My Always One

by Aleatha Romig

  My dad’s right in front of us in the living room. However, his focus is on the television. He barely notices as Marshal and I walk through. If we hadn’t walked in front of the screen, he might not have seen us.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say after bending down and giving him a kiss on the head.

  “Sami.” His eyes leave the television long enough to notice Marshal. Either he doesn’t notice our intertwined hands or he doesn’t care. “Marshal, how are you? How’re your folks? It’s been too long since we’ve seen George and Monica.”

  “They’re good. I’ll tell them you said hi.”

  Dad nods and points to the television. “Can you believe this? They’re going to vote her off the island. I just know it. One challenge and they’re throwing her out. I think Ralph, the guy with the bandana” —he points to the large screen— “should go. He’s a conniving bastard.” Before we can reply, Dad pounds the arm of his chair. “No! No! Don’t do it.”

  I pull Marshal’s hand, tugging him toward the kitchen and saving him from my dad’s tirade.

  “Samantha. Oh, Marshal,” my mom says, “what a surprise to see you.”

  “Yes, what a surprise,” Jack says in a deadpan tone, his gaze flicking back and forth to our still-connected hands.

  Taking a breath, I let go of Marshal’s hand and begin speaking, “Mom, Jack, we need to talk about the wedding.”

  “We are,” Jack says.

  “Look at this,” Mom says, pointing at the screen. “The RSVPs are starting to come in.” She looks down at the notebook in front of her where she’s written all the names.

  “Mom, you know that you can print that list from the program.”

  “Oh, this is easier. Here just look,” she says, handing me the notebook.

  Writing each name isn’t easier, but now isn’t the time to try to convince her of that.

  “No. It wasn’t her fault. It was that asshole Ralph.”

  We all turn toward the living room at my dad’s outburst.

  “Mom, about the wedding…” I try again.

  “Samantha, let’s go out back and talk,” Jack suggests.

  “No,” I answer curtly.

  “Samantha Ann” —my mom narrows her eyes at me as she stands— “what's going on?”

  I put down the notebook without reading the names and steel my shoulders. “Like I said, we need to talk.” I turn back to Jack. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Samantha, I love you. I’ll be anywhere you are.”

  Marshal, who’d been leaning against the wall, steps forward. “In the future that may be a little awkward.”

  Jack snaps his head toward Marshal. “Again, Michaels, none of your business. Tell us why you’re here?”

  “Damn it! They did it.” Dad rushes into the kitchen and reaches for the refrigerator handle. “Now I don’t know who’ll be next.”

  “Paul,” Mom says, grabbing his arm and stopping his progress. “Stay in here. Sami has something we need to talk about.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Jack says.

  Marshal takes another step toward me and puts his arm around my waist. “Yes, she does. Or I will.”

  Mom takes a step back and covers her lips with her hand. “W-what is happening?”

  “The wedding is off,” I say.

  “No, Samantha, don’t do this.” Jack's tone is as pathetic as his flowers.

  I narrow my gaze at Jack.

  He speaks over the television coming from the other room. “I was keeping it a secret, but our honeymoon...a villa in the South of France is—”

  “Jack,” I interrupt. “I don’t need a villa or France. I don’t need fancy restaurants and a big house in the suburbs in the right neighborhood with the right median income.”

  He takes a step toward me. “It’s what I want to give you.”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s what you want. I don’t want any of it.” I fight tears of frustration. “You want me to be someone I’m not. Little by little, you’ve been chipping away—”

  “Sami,” Mom says, reaching out for my hand, “maybe it seems like too much right now—”

  “I want to make all your dreams come true,” Jack says.

  By screwing someone in my bed? I don’t say that. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and opt for a warning. “Jack, continue to talk and so will I. I’ll say more. Right now, I’m going with I’m the one who saw the light. I’m the one who is calling the wedding off. But I can easily change my story.”

  Dad nods with his lips together. “Okay.” He smiles. “The wedding is off.” He turns to Mom. “I’ll let the boys know I’m free for golf.” He turns back to me. “Is there anything else you need to tell us?”

  Turning toward him, I question what I just heard. “Aren’t you upset?”

  “Not as upset as I am about Missy. I think that Ralph asshole is going to try to get rid of her next. I need to see the end of the show.”

  “Paul, wait,” Mom says, stopping Dad’s retreat.

  Jack reaches for my hand. Equally as quick, I shake my head and pull my hand back. At the same time, Marshal tugs me closer.

  “Jean,” Marshal says, breaking the awkward tug-of-war. His tone even gets my dad’s attention. “We need to be honest with you. Sami and I…we decided—”

  “What the hell?” Jack asks.

  “You’re free, Jack,” I say. “Go screw whoever you’d like.” I look up at my best friend and smile. “Marshal and I have decided to see what’s beyond friendship.”

  “You’re what?” His face reddens with the realization of what Marshal and I are saying. “When? How long?”

  “It’s relatively new. But” —I grin Marshal’s way— “the best foundation for love is friendship.” I turn back to Jack. “And well, you and I...we were never friends. I’m not even sure I like you, Jack. I thought I could love you, but that isn’t the same.”

  “Wait,” Mom asks, “you’re serious? This isn’t just last-minute jitters?”

  I turn to face my mom. “I’m saying I can’t go through with the wedding. I’m sorry I didn’t see this sooner, but, Mom, the wedding is off.”

  Mom staggers backward until she collapses in a chair.

  Dad brushes his hands together. “Well, there we go.” He turns to Jack and extends his hand. “Goodbye, Jack. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.” He turns back to us. “If that’s all settled, I’m going to finish my show. Missy needs me. That damn Ralph…” His words trail away as he shakes his head, opens the refrigerator, and grabs a beer.

  Marshal grins at me and mouths, I told you.

  “You two are lying,” Jack says. “Samantha isn’t interested in you” —his noses scrunches— “like that.”

  Marshal scoffs. “You don’t want the details, but let me say...damn” —he turns to me— “if that was you not being interested, I can’t wait to find out how great we can be when you’re interested.”

  I feel the warmth as my cheeks undoubtedly growing redder by the second. “No, that was me very interested.”

  Marshal turns back to Jack. “I thought you were supposed to be some clever attorney. Tell us, was the ring on the kitchen counter not enough of a clue?”

  Shaking his head, Jack looks at me. “Samantha, you’re just saying this to get back at me. Fine. I deserve it, but there’s nothing...” He motions between me and Marshal. “I’ve seen you two together. There’s nothing more than friendship. Unless you’ve been lying all along.”

  “I didn’t lie, Jack. I don’t lie. Up until very recently, Marshal and I were only friends.” I smile at Marshal. “Best friends.” I look back at Jack. “That’s changed.”

  “No, Samantha, I don’t believe you. Why are you doing this?”

  I stand straighter. “It’s not because of what you think, but that did give me a chance to re-evaluate.”

  Marshal turns toward me, his blue eyes a blend of emotions that I’m not sure I can identify. Without words he cups my cheek and kisses me, strong an
d possessive. My eyes close as I melt toward his chest. By the time I open my eyes, Jack is gone. Seconds later the front door slams.

  “Good riddance,” Dad says over the sound of the television.

  “Dad?"

  “What?” he calls from the living room. “I’m talking about the show. They’re finally wising up. Ralph’s going to get what’s coming to him.”

  I go to my mom and kneel before her. “Mom, I’m sorry.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not. I’m really not.” She squeezes my hand and looks up at Marshal. “Is this…real?”

  Just then, Dad enters and slaps Marshal on the shoulder. “I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

  We all turn.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We never liked Jack. He’s a pompous ass who always acted like he was better than everyone else. I get that he has money, but no one’s better than my little girl, and no one needs to make her anything she isn’t.” He flashes me a wink. “If you ask me, Sami girl, you’re perfect.” He turns to Marshal and offers him his hand to shake. “Marshal, son, whether you’re here as Sami’s cover or if there truly is something happening between the two of you, I don’t care. If it helped to get rid of Mr. Jackson Carmichael, well, son, the beers are on me.”

  I look closely at my father’s expression. The wrinkles and age I’d been noticing seem to fade away. “Are you sure? What about the money?”

  Dad shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. If we have to throw a celebration party to announce you’re a free woman, we’ll do it.”

  Marshal squeezes my hand.

  “Mom?” I ask.

  “Paul, get me one of those beers.”

  Marshal

  * * *

  After we each finish a beer and Paul makes sure that Missy is safe on the island for another week, I take Sami’s hand. “How about a walk around the old neighborhood?”

  A grin and a nod are all she offers. Ever since her parents surprised her with their response, she’s been quieter than usual.

  Outside, the sun has set, leaving the sky dark, the streetlights the only illumination. They project glowing circles lining the familiar street. “Look,” I say, “Mrs. Jefferson has a new dog.”

  We both wave to her.

  Mrs. Jefferson waves back, but when she squints, she shouts, “Marshal Michaels, is that you? And Samantha? What in the world?”

  She pulls her puppy’s leash down the short driveway. He obviously hasn't gotten the hang of walking on a leash as he runs this way and that. She looks at our hands clasped together and straightens her neck. “Samantha Ann, I thought you were marrying the fancy lawyer guy?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Jefferson,” Sami says. “The wedding is off.”

  Mrs. Jefferson studies us for a moment, her gaze again going to our entwined hands. When she looks up at me, she purses her lips. “You could do worse, young man.”

  I squeeze Sami’s hand, well aware that we’re still in the friend zone even if we’ve added benefits. But as Sami smiles up at me, for one of the first times, I wish she were up for a new agreement. “I’m well aware.”

  “You two aren’t getting any younger,” Mrs. Jefferson says. “I remember when the pair of you were running around this neighborhood. I always knew you were up to no good.” She winks. “That may have been a bad thing when you were ten. But now I bet the two of you have some better ideas on how to cause trouble.” She smiles. “The good kind.” Her painted-on eyebrows wiggle.

  Sami shakes her head, and I see a hint of pink fill her cheeks.

  Letting go of my hand, she tries to change the subject. In a second, she’s down on her knees. My mind goes to a totally inappropriate place, imagining her on her knees, her sexy tits showing as she takes my dick between her lips. As I work to concentrate on the present, Sami offers her hand to the small brown puppy.

  “What’s his name?” she asks.

  “LS,” Mrs. Jefferson answers.

  “LS?”

  “Little shit,” Mrs. Jefferson replies matter-of-factly. “The little shit shits all over the kitchen floor.”

  Sami grins as she stands. “He sure is cute.”

  “That’s why he’s still here,” she says, eyeing me and then Sami. “Cute and dependable. I can count on him to leave me his gifts. Cute and dependable. Two very good qualities.”

  “See you later, Mrs. Jefferson,” I say, reaching again for Sami’s hand and tugging her back toward the sidewalk.

  Once we’re out of earshot, I affirm Mrs. Jefferson’s advice. “I like cute and dependable, but when you add gorgeous tits and a great lay, I’m even more intrigued.”

  Sami’s tits rise and fall with my words. I can’t help but wonder if she would be willing to make a new agreement. But before I can find the right way to bring it up, she says, “It's a good thing neither of us shit on the kitchen floor. Now where are we going? Or are we just giving my parents some time to realize what happened?”

  “I’m confident that your dad fully comprehends. Besides, by now he's lost in Dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse. He watches those episodes on demand.”

  “Or he could be rewatching an old episode of The Walking Dead.”

  “Hasn’t he seen every episode nearly fifty times?”

  She shrugs. “Can’t say for sure, but I’d guess the answer is yes.”

  “Do you remember the old boathouse at the park?” I ask.

  Her cheeks rise at the memories. “I do. I remember sneaking in there and smoking your dad’s cigarettes. I also remember being scared to death my mom would smell the smoke.”

  “Do you think they still leave it unlocked?”

  Her green eyes widen. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “Mrs. Jefferson said we were always up to no good. If that boathouse is unlocked, I can be up in no time.” He brushes his arm against mine. “And this time it will definitely be good. But if things go as I’m thinking, it won’t be smoke your mom can smell. It’ll be honey.”

  Her breathing shallows.

  “You know,” Sami says, “Jane always told me there were monsters in the boathouse, and I needed to stay away.”

  “Your sister is partially right,” I say, leaning closer to her ear though there’s no one around as I scan the park. “My monster cock will be there in your tight pussy. But I also disagree. You shouldn’t stay away.”

  Sami giggles as we sneak past the closed gate and run through the shadows, just as we did when we were kids. The difference now is that unlike when we were kids, this time my blood is finding a different route of circulation. I’m growing harder with each step and each stealth move behind a rock, bush, or tree.

  “Do you think there’s anyone in there this late at night?” she asks.

  “Probably some kids smoking cigarettes.”

  “Great, so we’ll smell like smoke and…”

  “Sex and honey,” I say. “Definitely more like sex.”

  Sami

  * * *

  We descend the old stone stairs. They’re steep and partially covered with overgrown grass and vines. For a moment I wonder if the city has demolished the old boathouse. There’s no doubt that it wouldn’t make the cut with today’s building codes. My sandals slip and Marshal turns and steadies me.

  His strong hand secures my waist. “Are you okay?”

  In the darkness, I can’t see the blue of his eyes, but in his familiar concerned tone I hear both my friend and a new additional protectiveness.

  “Yes. I’m good.”

  We reach the top of the boathouse. It’s concrete and built into the hill near the river’s edge. Together we tiptoe down the stairs to the front. Pebbles on the shore shift under my shoes. The old metal door is slightly ajar.

  “Hello?” Marshal says in a deep whisper.

  My heartbeat quickens as we await a response.

  What if there are kids?

  What about a homeless person?

  What about someone more dangerous?

  Why does this suddenly seem like a s
tupid move?

  We’re adults.

  Marshal has an apartment.

  I have my condo.

  It doesn’t make sense that we both have our own homes, and we’re sneaking into a seventy-year-old abandoned building to have sex.

  Marshal pushes the door. It barely moves, but the squeak of the metal on the concrete is deafening. Using his broad shoulder, he pushes harder. The loud scraping noise sounds like an alarm alerting anyone within a mile of our whereabouts.

  With a flashlight app on his phone, Marshal shines a light inside the old building. It appears as abandoned as it was when we were young. Cobwebs drape from the metal beams, in the corners, and over the painted windows. My pulse is thumping like it would at the fair in one of those fake haunted houses.

  I cling to his hand. “Do you think there are animals?”

  His flashlight scans the floor. “Nothing bigger than a mouse or a squirrel.”

  “A mouse?”

  He pulls me through the partially open doorway. With his phone flashlight off and only moonlight for illumination, the room comes into focus. On the one wall is a tool bench or at least I think it used to be. It’s a wooden shelf, about three feet wide, attached to one of the walls. Behind it is a board peppered with holes, similar to one my father has that contains hooks and tools. Marshal brushes the surface and confirms that there’s nothing on the bench that breathes.

  Then in one quick move, he grasps my waist and lifts me to the bench. My feet dangle as I stop worrying more about mice and bugs and focus on his deliberate movements.

  “You were so strong, Sami, facing that asshole.” One by one, he removes my sandals.

  His words encourage me as he lifts my tank top over my head.

  “I wanted to take you right then and there.”

  He unlatches my bra, laying it on top of my shirt.

  “God, I love these tits…” Marshal’s words fade as he leans forward and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth.

  Both of my nipples bead as he cups my breasts and continues sucking one and then the other. I lean back, holding myself on my arms, longing to pull him closer. “Marshal…”