Becoming His

by Mariah Dietz

  Finishing stretching, I set off through the neighborhood in the direction of the track, quickly finding my stride. Once I do, the only sound that fills my head is the soft thump, thump, thump of my feet, soothing my mind and body as I get lost in my trance.

  It lasts for about fifteen minutes, until my phone starts chirping, indicating several messages. Believing it’s too early to not be something important, I pause and pull my phone out of the hideous waist clip my dad insists I wear while I run and glance at the screen to see four text messages from my sister Jenny.

  Jenny: Sorry, I know it’s early, but I was omw out this morning & saw Eric

  Jenny: W/ a girl …

  Jenny: A girl that wasn’t u.

  Jenny: They weren’t doing NEthing, but it seemed really strange. Sorry, Ace :( Call me. I love u 2.

  I release a deep sigh of annoyance. I need to get this over with and call things off, especially if he’s seeing other people behind my back.

  In an attempt to clear my mind, I continue on my course and seek the peacefulness that usually consumes me when I run. It seems completely elusive as my thoughts dance from one point of stress to the next, causing my muscles to tighten and me to break stride. I attempt counting my steps to focus. When that doesn’t work I begin counting my breaths and reach the same failed outcome. I dig deeper, pushing myself. I want to feel my lungs burn, feel the pulsing of my heart and fluidity of my muscles that confirm I have control. That if I exert enough energy, I’ll feel the same expected outcome. I feel nearly desperate for the assurance.

  The reality that I’m not upset about ending things with Eric but upset about the way Max views me is the reason I lack that release.

  I spend the next two weeks of summer in a daze of bliss, doing little to nothing, and I’ll admit I don’t feel guilty. After my last semester I’m fully embracing hanging out with friends that I’ve wanted to see and spending time swimming in the pool and at home with my family.

  “Honey, I need to go. I was supposed to be at Mary’s nearly an hour ago but I promised Sharon I’d bring this back to her because she’s heading out of town and needs it.” I glance at my mom from the corner of my eye as she flutters into the kitchen, working to clasp an earring, before returning my attention back to my book. It’s a rare rainy day. Being more inland, we hardly get full days of rain, especially in the summer, and it elicits a sense of languor over me.

  “Can you please bring it to Sharon’s, along with a pie from the fridge?”

  “We have pie?”

  She smiles and shakes her head as I turn to give her my full attention.

  “Two of them. Lisa, that woman that works with your father, dropped them off. This casserole dish and the pie. Please,” she says, gently running her fingers along a large white dish sitting on the counter.

  “Oh, Lisa makes good pie. What are they for?”

  “Your daddy did a procedure on her mother that went really well. She wanted to say thank you,” she explains, shuffling through her purse. “She forgets there aren’t five of you girls livin’ here anymore.”

  “I’m keeping the chocolate one,” I announce, eyeing the two pies and their handwritten tags.

  “That’s fine,” Mom says, letting out a small laugh as she grips my head from behind and pulls it back to kiss me on the forehead. “Your daddy and I will be home late and Kendall’s in San Diego with Shelby tonight, so you have fun and be good.”

  I nod dismissively. They go to events constantly, and have since I was born, always leaving with the same sentiments. “Safe, good, and fun don’t generally go together do they?” I tease.

  She eyes me and I grin at her, taking the peach pie from the fridge. “Pie and dish going to Ms. Miller. I’m on it.”

  “Not in your sweats,” Mom adds, grabbing her keys from the island and sweeping her eyes over my lazy attire.

  “After getting dressed.”

  A few minutes later I’m standing at the Millers’ front door with the peach pie nested in the casserole dish.

  I wait a few long moments with no answer and turn to return home, feeling slightly agitated that I spent time getting dressed just to return home and change back.

  As I take my first step off the porch, I hear the front door open behind me and turn to see Max standing in the doorway wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a fitted dark green T-shirt that makes his eyes look a darker shade of blue. I despise that even after he acted like a jerk, and apparently thinks so little of me, the sight of Max still makes my heart race and my muscles constrict. I briefly consider if my body is telling me to flee, rather than actually being related to attraction.

  “Hey,” I finally offer when he fails to say anything. I walk back to the open door, holding the dish and pie in front of me to indicate my reason for coming by. “My mom said your mom needs this dish back, and this woman my dad works with dropped off a couple of pies. My dad did a surgery on her mom and she wanted to thank him. She bakes really great pies and Mom wanted me to make sure I brought one over because that much pie won’t get eaten at our house since my mom doesn’t eat sweets much.” I’m rambling, but I feel it’s necessary to explain why I’m here in the first place and the origin of the pie so it isn’t misconstrued as flirting.

  Max looks at me in slight bewilderment, likely from hearing the longest sentence of his life. He carefully wraps his hands around the dish as far from mine as possible. Does he think I have cooties?

  “Thanks, and thanks for the pie.” I nod, give a weak smile out of habit, and turn to go.

  “Have you ever watched Braveheart?” Max’s voice reaches me as my foot hits the first step off of the porch again, and I turn around, attempting to mask my confusion.

  “Yeah, not like narration level of times, but quite a few.”

  Max grins lazily causing me to unexpectedly smile. “We’re getting ready to watch it.” He hesitates a moment and my mind begins racing wondering how I should respond before he asks, “Do you want to come watch it and have some pie?” He’s no longer looking at me, but at the dish cradled in his large hands.

  “Dude, what’s taking so long?” Jameson appears in the doorway in jeans and a T-shirt that both look slightly rumpled, like he may have slept in them. His eyes immediately fall to mine and his face lights up with a smile. Jameson has an air of exuberance to him that is both contagious and exhausting at the same time, and it causes my smile to widen.

  “Did you come to grace us with your presence, Ms. Bosse?”

  “No, I wouldn’t want to intrude on you guys staring at Mel Gibson,” I tease, shocked that it fell from my mouth so easily in their presence.

  “We stare at the weapons and fighting!” Jameson retorts. “Come on, what do you have going on better than this?” He takes the few steps that separate us and grabs my wrist, not waiting for an answer.

  “Let’s go see Mel.”

  Jameson drops my arm as we descend the basement stairs, and a nervous chill runs through me at the prospect of watching a movie with Max. I quickly rationalize that it’s not just because of him, it’s because I hardly know either one of them, and few things are more awkward than forcing conversation through movie credits.

  When we reach the basement it’s obvious three boys once inhabited the room. The large space is painted a dark brown and there’s an expansive screen on the far wall with couches lined up behind it. On the opposite side there’s a ping-pong table, pool table, another TV with video games and consoles piled next to it, and a couple of funny looking chairs. Dozens of band posters adorn the walls.

  Awkwardness swallows me again as I glance at the four couches lined in front of the screen. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to sit beside Jameson, go to my own couch, or what. I’ve never overanalyzed something so trivial in my life.

  Jameson grabs a bag of chips lying on the cushion beside him and pats the seat looking at me expectantly. “Come, tell me about your spitfire sister.”

  I take a seat, already regretting that I didn’t lie
and say that I was busy when I had the chance.

  “Okay, first question,” he says, turning so that he’s facing me. “What’s with the ‘I love you too?’ At first I thought I heard you guys wrong, but now I’ve heard it a few times.”

  I smile and feel some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “My niece Lilly,” I answer. “When she was little she would always say ‘I love you too,’ rather than just ‘I love you,’ and it just sort of stuck.”

  Jameson nods, looking like he expected more of a story behind the simple gesture, and then turns serious. “So what was the deal with the party? You told me she was waiting for me to make an attempt and then you guys left. I still don’t even understand what in the hell she’s wanting.”

  “She wants you to prove that you’re genuinely interested in her.”

  “So I just need to ask her out?”

  I turn my eyes to the screen so I don’t have to see the look of rejection at my next words. “She won’t say yes yet.”

  He groans. “Why?”

  “Because she doesn’t know you, or if you like her. Kendall won’t be one of many.”

  “So what in the hell am I supposed to do?”

  I turn my attention back to his hazel eyes. “That’s for you to decide.”

  “So this is some kind of a challenge?”

  “It’s your decision. If you really want to date her, invest some time and energy into getting to know her and showing her you’re interested. If you’re not…” I shrug “…then don’t.”

  “That’s it?”

  My nose scrunches. “Just don’t let her walk on you.”

  Jameson’s eyes narrow with confusion. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll know. She can get a little bossy.”

  “I don’t mind being told what to do, especially in the bedroom.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him and his smile falters slightly. I feel the need to clarify. “Making her feel easy isn’t going to get you the end results you’re looking for.

  “Pay attention, listen to her, put forth some effort and she’ll start working just as hard.”

  Jameson nods, looking at me like he’s truly considering my words, and I give him a small smile. “She’s worth it.”

  “So she likes me.” I turn my attention back to him. He’s trying to sound confident, but there’s no hiding his insecurities.

  “I don’t think either of you knows the other well enough to decide that yet, but you’ve definitely caught her attention.”

  “I can accept that.” Jameson nods and his playful grin returns as Max starts the movie.

  “What’s her favorite flower?” Jameson whispers, shortly into the film.

  I glance over and see that he’s still staring at the screen. The fact that he’s still thinking about her makes me grin. “Tea roses.”

  “What in the hell’s a tea rose? Like miniature roses?” Jameson’s face twists in thought as he finally looks over to me.

  “No,” I reply with a laugh. “It’s regular-sized. It’s named that because of the color.”

  Jameson nods a couple of times and then taps his forehead with his index finger a few times. “Tea roses,” he repeats.

  I stand up as the credits roll and look over to see Jameson sleeping peacefully. He fell asleep well over an hour ago. Each time the surround sound made my sternum vibrate, I expected him to wake up, but he never did.

  “He must have lived near a train track or something to sleep through that,”

  I joke quietly.

  Max smirks and shakes his head as he moves to the front of the room and begins turning things off.

  Without the movie, the silence is blaring.

  “Thanks for the movie. I’ll … see you around,” I say as I take a few steps toward the staircase. The dim gray light of the screen goes black, and with it the room becomes encased in darkness.

  I freeze, feeling my eyes widen working to acclimate so I can navigate the short distance without running into a gaming table I know is close by. Unfortunately there aren’t any windows in the cavernous room, so even as I will my eyes to focus and see what’s in front of me, nothing exposes itself.

  The lights by the stairs flicker on and I realize Max somehow passed by me. Apparently he’s some sort of stealth ninja.

  I pass in front of where he stands at the base of the stairs, catching a hint of sweetness and spice that follows Max.

  I glance down at the pair of jeans I threw on before coming over. They’re one of my favorite pairs, which offers me a small bit of relief since I’m all too aware Max is directly behind me.

  I round the top step I turn to the foyer and open the front door, stepping out into the muggy evening.

  “Did I make you feel easy?” His words reach me as I hit the driveway, and I turn in surprise. My mind races to think of a casual way of answering as I briefly study his face and see the same expression that I’d seen the other night, like he’s trying to figure me out.

  “We don’t really know each other,” I say, lifting a shoulder as I continue walking backwards. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “I’m sorry, I guess I just figured you’d like him.”

  I stop at the shrubs separating our yards and shake my head. “I don’t, but even if I did, I wouldn’t go sleep with him.” I glance back to my dark house. “Bye, Max.”

  “Why? Every girl sleeps with him.”

  I stop and peer back over at him. The porch light casts shadows across his face so I can’t see him very well, but his tone sounds like he’s genuinely interested in my response. “Maybe I’m not every girl.” I shrug and disappear into my house.

  The weekend arrives and our parents are out of town at a seminar in LA. Saturday goes by in a lazy haze of pajamas and pool time with Kendall. Sunday we have Sister Sunday: a tradition consisting of the five of us spending time together the first Sunday of each month.

  When we first began making this a ritual three years ago, Savannah insisted that the occasions be called Sassy Sisters Sunday. The fact that she teaches kindergarten seems to compel her to rhyme or make catchy phrases to describe nearly everything. We all threatened to boycott the Sundays if we were going to refer to ourselves as the Sassy Sisters, but after a few months, Sister Sunday sort of stuck.

  “Can you sit still?” Kendall growls, placing a hand on my bobbing knee.

  “Why did you want to try this place?” I ask, looking around at the dingy looking restaurant. “I swear we’re going to see a cockroach.” My eyes rake across the floor, truly expecting to see one.

  “Oh please.” Kendall groans.

  “This place is kind of … interesting,” Jenny says quietly as she looks at the collection of mismatched silverware that the waiter had dropped off for us.

  “It’s disgusting,” Mindi adds with a scowl.

  “It’s not that bad.” Savannah attempts to soothe us all as her eyes skate over the table, searching for a redeeming quality.

  “You hang out with five-year-olds that smell like urine and eat crayons all day. Your standards of clean and sanitary have been grossly skewed.” Mindi’s tone is calm and factual, because it is indeed true. I’ve been in Savannah’s classroom before. I’ve seen and heard what twenty-four five-year-olds are capable of, and what they think is acceptable.

  “You and Ace need to relax and stop being so afraid of germs. Roxy works here. She wouldn’t have told us to come by if it was dirty.” Kendall’s eyes focus on each of us in warning.

  “You’re right, it’s not …” I glance to a table receiving food that smells pretty good. “Okay, but I want to know what he ordered.” Mindi looks at me alarmed, knowing I’ve just swayed the vote to stay.

  “Come on, it’ll be okay. If it sucks we’ll go through a drive-thru,” I assure her.

  “Roxy?” Jenny asks.

  “Yeah, Lamar,” Kendall says, reaching for her water.

  Jenny grabs Kendall’s glass midair. “We should probably go.” Kendall’s face creases with confusion,
and Jenny’s eyes dart to the side. “Do you remember when you were a sophomore and made out with Jack Webber?”

  “Yeah …”

  “Did you know he was dating Roxy at the time?”

  “That was like six years ago, Jen!”

  “Yeah, well I just learned about it a couple of weeks ago when I heard her telling a friend how much she hates you.”

  Kendall looks around to each of us, and then her gaze travels to the restaurant as though she’s finally seeing this place really is a pit with its ripped and moldy carpet, smoke-tinted wallpaper, and chipped Formica tabletops that I don’t want my purse to touch, let alone my silverware.

  “What are you waiting for, let’s go,” Kendall says, shoving me out of the booth.

  We end up at our usual Mexican restaurant after a semi-awkward departure from the roach buffet. We sit down and laugh about the brief experience as Kendall fills the rest of us in on her kiss with Jack Webber.

  “Let’s go!” Kendall cries as she jumps up and tugs on my arm.

  The entire yard spins as I stand up. Our Sister Sunday ended here at the house, where Mindi ordered Chinese takeout and we sat around the backyard discussing Kendall’s relationship with Jameson, which drifted to Jenny’s relationship with Paul, and later transformed into my relationship with Eric. I decided that the conversation required alcohol because although I was ready to end things with Eric a couple of weeks ago, I stopped telling my sisters that I am and have even been defending him again lately. I just didn’t want to deal with it, and it gave me an additional reason to avoid Max and his judgment.

  Savannah decided that each time I used the phrase, “I don’t know,” I had to take a shot. Trying to explain my relationship with Eric and why I was staying in it while trying to be vague included three shots, which only made it more difficult to avoid those three cursed words. They were relentless and asked several questions knowing I’d respond with the key phrase, leading me to drinking too much.

  Mindi, Savannah, and Jenny left Kendall and me to the lounge chairs in the backyard after ensuring we weren’t too drunk to pass out and drown, but apparently not to question that we’d be just drunk enough to do something stupid.