by Jade Eby
"Okay," I whisper. And I hope to God that his first time is as good as he's imagining it will be.
September - 1999
Carter's Jeep is fucked. And so are we. Of all the times for his vehicle to fall apart, it happens when we're fifty miles away from Apollo.
The day had gone so well, too. We visited the cities. Walked around downtown like grown-up lovers. Stopping by the expensive ring shops, pointing out diamonds so big I would've drowned had I worn them. Arm in arm, we strolled for hours. Talking about our future.
Our future.
Something I never thought I'd share with someone else. I used to consider the future as something that happened in twenty-four hour time slots. Who could plan further than that? Apparently, Carter can.
He has lots of plans for us.
But tonight, all of our plans fell to the wayside. We'd just made it outside the city when the loud wheezing and sputtering from his front end convinced us to pull over. He lifted the hood and smoke billowed out.
"Fucking Grayson. He's never around when I need him," Carter says, slapping the steering wheel.
"Try him again?" I suggest.
"I've called him four times, Tawny. He's probably banging Courtney in the back of his car right now."
I squirm in my seat, knowing the only option we have left. Carter's dad. I don't dare say anything about him. His dad is a touchy subject.
Carter hates his dad more than it's even possible for me to hate my parents. I don't really know why. I know he's mean and strict and puts a lot of rules on the boys but Carter won't ever let me see that side of his life. He puts up these walls and I don't understand why he won't let me in.
He knows he doesn't have a choice right now though. We're not getting out of this mess unless he calls his dad, but it's like he has to work himself up to it. He sighs and dials the number.
"Sir? Yeah, I'm gonna need you to come pick me up. The Jeep died outside the cities."
I hate when he has to call him that. Something about him being in the military. I asked Carter about it once, and he gave me a clipped answer about never calling him Dad. It was always Sir.
It doesn't take long before there's screaming on the other end of the line. He swears at Carter and he winces at the lash of insults his father hurls at him through the phone.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean —"
More screaming.
"Yes, Sir. Mile marker eighty-eight. Yes, she's with me."
Carter looks over at me, his eyes like that of someone who is sorry before they need to be. As if they are about to commit a crime and want to apologize for it before hand.
"Okay. We'll be waiting." He hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. "Better get comfy, he won't be here for another hour. And he's pissed."
"Surprised?" I say quietly.
"No."
I reach out and cover his hand. Usually he'll turn it over, interlocking our fingers. But he doesn't move a muscle. He just stares straight out the front window.
"Carter?"
"What?"
"Are you ever going to tell me why you and your father don't get along?"
He takes his hand out from beneath mine. "It's personal. And I don't want to talk about it, okay?"
I know better than to push him. To want more of him than he's ever willing to give me at a time. It's hard, sometimes, to know your boyfriend won't tell you things. Big things. But it's the price I pay for his love. It's a small cost I'm willing to pay over and over again.
* * *
High beams flash into our car an hour later. I was dozing, lost to the whizzing traffic on the highway. You'd think it would be enough to keep someone awake, but it's actually a calming sound. Carter tenses at the light and inhales a deep breath.
"You can do this," he mumbles under his breath and opens the door. I don't think he knows I could hear him. It bothers me that he has to give himself a pep talk just to talk to his father.
He slams the door shut so hard, it shakes the vehicle. He moves to the back of the car to meet his father.
"I'm sorry— " Carter starts to say but he doesn't finish. Beneath the light of the moon, and his father's car lights - I watch as Lawrence Brooks' silhouette rears back, then comes around and makes contact with Carter's nose.
I gasp and Carter steps back, clasping his nose in his hands. His father isn't done, though.
He hits him upside the head, his voice loud enough for me to hear through the car.
"You fucking idiot. How many times have I told you to replace the fuel pump? Did you do it? No. Now you've fucked up the car and bothered me to come get you and your fucking girlfriend. Do you think I wanted to drive an hour to come get your ass after a long day at work? Huh? I didn't think so. God, you're so fucking stupid. You're just like your mother."
Carter says something, but it's muffled. He's not as loud as his father. They walk to the front of the car, and I look down at the floorboards to avoid his father's eyes. I don't have to see him to know he hates me. That he would rather his son date someone smarter, prettier, far less trashier than me. Carter would never tell me that, but I can feel it in his responses sometimes. The way he skirts around the issue.
His father asks him to turn the ignition on, and Carter slides in the front seat. His nose is bleeding, already crusting over, the space between his nostrils and lips a dark, ruddy brown.
He turns the ignition but it just clug, clugs.
"Carter —"
"Don't. Just don't say another word," he says, his words laced with anger. He gets back out of the car and his father raises his voice again.
"Jesus Christ, Carter. You've really fucked up this time. You're going to hear about this later. Get your girl, let's go."
He doesn't even have to say my name for me to feel like I'm two inches tall. The way he acknowledges me is plenty.
Carter opens the door and gestures for me to get out. The cool, fall night would've made the perfect ending to the great day. We would have gotten back to my house and made out beneath the stars and the moon and I would have left in a daze of happiness that always seems to surround us on our good days.
But squooshed in the back of his father's Mercedes, everything feels so wrong. The silence that ripples through the car is thick. Ripe with tension that scares me. Lawrence Brooks is a terrifying man and though Carter has never said it to me, I'm starting to think maybe he's afraid of him. Maybe Carter lives and breathes a different kind of hell than I do?
More than a year of being together, and I feel like I don't even know him. Like I haven't the slightest clue who the real Carter is.
And the worst part is - even if I asked - he would never tell me.
November - 1999
"What do you mean your parents aren't going to be home?" Carter asks.
I sigh into the phone. "It's not a big deal or anything. We never celebrated Thanksgiving anyway. It's not like they're missing much. I'll just be watching TV or whatever. Besides, can you picture my Mom staying sober enough to make a turkey dinner? And how many times have you seen my dad actually around?"
His breaths into the phone are heavy. "This is bullshit. It's a fucking holiday."
I don't get why he's so angry. He knows my situation. Knows what my family is like everyday, why would a holiday make it any different?
"You're being dramatic. I will be fine."
"Dammit, Tawny. You let them get away with this shit. It's not fair to you."
I scoff. "Let them get away with it? Because I'm the adult? The parent? I don't have any control over them. I'd rather be alone than have to deal with their shit. I'm glad they're not going to be here. And if you're so concerned about me, why don't I come over to your place for dinner?"
"No," he says, too quickly to have even thought about it.
I suck in a breath before replying. "Then you have no room to talk."
"You know how my family is…"
I laugh. "No, I don't, actually. Because you're too much of a pussy to let me be around t
hem. Scared they're going to figure out that not all girls who live in trailers are trash?"
"Tawny—"
"Just stop Carter. I don't want to hear it. I have to go."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, the line between us rife with more things I can't muster the courage to say.
"I'll see if I can get out of dinner. We'll go out to eat somewhere."
I don't mean to, but I laugh. "Right. That will go over great with your parents. What are you going to tell them, 'hey guys, I won't be around for holiday dinner, gotta go out to eat with my girlfriend because her deadbeat parents decided to leave her alone.' Yeah, somehow I don't see that sitting well with them."
"They don't own me, Tawny. If I want to spend Thanksgiving with my girlfriend, then that's what I'll do. I'd rather spend it with you anyway."
I'm tired of arguing about this. It's the same conversation we've been having for the last few months. He doesn't want me anywhere near his parents. Other than the few times I've been around his father and brothers, I haven't spent any time with his family. I've met his mother only in passing. It's like he's living this double life he doesn't want me to know about. And it kills me that I don't have access to that part of him. He knows everything about me. Everything about my parents and my life. How is it fair that I know nothing about his?
"Do whatever you want, Carter. I have to go," I say, hanging up the phone.
He hates when I do that. He says it's rude and disrespectful, but I don't give a shit right now. He can be rude and disrespectful and honestly, telling me how shitty my parents are and then not inviting me to his Thanksgiving dinner is just wrong.
He'll get over it, he always does.
* * *
I don't know how he does it - but at six o'clock, Carter is at my door in a cream button down shirt, slacks and a bouquet of roses on Thanksgiving night. His smile stretches across his face and he hands me the flowers.
"For you."
I take them and inhale. Sometimes, I don't know what I did to deserve him. "They're beautiful! You didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to. You deserve them."
"For what?"
"Being amazing. And because I love you."
Our fight the other night has been completely forgotten about. At least it seems like he doesn't believe it actually happened. That's how he works. Quick to anger - quick to forget. I guess these are the sacrifices in order to have all the good parts of him. To have the love he gives me so willingly.
I set the roses on the counter and then pull him to me, his cologne igniting a fire in my belly. "And I love you."
"I know," he says. "You look stunning by the way."
I twirl in the new dress I bought at the thrift shop. I didn't have anything nice enough when Carter told me to dress up. "You like? It's new."
He raises his eyebrows. He knows I don't have a penny to my name.
I laugh. "I pinched a twenty from mom's wallet before she left. Doubt she'll even notice."
"You're a naughty girl, Tawny."
I nuzzle against the crook in his neck. "Sometimes. You like it, though."
"I do," he says softly against my earlobe.
"We could skip dinner, you know."
He shakes his head. "Nope. I planned the perfect night for us. We're not changing the plan now."
I sigh. "It was worth a try. What did you tell your parents?"
He stiffens. "Does it matter? I'm here, aren't I?"
"Against their wishes, I'm sure."
"C'mon. You want to ruin tonight?"
No, I don't. I couldn't have asked for a better date for the night. I don't want to do anything to piss him off.
I shake my head. "Of course not. Let's go."
We get to the restaurant and it's pitch black. No open sign.
"You called them, right?" I ask.
"I'm not stupid," he snaps.
"I didn't say you were."
He unbuckles his seatbelt. "There's a note on the door, I'm gonna check it."
When he gets back to the car, he's seething. It rolls off of him in waves.
"Fucking assholes."
"What did it say?"
"They decided last minute to close, so their staff could enjoy their families."
I'm disappointed but I get it. If I'd had a family worth spending time with - I wouldn't want to be working either.
"It's okay, we'll just go somewhere else. It's not a big deal."
Carter's fists grip the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turn white.
"It is a big deal. I had the entire night planned and now it's messed up. Everything's shit."
I touch his leg and he's rigid beneath my touch. "It's not. We can make the best of it."
He slaps my hand away. "Don't touch me."
"Okay…" I say, putting my hands in my lap. I'm still learning how to navigate these moods he gets in. Sometimes, he gets so mad over the smallest things. I want to make everything better. Make him see that when we're together, it doesn't matter where we go or what we do - he's the most important part of it all.
He starts the ignition and we drive off in silence. The whole city is a ghost town. Shops and restaurants closed. Only the street lamps look alive - casting an orange glow over the speckled snow covered ground.
"Let's go back to my house," I say, tired of the silence.
"Because you have so many options for dinner there." His voice is terse.
"I'm not even hungry anymore."
"Of course you're not. I'll just take you home then I guess."
I don't even know what to say to him to make this better. Even though I know this isn't my fault, he makes me feel like it is. Like I'm the reason this night has been ruined. And that pisses me off. I didn't ask him to spend his Thanksgiving with me. He insisted.
"I think that's a good plan. Then go home to your family. Maybe they'll put you in a better mood."
The minute it crosses my lips, I know I've made a mistake. He slams on the brakes, his tires skidding in the snow. I clutch my seatbelt and scream.
"What the hell!"
We come to a stop, safely. He pushes the unlock button. "Get out," he says.
"What?"
"Get the fuck out of my car. If you want to complain about my mood, then you can walk your ass home."
"Carter, it's almost ten miles from here. And I'm wearing heels."
He sneers at me. "You should have thought about that before you bitched at me when I was just trying to make the night special."
"I wasn't bitching at all. I was trying to make things better, but you're being stubborn about it. You're not really going to make me walk home are you?"
"Get. Out."
The tears spring from my eyes. I can't believe this is really happening. How we went from fine to disaster in a matter of minutes.
I open the car door and step out in the freezing cold, the wind blowing against my bare legs. "Real nice, Carter. I can't believe you right now," I say, slamming the door shut. He wants to be an asshole? Fine.
He accelerates, the tires spinning against the snow packed ground. I shiver and watch him drive off, leaving me to figure out how the hell I'm getting home.
The tears freeze against my cheek and I walk down the street. My right heel sinks down and I fall, face forward into a pile of flaky snow.
I don't bother getting up. I let myself sink further into the snow. Maybe I'll get frostbite. Maybe I'll get hypothermia and die and then he'll really be sorry. What kind of guy does this? What is this relationship doing to me?
You pushed and pushed and pissed him off. If you would have shut up and let him take you home, you wouldn't be here right now.
It's my fault. It's always my fault.
Something crunches behind me. Two warm hands wrap around me. Pull me up out of the snow. The arms flip me around.
Carter.
He picks my entire body up and holds me close to him. I cry into his shoulder. He sets me in the passenger side seat, the heat on full blast
.
"I don't know what I was thinking. That was… unacceptable. I'm sorry, Tawny. I'm so sorry. I was just so angry. I wanted this night to be special. I wanted you to know that no matter how shitty your parents are, there's someone who loves you."
I shiver in my seat, soaking in the blasting heat. I can't even form words right now. My mind is frozen on his anger at me. My heart is melted with his words, though.
My fucking heart always wins out.
Chapter 2
January - 2000
It's eleven o'clock when my cell phone rings and wakes me up. I answer groggily.
"Tawny?" Carter's voice sounds different. Strained.
"Yeah?" I say, sitting up. Something's wrong. I know him too well.
"I need to see you."
"What's wrong?"
"I can't… I just need to see you."
Throwing the covers off of me, I rush for the light. "Of course."
He waits a second before speaking in a low whisper. "I can't drive right now. I'll walk over to your house."
I look out the window. The snow is still falling as heavily as it was when I went to bed. I want to talk him out of it, but I don't dare say anything. "I'll be waiting."
"Okay," he says, hanging up.
I pad out to the kitchen and scour the cabinets for a hot chocolate packet. Even though his house and mine is separated by the Dividing Line, it's still a ten minute walk from his house in this weather. He's going to be freezing when he get's here.
I pace the kitchen as the kettle whistles. Did someone die? Is he in trouble? Something about his voice… it doesn't sit right with me. The grainy, gritty way he spoke. It wasn't like him. I pour the hot water over the chocolate powder, mixing it together. And then I wait.
Sometimes I feel like I'm always waiting on him.
The knock on my door comes sooner than I expect. I open it and gasp.
His left eye is swollen shut. His nose bleeds, frozen to his skin. Specks dot his cheeks.
