by Sarah Bumpus
“Don’t get your hopes up, I didn’t cook…I thought we could just get take out.” Carver says to me as I’m entering his kitchen, in the process of talking off my winter coat and gloves.
I smile as I notice he’s taken the time to set the table with candles and all. This is definitely a pleasant alternative to going out to eat. “Gee, you really know how to woo a girl,” I say, half-jokingly.
“That’s my goal.” Carver pulls me into a kiss that could permanently stop time, and I wonder if we’ll even get to eat dinner before we make it to dessert. Then somehow I remember that I wanted to talk to him.
“Carver…” I regrettably push him back. “I kind of wanted to talk to you.”
A passive look spreads across his face. “OK, Joy. Sure,” he says softly. Carver tucks his hair behind his ears as he blows out the candles.
We walk silently to the living room and sit down. He faces me, and leans his head into his hand, propped up on the back of the couch.
I take a breath, “You know I really like you-”
Carver interrupts me, “Joy, is this about sex? You know we can wait. You don’t feel like I’ve been pressuring you, do you?” he asks sweetly and grabs my hand.
Suddenly I’m picturing sex with Carver and my brain no longer wants to have this conversation. “What? No. I…I just need to have a little more time to myself, you know? We do spend quite a bit of it together. Don’t you ever need a break from me?”
He takes a moment for my words to sink in then brings his other hand down on top, so they’re both holding mine. “Joy, I could never get sick of spending time with you, but if that’s what you want, it’s OK,” he smiles.
I nod and feel my shoulders relax, glad that the conversation went well. Carver suggests that maybe I should just head home and we could do a rain check on dinner, since we didn’t order anything, anyway.
I slide my coat back on and he guides me to the door, offering a farewell with a delicate kiss on the forehead. As I’m walking down the stairs to my car, I realize just how wrong everyone is about this boy. He’s been given such a bad rapport throughout high school, and I feel awful that the student body never gave him a chance. Shivering, I dig in my bag for my keys and realize I left my gloves in Carver’s apartment. I briskly jog back up the steps and knock lightly, but he doesn’t answer. Turning the knob slowly, I find that it’s unlocked and don’t think Carver will mind if I just run in to grab them.
I enter the kitchen, locate the gloves, then in the process of picking them up, I pause in mid-air. I hear Carver’s voice coming from the direction of his bedroom and walk quietly to the edge of the kitchen to listen.
“You’re such a fucking fuck-up!” I hear a loud, sudden pop, that I’m pretty sure is Carver hand punching a wall. “You can’t do anything right!” Another pop, another one for the wall. I glance over at the snake, silently slithering about his glass case, and using his example, I slip equally as silent out the door.
On the drive home, I decide not to mention the scene I witnessed to anyone. I’m not going to lie, it was a little unsettling, but part of me hurts for Carver. All that pressure from his father seems to have had a long term effect on him over the years. Now, when something goes wrong, he just punishes himself. He needs to understand that there is a great guy inside of him. I’ve been a witness to that, too. I start to wonder if spending less time together is really a good idea after all. Maybe if I’m around more I can be as influential on him about changing his ways, as he has been with me. Then I remember how I almost missed the Brown deadline because I let myself be consumed by him. Relationships aren’t supposed to feel suffocating. I need this break for me. I’m doing for me. And if anyone can understand that, it would have to be Carver.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
BRYCE
Final grades come through over winter break, and I open the envelope with my eyes shut. Unfolding the paper slowly, as soon as it’s open completely I give in and anxiously search for my history grade…C+. My entire body goes slack with relief.
Thank you.
I close my eyes again. In two months, I managed to bring the grade up to something satisfactory. A large part of that is because of Joy, even though she didn’t tutor me very long, I couldn’t have done it without her. I quickly scan the rest of the report card, and leave it on the counter for my parents to eventually see.
I take the stairs two at a time and sit down at my computer. After opening my email, I compose the following message:
Joy, I just wanted to let you know that I passed history with a C+, and I know to you that probably sounds horrifying, but to me it’s great news. If everything goes well up until graduation, then the scholarship is golden. You played more of a role in that than you’ll ever know and I just wanted to say thanks for your trouble. I’m sorry for screwing things up between us again. -Bryce
I delete it before I make the mistake of sending it. I should be happy. I got what I wanted right? If there is one person, you can’t kid, it’s yourself. Yeah, I wanted to keep the scholarship, but I also wanted her back in my life, for good. Instead I did just what I said, I screwed things up all over again. I feel so helpless. I should have forced her to listen to me, to understand what she’s really getting into with Carver. The thought of him touching her, or even inside of her, makes my skin crawl right off my body. I should have fought for her. If not physically, but in other ways. Maybe there is still a chance, still a way I can win her back. I think about it more than I probably should and with her no longer around, and football season over, time seems to come to a standstill. I do my best to stay focused and keep my eye on Carver, while the rest of the winter drags by in a cold spell of regret, sprinkled with flurries of hope.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
JOY
The weekend of my eighteenth birthday, at the end of March, Carver invites me over to hang out and celebrate. The amount of adorable ‘I miss you’ texts I’ve been getting from him lately, combined with his desperate eyes leaves me no choice, but to agree. The truth is I’ve been really lonely and missed him too. I haven’t hung out with Farah in ages, and Seth still acts like I don’t even exist. With spring in the air and no one to really enjoy it with, I find that I’m actually anxious for Friday night to come.
When it finally does, I decide to wear a flirty knee length dress and low heels, feeling the excitement of an actual ‘date’. I knock on Carver’s apartment door, silently hoping he approves.
“Joy, come in. Wow,” he says to my legs, and I smile. He takes my coat and out of habit I head to the living room couch. “Hey, wait.” Carver grabs my arm tightly, stopping me. “I have something for you, but it’s in the bedroom.”
He leads me down the hall and I swallow nervously as I enter his room, looking around for the hole-stricken wall. However, any damage that may have occurred has been covered, and all evidence of possible dysfunction, removed. Carver sits on the bed and pats the mattress for me to join.
“So, what’s this present?” I ask, since I don’t see any colorfully wrapped packages hanging about.
“Well, I’ve missed you so much, and I just thought since we haven’t seen much of each other…” Carver slides closer and puts his hand on my bare thigh and I wonder if perhaps I should have just worn jeans. “…maybe you’d like to make up for lost time.” He leans over and kisses my neck, at the same time his hand slides completely up between my legs, forcing the part.
“Carver, wait.” I try to pull away, a huge red flag waving blatantly in front of my face. It’s not like we haven’t gone that far, we just haven’t gone all the way yet. And by the look on Carver’s face that’s what he is intending my ‘present’ to be. Since our relationship has been on a hiatus, I’m not sure I’m ready to take it there this soon.
Carver runs his hand slowly down my chest, then back up again, and rests it on the top button at my collar. “C’mon, Joy, a dress like this? You’d have to be a little bitch to tease me like that, wouldn’t you?” he whispers s
weetly, and starts to slowly unbutton the front of my dress.
“Excuse me?” Um…no. I am so not OK with this. I begin to stand, but Carver pushes me down onto the bed. His hair falls in his face as he straddles me.
“Please, don’t leave yet. I didn’t get to give you your present.” His sweetness turns suddenly bitter and he tugs the skirt of my dress up to my waist.
“Carver, stop! I don’t want to do this!” I have a hard time catching my breath, as if the weight of his body pressing down on my waist has somehow made its way up to my throat.
He just laughs the more I struggle and when he reaches for the waistband of my panties, I lose all hope. Whatever good I thought I saw in this boy was a complete sham. He begins to yank my underwear down when suddenly someone starts pounding on the door.
“Carver! God damn it! Did you change this fucking lock again?”
Carver covers my mouth with his hand and listens. There’s a loud rattling as someone tries to turn the door knob, and when it doesn’t work they start pounding again. A deep, thunderous voice, yells again. “Carver! Open the damn door!”
Carver pulls his hand away and pushes his hair back. “If you say anything about this, I will fucking hurt you. I swear.” He breathes hotly into my face then climbs off me, watching sickly, as I push my dress down and button it back up. Then he leaves and heads to the kitchen to let his father in.
I somehow manage to stand on weak, shaky legs. All I can think about is how I need to get out of here, now.
I make my way over to the doorway and listen, trying to calm my heart down enough so I can actually hear something, though it’s not even necessary since Mr. Halsey is practically yelling anyway.
“You think you’re a big boy because you get to play ‘house’ up here?” I hear him laugh. “I think you need to remember just who’s house this is. You abide by my rules…Change that lock one more time and I’ll change your face.”
I don’t hear a response from Carver before Mr. Halsey adds, “Who’s car is that out there? You got a girl in here?”
I sense this as my only chance. There’s no way I want to bear witness what may come next, or risk facing Carver alone after the fact. I take a breath and walk confidently out into the kitchen. “Oh, that’s my car, Mr. Halsey. Hi, I’m Joy, Carver’s girlfriend.” I reach out and shake his hand. He’s dressed in a dark blue police uniform and my gaze falls from those familiar hazel eyes, down to the nightstick at his waist. From the amount of thick aggression in the air, I silently wonder if his son has ever seen its wrath. “I was actually just going.” I lean over and force myself to give Carver a quick kiss on the lips, somehow managing not to throw up all over myself. “See you Monday, babe,” I say to him, nod to Mr. Halsey, then mechanically make my exit.
“If you say anything about this, I will fucking hurt you.” His words haunt me and prevent me from doing exactly that. As much as I want to and as much as I should, I can’t. I’m a coward and just too damn scared. Besides who would believe me anyway? I was the one who willingly went to his house and everyone has seen us kissing at school, or at least together.
Instead I try and focus on my birthday weekend. Saturday I spend a rare afternoon with Farah and I pretend to have a blast with her at the mall, but she acts almost as distant as me. She does seem to make an effort by buying me a lunch that I force myself to eat, and an outfit I picture a guy just ripping off me, anyway. If she senses anything is wrong, she doesn’t ask about it, preoccupied with her own thoughts. I wonder if she’d rather be with her boyfriend right now, a boyfriend that doesn’t try to force her into almost having sex and threaten her about it afterward.
When I get home that evening, I collapse on my bed and finally start to process what exactly happened. Now I can see why Carver dislikes his father so much. I could never imagine, until witnessing it, just how demeaning a father could actually be. If Mr. Halsey only knew what he’s helped shape his son into, I wonder if he would change his ways. I silently shake my head. He’d probably just slap him on the back and tell him what a real man he’s become.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Happy Birthday!” my mom exclaims, as I enter the kitchen rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I’m surprised it’s even there after two nights of tossing and turning, with images of Carver’s hands all over my body. Mom’s apron clad and aggressively mixing a bowl of homemade pancake batter. My stomach growls as I take in the aroma of the bacon, sizzling on the stove. I’m relieved to at least have an appetite as I take in the spread my mom is preparing.
“Thanks, Mom…smells good.” I give her a kiss, then lean over to inspect the bacon’s progress on the stove top. Every year for my birthday my mom cooks breakfast for dinner because she knows it’s my favorite, unless by chance my special day happens to fall on a weekend. With today being a Sunday, we actually get to have breakfast for breakfast.
“Is your brother up yet?” she asks, flipping the bacon slices over with a pair of tongs.
As if on cue, Devon enters the kitchen. “Good morning, Happy Birthday, Joy.”
“Thanks Dev.” I give him a quick hug then head to the fridge for something to drink.
He makes his way over to the stove and mimics my bacon examination. “I was going to ask, what’s up with your car…but it’s kinda ‘up’ itself, isn’t it?” He turns and gives me a funny look.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, halfway through pouring three glasses of OJ to go with the place settings at the bar.
“Your car…is up in the air. You didn’t see it when you came downstairs?”
“No…I really wasn’t looking…” Bewildered, I put down the juice container and make my way to the bathroom off the kitchen. I pull the curtain aside. Sure enough my poor little Jetta’s back end is partially airborne. I toss the curtain back and hurry into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here, Mom?” I exclaim in annoyance.
“Who?”
“Bryce!”
“I didn’t know he was, honey. I’ve been in here working on breakfast!” she replies defensively.
I don’t stick around long enough to contemplate if this is the truth or not. Flinging open the sliding glass door, I stomp off the deck, making my way around to the driveway.
Bryce has got my car up on a jack. The rear passenger side tire is off, and there’s an array of tools scattered in the general vicinity. He’s squatting down, with his back towards me. Suede work gloves cover his large hands and they are tending to a rusty metal part attached to where I’d normally see my tire. Bryce has on a faded black t-shirt and an old pair of stained jeans, which I’m assuming he saves just for working peoples cars without asking.
“What are you doing?” I approach him, arms crossed at my chest.
“Trying to wiggle off these damn calipers,” he mumbles a strained response. The muscles in his forearms are tight from the force of exertion.
“I can see that,” I say, curtly. “Why?”
Finally able to pull them off, he turns to address me, and looks me up and down. “Nice slippers.”
In my whirl-wind state, I completely forgot that I still had my pajamas on. I sigh in annoyance, “Seriously?”
“Consider it a birthday present,” he smiles.
“You remembered it’s my birthday?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“It’s not that hard to remember, March 31st…six days before mine,” He focuses on removing the gloves from his hands, then stands.
I let the date stew in my brain. I can’t believe that it’s been four months since we’ve talked face to face. It seems like it’s been ten years all over again. “You don’t have to do this. I was going to get them fixed,” I say, softening a little.
“When, on your next Birthday?” he snickers.
Suddenly my mom comes around from the back of the house and yells, “Joy, breakfast is ready! Invite Bryce in to join us!”
I motion for him to follow, seeing no alternative. “C’mon, you can put my car back together after we eat
.”
When we come through the sliding door, I see that my mom has moved the celebration to our old study spot, the dining table and increased the place settings by one. She comes around the bar with a smile as huge as the stack of pancakes she’s carrying. They’re topped with a hand full of drippy birthday candles, starting to melt from the heat of the flames. My mom places it down in at my favorite spot, Dad’s old seat and breaks into song, with Devon and Bryce both joining in. They serenade me with a slightly flat version of Happy Birthday, while I stand there in my pjs feeling slightly awkward. Though, it’s easily canceled out by happiness as I blow out the candles. For the first time this weekend, I’m not wasting thoughts on Carver Halsey.
We sit down, and not being shy about food, I dig right in. Piling pancakes, bacon, two scoops of scrambled eggs, and anything else that will fit on my plate. I glance over at Bryce who’s doing the same. Not realizing it, my jaw drops open. He happens to look up at me and stops abruptly. “What?” he says nervously.