The Other One

by Jiffy Kate

“Should I bring something?” she asks, crinkling her nose.

  “Just yourself.”

  “Tripp Alexander, if you don’t stop pacing, you’re going to wear grooves into your sister’s hardwood floors!”

  The sound of my mama scolding me stops me in my tracks. In a funny way, it makes me feel kind of . . . normal again. She’s been so gentle with me since the wreck, treating me like I need to be wrapped in bubble wrap or something, that I haven’t had many chances to push her boundaries. The old me would’ve jumped on any opportunity to drive my mama crazy, but this new version of myself . . . I don’t know. I’ve always loved my family, but I’m not sure I always showed my appreciation. And I’ve been working on changing that.

  Besides, I’ve put them through enough hell. I don’t want to ever willingly do that again, and right now, I’m putting my life in danger by potentially damaging Liza’s floors, and on a major holiday at that.

  I make a show of tip-toeing over to my mom and kiss the top of her head.

  “Sorry, Mama. I’m just nervous.”

  “What is there to be nervous about? So your friend, who just happens to be female, is coming over for Thanksgiving to meet your mother for the first time? I don’t see the big deal. If you love her, then I’ll love her.”

  “Mom, I never said I loved her. I don’t think we’re even officially dating yet!”

  “You didn’t have to say it, son. A mother knows.” I scrunch my face up while she pats my cheek a couple of times before walking back into the kitchen.

  I’m not sure why I’m nervous either. Liza and Ben have already met Loren and liked her a lot, and there’s no reason the same won’t happen when my mom meets her. After explaining to Mom about how Loren and I are connected through the wreck, I could tell she was heartbroken for her but yet hopeful we can help each other heal.

  That makes two of us.

  I think what’s bothering me is the fact I haven’t seen Loren all week. We’ve texted and spoken on the phone a few times, but I haven’t seen her beautiful face or held her soft hands since I walked her home on Friday.

  I miss her.

  And there’s a small part of my brain that’s worried she won’t show. I know she said she would, but what if she doesn’t? What if she’s decided all of this is too much to handle? What then?

  “She’ll be here.” My mother gently pats my shoulder as she passes from the kitchen to the dining room with another plate of food.

  Two knocks at the front door send my heart racing.

  Why the fuck am I so nervous?

  “I’ll get it,” Emmie yells as she rounds the corner coming from the living room.

  “No, you won’t,” Liza yells back. Ben intercepts Emmie and hauls her with him to answer the front door, but I beat him to it, squeezing between him, Emmie, and the door.

  “I got it,” I tell him.

  He nods and backs away from the door. I take a second to collect myself, breathing in deeply and exhaling, before finally opening the door. Loren is standing there on the front porch looking absolutely beautiful. Her dark brown hair is hanging loosely around her face and the cream-colored sweater she’s wearing. It looks soft, like her hair. My fingers itch to reach out and touch it . . . her . . . making sure she’s really here, but instead I back away from the door, allowing her space to enter. “Thanks so much for coming,” I whisper as she walks in, handing me a plate wrapped in foil.

  “Thanks for having me.” She smiles nervously, looking up over at Ben and Emmie, who are still standing behind me.

  “Hi!” Emmie squeals. Ben tickles her sides as he puts her down. “I’m Emmie. You’re pretty. Wanna see my animals?” My niece is adorable and never meets a stranger, but it’s obvious she already likes Loren because she wants to introduce her to her animals. Not everyone gets to meet the animals.

  “Uh,” Loren starts, a smile on her face.

  “Let’s let Loren meet everyone else. Maybe you can show her your animals after we eat?”

  Ben gives Loren one of his big cheesy-ass grins. “Good to see you again.”

  “You too.”

  I look up to see my mom and Liza standing in the doorway that leads to the dining room. Walking up behind Loren, I place my free hand at the small of her back. “Mom, Liza . . . this is Loren. Loren, this is my mom, Claire, and my sisters, Liza, who I believe you’ve already met,” I say, giving my sister an eyeroll and silently thanking her. “Yes. Nice to see you again, Liza. And it’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Alexander.”

  “Oh, call me Claire!” My mom swoops over and wraps Loren in a hug.

  To my surprise, Loren hugs my mom right back. “Okay,” she laughs.

  “Well,” my mom says, with one arm around Loren’s shoulders. “Who’s ready to eat some turkey?”

  “Me! Me! Me!” Emmie and Jack both yell in unison as they run between us and into the dining room.

  “Can Loren sit by me?” Emmie asks, bouncing with excitement.

  “Sure she can! If she wants to,” my sister replies, looking over at Loren.

  “Of course. I’ve always wanted to sit by a princess.”

  Emmie beams up at Loren. “I’m not a princess today. Mom says no costumes at the Fanksgiving table.” Her smile falls a little, and everyone chuckles at how adorable she is, even when she’s unhappy.

  “Well, real princesses don’t need costumes,” Loren tells her. Emmie’s smile is back, and she leans even closer to Loren’s chair. The look she gives her is verging on hero worship.

  “I’m saying Grace!” Jack yells because he only has two volumes, loud and louder.

  “Short and sweet, Jack,” my sister reminds him as we all bow our heads. I look to my side to see Loren with her hands folded on the edge of the table and her hair blocking her face from my view, until she tilts her head my way.

  “Thank you,” she mouths silently, but it’s me who’s thankful. I’m thankful for her being here . . . for not giving up on me, for giving me a chance, and for hearing me out. I’m thankful for fate and destiny and all that shit, even if it seems messed up. Peeking up, around the table, a lump forms in my throat, because I’m incredibly grateful and thankful for every person . . . all of the people I love the most in the world in one place. I don’t know how I got so lucky.

  “Lord, thanks for the turkey and for Mom, Dad, Grandma Claire, Uncle Tripp, Emmie, and . . . and,” he pauses. “Loren,” I hear my sister whisper in his ear. “And for Loren. And thanks a lot for the pie that Grandma said I can eat later, and for all of the starving children in Africa . . . I hope they get some turkey too. And also, thanks for Papa Sid. We hope he has turkey with you.”

  “Amen,” I hear my sister whisper to him, prompting him to end his prayer.

  “Amen,” he says, and we all join in unison.

  I notice Loren wipe under her eye, and I hope she’s not sad. I never want to see her cry again. Ever. I only want her happy.

  “Are you Uncle Tripp’s girlfriend?” Emmie asks as she passes a basket of rolls to Loren.

  “Emmie!” Ben warns.

  I cringe because I should’ve thought this through better. I’m about to come to Loren’s rescue when she speaks up.

  “Yep, I’m his girlfriend. Is that okay?” she asks, scrunching up her nose. Every time she does that, I want to kiss it . . . and her. Emmie excitedly nods her head.

  I notice that Mom, Liza, and Ben are all staring at us with ridiculous smiles on their faces.

  Wait.

  Did she just . . . ?

  Her hand reaches under the table and squeezes my leg. I look up and see her questioning me with her eyes. Leaning over, I place my lips to her cheek, letting them linger and whispering, “Thank you.”

  For everything.

  Tripp

  THIS WAS THE best Thanksgiving I’d had in ages.

  After our meal, there was football on TV, board games in the living room, and then we all helped decorate the outside of Liza and Ben’s house with Christmas lights. Loren was by my s
ide the entire time.

  It’s now dark, and my sister’s house is quiet as Loren and I slowly step off the front porch. Ben and the twins crashed early, and Liza and my mom soon followed, knowing they’d be getting up in only a few hours for their Black Friday shopping tradition. Now, it’s just the two of us, and we both seem reluctant to end our time together.

  “Will you walk me home, Tripp?” Eyes the color of warm chocolate look up at me, filled with hope and . . . desire, maybe? I hope I’m right because I’m feeling the same, and she should know.

  “Stay with me.”

  It’s only a whisper, but the intensity of my words leaves us breathless as we continue to gaze at each other, my hands cradling her face while she slides her thumbs through the belt loops of my jeans.

  “Nothing has to happen, Loren. I’m just not ready to let you go.”

  “You’re not tired of me yet?” she jokes.

  “I want to kiss you so badly.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Once I start kissing you, I won’t want to stop. Ever.”

  “Then don’t.”

  My heart is frantically beating in my chest, like a caged animal trying to break free. This. This is what falling in love feels like.

  I can do this.

  But first, I have to ask. “Did you mean what you said during lunch?”

  She tilts her head to the side in confusion but soon realizes what I’m asking.

  “Do you mean when I said I’m your girlfriend?”

  Words fail me, and I can only nod my head ‘yes’ as I wait for her answer.

  “Do you want me to be your girlfriend, Tripp?”

  My breathing and the nodding of my head both pick up in speed, so much so, I fear I may pass out. That would be mortifying, so I push out the words, “very much so,” before taking a deep breath and calming myself, if only marginally.

  Her smile is glorious when she tells me she’d love to be my girlfriend, but it doesn’t stay because it’s now being covered with my mouth. I kiss her like I’ve wanted to all day—like I’ve wanted to for so long.

  This kiss is frantic with passion and longing, and when Loren wraps her arms around my neck, I automatically pull her up, causing her legs to hug my waist so I can carry her to my apartment. A few stumbles and bumps as we make our way up the stairs cause us to giggle into our kiss, but we finally make it inside without causing too much damage.

  Loren makes no move to leave my arms, so I carry her to my bed, laying us both down. As much as I want Loren, I don’t think I can make love to her tonight. Being this close to her is overwhelming enough . . . in the best of ways . . . but I want to savor this, savor her, and not rush things.

  She must sense my apprehension because she stops kissing me to look directly into my eyes and forces me to do the same.

  “We have all the time in the world, okay? No rush. I just want to be with you,” she says as she puts her hand over my heart.

  I close my eyes, and before I can stop myself, I whisper, “My Ania.”

  “What did you call me?” Her tone is sharp, and although she didn’t raise her voice, it’s enough to pop the lust-bubble we were just in.

  Way to go, dumbass.

  “I . . . I . . . called you ‘Ania’.”

  “Why? What does that mean?”

  My face flushes at having to explain my nickname for her, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. Better to get it out now, I suppose.

  “I saw you the day I interviewed with Wyatt at the café. Do you remember? I was walking to the front door, and you glanced up at me. I’d never seen anyone so sad yet so beautiful in all my life.”

  Loren looks down and starts chewing on her bottom lip. I brush my thumb over her mouth, then her cheek, causing her to look at me again.

  “I was immediately drawn to you. I wanted to know you, to know why you were so sad. It hurt my heart to see you in pain. I looked for you every time I went to the café, and I thought about you constantly. Does that make me a creeper?”

  My question surprises her, and she laughs out a “kinda”, but I see the tears forming in her eyes. I gently kiss both of her eyelids before continuing.

  “I needed a name for you, something I could call you when I thought of you—something other than the sad girl at the café.”

  “You could’ve just asked me my name.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” I laugh without humor. “You remember what I was like back then, what I’m still like sometimes.”

  “Stop,” she demands.

  This time, she’s the one to reassure me with a kiss, and I let her.

  “Now finish your story,” she says with a small smile.

  “I tried to name you after a saint,” I tell her and it makes her toss her head back in a laugh.

  “I’m so not a saint.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re with me. If that’s not qualifications for sainthood, I don’t know what is.”

  She continues laughing and I take the opportunity to press my lips to her exposed neck, inhaling her sweet scent.

  “So, not a saint?” she asks a second later, her voice sounding distracted.

  “No, nothing fit,” I tell her as I continue. “Then I moved on to mythological names, because I thought they would suit you more.”

  When she blushes, I smile and kiss her again, simply because I can.

  “The Algea are spirits of pain and suffering, and there’s one specifically for grief, distress, sorrow, and trouble called Ania. I thought it was perfect, but now, maybe I should change it or not call you anything but ‘Loren’.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to label you with something sad. You’re so much more than that.”

  Warm, soft lips attack mine, distracting me so much, I don’t notice that Loren has pushed me onto my back and straddled me until my hands instinctively grab her ass. I give it a few squeezes before I move my hands, not wanting to push any boundaries, but Loren pushes.

  “Uh-uh. Put ’em back,” she murmurs between kisses.

  Who am I to deny her?

  Returning my hands, I grasp her cheeks even more firmly than before. Loren doesn’t hold back, grinding herself against my crotch, eliciting moans from both of us.

  It feels so good to be like this again—to feel something—especially with Loren. But if we don’t stop soon, there won’t be any going back. And I don’t think I’m ready for that. Yet.

  Loren’s mouth is traveling down my throat, and fuck me, it feels amazing. I don’t want to end it, but I also don’t want to go too quickly and mess everything up. A hint of anxiety mixed with trepidation creeps up deep inside. “Baby, we need to stop,” I whisper, running my hand through her hair.

  I’m not going to lie. There’s a part of me that hopes she doesn’t listen—that she keeps going. Of course, that part of me is hard as a rock, begging for release, but I need to think with my brain and not my dick.

  I tell her again that we need to slow things down, and she finally pulls away and looks at me with her swollen lips begging to be sucked back into my mouth. I run my hands over my face a few times to help clear my head.

  “I guess I got carried away again. Sorry.”

  “Don’t ever apologize for that. I’m not complaining, I promise. I . . . I guess I’m just nervous.”

  “I am too, and I know we’re not ready for . . . that. When we kiss, though, all reason leaves my body, and I just can’t get enough of you.”

  “Shit, Loren, I feel the same, believe me. Is it wrong? I mean, is it too soon to feel like this?” My hands grab on to her hips, anchoring her to me, while she runs her fingers through my hair, briefly touching my scar.

  “I don’t think so. We’ve been working our way to this point for months, you know? It’s just so intense, and I’ve never felt this way before. It’s scary.”

  “It wasn’t like this with PJ?” I don’t want to hurt her by bringing him up, but I need to know.

  Loren sighs and touches
my scar again. “Never. It was always tame . . . safe. Never this passionate. What about you and Whitney?”

  “We had crazy times, for sure, but we’d been together since high school. We were able to trust each other and experiment . . . learn what we liked and didn’t like.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “For a while, I did, yeah. She was with me through some major life events. Eventually though, I realized there was no substance between us, only history.”

  “Did you break up right before the accident?”

  “No. My mom didn’t know we’d had a fight that day, so after I was admitted to the hospital, she called Whitney. And Whitney was there for a while. At least, that’s what they told me. I don’t remember anything from the hospital. But after Whitney heard my prognosis, while I was still in a coma, she told my mom she couldn’t handle it.”

  I watch as Loren pushes up just enough to look me in the eyes.

  An internal fire blazes across her features—eyes squinting, nostrils flaring—before she calmly speaks. “What a stupid bitch.”

  Seeing this side of Loren—this slightly jealous, extremely protective side—does nothing to ease my raging hard-on, and I instinctively push myself against her.

  Her eyes close, and she hums with pleasure as she rubs her hands over my chest.

  “Have you seen her since then?” she asks, attempting to keep up with our conversation, but slowly losing ground and giving over to the pleasure.

  “No,” I say roughly, loving the way her body feels against mine.

  She rocks her hips into me once more before declaring, “Her loss; my gain.”

  I pull her back down to me and claim her mouth with my own. The intensity from before is back, but there’s no urgency, only passion as tongues swirl and fingers touch. Eventually, we have to come up for air and after a few more soft kisses, we give ourselves some distance. I think we both know we want more, but we also know tonight isn’t the night.

  When Loren mentions going home, I tell her I’ll take her home tomorrow. We might not be ready for sex, but I’m also not ready to be apart from her, already dreading being in my bed without her.

  “Today was the best day I’ve had in a very long time,” she says softly. “Thank you.” Her words are sleepy as she snuggles into my chest, one arm draped across my body while the other plays with my hair.