by Gabrielle G.
“Of course,” he mumbles.
“Aaron.” I pass by him. I’m not even at the door when I feel him behind me.
“Wait! Al!” Taking another deep breath in, I turn around to face him.
“I’m really sorry. Can we start over?” he says, handing me a coffee.
Because it’s nothing new to me that I’m a masochist at heart, that I need the pain to feel alive and that I could never say no to a vanilla latte, I nod.
And when my stomach does a somersault and my panties get a little wet, I ignore it all, because Aaron Gritt is in my past, and the girl I used to be is buried under a mountain of secrets.
11
Then- Aaron
“Moooom! He did it again!” I scream, discovering the state of my room.
“You’d better run, Barnabas! If Aaron catches you, you’re going to be in trouble!” Luke shouts while laughing from his bedroom.
“Seriously, Luke, why are you a dick to me these days?”
“Captain, oh, my Captain!” he quotes, from this stupid movie he loves so much. It’s because of Alane. Luke thinks he masters everything there is to know about her.
Seeing the hours they spend together when I am away, he might be right, but I would like him not to shove it in my face on a regular basis. I feel like an outsider in my relationship, and it’s not a good feeling. In fact, since my birthday, nothing has been feeling good. I lost a piece of Alane that day.
At first, she avoided me for a while, and now she never wants us to be alone. Each member of my family has had something to say about the situation. Well, with the exception of Salomé, who ignored the whole fiasco. It went from a long explanation my father gave me about women’s desires, which was mortifying, to my mother reprimanding me for being a dick, and Barnabas saying he wants to kill me while destroying my room, to Luke repeating that if I fuck up, he loses her too. If Alane and I break up, it’s pretty clear I’m going to be the one to lose custody of my family.
“Fuck! Can you let it go?” I ask my brother through our wall.
“Not when she’s my best friend!”
“You didn’t have to become best friends with her. I know you lost yours because he didn’t like you being gay, but come on, she is MY girlfriend.” I pout. Luke is about to answer when our mother appears at the top of the stairs, out of breath, followed by our dad.
“What now?” my mother says, entering my room.
“Barnabas peed in my bed again!”
My father chuckles. “Barnabas!” he calls, amused. “Come here, Boy!”
The little asshole strolls in as good as gold with no worries about getting in trouble for what he did. Being the baby of the family, he never gets in trouble with my parents, and they mainly laugh at his shenanigans. They are way more laid back than when I was a kid, which should be impossible because they were heavy stoners, which also makes me wonder if the mushrooms they grow are not the kind you should cook with.
My parents met at Woodstock.
They practiced free love for a while, until I was so confused about who my parents were that they cooled it down and reduced the partying to a few times a month. Shortly after the eighties kicked in, and the cliché of the hippies they were proud to be became obsolete. Then, they had more kids and finally got married. As I was already ten when Sal came along, I was the built-in babysitter for a while but then my father realized that I could be more helpful around the farm. That’s when Luke took over as the nanny, but as he dislikes children—because he’s still one at heart— I was given back the duty to care for my little sister and brother and learned how to cook with mom.
My father continues to laugh and I roll my eyes. It’s always the same. The only place my father is authoritative is on the ice or when I get into a fight. Rest of the time it doesn’t matter. Nothing ever matters and should never be taken too seriously. Sometimes I feel like I’m the one really raising Sal and Barn, teaching them what’s right or wrong. It’s tiring but rewarding, except when the little shit pees on my bed.
“Why, Barnabas?” My mother laughs while I remove the sheets from my bed and wonder how I’ll clean the mattress.
“Luke said Aaron should piss off! So I pissed off!” he says proudly.
“Be lucky I didn’t tell him to shit all over your things…” Luke jokes, appearing behind my father.
“Seriously, Barnabas, you have to stop pissing on my bed!”
“He’s just marking his territory over your girlfriend!” my dad explains, not caring that my bed is wet, and my room smells like pee.
“Maybe you should pee around Alane’s house to mark yours?” Luke adds, raising an eyebrow.
“You know what, all of you, you’re not helping. I’m not letting my five-year-old brother claim my girlfriend! This is all fucking ridiculous!”
“Language! And be a man, son! At your age, nobody gives a shit about your tantrums.” My dad crosses his arms, letting me know I need to calm down.
“Of course! He pees on my bed, and I get in trouble!” I scream before pushing my dad and Luke from the door and hurtling down the stairs. I can hear them laugh and make fun of me. I need to disappear. I don’t want to be here, having them mock me and laugh at how I always take everything too seriously.
Between Alane putting distance between us, Luke pestering me to treat Alane the way she deserves, my father expecting me to be a farmer or a hockey player, and my little brother making my life more difficult than it should, I’m tired of never being enough. I need space, and if the Gritts are bad at one thing, it’s to give you any. They much prefer to meddle.
“Aaron?” Salomé asks, frightened by my heavy steps on the stairs.
“What, Sal!” I bark, turning my head in her direction just enough to see tears springing from her eyes. I have never raised my voice at my little sister, and I know she’s having a hard time not having me around as much as before. Since Alane, I have less time for her, which means I don’t play Barbies with her as much, and we have fewer tea parties than we used to. She sniffles a little and turns her back to me before running up the stairs. Shit. The last thing I need today is Sal being mad at me.
“Sal, I’m sorry… I…” She stops in the middle of the stairs and turns around. I wish she would come for a hug, but I can see I hurt her more than I ever intended.
“I hate you, Aar. You used to be my favorite but you’re not anymore. I even prefer Barnabas to you!” She turns and continues up the stairs, sobbing heavily. I rub my hands over my face and grunt in frustration before climbing the stairs, running after my little sister to do some groveling.
Two hours later, after baking chocolate muffins with her, having sat down for an epic tea party with a crown on my head and having let her paint my nails, I’m on my way to my girlfriend’s. I haven’t cleared my head of all the shit I need to, but at least Salomé loves me again.
I noticed shitty things come in threes. Barnabas peeing on my bed is strike one. Salomé saying she hates me is strike two. So I’m not surprised when Alane’s father corners me as I pass the church on my way to see Alane. He gives me no choice but to follow him into his office to discuss an “important matter.” I follow him, a knot in the pit of my stomach, stressing about what he could possibly want.
Does he know about the dry humping?
The towel encounter?
Has he guessed that I want to marry her as soon as she turns eighteen?
My ass is not even positioned on a seat when he starts a lecture, his judgmental brown eyes on my red painted fingernails.
“You know, Son, the importance in dating is to discover if the person you think you love strengthens your relationship with Christ, or if they compromise your morals and standards. You should always remember to keep God as the most important person in your life and never place anything or anyone above Him. I’m assuming you have heard of the sin of idolatry?” I nod, sitting on the uncomfortable chair in his office.
I know there is nothing I can say that would stop the lecture I’
m receiving.
“As Paul says in Colossians 3:5, ‘Covetousness is idolatry.’ Because... you see... covetousness means desiring something so much that you lose your faith. Does this sound familiar to you?” The bleak and austere office Mr. Smith spends his days in feels like a coffin closing up on me. I quickly took it in and look around for an escape but there is none. Dizziness and nausea take over as Alane’s dad hammers each word into my head. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand. You’re a lost soul, my child, your whole family is. What I mean is, you take up too much space in Alane’s world, when she should be concentrating on God. We live in a village, boy, the whole world is a village, in fact, and there is always someone who knows someone who knows me. People can see your actions, God can see your actions, and they all tell me what my daughter does or thinks.
“Do you think I don’t know when one perverted brother drives Alane home and the other kisses her? Do you think I don’t know about the heavy kissing, the dangerous games you both play, and what you do in the darkness? I was once a teenage boy as well. It’s time for you to renounce your demons. Do you see what you’re doing to her? What you’re turning her into? You made me a promise, and I intend for you to honor it. I recommend you end this relationship, and explain to her she should concentrate on God, find a person who has accepted Christ as his Savior, and play better hockey, if she wants a future. Do not disrespect God, Aaron. This story will not have a happy ending, and I would hate to have to send her to her aunt’s and shatter her dreams.”
I gulp heavily, hurting my throat in the process. The ultimatum is clear, break up with Alane or she’ll be sent away and will never become the professional hockey player she dreams of.
“How long do I have?” I squeak, sweating in my seat.
“I have the feeling if you stay around, it will be a problem until you’re gone, she might become even more rebellious and do something stupid like get pregnant.”
“Sir, I would never!”
“Son, please, don’t disrespect me. As I was saying, if you spend less time with her now, and decide to go far away to school, far from here and Alane, I’m certain you can date her until the end of your senior year. It’s that easy. Mrs. Harbor tells me you’re quite talented in the kitchen. Isn’t cooking your real passion? She could talk to her husband so you could have more hours at the diner. Take this as an opportunity to hone your skill.”
I’m not sure how Mrs. Harbor knows this, she barely speaks to her children or husband because she spends most of her time here, helping Father Smith or praying. I don’t think I ever told Chris how much I like to cook. I know I told Alane and Luke, but I’m certain my brother wouldn’t share my secrets with the Pastor or with Mrs. Harbor. In the end it doesn’t matter how he knows because I would take any opportunity to stay in his good graces so she won’t have her dream ripped away from her. She’s too close to getting what she’s always wanted.
I nod in agreement with tears of frustration in my eyes, as I realize the list of people who think I’m not good enough grows longer, with Alane’s parents wanting me to break my girl’s heart for her own good.
“I’m glad we had this conversation, Son. Now please, Alane is waiting for you, we wouldn’t want her to wonder where her boyfriend is, right?”
I always thought going to church was supposed to make you feel at peace.
Standing up, I feel like I sold my soul to Beelzebub and made a deal I’ll soon regret if I don’t fulfill my end of the bargain
12
Now- Aaron
Before Alane’s father died, I felt the need to forgive him for manipulating me as a teenager. Pastor Smith ignored me once I was back in Springs Falls, and I did everything possible not to speak to him.
I didn’t forgive him so he could die in peace, I forgave him because I selfishly needed to absolve myself for breaking Alane’s heart, for loving her so much that I chose to set her free. I never actually talked to Pastor Smith, but when I learned he was dying, I forgave him in my mind.
I guess that was my first prayer.
Talking to God became something I regularly did. It was a great way to sort through my thoughts and clear my mind. After months of praying whenever I could, the next step was to go to Church.
So, I did, not every Sunday because it depended on my schedule, but I tried to go as much as I could. I never forced my children to come with me, but I never discouraged them either. My ex-wife didn’t want to, and that was okay with me too.
Over the years, I found the sermons of our new pastor enlightened my everyday life and were relatable to my daily situations and I kept coming back for more.
Today’s sermon is about love and forgiveness, but the brown-eyed girl in the front row is distracting me. Not that I can see her eyes, but her short honey-colored hair that is slightly below her ears gives me a perfect view of her neck. The neck I used to caress and kiss when we were younger, even if back then, I had to swipe her mane to the side to reach it. The green dress she’s wearing hugs her hips, and the curve of her back is all I can see.
My eyes keep going from the back of her neck to her ass.
Of course, my traitorous brain remembers her breasts, and I can’t stop wondering if they are as magnificent as they were. I start to sweat profusely and my dick swells at the thought of Alane’s body because my mind is not strong enough to keep me from getting in trouble in the house of God,
“Are you alright, Dad?” Lawson asks seeing me tugging at my collar.
“Yeah, I just need some fresh air. Are you going to be alright here alone?” He nods, and I walk out silently, but at a quick pace, feeling my chest closing up while images of my ex-girlfriend flip through my mind like porn slides of a teenage dream. Breasts, nipples, navel, neck, and pussy.
I’ve seen her naked, I’ve seen every part of her, but my undoing will always be her lustful eyes and her smile, which is why I can’t understand why I didn’t recognize her. I had a lot of excuses, her hair is shorter and darker, her eyes aren't filled with the same spark as they used to, her smile seemed fake, and I didn’t expect her to be my kids' teacher.
The truth is, I’m the asshole who didn’t recognize the girl I used to love more than anything, not until I saw the star-shaped birthmark. I’m the jerk who hasn’t stop thinking of tasting her again and finally get my chance to have my dick in her.
Alane has become a very sexy woman, and because I’m such a bastard, I’ve let my thoughts go to every moan she ever gave me. I’ve also allowed myself to remember the noises she makes when she orgasms and how she used to touch me. I’m consumed by lust, and if I weren’t living in a small town nestled between the mountains and a lake, I would have tried to find someone to forget, like I found Jessica in Seattle years ago.
Maybe visiting Luke in Los Angeles is what I need. I could bring the divorce papers to Jessica in Vegas, see Luke and his boyfriend, and rewire my brain not to want to fuck my kids’ science teacher on her desk, in a church, in my kitchen, or wherever I can think of fucking her.
The green swirl of her wrap dress I was admiring before interrupts my thoughts, and Alane appears before me. Her eyes look erratic, her breathing is short, and she’s pacing back and forth without seeing me; mumbling again about that Adam guy, about being enough and deserving to live and being able to have a different plan, about how being in church is a trigger. I don’t want to spy, but I’m not sure my presence will be welcomed. However, when I hear her mumble my name, I decide it’s best she knows I’m lurking in the corner.
“Alane.” She turns in my direction, and her eyes widen in shame.
“Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit… Oh no.” She begins to hyperventilate, hiding her face in her hands while she is still pacing back and forth.
I ask, “Alane, are you alright?”
She squeaks in agreement, but it’s clear to me she’s not, especially since I see her fingers twist together with one another, her lips pinched, and her eyes closed.
“Sweets, what’s going on?”
I ask, coming closer. As if she could feel my proximity, she backs away, raising her hands defensively.
“Don’t touch me. I need space. I need to calm down. I need to go over it by myself.”
“What are you talking about?” She looks a little crazy, and I’m not frightened per se, I’m just worried by her behavior. The Alane I knew was always so focused, but the woman in front of me seems so out of control that I’m starting to wonder if I’m not in a parallel universe.
“Did you know I haven’t entered a church since my father’s funeral? Even then, I arrived late and stayed all of five minutes. Before that day, I hadn’t even set foot in a church since I left home,” she rambles, still pacing, totally unhinged. “I thought I could do it. I thought I could sit there and listen to a sermon, but I can’t. I can’t be in his church. I can’t be in any church. I need to go. I need to breathe,” she says walking further away from the building. It takes me a few strides and a little jog to catch up, but I do and block her path, forcing her to look at me.
“Hi,” I say softly to calm her down, taking her hands in mine to stop her from twisting her fingers. She blinks at me several times as if she can’t believe I’m standing in front of her, and she breathes deeply in and out. Synchronizing my breathes with hers, I hold her eyes and smile. My smile used to soothe her apprehension, my gaze used to appease her uncertainty, and my touch used to settle anything. I hope it still can.
“Hi.” She sighs.
“You changed your hair,” I say like the moron I am. Who wouldn’t change their hair in twenty-seven years? I want to tuck the piece sticking out behind her ears like I used to, but I don’t. She’s not mine to touch.
“I changed a lot of things since we were kids,” she answers, cocking her head to the side. “Your hair is also kind of different.” She smiles.
