by RH Tucker
We caught an early afternoon game, and now we’re headed back home where my mom said if I don’t have dinner with them this week, I’m grounded. I’m not sure how that would work, since I don’t live at home anymore, but she seemed upset that I hadn’t been by the last couple of weeks for a family dinner.
“Everything’s good,” I answer with a smile, pulling out my phone, scanning over the string of text messages we’ve built.
Ever since that night where we almost had sex a couple of weeks ago, we’ve been in sync. She’s slept over more than a couple of times, and while we fool around, we haven’t crossed the line yet. She doesn’t say it, but I think she’s nervous, and I get that, so I haven’t brought it up. We do other stuff that I’m honestly fine with however long she wants to wait.
I do wish she’d let me in on the reason she’s waiting.
She doesn’t seem overly religious, and while we’ve talked about marriage in general, she hasn’t said she’s waiting for marriage. My only conclusion is she’s self-conscious. She doesn’t say anything, but sometimes she’ll move a certain way, or grab hold of her shirt, to make sure it’s not clinging to her. And she never lets me see her without a shirt on. It’s not annoying. It’s not even concerning. It’s just … peculiar. Especially since I feel like I tell her all of the time how beautiful she is—which she is. But she doesn’t seem to see it.
“Yeah,” I repeat. “Things are good.”
“That’s good.” Smiling, he turns up the volume in the car.
After a short drive down the freeway, we make it to my parents’ home. I still have my room in the three-bedroom house that my mother refuses to turn it into the library my dad wants. It’s never used, but she says it’ll stay that way “just in case.”
As soon as I walk through the door I smell the lasagna she’s cooking. “Mom, that smells amazing.”
She gives me a broad smile, her cheeks pushing into her brown eyes that match mine. She has her hair pulled back and walks over to me, giving me a hug. “Well, I gotta make sure you keep something on those bones. Look at you.” She holds me at a distance.
I wrinkle my nose. “What? I work out. I’m fit.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she replies, waving her hand and turning back to the stove. “Speaking of, how’s Taylor?”
“He’s good. Working a lot for the summer. I think our manager wants to promote him to a supervisor for the gym.”
“That’s good. He wants to do that, right? Gym stuff.”
I laugh, reaching into the fridge to grab a bottle of water, then hopping up to sit on the counter. “Personal training, yeah. Once he’s done with his associate’s for business, he’s gonna get certified to be a PT.”
“Good for him,” she says as she stirs a pot. “Go wash up, the veggies are just about done.”
I glance over at my father, who’s already sitting at the table, with a confused look. “We just got home, Mom. I’m clean.”
“Micah.” She points her wooden spoon at me, silently ordering me to the bathroom as if I’m five years old again.
“Okay, okay.”
After washing my hands, I head back out to the dining room, where she’s just set the lasagna pan down. Dad places the pot of cooked vegetables on the table. As long as I can remember, it’s always been like this. She’ll do the cooking, he’ll help set up the table, and I do the dishes. I may not live at home anymore, but when I visit, I’ll still do them. It couldn’t be more cookie cutter, wholesome-family if you tried.
Before I get to the table, I hear my dad whispering, “No, Justine. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Jacob, she called the house. I know what you told me, but she sounds remorseful. They’re in love.”
“They were in love. Now he’s—”
I clear my throat loudly, and they both turn and look at me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she says with a smile, taking her seat.
“Okay.” I watch her carefully, before looking over at my dad. He gives me a worried expression and raises his hands in defeat. The kind of expression that says ‘Sorry, son. I tried’.
Mom cuts into the lasagna pan. “So, your father told me what happened.”
“About?”
Her eyes find my dad’s for a second, before looking back down at the food. “You and Lana.”
“Right.” I nod, trying to act as normal as I can.
I haven’t spoken to her in a month and a half. I hear from Taylor and a couple other friends she’s asked about me, but she hasn’t tried calling me. And I might still be mad about everything that happened if it wasn’t for Veronica.
I can’t say I’m entirely over being cheated on. There are times I’ve wondered if Veronica’s waiting to have sex because she’s seeing someone else. I quickly reprimand myself for those thoughts and try to remind myself that Veronica isn’t Lana. I can’t assume she’s going to do the same thing.
“Mom, I know you liked her, but it’s over.”
“But, Micah. You guys were so good together. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s so gorgeous.”
“Mom, smart and beautiful aren’t the end all be all to liking someone.” I grip my fork tighter, hoping she drops the conversation. She doesn’t.
“I know that, Micah. Of course not.”
“Okay, then.”
“But you two were—”
“Please don’t say it.”
“High school sweethearts.”
“Justine,” my dad says lowly.
When I was little and learned my father drew for a living—I called it drawing because at the time I didn’t know it was called graphic design—I was mesmerized. You mean, you can actually use pencils and crayons and have that as your job? He went after his dreams, became what he wanted to become, fell in love with a beautiful girl—his high school sweetheart—and everything fell into place for him. The girl, the house, the family. He was and still is my hero.
So, when I first met Lana, it’s the first thing that came to mind. I admit I am partial to brunettes over blondes, but there Lana was, flaunting her stuff in school. Most guys would kill to hookup with her, and she liked me. Just because she wasn’t my type, didn’t mean I didn’t notice her. But I didn’t go out of my way to go ask her out either. When we finally did get together, I thought that was it. I was on my way. I was on the same path that my father took. I had the girl, my high school sweetheart, and now I was going to start working on pursuing becoming an artist. Drawing for a living.
Since I always liked comic books, I wanted to be a cartoonist. To be able to tell my own story, with my own words and pictures.
Of course, I told my parents all of this. They both knew at the time I thought Lana and I would be together for the long haul. So she’s not off-base when my mom says high school sweethearts. Hell, I called us that from time to time.
“Micah, you should hear her out,” Mom continues.
I feel the anger rising, and snap. “I did hear her out, okay? I heard her screaming—” I stop myself, knowing if I say what I really want to I’ll not only embarrass my mom but embarrass myself. “Mom, believe me, there’s no coming back from this. Not this time.”
“But, Micah, people make mistakes.”
“Why are you pushing this? She’s the one that screwed up. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why do I feel like you’re on her side?”
“No, of course not, honey. I’m not on her side, I’m just saying, people do stupid things. She could’ve been drunk or something.” She cuts into her plate of lasagna, calmly.
“Seriously? And that would make it okay?”
She shakes her head. “No, it wouldn’t, I’m just saying—”
“This is the second time, okay?” They both stare at me, shocked at the revelation. It finally feels like they’re understanding the magnitude of the situation.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Whatever, can we just drop it, please? It’s not going to happen.”
I take a bite of my dish and watch her as she looks at me, then at him, nodding. Dad tries to make small talk for the rest of dinner, but it’s awkward. And tense. I know she always loved Lana. And Lana gave her good reason to. She was always nice when she came over and helped her cook dishes a number of times. I just don’t understand why she’s making excuses for her.
We finish dinner, and even though there’s an air of agitation still lingering, I wash the dishes. Mom and Dad return to small talk, and no one brings up Lana again.
“Okay, guys, I’m taking off,” I say as I dry my hands on a dish towel.
“All right, son,” my dad calls out from his recliner, waving at me.
“Talk to you guys later.”
Just as I turn the doorknob, my mom reaches for my arm. “Micah, I’m sorry about earlier.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“I just want you to be happy, and Lana seemed to make you happy.”
“She did. But things change.” She nods. “Do me a favor, please? I don’t know what she told you, and I don’t really want to know. Just … if she calls here again, please tell her to move on. I’m moving on, and I think it’s the best thing for both of us.”
“Okay, I will.” She leans in and gives me a hug. “Your dad told me you’re seeing someone else already.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“You know she needs my seal of approval first.”
“Right.” Laughing, I roll my eyes at her. “I think you need more time than I did to get over Lana. I’ll bring her over in a year, how about that?”
“A year?” She gives me a concerned gaze. “Are you two serious already?”
It’s something I’ve thought about. I don’t know for sure what Veronica’s feeling, but I know what I am. It hasn’t been very long, but I could see spending more time with her. “I don’t know,” I try to play it cool, “maybe.”
“Oh, then she most definitely needs my seal of approval.”
I laugh. “Okay, we’ll see.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
Chapter 12
Veronica
I’ve been spending more nights at Micah’s. Every once in a while, I’ll wake up before one of our alarms goes off. Sometimes the only thing that’s touching is our legs. Other times he’ll be holding me, and I can’t imagine being anywhere else other than in his arms. Being a foot taller than me, his wide shoulders feel like they envelop me, protecting me from anything that could hurt me. I’ll snuggle closer to him and fall back asleep, knowing I’m safe from any concerns or worries I might have. Then there are times like right now.
Somehow he’s shifted, and while still holding me, I’m higher on the bed than him. His arms are wrapped around me, his face laying across my chest. A feeling hits me that only lasts for a second, before the doubt creeps in, and I wish I could hold onto it longer.
He’s asleep, and while he’s never given me a reason to second-guess why he thinks and calls me beautiful, I don’t one hundred percent believe it. But here, now, I’m the one that’s here for him. He needs only me, and I love that feeling. Then it’s gone.
I’ll shift, or he’ll move just an inch, and my mind goes into overdrive. What if he wakes up and looks up at me, and sees a double chin? Or I’ll feel his fingers on me, and while they are on my skin and logically I know that’s all it is, and he isn’t even conscious of it because he’s still asleep, I’ll move so I can pull my shirt down, and place his hand on top of it.
After Cindy’s little experiment at the mall, I’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s still in the back of my mind. The worst part is the warning she gave me. How long will my feelings of inadequacy be tolerated by Micah before he just gets tired of it?
Yeah, I could blame Tim for making me feel that way, and I do because he did. But the truth is, I’ve always felt like I wasn’t as pretty as some of the other girls because of my weight. Even when Cindy jokes and says it helps that I have an ‘hourglass’ figure, I retort with my usual come back, “Yeah, an extra-large hourglass. It’s only because my ass got jealous of my boobs and wanted to be just as big.”
So, yeah, holding Micah as he sleeps should feel perfect. And it does for a moment. Then reality comes crashing down on me.
I take a deep breath, running my fingers through his hair, wishing—pleading—that my brain would forget all of my insecurities. He stirs under me.
“Morning,” I lightly whisper.
“Morning.” His voices scratches. He leans up and kisses my cheek, before laying his head back down on my chest. “V, I’m gonna need you to stay over for, like, the rest of your life.”
I giggle. “And why is that?”
“Because these are the softest pillows I’ve ever slept on.” He laughs, his hand caressing me, making me quiver.
“You dumb boy,” I laugh at him.
“Silly girl.”
I liked his little pet name he started calling me from time to time so much that one night, I replied back with “dumb boy.” It’s kind of become our thing now.
“Seriously, though,” his hand continues to move, and he leans up, kissing my chin, “I love it when you sleep over. I …”
Pausing, he stares at me and bites his lips. I don’t wait to see what else he’s going to say; wrapping my hands around him, I bring him closer for a kiss.
As unbelievable as his hands feel over me, his lips make me feel even better. And I wish I could stay this close to him all day, but I know I can’t. “Remember, I have to get back home early. I have to help set up for my cousin’s quinceañera.”
He gives me a devilish grin, his tempting eyes burrowing into mine, then runs his hand lower until his fingers slide under the waistband of my underwear. “We better make this quick then.”
His lips hit mine, and I find that place I woke up with again. That place of bliss where I’m not concerned about what I look like. It’s just him and me. His lips and tongue with mine. And I feel like I’m enough, and I don’t have to worry about anything other than how he’s making me feel and how I want to make him feel.
Micah looks past me, eyeing my front door, as he waits to let me out of his truck. “So … when am I going to meet your family?”
Leaning over to him, I give him another kiss. “I’m not sure, but it will be soon. My brothers can be a little much, and I don’t want to subject you to that yet.”
He lets out a chuckle. “Well, thank you, but I’m a big boy. I can handle a big brother.”
“It’s more than that.” I let out a sigh. “I love him, but Toto is the oldest, and he acts like our second dad. It can be a bit … much.” I give his hand a squeeze and then kiss it. “Soon though, I promise. I really like that you want to meet them. What about your family?”
“You can come over tonight if you want. My dad is going to love you.”
I can’t help the nervous look I send him. “And your mom?”
He smirks, shrugging. “She’s a mom. I’m her baby. And for some reason—”
“Yeah,” I utter, somberly.
We’ve talked a little about his parents. He brought up the fact that his mom has asked him, on more than one occasion, if he’s going to get back together with Lana.
“Anyway,” I perk up, not wanting to think about my brothers or his mom or Lana, “I’ll text you tonight. We’ll probably have a lot of cleaning and stuff to do after.”
“Okay.” Smiling, he kisses me. “I do get to call your brother Toto when I meet him, right? I mean, I cannot not call him that, now that I know.”
“Probably not the best idea,” I reply back, laughing. “Bye.”
“Bye.” The smile he gives me pulls at my heart. We keep our hands connected until there’s no choice but to let go and I shut the door and head inside.
I never go through the front door, always through a side kitchen door that connects to our driveway. As soon as I walk inside, I hear the commotion of everyone and can smell my mom baking. The qu
inceañera is being held at my aunt and uncle’s because they live in a massive house with a lavish backyard setting. It should be a fun time, and I invited Cindy since she knows my cousin, but I’m surprised to see her at the house already.
Cringing, she loudly whispers, “I’m sorry!”
“Why?” I look at her in confusion.
“She’s here!” I see Miguel poke his head out of the hallway, then he shakes it at me.
“I forgot,” she whispers, dropping her head low. “I’m so stupid.”
After an incredible few morning hours with Micah, I’m piecing it all together. Cindy’s here already. That means she showed up to the house without me. Me. Who, after a month of using her as an excuse, should’ve been spending the night at her home last night. So why wouldn’t I show up with her this morning?
“Oh my God.” I drop my head, covering my face with my hands.
Javier walks out from the hallway, wagging his finger at me with a teasing smirk. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“Oh no, no, no, no.” It comes out muffled, my hands still covering my face.
“Ai, mija,” my mom says, and I look up to see her giving me a comforting smile, but still shaking her head. My father appears behind her, stares at me, and then walks into the other room. He doesn’t say anything because I know there’s only one person left, and my dad has let him handle boyfriend matters when it comes to me.
Tomás steps out of the hallway and stares at me, crossing his arms. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” He stares at Cindy, who keeps her face averted. “Or should I say, didn’t drag in.”
I was dreading this. I knew eventually I was going to have to tell them—him—about Micah, and I’ve wanted to. But I know how they react. Starting in middle school, if I even hinted at having a crush on a boy, Javier, Miguel, and Tomás would jump in and give me the third degree. Then they’d hound the boy, who half the time didn’t even have a clue why they were interrogating them because I never told any of my crushes I liked them. Then came Tim and he actually handled it very well. Miguel and Javier are still friendly with him, and he even won over Tomás. All of that is because I never told them the real reason we broke up.
