by Vixen Kane
“If I tell you something, will you not freak out?”
“What is it?” His eyebrows raise in suspicion. This is probably a stupid idea. Tristan isn’t exactly the most trustworthy of people, but he’s the closest frat brother I have, and honestly, I can’t keep this locked down for much longer. I have to tell someone, and it might as well be him since it affects him too.
“I think it might be a lost cause…”
He stands and pulls at his hair. “I fucking knew it. Goddamn it, Seth, you nailed her and didn’t call her, didn’t you?” He starts pacing and shaking his head. Jesus, he’s more stressed out about this than I am. Before I can think through how I want to correct him, he lifts his hands from his sides and shakes his head. “Nope, there’s pretty much no coming back from that.” His eyes gloss over for a moment while he thinks. “Unless maybe you could—”
“I haven’t slept with her.”
He tilts his head and squints at me. “Then what’s the problem.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, but really, it is. I fucked with her ex for the entire length of their relationship and multiple years before that. Then there’s the public humiliation I caused her as well. There’s no way this bitch is interested in me.
“I just… know her already. I went to high school with her ex, and we had like an immature feud going on since junior high. She doesn’t like me. But if we say she’s a lesbian or some shit like that, we can get Connor and Nate to pick a different girl, it’s not a big deal.”
I expect to see Tristan doing that thing where he stares off into space while he’s thinking, but instead, he just laughs. “You’re kidding right?”
“Why would I be kidding?”
“Because you’re talking about her ex-boyfriend. She probably hates the guy more than you do. That should make it ten times easier.”
I drum my fingers on my knee and consider it. He’s right to some extent. She might hate Josh now… but that doesn’t mean she’d like me.
“There’s more to it.”
“Like?” Tristan’s clipped tone lets me know he’s getting annoyed. If he’d be this concerned about his finals, he’d probably graduate cum laude.
“Like, I posted a picture of her in the back seat of the boyfriend’s car after they’d just fucked.”
Seconds pass and Tristan’s expression doesn’t change. It’s blank with a hint of ‘can you just finish this fucking challenge so we can make this shit official’. “What?”
I sigh. “There’s a spot kids from my high school used to fuck at. Some friends and I saw the guy’s car, and I took a picture. It was funny at the time because the dude’s super ‘holier than thou’, and yeah. So she’s really not a fan of me.”
“Was she naked in the pictures?”
“She had a blanket covering her.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
“You would if you knew these people… They’re just super ‘good’.” I lift my hands and make air quotes with my fingers. “And don’t want anyone to think otherwise. She probably wouldn’t get with me in three weeks even if she thought I was the nicest guy on earth. She’s like a three months before she’ll sleep with you kind of girl.”
He flops back into the bean bag and rests his hands on his knees. “Well, you don’t have to fuck her. You just have to get her to say the words… What if you pay—”
“Already thought of it and ruled it out.”
I watch Tristan stare at the wall for a few moments before I check the time on my phone and stand. I’m supposed to be at my mom’s house in ten minutes, and it’s a fifteen minute drive. Whoops.
Tristan claps his hands like he’s just discovered the cure for cancer and looks to me. “You fuck the roommate. Make her jealous.”
Aw, the roommate. Lexie, according to Connor. That’d be easy enough. It also wouldn’t work. “Yeah, maybe. I gotta go, I’ll keep you posted.”
“All right, man. Later.”
I wave a hand over my shoulder as I leave and make my way through the house. It’s six fifty on a Monday night, and already it’s loud. Some of this year’s pledges are playing beer pong, probably celebrating the fact that they’ll no longer have to wear tube tops after the year ends.
By the time I make it to my parents’ house, I’m ten minutes late and already tired of being here. I should’ve picked an out of state college. Then again, I couldn’t. I would’ve never forgiven myself if I left my sister behind.
Speaking of…
“Seth!” My twin, Sarah, smiles as she pulls the door back and pats her hands on my arms in her version of a hug. I keep mine down at my sides, just as I’ve done the last twenty years of my life. My sister doesn’t ‘dislike’ being touched. She hates it to the point she’ll have a meltdown if someone tries pulling her in for a full-on hug.
“Hey, sis.”
She pulls back and lets her hands dangle at her sides. “You’re late.”
I shrug and pull the miniature treasure chest from my pocket I grabbed from the pet store yesterday and hold it up for her. Fun fact number two: Sarah fucking loves fish stuff. “Guess I shouldn’t have stopped to get this then.”
Sarah grabs the chest, and I’m rewarded with a smile that shows a good portion of her teeth. “Thanks.”
“You’re late.” My mom appears in the entryway, arms crossed over one another and her lips in a thin line. I nod and try not to roll my eyes at the elegant dress she’s wearing like she’s going to the opera. I’m in slacks and my sister is also wearing a dress far too fancy for a family dinner. Fucking embarrassing how high maintenance my mom is.
“Traffic.”
“Ah.”
“Look what Seth brought.” Sarah holds up the treasure chest to my mom, completely oblivious to the tension that just filled the space. My mom’s lips quirk up a fraction in what I guess is a smile and nods.
“Very nice, dear. Go put it in your room.”
My face ticks and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the light tone of her voice. Too light.
Sarah starts upstairs, and as soon as she’s out of sight, I walk into one of two sitting rooms and head straight for the drink cart, my mom on my heels. “She’s not a child. You don’t need to talk to her like she’s one.”
I scoop ice into a glass and pick up the scotch.
“Are you really going to drink here? Can’t you at least pretend to be respectful?”
I still, my muscles tensing, but I don’t set the glass down. “Did you hear what I said?”
She sighs dramatically and plops down onto the sofa, her hand draped over her forehead and her eyes closed as if she’s exhausted from her busy life as a housewife. Minus the cooking, cleaning, and whatever else non-rich housewives do.
“I’m not doing this tonight, Seth.”
“The doctor said to stop babying her.”
Her arm falls to her lap, and she pouts like I’ve just told her to go to hell. “Do you realize what she’s been through this week? What we’ve all been through?” She huffs. “No, that’s right. You never return my calls.”
My eyes narrow, and I set the glass down. “What are you talking about?”
My dad’s shoes echo on the floor, and my eyes snap to him. His hands are in his pockets and he nods toward me before coming farther into the room. “Seth.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Pour me one of those, will ya?”
My mom rolls her eyes and scoots over for my dad to sit beside her. I finish with my drink and pour another one for my dad. Because I know she’ll pout the whole night if I don’t, I make my mom her martini and bring her the glass along with my dad’s before I grab my own and take the seat across from them.
“So… Did something happen?”
I put my glass to my lips, letting a generous amount of liquor burn my throat before pulling it back. I’ll need it for whatever was about to come out of my mom’s mouth. There was always some crisis here, but it was, for the most part, all in my mom’s head. Or at
least severely dramatized.
My mom’s mouth opens, but she doesn’t say anything because Sarah enters the room just then. She pours herself a ginger ale and comes to sit next to me. She takes a drink, then peers around at all of us not so subtly staring at her. “What are we talking about?”
“Baseball,” my dad interjects turning toward me. “You think Boston will win it this year?”
I clear my throat. “I don’t know. Sanchez is looking solid.”
I turn toward Sarah before the conversation can go any further. “So, how’s school?”
She takes a drink and rests the glass in her lap. “It’s good… I like my classes. I’m going to be taking Dr. Stein next semester. Didn’t you have her?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’ll like her. She’s great.”
Sarah takes another drink, and the three of us just watch her. Me because I’m waiting for her to tell me about whatever happened this week, and my parents because, well, they always do that. It’s not really their fault, as much as it bugs the shit out of me. They mean well, and I get that having an autistic kid in college can be a bit… worrisome, at times, but still. Leave her the fuck alone. She’s already taking night classes and living at home to avoid a lot of the people our age. Let her out from under the microscope every now and then.
“Did something happen at school this week?” I ask, trying my best to sound cool. Mostly so my parents aren’t encouraged by my worry.
She looks to me and tilts her head. “Could you be more specific?”
Mom uncrosses one leg and crosses it over the other, the ice rattling in her glass from the movement. “We had an… incident, this week, but it wasn’t at school.”
Sarah registers whatever it is Mom is talking about and slouches next to me. Oh shit. Whatever it is, it actually is bad.
“What kind of incident?”
Sarah shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I bite the side of my cheek to keep from prying more. Mom will tell me later. I can wait… but I don’t want to.
“Sarah, dear, why don’t you help Loretta set the table?” Mom suggests, probably seeing the unease oozing from my pores. Different scenarios start spinning in my head, and I’m getting pissed before I even hear what it is. It never fucking ends. It’s like there’s a line of assholes waiting to be next to set Sarah off, and I’m so beyond done with it. As soon as Sarah leaves the room, I meet Mom’s gaze and wave a hand. “Well?”
She sighs for the umpteenth time and fans her face like she’s either drying imaginary tears or it’s a hundred degrees in here.
“What is it?” I ask, an unnecessary bite to my tone.
“Oh for heaven’s sakes.” My dad rolls his eyes and shakes his head at my mom. “Your sister was walking down the street, and some guys behind her scared her. She ran and was too overwhelmed to find her way home. She’s safe. She’s not hurt. We can try and move on now.” He points a stare at my mom as he says the last line.
“Scared her how?”
I already know how, but for whatever reason, the question slips out anyway. Like I need to punish myself by hearing the words.
My hand around my glass clenches until I think it might break, and I sit it on the coffee table.
“Scared her how?” I ask again, only this time my voice is raised.
My dad’s hands lift, and his mouth hangs open while he tries to find the words to put this delicately. “They were catcalling her,” he finally manages.
My guess is he’s putting that lightly.
My mom does that thing with her hand again, and I turn my glare her way. I’m not even meaning to glare at them, I just can’t keep my face cool. “How’d she get home?”
She swallows and lowers her hand. “A police officer found her and got the address from her wallet. If he hadn’t showed up…” She shakes her head and looks off into space.
Fucking sons of bitches. I take a deep breath and run my hand through my hair, reminding myself that autism isn’t visible. Sarah’s a beautiful twenty-one year old woman, and this shit probably doesn’t happen as often as it could. Hell, I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to tell my own friends to chill when they were clearly making a girl uncomfortable. Catcalling wasn’t a distant concept to me, but it still made my blood boil. And my mom was right. If that cop hadn’t been there, who knows what the fuck could’ve happened.
Images of my sister running in front of a car out of panic flash through my mind. The assholes standing around her laughing while she’s huddled in a ball on the sidewalk. The possibilities are endless.
But those things didn’t happen. It’s okay. Everything’s fine. The cop got her home, and we can move on now, which is exactly what Sarah wants to do anyway.
My dad clears his throat. “Speaking of Officer Dunlap, we’ve invited him over for dinner on Friday. Think you can make it?”
“Why are you inviting him to dinner? He was just doing his job.”
Dad shrugs. “We’re very grateful for his assistance, and your sister wants to say thank you. She wasn’t able to at the time.”
He’s got a point. I’m not the biggest fan of police, but this one’s all right.
“I don’t know. I’ll see if I can make it.”
I pick my glass up off the table, but pause just before it reaches my lips. Another scenario flashes through my mind, but this time it isn’t Sarah. It’s Valerie… And I’m the hero.
I know exactly what to do.
9
Valerie
“Please, have a seat.” The woman in front of me sweeps her hand to indicate the sofa behind me. She introduced herself as Elizabeth, but I still have no idea if she’s the client’s mother or maid. Because this place looks like it would have a maid.
I smooth my hands over my black pants as I sit, praying that the sweat that’s wiped off of them isn’t visible. I smile at Elizabeth to hide my nervousness and wonder, for the millionth time, if my outfit is appropriate for this job interview.
“My husband should be here any minute, and then we can get started.” Ah, so the mother. She sits in the high wingback chair that’s positioned on the other side of the coffee table.
“No problem.” Inwardly I cringe at my nonchalant words.
I’d been prepping for three days for this interview. I received a response to my resume submission the following day and had been given a questionnaire to fill out. At first, the questions seemed odd, but I answered them anyway. What’s your favorite color? Do you like fish? How do you feel about hugging? After the sixth or seventh question, it hit me like a ton of bricks. The questions were those of the individual I’d be working with, not the parents. Once I figured that out, they made so much more sense. I also began to take them seriously and put thought into them beyond a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.
A door closing in another part of the massive house caught my attention and Elizabeth stands up.
“That would be him. Excuse me a moment?”
“Of course.”
Left alone, I allow myself to take in my surroundings. The furniture is clearly expensive, and I panic for a moment. Maybe I’m not right for this position. What do I know about being rich?
Nothing. But you know a lot about being ignored.
“Hi.”
The voice causes me to jump up and whirl around. Standing behind the sofa is a beautiful young woman. She’s wringing her hands, and despite her being the one to speak, she doesn’t make eye contact.
“Hello. I’m Valerie.” I thrust my hand out to her, and she stares at it without reaching out to shake it.
“I’m Sarah. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Ahh, so this is the client. I drop my hand to my side and choose my next words carefully. Sarah may be autistic, but she’s an adult, and the last thing I want to do is offend her.
“Well, then you’re in luck. I’m not a babysitter.” Despite her lack of eye contact, I don’t take my gaze from her face.
“My parent
s think I need someone to take care of me, but I don’t.”
“I see.” I make a split second decision and walk around the sofa to stand closer to Sarah. I hear raised voices coming from the other room, and I choose to ignore them, hoping to keep Sarah distracted. “Maybe you could use a friend? I know I always have room for more friends.”
Sarah tilts her head to one side, as if pondering this new bit of information. After a minute, she straightens and looks at me, making eye contact for the first time since entering the room.
“Friends?” she asks.
“Uh huh. Friends.” I better figure out a way to make this work because I need this job.
“Okay.” Sarah turns from me and walks toward the double entry before stopping at the threshold. She doesn’t move as she speaks again. “Can you stay for dinner tonight?”
I’m saved from answering that question when Elizabeth and a man walk into the room.
“I see you’ve met our daughter, Sarah.” Elizabeth no longer seems so put together. She looks… tired.
“Valerie and I are friends.” Sarah states that in a way that almost sounds like a challenge.
“Sweetheart, that’s wonderful.” The man leans in and kisses Sarah on the forehead. Sarah arches away from him but not far enough to prevent the contact. He acts as if that’s nothing unusual and turns to face me. “I’m Mark, Sarah’s father.”
He reaches out to shake my hand and I oblige. His handshake isn’t firm, like I’d expect, but rather flimsy and disappointing. I was always taught that a handshake should be firm, regardless of whose hand it is.
“Valerie Tilson, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” His smile is genuine and immediately puts me at ease. “I assume you’ve met my wife, Lizzie?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Elizabeth?” She huffs, as if it pains her to speak to him.
Mark doesn’t let the icy tone deter him. He winks at me before returning his attention back to his wife. “You’ll always be Lizzie to me, darling.”
“Ooh, Dad, gross.” Sarah looks at her father and giggles.
