by Jody Kaye
This morning is the first time I’ve considered calling in sick, and I have a somewhat valid excuse. I’ll be on my feet most of the day. Although, it’s slow after five o’clock unless a customer gets a hankering for something sugary and even then, they tend to pick it up from the bakery counter to have boxed and brought home.
Hailey uses my job as an excuse to escape her confines, so I see her a lot even when we’re not hanging out as couples. I’m glad. Had we gone our separate ways after moving out of the dorm, I would have missed her. Since I’m scheduled to go in today, she’s decided all of the ladies are showing up during my downtime when I’m wiping tables clean and restocking cups.
Little feet stomp up the steps to the third floor. The door creaks open. I hear a loud roar as Owen runs toward me, scrambles up on the bed, and throws his body onto mine, attacking me with gusto.
I pretend I’m asleep until he yells, “Happee birday, Aiy!”
I sit up to lean against the wall of pillows with my brother on my belly. “What’s this?” I show as much excitement as Owen exudes. I can’t believe how much he’s grown.
O shoves a package wrapped in pink with an organdy bow from Sterling’s in my face with toddler exuberance. Kimber has gotten me the same gift every year; a silver frame with my age engraved and a photograph already placed inside.
This year, Morgan’s gift was having Dusty help him install pipe shelving in our room to display them all. Our space is homey and comfortable with dashes of Morgan and I everywhere, plus quite a few of Owen’s things he leaves during his visits. We won’t live here forever, but we are building a life together.
“Open.” My brother grows impatient.
Teasing, I’m slow to untie the bow and he takes over, pushing aside the tissue paper and putting his fingerprints all over the shiny heart-shaped frame.
“You and meeee!” he sing-songs.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful!”
Owen hugs me with a growl and points to the shelving. I get up with him still attached to me, carrying my brother and the snapshot of us while I was teaching him to hit a baseball in the backyard over to the rest of the collection. He decides where it’s going and his chubby hands pick up another frame Kimber keeps a duplicate of downstairs of him in a newborn stocking cap.
“Das me.” He rattles off the names of the people in it. “Das my mommy. Das you mommy.” His finger slides over the glass identifying everyone in the image from the year he was born. I nod and smile. “Show me. Show me!” He bounces in my arms. Reaching for a picture of Kimber when she was eighteen and pregnant with me. “Das you, Aiy, in my mommy belly!” He pats his own proudly, and I can’t help giggling.
We arrange the frames and I pad back toward the bed, plopping Owen down.
“Where’s Moron?” His palms spread wide to the ceiling.
“Mor-gan.” I correct him, unable to contain a snort.
I think Owen’s attempt to say my boyfriend’s name is hysterical. And if Morgan is being a moron, I call him that in jest. Like any couple, we’ve had our fair share of disagreements. It’s not easy being a couple, living in the same space, juggling my course load with his job and the mill stress he can’t always share. But somehow we manage because deep down I think we both realized early on that the other was the person we were meant to trust with our heart.
“I’m not sure. Where is Morgan?” His side of the bed was cool.
I amble toward the closet to find a dress to slip into. Everyone at home has let me sleep since it’s my twenty-first birthday, but if I don’t get ready for the day now, I’ll run short on time later. I want to make the most of enjoying everyone’s company.
“He make piza pancakes.” Owen balls his fists, shaking and baring his teeth, eager for a snack. I’ve never seen anyone indulge in pepperoni the way he does.
Hidden by the partially closed closet door, I sniff the air. “I don’t smell pizza bagels, O. Maybe cinnamon buns?”
“Piza pancakes fowa me only!” Owen jumps on the bed.
“Hey, you.” I walk over while pulling my red-again-with-a-few-stripes-of-violet hair into a ponytail. “What’s the rule?”
“BEEEE SAAAFFFFE!” His legs fly out from under him, falling back and letting the messy covers catch him.
I tickle where his belly hangs out from under his shirt and hold out my hand. Owen uses me as leverage to leap onto the floor and insists on walking down the stairs.
He’s all boy, and one of my favorite things is watching Morgan interact with Owen. It always has been. Sometimes my boyfriend and I talk late into the night about having kids of our own. When Morgan makes love to me, it’s a promise that will happen.
“Ji-leeeeee,” Owen booms in a dinosaur voice, forgetting about the last few steps and launching himself at my mom. His arms wrap in a stranglehold around her neck. “Look, Dahn!” He’s as quick to wiggle from my mother’s hold and run to the kitchen to see my dad. “Aiy’s awake!”
I have zero expectation that I’ll see Dad soon. My brother eats up any attention he can get from the males in the house. Today there are a good number of them here that I hadn’t expected. It sort of looks like a middle school dance with Trig, Morgan and my dad surrounded by Jasper, Skye, Dusty, and Carver in the kitchen and all my girlfriends in the living room.
I focus on speaking to my mom, though, while my eyes land on the streamers. “What are you all doing here?”
“It’s your birthday!” She embraces me tight with slightly less force than Owen, but as much delight. “Since you have to work later, Kimber and I decided to throw you a surprise brunch. We all wanted to celebrate with you.”
“Oh my goodness, thank you!” My eyes water. “Hold on, was all the noise on the street everyone coming in?”
“Ding-ding-ding,” Hailey sounds as she taps her champagne flute with a utensil. “You got it right. Give the woman a prize!”
Skye jokingly jogs across the carpet and hands me a gift he lifts off of the coffee table. I tug Hailey around the neck when she gets up to hug me.
“Cece and I are still coming to visit you at work.”
My boyfriend’s sister gives me a conspiratorial wink.
“Any excuse to get out of there?” I whisper in her ear.
“Duh, yeah,” She mutters back with a fake smile for everyone else in the room. “However, this is the best reason. Happy Twenty-first Birthday.”
Mom hands me a glass filled with frothy orange bubbles. It still takes me a minute before I can sip the mimosa to remember this is my mother. She’s not out to hurt me. The sweet deliciousness hits my satisfied tongue. I smile and look across to where my boyfriend is standing with a smug look on his face.
“You knew!” I yell, laughing until my cheeks hurt. A strange sense of embarrassment laced with happiness waves through me.
Morgan pushes off of the wall he’s holding up and comes over to wrap his arms around me. “Some secrets are worth keeping from you, so I get a glimpse of how happy you can be.”
“I’m always happy when I’m with you.”
“Hence, why you let your brother call me ‘moron’.” Morgan pulls me tighter, holding me up as I belly laugh.
“Only when you deserve it!”
He pulls back and gives me the kind of kiss that he really shouldn’t in front of a crowd, but I don’t care. I love him so much.
“Enjoy your party, Sweet Pea. Your mom and Kimber worked hard to pull it off. The only thing I had to do was keep you in bed longer.” There’s a humorous yet, oh-so-devious glint in Morgan’s brown eyes.
I’m glad talking to Hailey distracts Mom because my cheeks flame remembering Morgan’s persistence last night. He had intentionally kept me up well past midnight with some persuasive and exhausting “distraction techniques”. Now I understand why.
I make the rounds, thanking everyone for coming on my way toward the kitchen. There’s more breakfast food than we’ll ever eat spread over Kimber’s counters; scrambled egg casseroles and fruit, fluffy waffles
with real whipping cream, and enough bacon that no one should feel any guilt swiping more than their fair share.
My plate is loaded high when Morgan pops an ooey-gooey cinnamon bun between my lips. Drooling, I resemble a pig on a spit with an apple in its mouth. “I’m trusting you’ll eat this the right way,” he barbs.
Owen toddles by, munching the pizza bagel in a circle. Morgan microwaved it for him as a reward for getting me downstairs and placed the snack like a ring around his index finger. My chest shakes and I try not to drop my treat on the floor.
I settle between Mom and Kimber on the couch, placing a full plate on my lap, and digging in.
I’ve had birthdays of all shapes and sizes. The year Owen was born, I’d wanted nothing more than just the six of us around the table with a no-fuss cake. This year is better than all of those combined. My mothers are amazing, but what else should I have expected? They’ve been a team in their own way for over two decades. How lucky am I?
“I’d like to thank our panel for coming to share with us today and,” I swing my attention toward the crowd of student-athletes “say thank you to all of you for attending. I know that these are serious, sometimes uncomfortable discussions. When you signed up for the season, you had no idea that this training was required. Over the past hour, you’ve blown me away with your questions, and the maturity displayed while your peers have asked them. Guys, Ladies, my door is always open if you need a safe place.
“After lunch your coaches will have the roster and instructions on your next session and activities. Enjoy the break.” I congratulate, aware that many need to decompress over the break hour while they eat.
The school year starts in a week and this session is the part of a new fall training camp they have to attend to play this fall. It’s one thing for us to ask athletes to sign contracts saying they won’t drink or do drugs, it’s another to show them the reality of how those choices affect their lives.
The crowd of teenagers claps and a low murmur echoes off the gymnasium walls. It’s the most noise a normally rowdy and pumped up group of kids has made. As a whole, they were quiet during the presentation and got a unique perspective on parallels between sexual assault and underage drinking that many kids don’t see until it’s too late.
Some teens stand up and stretch from sitting on the hard bleachers, but none look as if they’re about to run for the hills. As a matter of fact, their rapt attention to the presenters took the entire faculty by surprise.
We had an emergency room physician here to describe what happens when you lose consciousness after drinking to excess and what it’s like to have your stomach pumped. His descriptions led into a powerful testimonial by Parker, one of Morgan’s university teammates, who went to this high school. He came back to talk to the students, so they had a real-life look at how easily one them could be held responsible for the death of a friend, and how fast it changed the course of your life.
Parker’s part of the talk was like hearing a new perspective on what Morgan had gone through with his roommate, Rob. It was hard not to get over-emotional. My heart went out to Nancy and the son she lost.
It also made me wonder how different life would have been for Parker, Morgan, and Rob if they participated in a frank discussion like this before entering college. Parker told me he was glad to come, but that he wasn’t sure if he could get through it with Morgan here. It’s been over ten years, and they still have a profound sense of loss. Rob really was their friend and they wish they could go back and change what happened so they’d all be sending those funny memes to one-another and texting witty comebacks.
A group of basketball players swarm Parker before the coaches can hustle the kids off to lunch. I sigh with relief that Parker’s invitation hasn’t left him a pariah. The boys’ genuine interest in him amazes me.
We also had a lawyer present to answer more detailed legal questions about roofies, date rape, and prison terms for both sexual assault and manslaughter. The kids were so specific in their questions I think all of them came out with a better understanding that these things happen to real-life friends and have real-life consequences. It was a lot to absorb and I’m not sure if these two hours were enough, but if the time stopped one of these students from making a poor choice or encouraged another to take responsibility for a friend, then it was worth it.
I see a few of the girls tentative in their approach to a woman who opened up to share details of her own date rape. To give them privacy, Dr. Nash gathers her things and approaches me. “I think that went well.” She smiles and waits for the okay to hug me.
It’s strange since I feel as if I’ve known her forever now. Yet, today I appreciate her respect for boundaries.
When Brandon’s trial started, I got overwhelmed. I’d kept going to group sessions, but had never seen a therapist to deal with the aftermath of my rape. I needed someone to confide in. So did Morgan. We approached Dr. Nash to see if she’d counsel both of us together. I hadn’t known until I saw the bandages from surgeries Brandon had to have to repair his crippled hands what had happened to him. Whether Dr. Nash surmised Morgan had any involvement never came up. Although, I’d confessed that he was my attacker, and it was the news stations’ coverage of the story that triggered me. She treated us with respect, and I’m grateful to her.
“This forum was better than well. Well is an understatement. I think it was a huge success. Thank you so much for being here.” This turned out better than I’d ever hoped.
“Coach Fairley,” The county athletic director motions for my attention, indicating I should walk over to him with Dr. Nash. “The other varsity coaches and I were talking. We want to open this up to other schools in the district next year. Dr. Nash, would it be too much to ask you to come back?”
“Not at all.” Her response is immediate. “When you’re passionate about advocacy, you always make the time.” As someone who works with sexual assault survivors on a daily basis, she’s a warrior.
But today—without highlighting my own experiences—my armor shines, and the culmination of my efforts leaves me speechless. The only response I can form for the athletic director is, “Thank you. Thank you so much!”
The idea for a high school panel discussion came to me when I was still a senior at Pinewood working towards my psychology degree. For most of these kids about to enter adulthood, the world is their oyster. They think they have a grasp on reality, but it changes quickly. If their eyes weren’t already open, I wanted them to know as simple as a social drink with friends can change into something they hadn’t imagined could happen to them.
It took a year of effort and discussions with this high school’s administration to bring the program in for our senior varsity players. It was a concession I had to agree with to get this off the ground, despite the entire faculty being aware teenagers drink and have sex. I jumped through hoops, double-checking to ensure every one of them had signed consent from their guardians to be here. Only one of two hundred senior athletes missed out, and it was because her mother was uncomfortable with the topic. She’s a star-pitcher on the softball team I coach. I plan to reach out to the student once classes start and try to create an open dialogue. My goal isn’t to go against her parents’ wishes. Had my high school asked students to participate in this years ago, I think my mom would’ve had similar reservations. However, I want my players to have someone they trust to come to if there’s ever an issue.
It’s this achievement that makes me proud of my survivorship because in my own little way I am advocating for change. I needed to heal on my terms. To this day, neither of my mothers knows what I went through and how Morgan played one of the most important roles in my journey. While it’s rare outside of our sessions with Dr. Nash that my boyfriend and I speak of his own assault in prison, like Sloan is for me, I’m Morgan’s safe person. Because we’ve both been there, the way our relationship works makes sense.
At the end of the day, I walk back to my office in the high school’s guidance department
beaming. On my desk are a bunch of little paper animals Morgan’s created for me. I also have a stack of thin colored paper and instructions posted on the wall to make most of them.
When I recognized Morgan used folding to calm his brain and heal, I added it to the repertoire of things my students could do while we talked. They’ve filled the shelves across the room with their handiwork in a rainbow of colors. Some are truly impressive works of art. But what’s more, those teens can identify which ones are theirs. When I see them smile, holding up an origami frog they created, I know the fact I keep them makes those kids feel valued.
About to rest my clipboard on the desk, I stop right before squishing a paper box. Picking it up, I inspect each side. There’s a top and bottom. I slide the two pieces apart. Inside is an intricately folded heart. I twist it around to see if there’s a message attached to the back, noticing there is a pocket in the center of each side with a round gold band tucked inside. My brow furrows.
“Congratulations.” Morgan is standing in the doorway with a bouquet. “I overheard the kids talking in the parking lot as I walked in. I’m not even sure you’ll need to tell me what the grown-ups thought of the presentation. I’ve never been prouder of you.”
He holds out the flowers. I take them, shaking my head in confusion at the heart from the box.
“Morgan, did you make this? It has rings in it.”
“Oh, that.” He removes the rings from the paper and shoves one in his front pocket. “This one is mine.” He looks through the other at me, winking. “I thought maybe you’d want something close to a hot husband.”
I cover my mouth as my face reddens.
“Nuh-uh, Sweet Pea.” He moves my palm from my face. “Your laughter is the best sound on earth. I want to hear that sweet giggle every day for the rest of my life.”