by Adams, S. C.
Randall waits for me to move toward the kitchen before following. It isn’t so much a gentlemanly gesture as it is Randall needing to follow someone else. I imagine he’s the type of person to do exactly what he’s told and never make any suggestions otherwise. If he had gone to regular school, he would be the guy doing the entire group project because he doesn’t want to cause trouble.
I take my usual seat at the table. Randall looks around in a panic, like he doesn’t know where to sit.
“Why don’t you sit across from Maggie so that you can see her beautiful face?” my mom suggests.
“T-thank you, Nancy,” Randall says, clearly relieved. He sits in his designated chair and folds his hands politely on the table. His elbows remain tucked against his sides.
Randall’s rigidness makes me uncomfortable. This is my house, and I should be able to put my elbows on the table if I want. Watching Randall, though, I feel like I need to follow in his footsteps. I cross my arms across my chest in protest. At least my elbows aren’t on the table.
“Randall, ask Maggie about her work. She started a new job last week as a tailor.”
“Y-yes, Nancy. I’ll do that,” he responds. “What is your job?”
I struggle not to roll my eyes. Does Randall have any thoughts of his own, or does he simply rely on other people to tell him what to do? “I’m an assistant tailor at Havisham’s.”
“I’ve never heard of that store. What do they sell?”
“Suits, mostly. It’s a high-end store that sells expensive designer clothing for men.”
Randall nods. “Are you a s-salesperson?”
My hands flex into fists. “No. I’m an assistant tailor.”
“S-so you sew?”
“Among other things, yes.”
Mom senses the tension in my voice and quickly steps in. She places a tossed salad in front of Randall on the table. “Maggie loves to sew. She made a lot of the clothes in her closet.”
“T-that’s interesting. I-it’s good you don’t have idle h-hands. The devil l-loves girls with idle hands.”
This time, I can’t hold back the eye roll. Randall either doesn’t notice or can’t bring himself to call me out on it. “I like to stay busy.”
“Did y-you make the dress you’re w-wearing?”
“No, my parents bought it for me. Do you like it?”
Randall blushes. “It looks g-good.”
“Don’t be shy,” my mom interrupts. “Tell Maggie how fantastic that dress makes her look! She needs to hear it. She thinks she needs to wear short, tight dresses to be beautiful.”
The poor kid looks scandalized. “That is unfortunate. You are a b-beautiful girl, Maggie.”
“Thank you, Randall,” I say sweetly, trying to lay it on extra thick to make him uncomfortable. “What do you like best about me?”
His eyes nearly leave their sockets. “Oh, w-well…”
My father puts a calloused hand on Randall’s shoulder. “She’s only teasing you, young man.”
Randall adjusts his glasses. “I s-see. Teasing is unbecoming of a y-young woman.”
Before I can comment on how unbecoming his statement is, Mom sets a roasted chicken on the table. Dinner is served.
“This looks delicious, Nancy,” Randall manages without a single stutter. “Thank you for dinner.”
Mom beams at him. “Thank you for being here! We’re just so glad to see you and Maggie getting along so well.”
She’s got to be kidding, right? What part of that stilted conversation led her to believe Randall and I are getting along? I am this close to jumping across the table and shaking some feminism into the guy. How dare he tell me I shouldn’t tease?! I can do whatever I want!
“I’ll admit, I’ve w-watched Maggie from afar for many years, but I n-never imagined she’d be interested in me.”
That’s because I’m not! I want to yell. At least the guy has good instincts!
“Of course she’s interested!” my mother informs him before I have a chance to say anything. “Maggie would be lucky to end up with a guy like you. She isn’t very experienced in dating, you know. She’s very pure. The perfect wife.”
I should win an award for my ability to hold back a laugh. My mother isn’t entirely wrong. Technically, I am still pure. I’m not as pure as my parents think I am, though. I’ve also been on two dates in the last week. Who is inexperienced in dating? Not me!
“She sounds perfect,” Randall says, his face even redder than before. “I would be very happy to court her.”
What is this, the 1800s? Don’t I get a say in whether or not a guy gets to date me? Apparently not, judging by the pleased look on both of my parents’ faces.
I’ll never be happy with a guy who can’t take charge. Last night, I went out with Sean, Jenna, and her date, Jeff. Jeff was a bust, but Sean was incredible. He’d chosen the restaurant and made suggestions. He took care of the check before the rest of us even had a chance to offer.
After dinner, we’d dropped Jenna and Jeff off first so that we could have some time to ourselves. Sean had taken charge, his dominant personality pulling me on his lap and kissing me hard, with confidence. I doubt Randall does anything with confidence. Even now, he watches my parents for permission before picking up his fork after saying grace.
I may be physically trapped with my parents and Randall, but they can’t stop my brain from visiting Sean.
His kisses get more and more intense every time we meet. I don’t know how much longer we can continue on without moving further. I wouldn’t stop him if Sean tried to take what I have left to give.
My panties are wet just thinking about it. There’s no way my parents and Randall can tell, right? If so, they might think this reaction is for Randall! That would be horrifying. I’m not attracted to him in the least. My body will never react like that to him. I only feel this attraction for Sean.
Does Sean know how much he affects me? Do I affect him the same way? I think I do, judging by the hardness in his pants whenever we’re together.
That thought makes me even wetter.
My mind continues to stray toward Sean even as I maintain a superficial conversation with the table. Mom and Dad continue to prod Randall into asking me questions, and I answer with short responses that seem to placate everyone but me.
Finally, we finish with dinner, and although dessert is offered, Randall insists he get home to his family. His parents are “waiting up for him,” and it’s “already pretty late.”
According to the clock on our kitchen wall, it’s barely after eight. I guess I’m not the only one with a curfew. It seems Randall doesn’t mind being the obedient son, while I push against my station as the obedient daughter.
“Walk Randall to the door, Maggie,” my mom insists. She smiles like she’s knows some big secret.
“Of course. Come on, Randall.”
I push ahead of him to the front door and step onto the stoop. Randall stands facing me and rubs his palms against his untailored slacks.
“I had a nice time tonight, Maggie,” Randall says slowly. “You seem like a good girl.”
“Thank you.”
He blushes and takes a step forward. His sweaty hands find mine. I force myself not to pull away.
Randall drops his head and kisses my cheek tenderly. It’s such an innocent move, the complete opposite of what Sean would do, that I fight to keep my facial expression passive.
“Can I see you again?” he asks with a smile.
“I should get inside so that my parents don’t worry. We don’t want them to think something sinful is happening out here.”
His face flushes. “You’re right, of course. I’ll have my parents contact yours to set up a date.”
I give a noncommittal shrug. “Goodbye, Randall.”
“Goodbye, Maggie.”
I watch until Randall is too far down the block to see anymore and return to the kitchen.
“That went well!” my mother exclaims.
“Rand
all is a great guy, isn’t he?” Dad asks.
“I’m tired,” I say instead of answering. “I’m going to bed.”
Mom isn’t deterred by my attitude. “Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk about Randall in the morning. I think he’s going to be great for you!”
I trudge up the stairs to my room without responding. Once I’m out of that awful dress and settled into bed, I text Jenna about the disaster of a date. Then I find a missed message from Sean.
Thinking about you, it says.
His words are enough. I can’t go out with Randall again, and I need to confront my parents about it.
Sean is the one I love, and nothing they can do will change my mind.
14
Sean
I’ve never seen someone so excited to go see a movie.
On the other hand, I’ve never been so excited for a date before. I spent more time preparing for tonight than I do for important board meetings or visits with my parents. That’s saying a lot, considering I ended up in my most casual outfit, just a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans I found in my bottom drawer. I can’t remember the last time I wore jeans! It was probably back when I was in college, twenty-something years ago.
Maggie doesn’t care about my outfit. She’s too busy staring at the movie theater marquee and trying to decide what we should see. She asks the poor teen working the ticket counter what each movie is about so that she can make an educated decision.
“I’m torn between the action film and the comedy. You choose,” she finally says after about ten minutes of debate.
I take in the two titles on the marquee. The action film appears to be one of a series, but the ticket teen assured us it can be seen as a standalone. But it has dinosaurs in it, and I’m not a big fan of science fiction. The comedy is entirely situational, with a few actors I thoroughly enjoy.
“How about the comedy? I’m in the mood for a laugh.”
Maggie’s eyes light up. “Two tickets for the comedy!” she tells the teen cheerfully.
The teen rolls her heavily-lined eyes. “That will be $36.04.”
Beside me, Maggie gasps. I hand over my card and wait for the tickets. Unfortunately, this theater has assigned seats, but they’re extraordinarily comfortable. The comedy film must not be as popular as the dinosaur movie because one glance at our tickets shows that our seats are near the rear of the theater. That’s the best place to sit! At least we won’t be craning our necks to see the film.
Once we get past the ticket taker, Maggie takes in the royal movie theater. I’ve been to cinemas in other states, even other countries, and none pay quite as much attention to their décor as this one right in the center of New York City.
“Thank you for taking me here,” Maggie exclaims.
“Have you never been to the cinema?”
She laughs. “I have, but it’s been a long time. My parents think films are terrible. They’re convinced all movies must contain ‘gratuitous sex and violence.’ Those are the exact words they use.”
I’ve seen the trailer for the movie we’re here to see, and while it’s not full of sex, I do believe there is some comedic violence. There is certainly vulgar language.
It’s strange to me that Maggie’s parents care about such things. I started seeing films with my parents when I was far too young to understand the sex and violence. Maybe things are just different in England. It’s more likely, though, that Maggie’s parents are unusually overprotective of their only child.
“I would hide the ticket stub when you get home,” I tell her. “I’m not sure they’d approve of this movie.”
Maggie blushes. “You’re probably right. If they even knew I was here right now, I’d be subjected to a few weeks of Bible study.”
I stop walking. “It would be that bad?”
She shrugs. “Now that I’m in my twenties, they don’t feel like they can ground me, so forcing me into their Bible study group is how they cope with my deviant behaviors.”
“Do you deviate often?”
“Never, really. Usually, their punishments revolve around things I’ve done with Jenna. It’s never bad things, though. At least, I don’t think so.”
Her parents boggle me. I’ve met Jenna, and she’s a fantastic young woman. The lad she had with her the other night on our double date was a bit strange, but Jenna was a delight. I look forward to getting to know her better since she’s an important part of Maggie’s life.
How can her parents dislike a woman who brings out the best in their daughter?
I suppose that’s the problem. They don’t want the best of their daughter; they want the version of their daughter they’ve carefully constructed.
It makes me wonder what they’d do if they found out about our meetings in the dressing room or our make-out sessions in my limo. I imagine the punishment would be far worse than Bible study. They must never find out. When we meet, I’ll pretend that I am chaste until marriage. As long as they don’t search me out on the internet, they should buy the lie.
When we meet? I think to myself. This is only our third date, and I’m already thinking about meeting her parents! I’ve never met a girlfriend’s parents before.
I need to stop this line of thinking immediately.
Maggie is watching me intently. “You okay? You seem deep in thought.”
“Just worrying about your parents discovering you here.”
“Oh, they won’t. They don’t come to the movies.”
That’s not exactly what I meant, but I’ll take it. “Right, because they don’t want to be subjected to the sex and violence.”
She nods. “Also, they’re very frugal. When I got old enough to make friends and want to go out, I would beg them to allow me to go on trips to the movies. There are some films they’re not totally against. Usually the ones that are rated G.”
This makes me chuckle. I can imagine a thirteen-year-old Maggie on her knees asking to see the newest Disney animation. “How did that work out?”
“They almost never let me go. The few times they did, they came with me. But usually, the answer was to go out and rent a movie for us to watch at home. Why go out and spend ten dollars a person, plus the cost of snacks, when we can just rent a movie for five dollars and watch it in the comfort of our own home?”
“Did you have a lot of movie nights, then?”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “More than I’d care to remember. I’ve seen every children’s movie released in the last two decades. Plus, every religious movie in the same time period. My parents love renting movies about people just like them.”
If my parents were to rent movies about themselves, what would the plot be? I’d guess it would revolve around money, and there would be plenty of drama. My mother would star in it because she couldn’t handle it any other way.
What a thought! I sure hope they never end up with a film about them. Even worse would be a reality show! I’d have to disown my parents, for sure.
“I’m glad to subject you to crassness and deviance, then,” I say with an exaggerated bow. Maggie giggles and takes my outstretched arm. “Let the debauchery commence!”
We find our seats quickly in the dim theater. The previews have only just begun, but they’re my favorite part. I have a habit of seeing previews for movies I’ll certainly enjoy but forgetting all about them once the movie is over. Months later, I wind up in the theater for one of the previewed movies, only to repeat the cycle again. It’s a fun game I like to play with myself!
“That one looks good,” Maggie whispers when the first preview is finished. “I love horror movies. Just don’t tell my parents!”
“My lips are sealed,” I assure her. “I love horror as well. Perhaps our next movie-related outing should be to a scary movie.”
“I would love that. You could protect me during the extra scary parts!”
That’s precisely why I want her next to me during a horror movie. There’s something special about wrapping a girl in your arms to keep out the villain
s on the screen. I want to be a hero for Maggie. She makes me want to protect her from the villains in her real life – her parents – and push her to fulfill her dream so that she doesn’t waste her precious life doing what others want her to do.
“Mom would think that one is shameful,” Maggie says after a preview for a romantic film. “That couple isn’t married, and they’re definitely going to have sex!”
She keeps her voice low, like she’s embarrassed of her upbringing. “Your parents are stuck in the past. Pre-marital sex isn’t shameful.”
I hope Maggie doesn’t feel that it is! Is it possible she feels shame over what we’ve done?
“Maggie, you don’t regret our dressing room episodes, do you?”
This is hardly the time or the place to be having such an important conversation, but I won’t be able to focus on the film if I don’t hear her answer.
Maggie takes my hand and squeezes it in hers. “Not even a little bit,” she promises. “I’ve enjoyed everything we’ve done together. I may have been raised by my parents, but I’m not them. I’m not stuck in the past like they are.”
Thank goodness. I pull her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “I have thoroughly enjoyed our time together, Maggie,” I say, lowering my voice to a soft growl. “I look forward to spending much more time with you.”
Even in the darkness of the theater, I can tell her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and desire.
If she were anyone else, I might have tried something right here while the movie began around us, but Maggie is too special for a public theater hookup. Our dressing room romps may have been sordid, but at least they were private.
To avoid temptation, I lay my arm over the back of her seat. Maggie lays her head against my shoulder and curls into me. Maybe her parents are onto something with their insistence on watching movies at home. Cuddling is a lot more comfortable on a couch without a hard plastic armrest between you.
We make it work, though. By the end of the movie, my right arm is asleep, and I’m almost certain the armrest has ruptured my appendix, but having Maggie pressed up against my side for two hours was worth the pain.
