“Blake Daniels. Very nice to meet you.” He over annunciates to her as well, and I find it cute, like a nervous habit he seems to have picked up.
Marley greets my mother. They’ve already met several times, and, judging by the slight look of relief on my mother’s face, she’s glad I brought Marley along.
Baya, Bryson, Izzy, and Holt are already in the family room. A college game is on TV, and my brothers throw their hands up in frustration at the screen just as we walk into the room.
They all stand to greet us, and I see Bryson turning down the volume on the television. Mom moves us to the veranda out back where she has the patio table set with gold chargers and crewel embroidered napkins in an array of autumn colors. If my mother is about doing anything right, it’s the holidays. You can bet she has a box in the attic for each one, always adding new things to her collection as the years go by.
It’s icy out, so much so that the crisp air actually stings my lungs, but the outdoor fireplace burns bright, looking magical with the butter yellow maples lining the farthest side of the yard.
Marley looks to the spread laid out before us. “This looks amazing.”
My mother is a master chef. I flash the phone to both Marley and Blake as we take our seats next to each other.
Bryson and Holt seem on their best behavior. A little quieter than usual but God knows I don’t mind. And just when I was thinking of gifting them both a muzzle for Christmas. Baya and Izzy stream a steady conversation regarding Izzy and Holt’s upcoming wedding. Every now and again they shift their heads so I can’t make out the entire conversation.
We start in on Mom’s five course masterpiece, kale and walnut salad, smoked chicken, savory yams, cranberry stuffing, marinated mushrooms, and, let’s not forget, the Moscow hot chocolate—wherever it hales from, it’s delicious.
“So Blake”—my mother sets down her fork and signs for my benefit—“tell me about yourself. I’m dying to know everything. Please fill in the blanks. I don’t even know what questions to ask.”
My face heats twelve shades. My body still burns from having him inside me. I’m not sure why, but it feels like I’m wearing a neon sign that reads I gave away my virginity last night! His penis was much bigger than I imagined. Nobody warned me I might need a cane to get through the first day. I make a face at my mother as if she consciously let me down in that arena. Sex isn’t exactly a topic she’s shied away from.
Blake stirs in his seat a moment. I really didn’t tell my mother much about him other than the fact he’s in a band. I’m pretty sure my brothers have filled her in on whatever it is they find repulsive about him—most likely the exceptionally large penis they suspect he has. I bet you could boil down all this tension to a severe case of penis envy. I’m sure if they knew he spent all night impaling me with it, they’d die on the spot with their heads flopping down into their mashed potatoes unable to recover. Despite their imaginary misgivings, Blake is a saint and an excellent boyfriend. Not that I have a long line of boyfriends to compare him to, but next to poor Marley’s longtime boyfriend, William, or any of the turkeys Kaya has wasted her time with, I can easily verify his sainthood.
“I’m in a band.” Blake smiles angling his body so I can see his lips. “The 12 Deadly Sins. I’m the lead singer. On occasion I play guitar.”
“Fascinating.” She leans in a little too excited. “I’ve always been drawn to men who can sing.”
That explains a lot. Bryson once told me that our dad couldn’t sing a note to save his life.
She nods for him to continue. “Are you also a student at Whitney Briggs? Annie mentioned she met you on campus.”
“No, actually.” His features dim as he glances around the table. “Unfortunately, I had to drop my classes this semester. I’m a junior, on ice for now.” He teases.
That smile my mother has plastered to her face slowly slips away. “What brought you to that decision?”
The Edwards family in general stems from a long line of academic worship. It sounds almost hedonistic to abandon the ritual of learning for life on the mean streets of Hollow Brook, or, in his case, Jepson.
“My brother.” Blake grimaces a moment, and the deep commas in his cheeks cave in. “One of my brothers passed away last summer. It’s been tough.” His chest expands. “I needed to get my bearings and square some things away. Plus, we were sharing an apartment, and I couldn’t afford the rent without him. My other brother, Wyatt, has a horse ranch. That’s where I’m staying now.”
“We know.” Bryson offers a sterile nod. It’s clear the war is still on—even though it’s entirely one-sided.
Mom flicks a finger. “Excuse my sons. They’re very protective of their little sister.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” Blake is quick with his reply.
Holt strums his fingers along the table as if he were anxious to tighten the noose around Blake’s neck. “Tell us about your past. Any skeletons in the closet? What was the longest relationship you’ve had?”
“Holt.” My mother playfully scolds, but it sounds like something she herself would like to know.
“No, that’s fine. I have nothing to hide. No skeletons. I’m still working through some tough stuff, but Annie has been a godsend. If it weren’t for her—these past few months would have been sheer hell. Excuse my language.”
I reach over and take up his hand at the table.
Eventually small talk ensues between my brothers. Mom casually mentions that she’s set up an appointment for me at a clinic in Jepson. But I sort of let the conversation die out. I don’t want the implant to become the crux of our visit. And knowing that Blake wants me to have it as much as my mother means they’d most likely double-team me. Once we finish our meals Mom and Baya start to clear the dishes. Izzy and Marley start a conversation about Marley’s sister, Jemma, who happens to be Izzy’s best friend. The rest of the visit flies by as we finish up dessert in the family room while my brothers root for their favorite football team, even though they lose in a record upset. I’m sure there’s some dizzying metaphor in there regarding the stunning loss and my brothers’ views on my relationship with Blake, but my head isn’t up for deciphering it.
We exchange pleasant goodbyes with Mom and make our way to the front. A flood of relief fills me. I thought for sure this afternoon would end up in a pile of broken dishes, and perhaps broken ribs and legs, but not a bone was shattered, china or not.
“Hey”—Holt nods both Blake and me over—“it was real nice getting to spend some time with you away from the Black Bear.” He drills his gaze into Blake, but it’s cold and unfeeling. The words felt more like a threat than they did a kind sentiment. I know my brother too well. This is just a put on. “Oh!” He fakes an epiphany. “You never did answer the question. What was your longest relationship? It’s just one of those stupid things that either says everything or nothing about a person. I sort of blew in and out of relationships myself until I met Izzy.” He pumps a dry smile my way.
I’d be extremely pissed at Holt if he didn’t just offer Blake an out. That little bit of self-effacing just may have saved our relationship. I’m not up for taking any more crap from my brothers.
Blake furrows his brows as he shakes his head. “I don’t really know—a few months to a year? I guess there was a long one in there somewhere. They never meant much until now, so I guess we have that in common.”
Holt manufactures a grin. “I guess we do. Say—what was the name of your last girlfriend?”
Blake’s Adam’s apple rises and falls. “I’m embarrassed to say this, but it was probably a one-night stand. I used to have a bit of a rock candy addiction.” He looks to me with regret in his eyes. “Sorry.”
“The long one”’—Holt isn’t letting this go—“you know, the last one you do remember.”
Blake and Holt enter into a silent standoff, just staring one another down as if they’re about to go for the jugular.
This is ridiculous, I sign to my brother. I don�
��t appreciate the way you’re treating him one bit. Knock it off. Say something nice, or just go away.
Blake warms my back with his hand. “No, it’s okay. Her name was Olivia.”
Olivia. My heart thuds a few times abnormally. I think I like her referenced better as the long one. Giving her a name, that name, makes it sound serious. Olivia sounds sophisticated. A laceration of pain whips through me at who this Olivia girl might be. I scowl at my brother. I know his game. Get in my head with this girl’s name, and I won’t let their ghost of a relationship rest until I’ve extinguished mine. Well, it’s not going to work.
“Olivia Noster?” Holt’s brows rise, and he looks pleasantly surprised as if he knows her. But it’s all an act, both Blake and I know it. Holt wants her real last name so he can probe into Blake’s past looking for some rope to hang him with. I hate to break it to Holt, but he’s the one who’s going to find his neck cinched, his feet dangling off the ground.
Blake huffs a dry laugh. His eyes close a moment. “No, not that one.” He clasps his arm over my shoulder.
“Did you love her?” Holt spears him with his gaze.
Blake stills. His chest rises and falls with his next breath, but he doesn’t answer his question.
“You did.” Holt shrugs. “That’s what I wanted to hear. It’s good. Now with Annie you have something to gauge your feelings with. First love can be tricky to navigate because you can’t see the bigger picture.” His jaw pops as if he’s getting angry. “But, then again, you never forget your first love. It’s just one of those things.”
“We’ll see you around.” Blake pulls me in tighter.
“Later.” Holt doesn’t break eye contact with Blake.
Bryson tries to lure us into a conversation, but I hold up a hand as we make our way to the truck.
I’m done with my brothers.
We say goodbye to everyone and take off with Marley in the back seat.
It’s a long drive back to campus. This time nature’s sharp beauty isn’t enough to distract me from my brothers’ distrust.
Who am I kidding? I’m not thinking about my brothers.
All I can think about is this girl who Blake once loved.
Olivia.
* * *
Prescott Hall is taking part in a volunteer effort on behalf of Whitney Briggs University where students take turns serving at a homeless shelter for the entire month. It’s a part of the Give Thanks—Give Back campaign running through November.
Blake and I have been hit or miss this week. We were together two more times, once on Sunday and again on Tuesday night when we ditched the movie we were going to see and hit the carriage house instead. I love being with Blake—physically being with Blake—our bodies merging as one, his laughter, his moans melting straight into my mouth with their vibratory approval. Blake and I are all smiles when we’re together. He makes me insanely happy. Why can’t that be enough for my brothers?
I catch a ride to the homeless shelter with Marley, and we discuss my evolving sex life all the way down—mostly at red lights when she can read my texts.
I hand her my phone as we park nearby the facility.
I’ll admit, Holt shook me off my foundation a bit with all that talk of ex-girlfriends. It didn’t help when Blake mentioned that he’d had his fair share of rock candy. I get it. He’s hot. He sings. Girls want him in their beds. He’s BEEN in their beds. Heck, I want him in mine. So the fact that he has a track record shouldn’t throw me for a loop. It’s just that I want to know that I’m doing okay in that department. I want to know that I don’t suck and that he’s not disappointed in my moves because, really, I don’t have any.
Marley openly laughs at the idea. “Are you kidding? That boy is in love with you.” She snatches the phone. Your moves are enough for him. More than enough. That boy is whipped.
My phone buzzes, and I take it back. It’s a text from Blake. “It’s him,” I whisper.
I’m off a little early. Want to get together? I can pick you up.
A dizzying grin takes over. I can’t believe I can get so giddy over a simple text. I love having a boyfriend far more than I ever thought I would. I love that my boyfriend just so happens to be the only one on the planet who has made my stomach squeeze tight. It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that he only wants me.
I’m doing volunteer work at the homeless shelter in Jepson. I should be done in a couple of hours, or, if you like, you can join me. I’m sure another pair of hands couldn’t hurt.
Blake texts right back. Consider me there. Love you.
My heart melts when I see those last two words.
I love you, too.
The Jepson House, as it’s called, is a large, boxy building with wide electronic doors that whoosh open onto a stamped concrete floor. It looks polished and modern with its light blue trim. There are even fashionably dressed mannequins in the display window that advertise the thrift shop in the back. If you didn’t read the sign, you might mistake it for a department store. Inside the strong smell of stewed meat and potatoes take over my senses. I’m not a fan of stewed anything, so, at this point, I have two choices, decide it smells halfway decent or run all the way home, dry heaving.
Marley points to the back where there’s an assembly line of food set up. We spot a bunch of girls from our dorm and head over.
Marley speaks to the woman in charge, and before we know it, we’re slinging sweet potatoes and green beans respectively to the passerbys. It’s mostly single men bundled for the frosty night ahead. I can’t help but see the distance in their eyes. They all wear that same tired look, with those same vacant eyes. A few women come by with small children, and a young boy of about six signs to his mother that he doesn’t like orange potatoes. I can’t help but light up on the inside. As much as I hate to admit it, life after Quincy has been a bigger adjustment than I thought. Just seeing them speaking together in ASL makes my heart sing. Is it wrong that I secretly wish the whole world knew how to sign? After all we know their language.
I’m not a very big fan either. I sign to the two of them. They have chocolate pudding at the end of the line. If you smile real nice, I bet they’ll give you two. If not, you can have mine. We were all promised a meal in exchange for our work, but I doubt any of us will take them up on the offer. We’d rather they give it to those most in need, not create a bigger need by feeding all of Prescott Hall.
“You sign!” His mother claps in relief. “He’s learning in school, but it’s tough. None of the other kids understand him. It’s sad. He was so excited to be a big boy and meet all the other kids, and now he’s all by himself on the playground.”
My heart breaks for him. I pull out my phone as Marley takes over my duties for a minute. My name is Annie, and I’m deaf. I would recommend you look into Quincy. Have you heard of that school? They have all grades.
“Can you read my lips?” She looks puzzled by my ability to understand her.
I give a simple nod as the boy wraps himself around his mother’s leg as if it were a tree trunk.
“I heard Quincy is expensive. We’re trying to stretch a nickel and things like this”—she motions around the facility—“is what gets us by on what little we have. I’m at a battered woman’s shelter with the kids as it is.”
I’m sorry to hear that, I sign. But Quincy has a policy to meet all financial needs if the parents are unable to. I think your son would be a perfect candidate for one of their scholarships.
“Really?” The elation she exudes is palpable. She streams out a string of unintelligible words before signing, You don’t know what this means to my boy. This is like Christmas for us! She lunges over with a wild hug.
I wish them well before getting back to my duties. In the meantime, Johanna and another girl I’ve seen around the dorm have taken the spot on the other side of me. Perfect. The world gives, and it takes away. Johanna has her face spackled with an inordinate amount of makeup. Her eyes look smeared in kohl as if she were literally trying
to achieve the smoky look by way of a charcoal briquette. Her lips are that tacky shade of here-come-my-lips star spangled red she insists on punishing the public with. It looks as if a child drew her out on paper—an angry child with some serious mommy issues. I try not to make faces as I get back to work. That’s the thing with me, most of my expressions seem a bit exaggerated, thus I’m terrible at hiding my emotions. I can’t help it. I want the world to know what I’m thinking, and, if rolling my eyes is what it takes, so be it.
I avert my gaze to Marley. She knows all about Johanna’s insistence that I make like a plane and fly away. Marley bears her teeth, looking for a fight on my behalf, and I shake my head because that’s not what I want. Not here anyway.
Johanna knocks into me with a violent force, pretending to have tripped while shoving her serving spoon into the stuffing.
“Excuse you!” Marley is pissed. Her face goes up in flames turning strange shades of pink then magenta.
I wave it off, letting her know it’s a futile effort. We can deal with her later. No use in ruining what amounts to the only hot meal these people get.
Johanna starts speaking, but her head is turned half way so I don’t quite catch it. Don’t want to.
She pushes me in the shoulder a little rougher than necessary to get my attention.
“I said stay on your side.” She chomps down on every word with a little more aggression than I’m used to. The strong odor of vodka hits me in the face like a slap. No wonder she’s so animated, she’s wasted.
She must have shouted the words because half the room has turned to look at us. I take a full step toward Marley. I’m avoiding drama at all costs tonight knowing Blake will be here any minute. With Johanna the vodka-breathing dragon bearing down on me, I regret extending the invitation.
The girl next to her grimaces, clearly embarrassed by Johanna’s behavior. That makes me feel just a little bit better. The fewer supporters Ms. Inebriated America has the better.
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