by Jody Kaye
“Woo.” My brother leaves off the “F” and it’s so stinking cute I have to squeeze him once more before handing over to his dad.
Trig’s boots tromp over to the other side of the room and he places Owen’s feet on the floor. “Kneel down,” he instructs me. Owen bounces on his knees, mimicking Trigs’ bent posture. “Not you, ya goof!” Owen giggles and they wrestle a bit before Trig plants Owen back on his feet. “Go on, show Miss Aidy all the trouble she’s in for now. Your sister is waiting.”
My heart pitter-pats as Trig acknowledges our connection.
Owen bounces a few more times looking in my direction before Trig taps him on his diapered bottom and then he’s crossing the tile like walking is second nature to him. He gets to the final two steps and flings himself into my arms, confident I’ll catch him and my chest is full-on pounding.
“I’m so proud of you!” I squeal. I give him loud kisses up his baby-fat rolled neck and Owen slobbers on my cheek. Trig tries to get him to toddle back, but Owen flops down in my lap, content to cuddle.
While I keep Owen occupied playing on the floor, Trig goes back to prepping dinner. From the spread of cutting boards, knives, and ingredients on the counter, it had to have been something he was doing before I showed up.
“I’m in tonight. You’re under no obligation to stay and watch him.” Trig concentrates on chopping vegetables.
“My roommate is never around, so if it’s all the same to you—”
Trig’s brow furrows. “Morgan left some cash for you to order out.”
I notice two origami frogs stacked piggy-back on the table. Last time. Morgan folded the bills into a fox. I bite my lip, trying not to blush. Are these little tokens more than they seem? It doesn’t matter how much time Morgan and I spend in one another’s company, it’s moronic thinking there’s any hidden meaning behind them. However, I wasn’t asleep as much as embarrassed to open my eyes when we’d napped in the truck at the beach. I heard the sincerity in Morgan’s voice and fought the shiver his light touch sent flowing down my spine.
Trig interrupts my thoughts. “I figured you both might want some healthier grub than what I’ve seen from the takeout bags in the trash can.”
“Does it bother you I’m here?” I want to add so often, but I don’t. Between babysitting and Morgan and I hanging out, I’m staying overnight in Brighton almost more than anyplace else. I’ve been inclined to go home to see my mom and dad on a few occasions. But I’m most comfortable here, and I sleep like the dead, making up for the nights on the dorm room floor.
“Not in the least. I’d be cautious of your parent’s feelings, though, Aidy. I’m not saying it to upset the apple cart. Kimber has a lot of respect for Ghillie and Don. The last thing I want is for them to feel threatened by her when they don’t understand the situation.”
“Situation?” I bring Owen to his playpen.
“Don’t play dumb with me.” His voice is serious, but Trig’s eyes dance with mirth. “I appreciate you’re taking this slow.”
“Do you mean me and Morgan? He doesn’t like me!”
“Do you like him?”
“What? No. I don’t kn— No,” I deny, flatly. “We’re, you know.”
“Yup, I know.” Trig sing-songs with a smirk.
I’d tell him he didn’t know a damn thing if this wasn’t his house. And he isn’t cooking us dinner. And my mom hadn’t raised me better. But I also get Trig’s point about Kimber. He’s protective of his wife and my parents don’t have the foggiest I’m not in Brighton because I’m trying to reconcile some fairytale relationship with the mother I wanted more. My family has two equal branches. Don and Ghillie are on one side and Kimber, Trig and Owen are on the other. I love them both. It’s a far stretch to say I love Kimber and Trig the same way as Don and Ghillie because my mom and dad are exactly that. It’s unlikely I’ll understand how you could love anyone more until I fall in love and have children of my own. There’s only one moment in my life I’d redo, but it’s impossible.
I pull out a chair and sit with a frog grasped in each hand. Morgan’s sweet and gentle with me. No one can ever prove beyond a reasonable doubt his friend was still alive. Morgan took responsibility anyway. Meanwhile, I can only presume to know who the man who took advantage of me was. If I’d agreed to report it, there’s no guarantee the police charged the correct person.
My emotions battle within, slipping out. “It doesn’t seem right Morgan went to jail. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Who gets to judge, you? Sweetheart, the so-called rules are inconsistent and depend on where you fall in society. If Morgan was from an influential family, maybe things would have turned out different for him. But he had no one standing up for him, so it was easy for the DA to railroad him into taking a plea deal instead of going to trial. The university needed for those players to take the heat. The community used those convictions as proof they held those boys accountable, and it allowed Morgan’s roommate’s family to settle their case against the college without lugging it through the courts.” His comments are dispassionate facts.
“It still doesn’t seem fair; it ruined his chances. What if he was the next NBA all-star?” That might not have been Morgan’s endgame, but “He doesn’t even get to finish his degree.”
Trig wipes his hands on a towel and places a palm on my shoulder. “For Morgan’s sake, keep your opinions on this to yourself, Aidy,” Trig advises. “He paid a high price and doesn’t deserve for you to think any of his choices were wrong. Morgan’s list of regrets is already a mile long.”
Trig drags up a chair and hunches over so we’re face to face. “Morgan’s a good apprentice. He’s trying to put his past behind him and move forward with the cards life dealt him. Same as I’m asking you to shield Kimber, I’d like it if you didn’t dredge up Morgan’s past. Unless he’s telling his truth, the less who knows about it, the better off he is. We’re all in this together.”
For as calm as Trig’s words are, the last sentence seems like a warning. Yet, I can’t place why. I understand his concerns. Sloan maintains my story is my own, and she has no right to spill the beans to anyone. Outside of the group our connection is very different. I’ve seen her here since. She acts normal. No one would ever realize Sloan’s the person I text when I get overwhelmed.
Morgan comes in a few minutes later. He’s casual putting his hand on my upper back. Half of me feels like I could sprout wings underneath his palm. The other part wants to shrivel and hide. The emotions warring inside of me are too much to handle. When Morgan goes to shower, I run and hide in the guest bedroom, shooting off a message to Sloan.
Me: SOS
Sloan: Are you alone? I can call.
Me: Yes! But let me call instead.
I hit her contact information. It only rings once before Sloan’s skipping the pleasantries answering, “Are you okay?”
“I’m so lost. There’s… Uh, There’s this guy I’m supposed to hang out with tonight.” I realize I’m panicked and my words are coming in a rush.
“Is he bothering you? I can come pick you up. Let me know where.”
“No. It’s the opposite. He’s not doing anything wrong. I—I sort of like him,” I admit. “But that’s not… He won’t…”
“Slow down and take a breath.” She pauses, setting my mind at ease when she says, “You’re safe.”
My cheeks puff out and wind blows past the receiver as I let the air out of my lungs.
“You like a man.”
“He’s… nice.”
“Go on.”
“Nothing is happening between us that’s more than friendly. But I keep having these thoughts, feelings.”
“It’s all perfectly normal.” Sloan understands my meaning by the way I emphasized the word.
“It doesn’t feel that way. It’s like nuclear meltdown sirens go off.” The problem isn’t the way Morgan’s touch makes my pulse speed up. It seems like it’s too soon to consider a relationship with any man. Biological function or
not, from my perspective there’s a point of misplaced promiscuity to my body’s response.
I hear a snicker on the other side of the line. “I’m happy for you.”
“About warning bells?”
“You’re acknowledging what they are, Aidy. You called because you wouldn’t have reacted to the situation this way before…and you’re not asking me how to make one feeling or the other go away now, are you?”
“No.” It’s not as if I have a chance with Morgan, but I want to know how to deal with them so I don’t make a fool of myself in front of him. Or anyone else.
“They’ll exist in parallel for as long as it takes. How long is up to you. Everyone heals in their own way because our experiences are unique to each of us.”
“I’m afraid if someone finds out they’ll judge me for, I don’t know, jumping in like a love-sick puppy.”
It gets silent and I’m about to ask Sloan if she’s still there before she speaks again.
“I made a lot of mistakes while I was recovering. Who am I kidding? I still do. The people who judge haven’t walked a mile in your shoes. What they have to say has more to do with their perception of the way they would have lived your life. What they think they’d have done in similar circumstances and the fear they have surrounding them being hurt in the same way.
“Simply because you have feelings toward the opposite sex doesn’t mean you’re acting on them.”
“But I don’t like the mix of both feelings at once,” I admit to the confusion.
“Nobody does. You bide your time waiting for one to win out. And it will at the right time for you. I promise.”
I sigh.
“Is he cute?”
“Sloan!” I close to whisper-yell.
“Your reaction tells me all I need to understand. Enjoy his company for what it’s worth. Everyone can use another friend.”
“You’re right.” I agree with her last sentiment. Morgan definitely needs friends.
“Good lord, can I introduce you to Mister Bossy-pants and have you tell him I’m right about something? Anything?”
I laugh.
“I love Carver. He’s my person. I waited what seems like forever to meet someone who loves me back unconditionally. That said, he drives me up a wall.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “And someday you’ll have someone there to making you crazy too. Be patient with yourself.”
“I will. Thank you, Sloan.”
“Anytime. Now go have some fun while you’re still young and not yet in love with this handsome fella.”
Morgan is back in the kitchen, fresh and clean, setting the table for the three of us when I get off the phone with Sloan.
I act as if nothing is amiss and help Owen into his high chair. My nerves ease, listening to Morgan chatter on about his commute. Appreciating the home-cooked dinner, Morgan and I do the dishes when our plates are clean, and Trig heads up to bed with Owen.
We’re sitting on the couch. Morgan’s arm lounges over the back of the seat. His fingers absently touch the strands of my ponytail where my head rests. The tips tickle my neck and I’m trying not to let on how much it affects me.
The show we’re watching ends and Morgan flips through the channels trying to find something else to entertain us.
“This is a lame night. We should go do something,” he suggests.
I shrug. We’ve eaten, and it’s drizzled most of the November day, so mini golf is out. It’s been cold enough to see my breath in the morning on the way to class.
When it comes down to it, I’m fine with the night in. I’m in a safe place, getting to know someone who interests me. But I also don’t want Morgan becoming bored by my company and feeling obligated to spend time with me. I’m not a laugh riot to be around. This relationship will peter out when Morgan gets a real girlfriend and feels stifled having to babysit me and Owen.
His cell dings with an incoming text.
“Cece,” he says, tapping a response to his sister. “She needs an emergency chaperone. I have to walk her home tonight.”
He stays put while I’m thinking we need to call 911.
“Why are you just sitting there?”
Morgan shakes his head, brow furrowing like this isn’t a huge deal. “She doesn’t go on stage for another hour and I think she’s performing for two acts. Most of the dancers are covering for another who’s had bronchitis.”
I blink a few times. Of course, dancers get sick. However, I hadn’t given a thought to what happens if they’re in no shape to take off their clothes. I’m still trying to figure out how they go on when they get their periods, but who am I going to ask? I live in a bubble.
“Hey, wanna go hang out for a while? Some of my buddies are there. You can meet them.”
“At Sweet Caroline’s? Are women allowed in who aren’t dancers?” I let it slide that Morgan’s been inside and has seen at least part of the show. Revue? I’ve only ever heard Sweet Caroline’s whispered about like it’s a seedy dive. It could be upscale. Please make it be like a true gentleman’s club you’d see in a movie. Morgan’s family works there, and my attitude is judgmental when I haven’t met Cece yet.
“Sure. Women come all the time with their boyfriends, or girlfriends.” His shoulders hit his ears and Morgan slides our shoes toward our feet. “Husbands. Wives. Anyone who’s curious.”
I take it we’re going. Biting my lip, I summon the courage to do something new. It’s not safe, and it’s so far from my wheelhouse that my wagon is all the way up in New England waiting on Darius Rucker to thumb a ride south. Jesus Christ, the next thing you know I’ll be smoking pot.
I stop tying my shoes and laugh because I have toked and now I’m being irrational, forgetting I’m not so good a goody-two-shoes that I’ve had zero life experience. I’m underage and alcohol contributed to my… Not going there.
“You okay with this?” Morgan’s bemused.
“Yes.” I snort. “I was thinking about one of my all-time favorite songs and it struck me as funny.”
We don’t say much in the van driving through Brighton. I’m nervous, even though I know I’m not the one taking my clothes off. Morgan keeps swallowing. All I can think is he’s anxious I’m meeting his friends. Although, I’m not sure why.
I need to shut off the dumb romance fantasy playing in technicolor between my ears and before I get carried away.
We pull in the parking lot. Neon signs flash. It’s only half as bad as I expected and that may be because the rain and dark sky give it an ominous feel. Morgan parks facing toward the two-lane street. Beyond the sidewalk is a wrought iron fence. I can see through it to where a bit of a grassy area merges with the parking spaces. The front entry of a three-story restored factory is lit up with flood lights shining in every direction. I’d expect to see in, however, the windows are all tinted like a one-way mirror reflecting what’s outside and keeping the occupants’ activities disguised. The wet, old, red brick exterior is a deep monochrome and green window sills give it a touch of class.
“Is that the mill?” I ask, suddenly curious about who and what’s inside.
“Yeah, we can come back another day when everyone’s at home.” He reminds me actual people live there.
Morgan pulls his key from the steering column. “There’s something I gotta tell you.” His words rush out.
“Uh.” Door fee? I am expected to strip? My neurons fire in fifty-seven different directions.
“I work here too.”
“Doing what!” My mind finds all the other possibilities I hadn’t yet considered.
“Kimber hired me to barback and I bounce, work the door a few nights a week.”
“Kimber, my birth mother, the person who—”
“I manage a bar, Dumplin’,” she told me.
It strikes me I hadn’t plied Kimber for more information, simply took her words at face value, and figured she was a glorified hostess at Applebees’ or one of those nifty craft beer places with “growler” in the name which keep popping up
on every corner.
A normal person would’ve dug. Me? I was so damn happy my birth mother wanted anything to do with me that I gave her a free pass so I could see my brother. I told myself it didn’t matter Kimber had a menial job when she had a degree. My mom has a masters and she’s a housewife.
“Let’s go inside.” I need to see this for myself for any of it to make sense.
“Hey, man.” Morgan bumps knuckles with the bouncer at the door. We slide in like butter spreading on warm toast. The immense room is as dark as it is outside. There’s cheesy velour fabric on the seats and leather, pleather? on the stools. The floors have lit pathways like the faint lights that turn on in an aircraft cabin and the music is loud.
Morgan’s had his hand pressed to my lower back and he nearly stumbles over me as I take it all in. The customers, the waitresses, the dancer on stage. His arm wraps protectively around my middle, forcing my feet to move.
“Come on. I’ll get us drinks.”
“Water. Bottled water. Cap on.”
“Don’t worry Aidy, You won’t catch anything here. I’ve run the dishwasher before. The glasses are sanitized,” he jokes.
Over at the long bar, scantily clad female bartenders scurry back and forth with smiles on their faces. It reminds me of how nonchalant the girls who stole in the drugstore had been. A flash of red hair whips around. The woman places a scotch on the rocks on the bar, collects a wad of cash, and dumps it in a tip jar. Then she playfully spanks the barmaid next to her on the butt to get her to move so she can move past. They both start giggling, though, I can’t hear the sound over the thump of the bass.
Kimber wiggles her fingers, mouthing she’ll be back to the others. She turns. Blue eyes meet mine as Kimber moves out from behind the bar. As she catches sight of me, the smile falters and Kimber has to plaster it back on.
“Dumplin’, what are you doing here?” She holds her arms wide, bringing me into a protective hug.
I mumble something about Cece and meeting up with Morgan’s friends. “It doesn’t bother you I came?”
“Of course not, I’m just surprised to see you.”