My body, however, could give two shits. All it wanted was to be near her. To touch her. To think about her. My ridiculously stupid hormone-driven body craved her like a drowning man craved air.
I was screwed.
When Tonya begged me to go to that stupid bonfire, I didn’t even let her finish the sentence before my initial thought was no. But then I’d invited Jillian. And even though she said she couldn’t come, I went with the hope she’d change her mind. Yes, I went to a party for the slight probability that I could spend an hour or so with her.
Screwed.
Two beers and an hour later, I’d accepted she wasn’t showing up. But no, I didn’t leave. Leaving would have been the smart thing to do. There was now a riot in my body, battling between sense and desire. Sense didn’t stand a chance, since only one head was allowed to think now. Instead, I took a walk on the beach, hoping the clean, cool air would help clear my head. But the air around me smelled like her. That sweet smell was everywhere and only forced more blood to the lower region of my body, thus denying any rational thoughts to seep through.
Tonya sidled up to me as I walked, high as a kite like most everyone else at this party. I’d overheard her cackling about how she found a new dealer out of the blue earlier in the week. She giggled incessantly, bragging about what a great deal she made—only paying half the cost if she delivered something to the office Monday morning. She’d offered us all some, but I declined. I hadn’t done that shit since high school and didn’t need to spend the evening totally paranoid and then gorge on Doritos and hours-old convenient store hot dogs until I felt like puking.
Now, Tonya was hoping to use the dark deserted beach as an opportunity to hook up, but after my experience earlier in the week, that was not an option. No amount of one-night stands was going to get Jillian out of my head. I shrugged Tonya off and continued alone down the beach when a shiny speck of light reflected off the moon and into the sand.
I bent to investigate, assuming it was a broken beer bottle or some other trash, and was amazed by what I found. The perfect, smooth piece of sea glass was exactly the color of Jillian’s eyes. Such a find was rare, especially in this area, so I wondered if it was real. And if it was, why was the universe constantly throwing reminders of what I couldn’t have in my face? How bad of a person was I in a previous life that I earned this sweet torture? I picked up the glass and put it in my pocket before returning to the party.
When I woke up Saturday morning, I thought about throwing the stone away. I didn’t need reminders of what I couldn’t have, or reminders of how to fail at my dreams. Because fixating on Jillian would do just that. And I couldn’t allow it to happen.
I picked up the glass and padded in bare feet up the two flights to the roof deck. There was a small park across the street, and I was sure if I threw the glass there someone would think they hit the jackpot finding it. Digging the glass out of my pocket, I held it like I would a skipping stone. And held it. And then stared at it. And then walked back down the stairs.
New vagina—one. Me—zero.
I spent Saturday visiting my dad. It had been almost a month since I’d checked in on him, and it would be just the kick in the ass I needed to remind myself that the only real way to long-term happiness was through hard work, not the opposite sex.
“Dad? You up?” I called as I walked through the front door.
I stepped out of my shoes and noted the time. It was barely noon, so most likely Dad was still in bed. He rarely graced the world with his appearance before at least three, after staying up all night watching infomercials and chain smoking.
I went straight into the kitchen and took out the overflowing trash, setting it aside as I grabbed a new empty bag and walked around picking up random fast food wrappers, cigarette butts, and crushed empty cans of Natural Ice. Three full bags later, the house was decent enough to at least sit in. I didn’t, starting on the sink full of moldy dishes instead.
I was throwing out food from the fridge when something caught my eye. It was the foil-wrapped wedding cake topper that they’d been saving forever with a slice of the original cake. I took the topper out and unwrapped it, smoothing the foil out. The plastic piece couldn’t have cost more than twenty bucks, but my mom had loved it. I sighed, thinking of her flitting around this kitchen in her pink apron that said, “I can’t fix stupid, but I can sedate it.”
My mom had worked as a psychiatric nurse and was our family’s breadwinner, allowing us to pay the mortgage and have health insurance. Her salary also kept me from having to visit thrift stores for new school clothes each year. She’d work a ten-hour shift, come home and cook us dinner, help me with my homework, and never complain about how tired she was. She was a saint.
But losing her crippled my dad. He lost the best part of himself, and I doubted if he’d ever be whole again. He had nothing to fall back on because his only passion in life was Mom. He never loved what he did; he did a job for a paycheck and now spent his days lounging in his underwear on his recliner in front of the TV.
At sixteen, I’d picked out the casket to bury my mother when dad wouldn’t come out of his room. I’d dealt with the lawyers to handle mom’s life insurance, paid the mortgage, electric, and bought all the groceries when he fell into an alcohol and sleeping pill zombie-like state each night for almost a year. I forged Dad’s name on every document for school, paid the taxes each year, and made sure he ate when he would forget for days at a time.
“Grant? Is that you?” Dad called from the back room a while later.
I dried my hands on a beach towel since I couldn’t find a clean dish towel and drained the water from the sink. “Yeah, Dad. I came to check in on you. How are you feeling today?”
It wouldn’t matter what day I came, his answer would always be the same, but I still asked anyway. It was our routine. He shuffled into the living room in nothing but his robe and a pair of, no doubt, dirty boxer shorts and plopped down onto the LazyBoy.
“I’m feeling a little better today, son. I’m thinkin’ about getting out this afternoon. Maybe see a movie or try that new place on Phelps Ave.”
The “new place” on Phelps closed over a year ago. Dad wanted me to think he was getting better, that he was coping with Mom’s death finally, that his depression wasn’t as severe as it actually was.
“That’s great, Dad. Maybe we can hit the batting cages or something next weekend.”
It was our game. I pretended to believe him, and he pretended he wasn’t full of shit.
“So how’s life, son? Any ladies in your life yet?”
I leaned against the counter opposite him, not wanting to actually sit on any of the furniture. It hadn’t been cleaned since Mom died seven years ago.
“No, Dad. I told you before. Career comes first. I’m only a year away from finishing my Masters.”
Dad lit up a cigarette. “Grant, how many time do I have to tell ya? You won’t be young forever. You won’t have that body that drives the girls crazy for long. Time is precious. And there’s no better way to spend it than with the person who completes you. You’ve gotta put yourself out there before all the good ones are snatched up. You don’t want to end up with the spinster cat lady after you’re forty, do you?”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond. He gave me the same lecture since Mom died.
“Or is it that you’re looking for a decent fella? Is that what it is? ‘Cause you can tell me. One of those guys you row with maybe? If you’re here and queer, then I’m proud of it.”
I spit out the Pepsi I’d been sipping. “Oh my God, Dad! Why does everyone think I’m gay? Is it so crazy to think I’m not interested in dating right now? That I want to make a name for myself in the world, not in the wedding announcements section of the Daily Bugle?”
Dad sighed. “I just want you to be as happy as your mother made me. No job out there can bring you that kind of happiness.”
“Whatever you say, Dad. All right, I gotta go. I have another team practice lat
er today all the way up in Chatham County. Do you need anything before I go? Has Mary been by to bring you groceries?”
Mary was a sweet woman from the local Baptist church and brought Dad groceries from their food pantry once a week or so. I gave her an additional fifty bucks to bring him some fresh milk and fruit, but most of the time it went bad before he ever got around to it. Still, I paid her each week just in case.
“Yeah, she was by yesterday. I think she has a crush on me or somethin’. She’s always comin’ around, botherin’ me. I keep telling her my heart would only ever belong to one, but she doesn’t take the hint. See, son? You wait too long to find a nice girl or guy, her type will be all that’s left. The dregs of the world.”
And on that note, I pushed off the counter and slipped my shoes back on. “Take care, Dad. I’ll see ya later.”
He half-heartedly waved as he turned on the TV to Sports Center, already tuning me out. He’d undoubtedly stay there for several days until even he could smell himself and it reminded him to shower. For most of my late teens, I’d felt responsible. But I learned that nothing I could do would make a difference. So I made sure he survived, was fed, and his bills were paid. There was nothing else I could do besides make sure I didn’t end up the same way.
When I strolled into work Monday morning half asleep, I found myself in front of Jillian’s empty cubicle before I’d even realized my feet carried me there. I sighed at my pathetic behavior and placed the glass I’d kept in my possession all weekend next to her keyboard.
Score another point for my vagina.
CHAPTER TEN
Tuesday crawled by slower than a turtle stuck in molasses. And by eleven o’clock that night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for hours, counted sheep, drank warm milk, and even tried reading my macroeconomics textbook, but nothing worked. My mind wouldn’t rest. It fought me like a two year-old refusing bedtime. I just wanted to sleep; my body was exhausted.
When I finally did succumb to sleep, I dreamed about Christian. We were spending a lazy Saturday on a small sailboat out on the lake behind my Gamma’s house. It was a windless, sunny day and we were just relaxing and enjoying the warmth of the sun on our skin.
His lips brushed my shoulder seductively, then nibbled my collar bone. My skin heated with each contact as I anticipated where those lips would touch next. Heat pooled low in my belly, and my muscles clenched with want.
Nibble.
Suck.
Lick.
Groan.
When he finally reached my lips, I opened my eyes to eagerly return his kisses, but it wasn’t Christian who leaned over me. It was Grant.
I blinked in surprise, but the change didn’t stop me. If anything, I wanted him even more. I kissed him with a hungry fervor and couldn’t get enough of the taste of his skin, salty with sweat. I scored his back and shoulders with my nails to drive him closer as he peeled the tiny bathing suit from my body. Droplets of blood trickled down his back, but neither of us stopped or even slowed down. We couldn’t get close enough. I needed to consume him, and be consumed by him.
I woke up, sweat drenched and panting. There was still over an hour before my alarm was set to go off, but I was too unsettled to attempt sleep again. So I crawled out of bed, made an extra-strong pot of coffee, and took a long, scalding shower. Wrapped in a terrycloth robe, hair twisted in a fluffy towel on top of my head, I scrolled through my Facebook page for a while as I drank my first cup of black gold.
But even after my second cup, I had plenty of time before I needed to leave, so I decided to curl my normally wavy hair. With the humidity of the Georgia summer, it usually was all I could do to keep it from becoming a tangled, frizzy mess. I opted for French braids or pony tails most days to get it out of my face.
This has nothing to do with seeing Grant tonight, I reasoned. What else am I going to do with my time since I’m up at the butt-crack of dawn?
When I walked to my car to drive the six short miles to Allegro, I worked to control my excitement about today. The dream from last night played on repeat in the forefront of my mind, making me wish I’d taken a cold shower instead. I hadn’t heard from Christian since our last text, and with Ava and Trish away as camp counselors for the next two weeks, this was the first time I’d gotten to go out since my shopping trip before I started my new job.
I’d left a note on the kitchen counter, letting my mom know I was meeting new friends after work and not to wait up. Ever since I started college, Mom didn’t bother with a curfew, explaining, “I wouldn’t tell you what time to be back at your dorm, so why should I make you come home when you’re on summer break? Just do not drive if you’ve been drinking. Call me at any hour and I’ll come pick you up.”
I loved the freedom my mom awarded me, and never abused her trust. I always texted or left a note if I had plans to stay out late, or not come home at all. My dad ground his teeth so hard I was sure they’d be nubs, but he never said anything about my sleepovers with Christian. Though sometimes, I’d hear him muttering, “She’s an adult, not my baby girl,” over and over.
I stopped to say good morning to Connie before taking the long way around—avoiding the IT department—toward my cubicle. I knew it was stupid, and immature, but I hadn’t seen Grant since he asked me to the beach party last Friday, and after The Dream, I knew I’d say or do something moronic to embarrass myself. Like “accidently” stumbling onto his lips.
Just before lunch, as I was typing a message to a sales rep out of the office, the computer froze. I wasn’t sure if I’d done something wrong or if it was a coincidence, but either way I didn’t care. I couldn’t contain my smile as I called IT, taking out my sea glass to play with it for a minute. Yes, I should feel guilty, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad about desiring him. It was a chemical reaction in my body and nothing I could control. I wasn’t acting on it, but I would no longer feel guilty for wanting to drool over those dimples and run my hands down his hard, taut stomach. The body wanted what the body wanted.
When the tech arrived, I had to resist the urge to pout. It wasn’t Grant. He’d always come before, and suddenly I wondered if he was even at work. Did that mean he wouldn’t be at bowling tonight?
“Oh, hi. I’m Jillian.” I extended my hand to the balding forty-something man. “We haven’t met. Usually...” I paused. “Usually someone else comes.”
The man snorted and rolled his eyes, leaving me wondering what it meant. “Yeah, Grant. I know. He’s at lunch now, so you’re stuck with me.”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “Oh, okay. Well, thanks for coming to help.”
The man grunted. “Yeah, well, maybe next time you can plan your little ‘episode’ for when you know he’s here.”
“Huh?” I tilted my head, completely lost to his end of the conversation.
“I’m so sick of all you girls purposefully breaking shit so you can flirt a little with him for a few minutes. It’s causing too much of a paperwork hassle for me. Enough already!” He clicked a final button and the computer started back up, good as new.
“I’m sorry; I have no idea what you’re talking about. My computer froze, I called IT. I didn’t do it to see him. I have a boyfriend. I just needed help.”
The man scooted out of the cubicle and waved a hand dismissively. “Sure, sweetheart. ‘Cause you couldn’t hit the restart button on your own?”
He walked away, not leaving me the chance to respond. My cheeks burned with embarrassment at his accusation, but more so that I didn’t think to try to restart it on my own before calling for help. Everyone knows that should have been step one, but I was so preoccupied with the idea of seeing him that I forgot to try it first.
I groaned and plopped my head down on the desk. Who was I kidding? I was crushing on Grant big time. I couldn’t deny it any more. Maybe I was kidding myself about bowling tonight only being about making new friends. If that’s all it really was, I wouldn’t feel like the wind got knocked out of me right now. Maybe I should
n’t go after all; I didn’t need more temptation.
I was packing up my purse and logging off the computer to head to lunch when a light knock came from behind me. It was Tonya, smiling happily.
“You’re still coming out with us tonight, right?”
I let out a breath and thought about how to respond. “I really appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to pass this time.”
Tonya crossed her arms over her chest, reminding me of Ava. “Oh come on, don’t be a wuss. We won’t beat you too bad. It’ll be fun!”
I shook my head no again. “I’m sorry. I’m just not up for it.”
Tonya bent down and opened up her massive purse that could have doubled for an overnight bag. “Look, I even got you a company bowling shirt. And with Emmalee out with the food poisoning, we’re down a player. Come on! You’ll totally be helping us out.”
She tossed me the shirt, and I had no more excuses to say no. “All right, I’ll go.”
That night, I followed behind Tonya to the bowling alley and immediately ducked into the restroom to change. I’d already packed a change of clothes that morning before I left. I slipped on the micro-short white jean shorts. They were by far the skimpiest pair I owned, but they highlighted my short, tan legs. I tied the bowling shirt in the back so it cinched a little more at my waist and touched up my mascara and lip gloss before taking a deep breath and heading out to join the others.
I found the group laughing and toasting with their drinks over at the smoke-filled bar area. Six people were already crammed into a booth meant for four, and I stood awkwardly for a moment debating again if this was a good idea. As soon as I began walking toward them, I spotted Grant.
He was at the bar grabbing drinks. I forced my legs to keep walking, and kept my eyes on the table, trying to ignore how good he looked in his jeans that rode low on his hips. His T-shirt lifted when he raised the tray of drinks above his head, giving me a peek at his flat abs and the deep V low on his stomach that I had the urge to trace with my tongue.
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