by Niki Hager
The other one is a younger guy, about my age, with light-brown hair, nice and blue eyes, and an enormously wicked smile on his face. I would have to guess he is Roman's brother, however, they look nothing alike. I can see the resemblance in his dad. He too has dark hair and eyes and many similar facial features. The brother is either the milk man's bastard or he must totally take after his mom.
I open my door and step out, careful not to fall on the uneven terrain.
"You must be the girlfriend," the younger one says to me, his eyes sparkle with amusement. "When I overheard about the little … uh—" his eyes dart to my car tires and back "—situation you've gotten into, I had to come see for myself." He gives me a swaggering smile, and in it I see the first resemblance to Roman.
His dad is already in the process of hooking my car to the truck.
"Hi, Rigbee. I'm Ben," his dad tells me as he finishes what he's doing. "I'll have you outta here in just a sec."
He climbs back into his truck, and I look back over to, who I am still assuming is the brother, and watch him stifle a chuckle.
"Sorry for laughing, I know better than anyone our driveway can be tricky."
"So people get stuck often then?"
He replies with a quick, "Nope" and continues laughing.
Great. Could this be any more embarrassing? Where is Roman, anyway, and why didn't he come down here with his dad instead of sending Mr. Chuckles over here?
"My name is Thomas, by the way."
Before I get a chance to reply, he has his arms around me and gives a tight squeeze. I stiffen from the start of it, but the tenseness eases and I awkwardly half-hug, half-pat him on the back in return.
He lets go and says, "See ya up at the house."
When I look over, I see my car is back where it's supposed to be, safe and sound and on the ground, and Thomas has already walked away to get back into his dad’s truck.
I follow them the remainder of the way to the house and I spot Roman. He's standing next to their garage door with a woman who must be his mom. He is smoking a cigarette, and they are both smiling like jokers. He thought sending Thomas down to get me instead of himself was hilarious.
"You made it up!" Roman shouts and throws his arms in the air.
"Yeah yeah, haha. Your driveway was incredibly slippery, you know!" I say back at him and give him a dirty look.
"Apparently so." His mom bites on her bottom lip in order hold in her giggles. Even she thinks this is funny.
"My name is Mary, nice to meet you, darling."
"Rigbee, nice to meet you too. You have a beautiful house," I compliment, as I take in the sight.
The house is a cute, country style blue ranch with a wrap-around porch to die for. I can tell from the outside the house must be big.
"Well, thank you. Yes, we are very fortunate. We have ten acres all together. It's calm and peaceful."
I can tell right away his parents are calm and peaceful people in general. The exact opposite of my family.
"It's like having a vacation at your own house," I say to her, impressed with the beauty of the place.
"It really is. We stay home whenever we take vacation time. Why go anywhere else?" Mary has a look of pride on her face, and it's apparent how content she is in her life.
The three of us are still standing in the driveway when Thomas and his dad walk back out of the garage.
"Why don't we all head inside and have a cup of coffee?” Mary brightly suggests as she directs us through the door.
Inside, we sit down around a heavy wood dining table big enough to fit fifteen easy. It is shaped much like a picnic table with bench seating. From over my shoulder, Mary places a coffee in front of me. Black. Exactly how I like it. I take a peek inside of everyone else's mugs to find them thick with cream and sugar.
We all talk and do the normal introductions and short summaries of ourselves. Funny stories are told about Roman and Thomas as kids. It's hard to believe Roman comes from a home like this. Based on his looks and personality, I couldn't help but picture his lifestyle to be a bit rougher. I would never have guessed such a tattooed, punk rock, edging on the line of Emo, Hottie McHandsome, came from such a normal and stable loving family. The cover of his book is misleading.
Roman's brother, Thomas, on the other hand, looks like your typical popular country boy with a side of prep, who may or may not have been a school athlete of some sort. Total opposite of Roman in more ways than looks. I was right—he definitely does get his looks from his mom.
Mary has the same blue eyes and blonde hair her son does. Her cut is short, styled into a pretty, yet still Mom-like, hairstyle. She also has very good taste in wardrobe. I can tell her clothes are either tailored to fit her perfectly or she knows how to dress for her shape. She is pulling off the “I may be older but I can still rock it” look with an open front cardigan and big chunky jewelry which could be costume jewelry you'd get at Claire's, or could very well be real.
I can't tell if I'm making a good impression or not. It's very unnerving. The whole time we've been sitting here chatting, Roman's mom has shown no hint to signal either way. She has been completely kind and pleasant, but I think she is still trying to figure me out. I have a feeling Roman must've brought girls home before who either did not impress her or did something to hurt her son.
Speaking of which, Roman and I have not had the talk yet. The one where we talk about past girlfriends and boyfriends and we ask what's your number. I've been too scared to bring it up because I know he is experienced. Even if Lyle hadn't accidentally told me, I can tell. And I'm not sure I want to know to what extent. I am sure he is the person I want to have my first experience with. I've already decided. I'm nervous as shit, but I'm also relieved. He is the first person I have ever wanted to be with. Every time he so much as glances my way, my body validates my feelings being finally right. He's right.
"Don't you think, Rigbee?" Huh? I'm jolted back into reality, and I have no idea what has just been asked of me.
"Cou-Could you repeat the question?" I ask abashed, scarlet creeping into my cheeks.
"Roman's hair, sweetheart. Don't you think he should get a haircut? He would look so handsome if he just cut that hair."
I happen to like Roman's hair. I think he would be incredibly handsome no matter what, of course, but he wouldn't look like himself.
"And those holes in his ears, what do you call them? Plugs? Yeah, and if he let those things close up as well."
Roman is calmly sitting at the table, showing no emotion other than patience as his mom talks. Her criticism doesn't seem to bother him at all. I glance my eyes toward him, and he smiles then makes a face like “What can you do?”
"Mom, if I cut my hair right now my poli-sci professor would not know who I am, so it will have to stay for at least the remainder of the semester," Roman says in a completely considerate and polite manner.
Regardless of whether or not he changes the way he looks, which he won't, he respects the hell out of his mother, and I love him even more for the courtesy. Wait a minute. I can't love him yet. Could I? There's no way, in such a short amount of time, I could fall. What I'm feeling has to be more of an adoration than anything. Wow, I really need be careful with what goes on up in my head and make sure my brain doesn't urge my mouth to say something like love out loud. Fuck you, brain.
"We better be off," Mary announces as she grabs her purse strap from behind the dining room chair.
I frown. "Oh. Where are you guys going?"
Roman sits there poker-faced. Even if he doesn't look surprised, I sure am.
"We are going to go visit my parents for a little while. We go there every Friday." Do they? I'd bet Roman knew.
"Have a good time, Mom, Dad," Roman voices and gives them each a hug. "Tell Grams and Gramps I say hi."
"Will do. Holler if you're mad." His dad, er … Ben, shouts over his shoulder as he and Mary walk out the door.
"What does he mean? Holler if your mad?" I say more to my
self than anything.
"It's an old redneck way of saying call us if you need anything, I guess. My dad has always said it."
"Your family is very nice, and not quite what I had envisioned."
"Oh, yeah? What, did you think my family would be some trailer park trash? Or, more like big city loving, drug riddled deadbeats?" he demands in a venomous bark.
"No. Nothing like what you're saying, I promise. I guess I didn't expect—"
"Upper Middle-class country folk?"
"Maybe?" I meekly answer as a question.
He sighs, and I see some of the tension he held in his face and shoulders disappear. "My whole family, on both sides, actually, dating as far back as we know were all farmers. Up until my gramps, anyways. He became an elite accountant for General Motors. That's where and when we came into some money.
"Oh. So, um …" I start but then I hear the bathroom door open.
"Later!" Thomas yells.
He grabs his hat and keys off the kitchen counter.
"Going out?" Roman's eyes gleam with mischief, and his mouth curves into a smirk.
"Have fun." Thomas winks at me.
He turns as he puts his hat on and walks out the door, letting the springs slam shut behind him.
"Where's he …?" I draw out my words in speculation.
"Shore Slappers. It's a bar. A lot of people go there to drink because it's easy to get there by boat or back roads."
"What does that matter?" I ask curiously.
"People get wasted and think they can drive because they either came by boat or on roads the police don't ever patrol."
"It's still drunk driving, it's still dangerous," I lecture him as if he doesn't already know.
"Try talking to the hammered and horny," he dryly replies.
We are now alone. I'm starting to get the nervous fluttering in my stomach. Not panic attack nervous yet, but I can't begin to predict what's to come. There is a definite process to be followed in situations like these. Qualifiers to get through before the main event. One of those steps is the whole How many? and What’s your number? talk. I am dreading the talk. It's undeniably needed, though, and I see it coming.
He takes me for a tour around the rest of his house and we are coming up on the very last room. I know it's his. He opens the door, and the first thing I notice is how clean the space is. He has a desk and bookshelf with books and papers thrown about, but other than the school stuff, the room is orderly.
His nightstand is decorated with a wide variety of trinkets. Memorabilia he must consider to be sentimental or important for reasons I wouldn't know. Everything from bobble heads to a beer bottle with a ribbon around the neck, as if it was a gift. The room is colored in blacks, whites, and greys. The colors are fitting and somewhat symbolic if you ask me.
Roman turns, sets his phone in a holder by his bed, and music starts playing. "Who on?"
"Against Me." He surveys me, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and a muscle twitches in his jaw.
"I like it, considering it's heavier than what I normally listen to," I say, trying to keep a lightness to the mood.
"Yeah? I'm going to a show up in Toronto in February, you should come."
I stop breathing, and my cheeks hurt from how wide my smile becomes. Knowing he can plan for us months from now, somewhere out of the city like a little vacation, means more than he realizes.
"You want me to go?"
"Sure, why not?"
My nerves buzz with electricity at the thought of staying in a hotel room with him.
"Okay, yes. Toronto sounds fun. I'm excited."
Now is as good of a time as any to see how I'd fair in a loud, dark, and crowded, atmosphere. I keep gawking at him, grinning like a fool. I wonder if he can sense what asking me to go with him has done to me.
"Good, I'm glad you want to go. Lyle and a few other people are heading up there for the show as well. Invite Enzo and his girlfriend too if you want."
"Oh. Okay, maybe I will. I think he'd be down."
"Good."
"Good," I say back, unwilling to let him sense my disappointment.
I pick a trinket up from his nightstand, pretend to inspect every small detail on the thing then set it back down. I'm running out of mundane things to do with my hands. I can't stall the inevitable.
Seconds go by with nothing exchanged but an awkward silence. I tilt my head toward him, and what was intended to be a fleeting look turns gaping as I'm taken aback by the startling new voraciousness he now emanates. He takes two eager strides, eliminating the space between us, and I'm forced backward until the back of my knees hit his bed. He leans in close, his eyes penetrate mine for permission before closing completely. Mine shut of their own accord, hungry from the promise of a kiss.
The sweep of his breath on my face gives away his closeness, and I rise to my toes to clinch any remaining distance. He gently touches his lips to my forehead, and my eyes squint in deliverance at such a simple yet intimate gesture. He opens his eyes to gauge my reaction; reflected in them is a need which perfectly mirrors my own. This is his undoing. He comes back in for the kill and crashes his mouth to mine.
He uses the hand now resting on my lower back to guide me onto the bed. He crawls over and falls to his side bringing me down with him. He relentlessly fists my shirt until he's grabbing only the skin above my waistband. His mouth moves from my lips to my chin and then down my neck. I honestly don't want to stop, but now I have my mouth free and I can think straight, I realize I need to slow him down.
"Roman, wait."
"Sorry. Shit, I'm sorry," he pants. "I got caught up. I know I was too fast, wasn't I?"
"No," I say too loud and too fast. "Well, yeah. Shouldn't we … you know, talk about some things first?"
"First? All right, sure. What do you want to talk about?"
"Don't you think we should tell each other our … our … What word should I use? Our experience … es? Yes. Our experiences." My question ends with a conviction it did not start with.
He sits up and turns the volume of the music down before turning to me in an uncertain compliance.
"Okay," he says and nods.
"Okay."
He sits back on his elbows and starts, "I have been with a total of nine girls, only a few were more than once. I have only had one serious girlfriend. In high school, we were together for three years."
"What happened? With the serious girlfriend, I mean."
"We grew up together, were always in the same classes as kids. We started officially dating late freshman year. We broke up late in the summer before senior year. We just fell out of love, I think. She cheated on me."
"I'm sorry."
"Breaking up was inevitable." He drops his eyes to his hands, and I wonder to myself if it's a good memory or bad memory running through his mind. "We only knew what it was like to be together. We needed to be our own people and explore without each other. I think we were bored. After a while, our relationship was about convenience and lacked the passion we had at the beginning. I got lazy and started treating her more like a sister than a girlfriend. And she did the same. We were both guilty."
He flinches every time he uses the word "we". The action is so subtle I almost miss it, and he probably doesn't realize he does it. Something on his face tells me he's not telling the whole truth, but I'm not going to push him.
"I'm still sorry."
"No big deal. My family were never very fond of her anyway. From what I hear, she was conceited and a little bit of a snob. I didn't notice, but why would I? My mom said some shit about ‘Mom's just know’, and she knew she wasn't the one. She could've told me earlier; would've saved me a world of hurt." He chuckles a sad sound and gets a far-off look like the conversation we're having has teleported him into another time. The daze only lasts a second before he regains focus and is back in the present with me.
"Anyway, there it is, my whole story. Nothing to hide."
I'm struck with a sudden thought about somethin
g he had said earlier.
"So, your mom can tell who the one is, huh? I'm curious to see what she says about me."
"I already know what she thinks about you," he teases.
"And what does she think?" I prod.
"You'll have to wait and see. You will find out eventually." In a mock disinterest, he shrugs his shoulders, knowing it will most likely bother me.
"C'mon, tell me!" I playfully wrestle him back down until he's lying flat on his back.
"Nope," he says and then laughs.
With stronger arms than me, he grabs my middle, shifts his weight, and rolls until he's got me on my back.
He puts his serious face on once more and stares straight into my eyes with a potency that would make me believe he can see right into me.
"Your turn," he says softly.
I'm confused for a half of a second, from being off topic, before I realize what he means. It's my turn to talk about my past.
"You've successfully eluded the conversation long enough, Bug. Talking was your idea, you know."
"I know. It's embarrassing, is all."
"There is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about," he reassures me.
That I have such bad panic disorder, I self-destruct every potential romantic relationship I have in order to avoid any sort of physical intimacy possible? If only he knew.
"It's complicated, so you have to promise not to judge me, okay?"
"Being a virgin is nothing to be ashamed of," he says matter-of-factly.
"W-What?"
"It only gets such a stigma due to guys of the douche bag variety who do virgins like a one-night stand and then don't expect them to get a little irritated when they never call again. Dumbasses."
"Back the fuck up a sec." I put my hand out in a halting gesture.
He stops his rant and looks at me perplexed like he doesn't know why what he said was so completely wrong.
"Which part?" he soberly asks.
"Come again?"
"Which part of what I said?" he clarifies.
"The part where you assume I'm a virgin."
