by Sarina Bowen
Yeah, I don’t think so.
The next email is also from Dylan. We have to talk, okay? Kaitlyn blew everything out of proportion. Please answer your phone. Let’s not avoid each other just because Kaitlyn is a miserable human.
He makes a good point. But it doesn’t really matter. Kaitlyn is miserable, but she was also right. I’m so embarrassed about asking him to sleep with me. I can’t talk to him yet.
Then—thank goodness—his third email says only: I forgot to tell you that I drove the caramels to the food co-op and gave them to that woman who manages the place. She wants you to follow up.
“Well?” Ellie demands. “The price of using my laptop is telling me what happened. I’m dying over here.”
“Dylan dropped off the samples.”
“And?” she yelps. “I need more.”
“He wants to talk to me about the…” I clear my throat.
“Caramels?” she guesses.
“Sex,” I whisper.
Ellie drops her fork, letting out a high-pitched squeak. “There was sex?”
“Shhh!” I look around to see if anyone is listening. “I’m not talking about that.”
“Please?” she begs. “I want to live vicariously through you. I’m never having sex. I have braces, and I’m literally jail bait. Was it awesome?”
“Of course,” I whisper. “But that’s all I’m saying. And I have one more email to read. Sorry.”
She lets out a deep sigh. “Take your time. It’s not like I have a hot, naked farm boy waiting somewhere for me.”
Neither do I, though.
I click on Leah’s email and then quickly scan it. She wants to know if our big order means that Dylan and I plan to make caramels on both Friday and Saturday. But of course I have no idea.
And I dread Friday and Saturday.
At the bottom, there’s something else. Chastity, you won’t believe this! I think we’re going to be awarded a grant. I don’t know how large yet. But my non-profit will stop being just an idea, and become a THING! We’re going to help at least a few of the women and men who need us. I’m so excited I can barely stand it.
It’s a little bit of good news on an otherwise terrible day. So I tap out a reply. Tell me how I can help.
After all, maybe I can help another girl escape a cult so she can live a confusing life of freedom and frequent embarrassment.
I finish my email with a promise to get back to Leah about the weekend. Maybe by then I’ll be over this feeling of wanting to curl up and die of shame.
Probably not, though.
Twenty-Two
Dylan
Over the next three days I become increasingly anxious when Chastity doesn't answer my emails. And nobody answers the phone, either. Not even Kaitlyn.
Since begging doesn’t work, I try humor. I send Chastity funny pictures of kittens. I send her a video of black bears in a backyard pool, and goats and bunnies acting silly together. I also apologize, of course. And ask her to meet me for coffee.
“She doesn’t respond. At all,” I complain to Rickie. “I’m used to women being mad at me, but I don’t know what to do when they’re silent.”
“She’s not mad at you, though,” Rickie points out. “She’s upset and embarrassed. She has no idea what to say to you. And now you’re sending her the same things you’d send a six year old who was having a tantrum. Chastity hates to be infantilized.”
“But I like goats and bunnies!” I argue. “It’s not supposed to be infantilizing. I really am this cuddly.”
Rickie laughs. “I know, buddy. I know. You’re a good guy. You’re a fun guy. You like to party, and you like everyone to be happy. You help little old ladies cross the street, and then you pass them the bong…”
“Do you have a point to make, or are you just amusing yourself?” God, I’m in a grumpy mood. This thing with Chastity has me all twisted up.
“Easy,” Rickie says. “I’m just saying that we can’t all be like you. Consider where Chastity is coming from—men have been lying to her for years.”
“Which men?”
“All of the men in that shithole where she grew up. Think about it. They told her she’s a special lamb of God. But to prove it, she had to marry an old man. They told her that her body was the only thing of value. But then they told her it doesn’t belong to her at all.”
“It’s all disgusting,” I grumble.
“It is,” he agrees. “But that’s why Chastity doesn’t have much faith in people’s words. If you apologize, she can’t really hear you. She’ll just be waiting for the next lie.”
“So what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“You have to apologize with action. Just be there and do what needs doing.”
Unfortunately, there are plenty of things that need doing. We have caramels to make. A lot of them. And this weekend has its own complexities.
I try email one more time. The subject line is: 200 pounds of caramels. That would get anyone’s attention.
Hey, C:
Look, I understand why you're blowing me off. Kaitlin took a private moment and made it ugly. But it wasn't ugly. Not to me.
You obviously need a break from my company. But there's this little matter of caramel. And Griff needs to get the goat's milk out of our freezers so that he can slaughter a pig and put the meat in there.
We have two weekends to get this done. That means you have a few more days to get over being mad at me. Most people need longer than that, but we're on a deadline.
Come home with me on Friday, okay? This will be easier if we don’t have to do it all at once. And this project is important to me. (So are you, by the way.) I need you to reply to this message to let me know that you're in. This is a team project. And I really want to stay on the team.
- Love, Dylan
“Nice,” Rickie says, leaning in to shamelessly read over my shoulder. “It’s breezy, but heartfelt. Warm, but businesslike. I give you full points for the dismount.”
“It will have to do.” I sigh, refreshing my inbox, already anxious for a reply even though I just hit Send.
“Oh, Dylan,” Rickie says with a chuckle. “You are such a study in contrasts. A farmer who parties. A smart man who’s stupid about women. The guy who likes goats and dirty sex, but not at the same time.”
I put a hand on Rickie’s flannel-covered shoulder and push him back toward his corner of the couch, while he laughs.
“Wait,” Keith says, entering the living room. “Who thinks goats are sexy?”
“Nobody!” Jesus.
“Dyllie Bean! I’m just teasing you,” Keith says. “Dude, I finally got us a gig! A real one. The LGBT Committee is hiring us to play one of their Guerrilla Night events.”
“Wait, what?”
“You heard me! It’s a ninety-minute set at a bar. It’s a paid gig, Dyl. We’re splitting five hundred bucks. And it’s this Friday.”
“Friday? No way. I can’t.”
“Why?” Keith whines.
“Because I’m showing my feelings with actions, not words.”
“What? Have you two been hitting the bong without me?” Keith paces towards the sofa and sniffs the air.
Rickie laughs. “No, we’re getting high on our homework. And Dylan is stressing over a girl.”
Keith turns around and sits heavily down on the couch between us. Or he tries to, but he lands halfway on top of us.
I give his flannel-covered butt a nudge. “Dude. Did I invite you to cuddle?”
“Sex is the only way to get your attention. Do I have to blow you to make this gig happen? I want to play guitar for money. And there will probably be free drinks if we smile pretty.”
“When did you say this was?” I ask, sliding over a few inches to make room for him.
“Friday night. Eight thirty until ten.”
“Do we even have ninety minutes of music?”
“We do if we practice.”
I shake my head and check my email again, just in case Chastity
happens to be sitting at the library in front of a computer terminal right this second. “How much does an entry-level Netbook cost?” I ask Keith, who knows more about computers than I do.
“Three or four hundred bucks,” he says. “For a piece of crap, though. You don’t want that machine.”
“It’s not for me,” I mumble as my phone rings. I grab it, in case it’s Chastity.
It’s not. It’s my bitchy twin sister. She never calls. In fact, the last time she called me it was an accident. “Hello? Daphne? Did you butt dial me again?”
“Dylan,” Daphne says. “How are you?”
“How am I? Fine. Why?”
“What do you mean why? That’s how phone calls are supposed to begin.”
I let out a snort. “You never call me to shoot the shit, Daph. What do you need?”
“A place to stay this weekend. In Burlington.”
“I’m supposed to go home,” I say immediately. “Griff would kill me. And I have to make caramels with Chastity.”
“Dyl,” she says in a low voice. “Please? I need this, and I already told Griffin that you weren't coming home, because I was going to visit you.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. Just now.”
“And Griffin said that was fine?”
“He can get Zach for some extra hours this weekend to cover you.”
I sit with that a moment, trying to decide how annoyed to be. “Okay. You can stay one night, but I really do have to make caramels. Chastity is mad at me and—”
“Why?”
Oops. “That’s personal. But I can’t screw this up.”
“Did you sleep with her?” my sister asks, because she has never respected my boundaries. Or anyone else’s.
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Dylan!” she gasps. “Really? You slept with our virginal neighbor who thinks you’re a God among men?”
“She does not think that,” I argue. And then I realize I contradicted the wrong thing. “Just stop, okay? Don’t pry. I have to go home for the weekend and fix this.”
Daphne laughs. “What would Leah say?”
“Nothing good,” I admit. “And you’re not going to tell her.”
“I think we can help each other,” Daphne says. “I’m coming to visit. But I have no money, so I can’t take you and your roommates out to dinner as payment.”
“You could cook, though,” I point out.
“I suppose. But I was going to offer to help you make goat’s milk caramels.”
“Where? We need a state-certified kitchen.”
“Better get on that, then,” Daphne says. “I’m coming Friday night. My meeting is on Saturday.”
“Your meeting,” I repeat slowly.
“See you soon,” my sister says. Then she hangs up.
I let out a loud groan. “My family are the pushiest assholes in the world.”
“Your family are the nicest people alive,” Rickie says without looking up from his book.
“Does this mean you’re playing the gig Friday night?” Keith asks. “I’ll put up with Daphne if it means I can get paid.”
“Maybe,” I hedge. I tap my brother’s number on the phone, hoping that it goes to voicemail. Or that Audrey picks up. She’s more fun to talk to.
No such luck. “Dylan,” my brother answers on the first ring. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“It’s about the weekend,” I say.
“Yeah, I thought I might hear from you. Daphne wants to stay with you in Burlington, right?”
“Apparently.”
He grunts. “See if you can figure out what’s wrong with her, okay? She sounds rough.”
“Okay.” Although I’m literally the last person my sister will ever confide in. “I’ll try?”
“You do that. I’m counting on it.”
That’s my brother—always sticking his nose in everyone’s business. “Talk soon.”
“You bet,” he says with a weary sigh. Then we hang up.
“Yesssss!” Keith says, pumping the air. “I heard every word. And now you have to play this gig with me.”
And write Chastity another email saying that now we can’t go home for the weekend. Fuck my life.
“There wasn’t any yelling,” Rickie points out. “There’s usually more yelling when Griffin is on the phone.”
“Just wait until you meet Dylan’s sister. She’s like the anti-Dylan. Uptight as fuck. You’ll hear some yelling.”
Rickie puts his feet up on the coffee table. “This is going to be a really interesting weekend.”
Twenty-Three
Chastity
Dear C,
Well, this is awkward.
First of all, thank you for replying to my email. Even if it was only nine words (yes, I counted them) I’m glad to hear from you.
However.
Now I can’t go home. Daphne has decided she needs to visit Burlington and stay with me. And for some reason Griffin thinks this is a great idea and has excused me from working this weekend.
I’m trying to figure out how to make caramels in Burlington. But without Leah’s kitchen, it’s not a slam dunk.
But I’m working on it. If you want a progress report, or if you want to talk, or even if you want to yell at me, please call. Anytime.
Miss you—
D.
“Nine words?” Ellie asks, eyeing me in the mirror. “Cold!”
“I wasn’t cold! You don’t know how I agonized over those nine,” I point out.
She grins. “So how many words did you use in your reply?”
“Twenty,” I admit. “I wrote—It won’t be easy to make it all in one weekend. Maybe Leah will help us. We’ll figure it out.”
“Brrr.” Ellie wraps her arms around her chest and gives a mock shiver. “Not one warm word for our hot farm boy? You’re really making him work for it.”
“It’s not intentional.” I don’t want Dylan to feel bad. But I don’t know how to go back to the way we were before. “If only I hadn’t had the idea for goat caramels in the first place.”
Ellie rolls her eyes at me in her bedroom mirror, where we’re putting on makeup. “You need to buck up and face him. Yeah, it’s awkward now. But the only way to make it less awkward is to see him again.”
“I’m not ready,” I grumble. “And you’re not ready for this party. You didn’t do your lower lashes.”
“I’ll just get it everywhere,” she complains.
“Hold still, then.” I uncap the mascara and fix Ellie’s makeup.
“How are you better at makeup than I am if you grew up in a puritanical cult?”
“Seventeen magazine, and later, Cosmo,” I tell her. “I was a sponge for this kind of information before I ever owned a tube of lip gloss. Once, I stole my stepfather’s Sharpie marker and used it as mascara. It totally worked, too.”
I’d felt impossibly bold and rebellious all day long, with my darkened lashes. Luckily, nobody noticed. I would have gotten another beating for sure. Or—worse—they might have made me give up my job at Walgreens.
In my heart I’ve always been a rebel. It’s just that my infrequent attempts to stir things up usually end in disaster.
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Ellie says.
“Maybe,” I grumble. “I don’t think I’m ever going to stop feeling like a fool. I took an easy friendship and made it difficult.”
Although for me our friendship was never easy. I’ve always wanted Dylan. Always. I still want him, only now he knows it.
And I just spent two days gearing up to face him again, only to read that email a few hours ago, canceling our weekend at home.
“Time heals all awkwardnesses,” Ellie says. “That’s what my mother says, anyway. It might take a lot of time, though, seeing as I still vividly remember every awkward thing I’ve ever done. Just put on some lipstick, okay? Let’s go to this party.”
“When does it start?” I ask, digging through my
bag for my favorite tube.
“See, I’m not sure fraternity parties have a stopping or starting time. They just are.”
“And you know this because…?”
She doesn’t answer right away, because she’s blotting her own lips. “Look, I don’t actually know. But that’s why we’re doing this. To find out which things Hollywood got right and which ones are fake.”
“So this is basically a science experiment?” I lean toward the mirror and purse my lips.
“I have a very analytical mind,” she admits. “But I want to go out. You and I are too sheltered, and it’s time we did something about it.”
“But fraternities can be a little dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.” That’s what Leah thinks, anyway.
“We’ll stick together,” she insists. “Besides, I chose this one carefully. We’re going to A Mu.”
“A…moo? What?”
“No—Alpha Mu. Those are their letters. It’s an environmental frat. Seems like a good place to get our feet wet, right? How scary could a bunch of vegans really be?”
“An environmental fraternity?” I giggle in spite of myself. “Those red plastic cups are out, right? Unless they rewash them after the party.”
“We’re going to find out,” Ellie insists. “Do you want to call Dylan back before we go?”
For a moment I actually consider it. I miss him. But if his sister is in town, then he’s probably out with his friends. He doesn’t want an earnest phone call from mopey me.
“Nope,” I decide. “Let’s roll.”
Thirty minutes later I’m standing on the slightly sticky floor of a fraternity house basement, listening to Ellie chat up one of the pledges.
She was right about one thing. This dude is not at all scary. For starters, I probably outweigh him. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads: Keep Earth Clean, This Isn’t Uranus. And he’s explaining the environmentally friendly features of the frat house to Ellie.
“We have photovoltaic electricity,” he says. “A geothermal heat pump, and solar hot water, too.”
“Coolio,” Ellie says.
“Want another beer?” he offers.
