  12

  Now

  Brady

  There was a time in my life when I thought I would never move away from this town. I was a kid who lived in an affluent area with influential parents. As if that wasn’t enough, I discovered I had a natural talent for baseball. Tri-fucking-fecta. With my two best friends by my side, I didn’t think life could get any better.

  That feeling turned out to be true.

  Life could not get any better; but, it could get worse. One day, as I was nearing eighth-grade graduation, my mother came home and announced I would not be going to the high school I always assumed I’d be attending.

  Not good enough, she’d declared. We’re going private.

  I argued, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Nothing I could say would change her mind, and I wasn’t the type to force my hand. No running away from home or throwing a wild kegger. I operated on the belief that my parents had a shitty enough time dealing with my older sister, they didn’t need me compounding their problems. Plus, I really liked being the easy one. It was a source of pride for me.

  Thank God we have you, my mother would say, ruffling my hair. I read her message as clearly as if it were written on paper: we can’t have two children causing problems. And truly, I understood. My father was a federal judge, and he’d extended his reach as far as it would go to get my sister out of trouble. Two DUIs, and found in possession of drugs (it was only weed, but still, it was against the law).

  I was the good boy, and I still am. After a while, the traits we pride ourselves on become a part of us. They bleed into us, until they shape us, help us create the story we tell ourselves.

  Since I can remember, I’ve been telling myself Lennon and I are meant to be. She showed up that day in second grade, her eyes wide and fearful, and I could tell she thought she didn’t belong. She never thought she was good enough, not for me or the school or anything that was given to her. She was timid, fearful, like a pet beaten by the owner it loves.

  And later, I came to understand she had been beaten, figuratively anyway. Her mother was a piece of work, a textbook narcissist. Until I met that woman, I’d never truly hated anybody.

  Ironically, Lennon’s mother loved me. When we were younger her mom didn’t want her around boys, but when we were older she accepted our friendship. She told me over and over that I was too good for Lennon. She said this in front of her. I responded the same way each time: wrapping an arm around Lennon’s turned-in shoulders and saying ‘You must have something wrong with your eyesight, Mrs. Blake’.

  If only my own mother loved Lennon as much. She wasn’t unkind to her, but her eyes passed over Lennon with polite disinterest. She believed there were other people I should be spending my time with. People who were not Lennon Davies and Finn Jeffries.

  And something tells me, when I get back from my run and breakfast with Finn, she’ll wait less than five minutes to ask me if I’ve seen them since I returned to Agua Mesa.

  I didn’t tell her why I came back, only that I was going to use the house for a couple weeks. I’d contemplated not telling her, but I knew it would upset her if she learned later on that I’d come back to my childhood home for the first time in years and hadn’t told her.

  Things are going to be different though. I’m an adult now. I won’t hide my friendships anymore. I’m not af
raid to upset her. My father retired from the bench two years ago, and she can’t threaten me with the possibility of embarrassing my father by continuing to befriend the 'future inmate' and the 'girl who should be dating the future inmate'.

  To be fair, Lennon never stood a chance. She was doomed from the beginning, right along with every other girl. I can’t imagine a woman my mother would consider good enough for her only son. Perhaps a philanthropic, virgin princess who spends her free time protesting shark fin soup? And that’s only a maybe.

  “Mom, hi.” I greet her as I walk through the small mudroom off the left of the kitchen. She and my father arrived while I was out. I feel a twinge of guilt as I think about how their arrival might have influenced my decision to exercise this morning. Finn was a large part of it though. I wanted to see him, to be one-on-one with him. Finn’s a good guy, and it’s been so long. Too long. He doesn’t want to talk about his job, but I wish he’d open up about it. Maybe that means Lennon and I are right, and he was doing something he can’t talk about. Ordinarily it would seem far-fetched, but this is Finn I’m thinking about. With him, anything is possible.

  “Brady!” My mom beams, placing her kitchen knife on the butcher block cutting board and coming to me, arms open. She hugs me, pulling away with a wrinkled nose. “You stink.”

  “I went for a run.”

  “In this heat?”

  Nodding, I walk to see what she was cutting. I’m not hungry, but I want something to do with my hands.

  Pears. I grab two slices and pop one in my mouth.

  My mom leans a hip against the countertop, pinning me with her straight-forward gaze. “How are you, dear?”

  “Fine,” I answer.

  Her eyes tighten shrewdly. “Try that again.”

  “Mom, it’s only been a few months since I’ve seen you. Not much has changed.”

  “Sure it has,” she says. Her tone is casual, but I know better.

  My eyebrows pull together in confusion.

  “You’re here, after all. In Agua Mesa. After so many years gone.” She cocks her head, the loose bun at the nape of her neck toppling sideways with the movement. “Why did you come back?”

  She knows.

  Of course she does. News of Lennon’s mother’s death is a big enough deal that it would only take a couple phone calls for my mother to learn about it.

  “Lennon’s mom died. Her service is in two days. Lennon came back, so I did too.”

  “And Finn?”

  “What about him?” I’m really starting to hate how much I feel like a child again, defending my choice in friends against the person who held all the power in my life.

  “He’s back too.” Her question sounds more like a statement. “Of course he is. Whatever one of you does, the other two follow.”

  “You make it sound like we share a brain.”

  She snorts. “Thank God you don’t.”

  “Mom…” I say it low, a warning.

  “They almost ruined your future!” Her voice raises as she speaks, her thin, white hand coming down hard on the counter.

  My head shakes. I’m ready to be done with this conversation. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have told my mother I was coming home. When she visits me in Chicago, she doesn’t act like this. “I’m going to grab a shower, Mom.”

  I’ve taken three steps when her voice speaks up behind me.

  “You were taken to jail,” she hisses, an attempt to get control of her volume.

  I keep walking, but I feel compelled to respond as my legs move me farther away. “I was taken to the police station,” I clarify. “Not jail.”

  “Because of her,” she calls out just before I turn the corner and disappear from sight.

  My mom is right. I went to the police station because of Lennon. More specifically, I went to the police station because of Lennon’s stepfather.

  Sometimes I replay that night in my head, and when I do, it happens differently.

  I call Lennon when I’m finished with my shower. She tells me she’s knee deep in going through her mom’s closet, and it’s only the beginning. Next up: the rest of the house. I can only imagine the personal cost to Lennon. Sifting through the artifacts of the person who treated you viciously? It’s like one last cruelty. A final fuck you.

  When I offer my help, I don’t really expect Lennon to accept it. She’s self-reliant, almost to a fault. When she says yes, I know it means she’s at her wit’s end.

  I find my mom sitting at her desk. In the time it took me to take a shower, I’ve cooled off a bit. I don’t want to fight with my mom, especially since I haven’t seen her in a few months.

  “Mom—” I begin, but fall silent when she looks up. Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying. My mom rarely cries.

  She sniffs. “I’m sorry for all that in the kitchen. It’s not just you, I have other things on my mind.” She gives me a pointed look and goes on. “Don’t get me wrong; I’m still not pleased that your friendship with those two continues. But, friendships don’t usually endure for no reason at all, so clearly there is something between the three of you I just don’t understand.”

  It’s as close as she’ll come to an apology, and I’ll take it.

  “What’s on your mind, Mom?”

  She sighs, her shoulders drooping with the weight of whatever it is she carries. “Your sister, of course.”

  “What happened now?”

  “She was fired. It’s her third job this year.” She glances out the window to the street, one finger tapping the center of her bottom lip. She looks back at me. “When is she going to grow up?”

  Her question is not rhetorical, I can tell. Her eyes beseech me. I wish I had a better answer.

  Shrugging, I tell her, “Hopefully soon, Mom.” Is it fair to offer my mother hope? Probably not. But if she doesn’t have hope, I don’t know what else she’ll cling to.

  She blinks twice, as if trying to clear away the heavy air. “Are you heading out?” Her eyes take in my freshly washed hair and my clothing; green shorts, and a gray V-neck tee.

  I nod. “Lennon needs help going through her mom’s belongings. There is a whole house of stuff to sort through, and she’s feeling overwhelmed.”

  Mom stands, coming out from behind her desk. “Why don’t you invite Lennon and Finn over here for dinner tonight?”

  She sees my shocked expression, and grins. “I know, it’s the last thing you expected me to say.”

  “You and dad building an ice cave here in the middle of summer would be more believable than you inviting over Lennon and Finn.”

  Mom balks. “I seem to remember Lennon coming over for dinner a few times in high school.” Her lips twist. “But that was before—”

  “Okay okay,” I say, interrupting her. We don’t need to talk about what happened. It is done and gone. Besides, charges were never filed, against Lennon or anyone else. The police couldn’t determine motive, and there was no weapon. Beyond all that, one thing stood truer than any other thing: Lennon was innocent. We all were.

  “Why the change of heart?” I ask her.

  “Your father and I feel like we lost your sister a long time ago. We don’t want to lose you, either. If you’re going to make Lennon and Finn a part of your life again, then we’ll have to accept it.”

  I nod and agree to extend the invitation. On my drive to Lennon’s house, I think about my mother’s words, saying I’m making Lennon and Finn a part of my life again. What I didn’t tell her was that Lennon and Finn were always a part of my life. Sure, we went separate ways after that last summer. Although we kept in touch over the years, we haven’t seen each other. Except that one time I went to Dallas... I’ve never been able to shake that night. The feel of Lennon’s skin, so warm under my fingertips. Her inhales, coming so close to one another. My lips did not touch her, or any other part of her body, and that’s only because I was waiting for her signal. She had to do it. She had to be the one to say okay.

  But she didn’t. Because she l
oves Finn, too.

  I asked her if Finn ever touched her like that, because I had to know. I always wondered. Finn is so different from me, so charming. He’s a scrapper, a fighter. He knows what he wants, and he goes after it. Hunger makes people more determined, and Finn was hungry for Lennon. He still is.

  I know the two of them have things in common she and I don’t. I can’t relate to Lennon the way he does. But I can love her even more than him. I know I can.

  I was embarrassed when I left her apartment that night in Dallas, but relieved.

  Finally, after all those years, I apologized for choosing my private school friends over her.

  13

  Then

  “Are you sure Brady wants us to come?”

  I bite my lip and think about the expression on Brady’s face when he invited us. He seemed open to bringing us into the fold with his private school friends, but was it genuine?

  Finn rolls his eyes. “Yes, Lennon. Why do you keep asking?”

  I glare at him. “Because, Finn, we’re not exactly the type to hang out with the Trinity Prep kids.”

  Finn shrugs, but I see underneath his bravado. I see the apprehensive little boy under there, the dusty trailer park peeking through. Neither of us belong at a Trinity Prep party. And yet. We’ve been invited to one. Maybe because it’s April, nearly the end of high school.

  This is the first time Brady’s two lives will meet. During the day he has his school friends, his teammates, and whoever else he spends his time with. I wouldn’t know, because he’s kept us separate. At night, that’s when we get Brady back. We usually meet at my house. It’s neutral territory, and the truth is, none of us want to spend time at Finn’s.

  It’s fitting that Brady sees us in the dark, because that is precisely where we’re kept.

  Until tonight. Brady is throwing a party at his house. His parents are out of town, visiting his sister at college. I don’t even know how they managed to pull that one off. There’s no way Stephanie could’ve gone to college without Brady’s dad pulling strings. I’m curious to know which strings he pulled, but that’s a question that will remain unanswered.