At This Moment

by Karen Cimms

  “Hello, beautiful.” He leaned down as if to kiss her, but whispered in her ear instead. “I’m here to see your older sister. Is she home?”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Funny.” She heard her mother coming from the kitchen, so she whispered quickly. “You’re twenty-one.”

  “What?”

  “You’re twenty-one, if anyone asks.” He nodded, then seeing her mother, he smiled.

  Kate turned to gauge her mother’s reaction. Upon seeing Billy, her hand flew up to her neck and she began to fidget with the string of pearls peeking out over the shell of her red sweater set.

  Damn. He even has that effect on her. She ducked her head to hide her smile.

  Her father came down from his study, and Kate made the introductions. Billy shook their hands, calling her mother “ma’am” and her father “sir.” So far, so good, she thought, taking his jacket and hanging it in the hall closet. He handed her mother the roses. The wrapped box, he gave to her father.

  “They’re beautiful,” her mother said. “Let me get these in some water.”

  Her father invited Billy to join him in the parlor. As he followed, Billy pushed up his sleeves, revealing the tattoos on his forearms. Kate gave the sleeve a quick tug, along with a pleading look. He winked as he smoothed the sleeves back in place, then took a seat on the horsehair loveseat. To her dismay, her father perched next to him and began unwrapping his gift. Kate sat in the wing chair opposite them, just itching to get her hands on Billy.

  “What have we here?” Her father asked as he pulled out a round brass box.

  Billy reached out. “May I? Kate says you collect stamps. This is an antique magnifying glass. You just slide this here, and it opens up.” A circle of glass popped out from the center.

  “My goodness, would you look at that?” Her father peered through the glass and smiled. “Thank you, young man. I’m sure I’ll get a lot of use out of this.” He flipped the glass back and forth, then lifted it to his eye to study it closer.

  When her mother called for him to help, he slipped the magnifier into his shirt pocket and patted it with his hand. “It’s perfect.”

  Kate waited until she heard voices coming from the kitchen, then rushed to the sofa. She kissed Billy so hard, she almost knocked him over.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said between kisses. “I’m miserable.”

  “Me, too,” he whispered, holding her close, burying his face in her hair. He kissed her again, gently this time. “Can we go out later? Just to be alone for a bit. A movie? Anything?”

  She nodded. “I’ll think of something.”

  Billy pulled a small box from his pocket. “Merry Christmas.”

  She carefully slipped her finger under the tape so as not to tear the paper.

  “What’re you doing?” He looked amused.

  She shook her head and grinned, then tore at the paper. Inside the box was a thin gold bracelet with a heart in the center.

  “It’s beautiful.” She held out her wrist for him to fasten the clasp.

  “You’re not gonna believe what I got you.” Laughing, she jumped up and ran to a table between the floor-to-ceiling windows. From the drawer, she pulled out a box a little bigger than the one he had given her. It was wrapped in gold brocade paper and tied with a green velvet ribbon.

  “Fancy,” Billy said, shaking the box. “Do I need to open this carefully?”

  “Unh-uh. Go for it.”

  In the box was a bracelet, but this one was made out of steel guitar strings. A silver tube slid onto the wire, covering the clasp. It was engraved with the letters B and K.

  “Wow. This is something.”

  “It’s yours,” she explained, fastening it just below the leather and metal strap he wore. “I mean, of course it’s yours—but it’s your guitar strings. I saved them after you changed them and brought them to this head shop in New Brunswick where some guy makes these. Do you like it?”

  “I love it.” He tilted her chin and kissed her.

  When dinner was ready, he followed her into the dining room. Kate’s mother carried in a bowl of mashed potatoes.

  “Everything smells wonderful, Mrs. Daniels. Can I help you with something?”

  “No, Billy, thank you. Mr. Daniels has the meat loaf.”

  “Meat loaf?” Kate exclaimed. Her mother never made meat loaf for company.

  “I love meat loaf,” Billy said. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Well, you’re in for a real treat then,” said her father, who hated meat loaf.

  Kate surveyed the meal her mother had prepared: meat loaf, topped with a can of tomato soup, mashed potatoes, canned green beans, and a salad made with iceberg lettuce, hothouse tomatoes, and bottled salad dressing. This was not the type of dinner her mother served to company. This wasn’t even the type of dinner she would serve to her family.

  The men waited for her mother to sit, then settled in.

  “Would you say grace, darling?” her mother asked.

  Kate shot her mother a look. Usually her father led the blessing. This was for Billy’s benefit. She made the sign of the cross and caught her mother watching to see if Billy did the same. He didn’t, although he bowed his head. When Kate finished, her mother picked up the potatoes, helped herself, and then passed the bowl to Billy.

  “I see you’re not Catholic. Do you mind if I ask what religion you practice?”

  “No, ma’am.” He took a scoop of potatoes and passed them to Kate’s father. “I grew up Methodist, but I haven’t practiced in a long time.”

  “Ah,” said her mother, arching an eyebrow in Kate’s direction.

  Dinner went as well as could be expected, although Kate was fuming. She knew her parents well enough to recognize their questions for what they were. They were trying to make Billy look foolish and uneducated, but they were failing.

  “Billy’s a fan of James Joyce, aren’t you?” she said abruptly, interrupting a series of increasingly personal questions.

  He looked up, surprised, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I don’t know that I’d call myself a fan exactly, but I appreciate his writing.”

  “Do you? That’s surprising,” her father said. “So many young people don’t appreciate the classics.”

  “I do,” Billy continued. “Although I prefer Faulkner to Joyce.”

  Kate’s father seemed impressed, but her mother was unmoved.

  She plowed on.

  “He’s also quite the expert on Beowulf. Really helped me on that one. Good old Grendel.” Judging by the look her mother gave her, Grendel was the dragon. Takes one to know one.

  “Did you go to college, Billy?” her mother asked, zeroing in.

  “Yes, ma’am, but I dropped out during my junior year. I was raised by my grandparents. My grandfather died when I was eleven, and my grandmother when I was seventeen. I went to school for a couple years, but it was too hard to support myself and go full time. Music is what I planned to do anyway, and I can make a living at it, so that’s what I do.”

  “You can never undervalue the benefits of an education, Billy,” said her mother. “I hope Kate appreciates the sacrifices we’ve made so that she can have the very best.”

  Her mother looked at her, as if waiting for her to agree. She was too annoyed to express any gratitude. Instead, she swirled the remaining meat into her potatoes until her mother reached across the table and stilled her arm.

  “What kind of music do you play?” her father asked. “Kate hasn’t told us very much.”

  Because you wouldn’t listen if I did.

  “Hard rock, mostly. Some indie stuff, punk, alternative. I have an audition next month. If that comes through, I’ll be putting my band on hold for a bit and heading out on tour.”

  His eyes met Kate’s. This was the first she heard about any audition.

  “I suppose if it works out, you’ll be on the road most of the time?”

  “Yes, sir. For a few months, at least.”

  Kate smiled, but
it felt fake. She could only imagine how it looked.

  When dinner was over, her father ushered Billy into the parlor while she helped her mother clear the table.

  “Meat loaf?” she whispered viciously as soon as they were in the kitchen. “That’s what you make the first time I bring someone home for you to meet?” She took her anger out on the dishes as she scraped them over the garbage disposal.

  “I don’t see a problem. He said he loved meat loaf.”

  “I know what you’re doing. You’ve made up your mind you don’t like him.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Whatever. We’re going out for a while.”

  “I don’t think so. You can visit right here.”

  Kate bit her tongue. It was a battle she would lose, so why bother? She set the coffee to brew, then carried the tray of mugs into the dining room before joining her father and Billy in the parlor. Her father was adding another log to the fire while Billy just looked uncomfortable.

  “Dad, Mom wants your help in the kitchen.”

  “Certainly.” He gave Billy a wink. “You two behave.”

  As soon as she heard the kitchen door swing shut, she raced to the hall closet for their jackets.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered, pushing him toward the door and closing it softly behind them.

  It was bitter cold outside. Kate could see her breath as they dashed toward Billy’s van. As usual, she’d forgotten her gloves.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Meat loaf?” she cried, expecting him to be as offended as she was. “What kind of meal was that?”

  “I don’t know. I like meat loaf. Besides, any home-cooked meal is better than bar and diner food.”

  Her outrage was too great, and she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m so embarrassed. You tried. You even shaved. They had their minds made up before you even got here—at least, my mother did.”

  They drove aimlessly before she directed Billy to the high school parking lot. He parked behind the dumpsters and climbed between the bucket seats into the back, then helped her climb in back beside him. They squeezed into the small space left between the front seats and the amps, monitors, and speakers.

  She shimmied onto his lap and settled in against his chest as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Listen, Katie. I honestly didn’t expect your parents to like me. It would’ve been nice, but I’m not the kinda guy most parents cozy up to. In fact, they’re more likely to hide their daughters.”

  “How many parents have you met?”

  “Not as many as you might think.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m not the guy girls usually look to bring home to meet Mom and Dad.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re wrong.”

  “If a long-haired musician with a couple earrings, some tattoos, and a questionable background showed up to date your daughter, what would you do?”

  “I don’t judge people on how they look or what they do.”

  “That’s admirable, but there aren’t too many people like you. Maybe by the time you have a daughter and she brings home a musician or a guy with a blue Mohawk or a biker, you won’t be so generous.”

  “I hope I never change. I don’t ever want to be like my mother.”

  He captured her hand, rubbing his thumb over her cold fingers.

  “Being home these past few days, my life seems so empty. It wasn’t so bad when Joey was around, but now . . .” Her voice drifted off. It was like peeling back a scab. It was one thing to examine her life on her own, but here she was, sharing the darkest parts, the parts she’d even tried to hide from herself. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be, at least not with Billy.

  “They have their routines, you know? Every night my mother makes dinner. Afterward, she and my father do the dishes. I’m excused. My help isn’t wanted. Then my mother sits in the parlor and reads while my dad heads to his study. Every night. It’s like I don’t even belong there. I feel like an outsider who’s overstayed her welcome. I was always quiet and obedient. Always on my best behavior. Being away at school just made it more obvious when I got home that I’m still not good enough. The weekend we met, I’d begged my mother to let me come home, but she said not until Thanksgiving. I hadn’t seen them since August. No family weekends, no visits, no care packages. Just a phone call once a week to criticize me. They actually gave me grief about an A-minus for a paper on Shakespeare and for a B for my test on Beowulf.”

  “You got a B on your Beowulf test? Seriously? You didn’t even know that Grendel was the dragon.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She tried to pull away, but he held her tighter.

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand how you got a B.” He chuckled softly before kissing her tearstained cheek. “Don’t get mad, but do you think you might be reading too much into your parents’ being threatened by a new boyfriend?”

  “Not just a new boyfriend. You’re the first boy I’ve ever brought home, other than Joey. Don’t you think they’d be like ‘Hey, at least she’s not a homosexual’?” She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to spend our time together talking about my parents.”

  “It’s okay. I’m happy just being with you.” He tilted her face toward his. “I missed you.” His hand slid along the inside of her thigh.

  “What if they say I can’t see you anymore?” she asked in a sudden panic.

  His hand stilled. “That’s up to you, but I’d hate that.”

  “I couldn’t do it. If I can’t see you, I’ll leave. I’ll go back to school.”

  She settled in, comforted by his touch and the familiar scent of lemongrass. A thin shaft of light from a street lamp illuminated his face. Reaching up to touch his cheek, she searched his eyes. She hesitated at first, but she couldn’t hold it back anymore.

  “Billy,” she whispered, “I love you.”

  He wiped away a stray tear, his eyes locked on hers. He didn’t speak right away, as if weighing his options. Just as a tiny seed of fear began to sprout, he answered.

  “I love you, too. So much.”

  When his mouth found hers, nothing else mattered. It had been over two weeks since they’d been together, and she wasn’t about to be denied.

  She kicked off her shoes and slipped off her tights. He turned up the heat, then loosened his jeans and lowered them. She straddled him as he guided her into place. His hand snaked its way underneath her dress. He slipped his finger under the edge of her bra to push it up, freeing her breasts. One hand cupped a breast while the other held her around her waist.

  “If I wasn’t worried about you freezing to death and having to take you home naked, I’d tear this dress right off you,” he growled into her shoulder.

  A beam of light flashed across the fogged-up window.

  “Out of the van! Now!”

  “Shit,” Billy mumbled.

  She buried her face in Billy’s shoulder while he reached into the front and rolled the window down an inch. “Look, buddy. Could you get that light out of my eyes?”

  “You heard me. Out!”

  Kate raised her head and squinted into the light. “Digger?”

  “Kate?”

  That idiot. “Yes!” she yelled, as the beam of light dropped. “Go away!”

  “Get out of the van, Kate. You and your friend.”

  This was all too much. If he thought she was getting out of that van, he was out of his mind.

  “Beat it!” she growled.

  “Jesus, Katie. What’re you doing?” Billy muttered.

  “Seriously, Digger! I’m not in the mood.”

  “What’re you doing in there?”

  “What the fuck does it look like? Get the hell out of here.” She’d never used that word before. It felt good.

  “Is he a cop?” Billy asked.

  “He’s no cop. He’s just a boy from high school.”

  “I’m not a cop. Yet. But I work security,” Digger answered, as if that should
impress them. “You’re trespassing. If you don’t get out of the van, I will call the cops.”

  “And if you don’t get out of here, I’ll call your mother and tell her what you did to me on prom night,” she yelled back.

  “Kate . . .” The authority in his voice faded.

  “I’m gonna count to ten, Digger, and you better be pulling out of this parking lot before I hit nine.”

  “Katie,” Billy whispered. “What’re you doing?”

  “One!” she yelled, feeling pretty brave for a girl with her panties stuffed into her coat pocket. “Two!”

  “Kate,” Digger whined.

  “Three!”

  Billy pulled back. “You’re yelling in my ear.”

  “Four!” She lowered her voice.

  “Sonofabitch.” Digger turned off the flashlight and headed for his rent-a-cop car. “You’ll be sorry, Kate!” he yelled over his shoulder.

  “Five!”

  Billy stuck a finger in his ear.

  When Digger finally pulled away, Billy erupted with laughter. She remained straddling him, her knees tucked into his armpits.

  “What the fuck, Katie! You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?”

  She wrapped her fingers around the lapel of his jacket. “Every chance I get.”

  It was after two when Kate slipped in the front door. The house was dark. She’d almost expected her parents to be waiting, but that would’ve meant staying up past their bedtime.

  She was tired, but she didn’t want to go to sleep, not when she could still feel Billy touching her, inside her, still had his scent on her skin. She tiptoed into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then pulled out her favorite Christmas mug and scooped cocoa mix into the top of Santa’s head. Before the kettle could whistle, she snatched it from the stove, filled her mug, and carried it upstairs.

  After changing into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, she sat on her bed, fingering the bracelet Billy had given her. Already missing him, she slipped on her headphones and drank her cocoa while listening to a cassette he’d made for her.

  When the first side finished, she got up to brush her teeth. Taped to the mirror in her bathroom was a note written in her mother’s neat parochial school script.