Strip Me Bare

by M. Never

  “Where did that come from?” I gasp.

  “You needed a better tree.” He saunters toward me.

  “The Grinch’s tree just wasn’t cutting it for you, huh?”

  “Nope. From now on, a real tree taller than us. It’s a stipulation.”

  “A stipulation for what?” I inhale lightly, catching the delicious scent of pine.

  “For the future.” He grabs the lapel of my coat and kisses me silly.

  “That’s becoming your favorite word lately,” I sigh despondently as he leisurely slides my coat from my shoulders.

  Ryan regards me with a puzzled expression. “Alana, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything. The future,” I groan as I walk across my tiny living room, kick off my shoes and take a seat on the floor next to the tree, my ball gown pooling around me.

  “What wrong with the future?” Ryan insists, sitting down next to me. He’s wearing slim blue jeans and a large, cream colored, collared sweater.

  “Nothing, except . . . it’s going to get really ugly, really fast.”

  I peer up at the exquisite tree, Ryan really outdid himself. It’s decked out in classic Christmas colors—red and green—with a glittery gold ribbon wrapped diagonally down it. With perfectly spaced lights and evenly distributed ornaments, he concocted an aesthetically pleasing visual like only a master artisan could.

  Talented is too puny a word to describe his ability.

  “Did something happen at dinner?” Ryan pushes.

  “Dinner, no? Dinner was wonderful, it’s what happened after dinner.” I tuck some hair behind my ears and show him my mother’s earrings.

  “Holy shit, did your father give you those?”

  “Yes, right after he threatened me.”

  “Threatened you?” Ryan sits up straight. The lights from the tree casting beautiful shadows across his concerned face.

  “Not physically.” I put my hand on his chest. “Easy there, killer. He got me a job in the prosecutor’s office, and he basically told me if I didn’t take it, he was going to hold back my tuition. Which means I wouldn’t be able to finish law school.”

  “Jesus Christ, Alana.”

  “I know.” I drop my head into my hand.

  “What are you going to do?” Ryan is clearly concerned. About me, and our future.

  I’m emotionally exhausted. “I’m going to accept the job, finish law school, and then take off with you.”

  “Really?” He sounds surprised, although he shouldn’t be. I want Ryan. It’s that plain and that simple. And I’ll do whatever I have to get what I want. Everything I want, even if that means throwing mud in my father’s face. It’s not the path I would choose, but I have no choice. I want to live for me, not him, or anyone else.

  “Yes, that’s the plan, right? I just hope you’re prepared, because come May, my life is going to get really messy really fast. I’m not going to have any money, or a job. Or even a place to live, for that matter.”

  Ryan nods his head fervently. “None of that matters.” He pulls me onto his lap and wraps his iron arms around me. “I’ll take care of you. I will always take care of you.”

  I drop my head onto his shoulder. “You’ll take care of me,” I repeat forlornly.

  “Is there a problem with me wanting to take care of you?” Ryan asks critically.

  “No, it’s just not how I pictured my liberation going.”

  “Yeah, well, the best laid plans, right?”

  I roll me eyes resigned. “I guess.”

  “It will be okay. I have some money saved, and we have a few months to plan. Just concentrate on finishing law school. That’s what’s important.”

  “I know, but I shouldn’t have to saddle you with my fucked-up family drama.”

  “Alana, you’re not saddling me with anything. And if anyone understands fucked-up family drama,” he scoffs, “it’s me. This is exactly why Vegas is so important. I don’t ever want you to feel like this.”

  “And how am I feeling, Ryan?” I look up at him, knowing he knows.

  “Alone.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly how I felt when I walked into the room, but not anymore.”

  He kisses my head gently, and I snuggle into him.

  We sit in the dark for I don’t know how long, gazing at the tree. It’s so perfect it belongs in one of Macy’s storefront windows.

  “Alana?” Ryan murmurs softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you come somewhere with me tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Where?”

  “To see my mom.”

  I pop my head up. “Really?”

  Ryan nods with big, blue, insecure eyes. He’s never, ever wanted me to meet her before. He’s kept me away from her at all costs. But things are changing, I guess.

  Everything is changing.

  I reassuringly kiss him. “It will be okay.”

  “You promise?” he sighs.

  “I do.” I plant another long, lingering kiss on his lips before wiggling out of his arms.

  “Where do you think you’re going??” Ryan reaches for me.

  “I have to go figure out what to wear.” I inform him matter- of-factly.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. It’s the first time I’m meeting your mother, it may take me all night to pick out an outfit.”

  Ryan laughs. “Women.”

  “This shouldn’t surprise you. You’re an expert on women.” I toss over my shoulder.

  “I’m an expert on one woman,” he corrects as he gets up to follow me, “and even she still keeps me guessing.”

  “I have to keep you on your toes. I have a lot of competition.”

  “Alana,” Ryan snags my arm, “you are the competition.”

  “You’re a smooth talker, Ryan Pierce,” I accuse.

  “Smooth enough to get a private fashion show?” he invites temptingly.

  “Maybe,” I tease. “You might have to pull a few more lines out of your hat, though.”

  “Baby.” Ryan slides his hands seductively around my waist. “For you, I’ll pull lines, I’ll pull game, I’ll pull rabbits right out of my hat.”

  RYAN AND I drive down Parkway South, away from the city and toward the Jersey Shore. We both grew up minutes from the ocean—me in an elite community, him on the wrong side of the tracks. I don’t know much about Ryan’s mother except that she’s a functioning alcoholic. A person who gets wasted all the time but still manages to hold down a job and keep a roof over her family’s head. Ryan says that’s about all she manages to do. From a very young age, Ryan was the one who cooked (if there was any food), cleaned, and kept his family together. He was the punching bag when she got out of control, the one who picked up the pieces when she fell apart, and the one who looked after Sean when she was comatose in yet another drunken stupor. It breaks my heart thinking about the shitty upbringing he had, and how desperate he is to have a future different from his past. It also makes me realize how desperate I am to make sure that happens.

  If anyone deserves better, it’s him.

  Sitting in the front seat of Ryan’s Mercedes CLK350 while OneRepublic sings about counting stars on the radio, I’m perfectly composed on the outside, and clawing the walls on the inside. I don’t know what to expect, but I want to make a good first impression, and I want her to like me. Actually, I’m dying for her to like me. For Ryan’s sake. This meeting is more nerve-wracking than taking the LSATs.

  “You know what I miss?” I poke Ryan, hoping conversation will distract me.

  “What’s that?” He jumps, smiling.

  “Your Wrangler.” It’s the car Ryan drove the summer we met.

  “Oh, yeah?” One side of his sexy mouth curves up. “We had a lot of fun in that car. Miss your hair blowing in the wind?”

  I try to contain my laughter. “Do you?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” Ryan is absolutely beaming, and I know why. A recollection of a very illicit memory. “Maybe we can make this car just as much fun
as the Jeep?” he insinuates.

  “Maybe,” I tease, running my hand all the way up his thigh.

  “Did I tell you how much I love you today?” He glances heatedly between me and the road.

  “Nope.” I smack my lips.

  “Well, I do. A lot,” he expels aroused, causing me to giggle darkly as I taunt him.

  Yeah, we had a lot of fun in that Jeep.

  Ryan pulls off exit 105 in the direction of Shrewsbury, another inland shore town closer to Neptune than Colts Neck. We turn into a large parking lot sprinkled with cars. The Americana is an iconical New Jersey diner located on a busy highway. It’s a quintessential eating establishment with mirrored doors, a stainless steel exterior, and neon lights. It’s where high school kids meet late at night and elderly couples venture to in the early morning.

  Ryan finds a parking space in front. “Ready?” he asks a tad flustered as he turns off the car.

  “Are you?”

  “No, but fuck it. You have to meet her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s time.” He shrugs.

  “Time for who?”

  “Time for all of us.”

  “Okay.”

  I step out of the car and smooth out my sweater. I decided casual was the way to go. A chunky cable-knit sweater, brown leggings, and cognac riding boots. My hair is down and my makeup is light. Ryan is wearing loose-fitting jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. He is the epitome of sexy and smooth and urban cool.

  Taking my hand, we walk up the front steps together. Like the unified entity that we are. That we have to be.

  The inside is flashy with teal booths and reflective walls, typical diner décor. There’s a large counter directly in front of us with two women dressed in pink button-up shirts, aprons, and black pants. One has silver hair and dark skin, the other looks much younger with long, brown hair, smile lines, and Ryan’s big blue eyes. My heart hammers when she looks directly at me. She stands perfectly still with an apprehensive expression on her face as Ryan and I approach, almost like we’re two serial killers stalking our next victim.

  There’s an uncomfortable silence at first. I know how hard this is for Ryan. He finally clears his throat and says, “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hey, son,” she responds uneasily.

  “This is Alana,” he introduces me, and she does a once-over, seemingly unimpressed.

  I clear my throat, step forward, and put my hand out over the counter. “Mrs. Pierce, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  She shakes my hand lightly, like I’m diseased.

  “You too, honey,” she replies with a thick Brooklyn accent.

  Ryan sits down, and I follow suit.

  “Coffee?” She flips over the white cups sitting in front of us.

  “Yes, please.” Caffeine sounds heavenly right now.

  Ryan’s mother pours two cups and slides over some cream and sugar. “Just black for me,” I relay politely before, passing them over to Ryan. Kill her with kindness, I internally chant.

  I pull on the collar of my sweater as my body overheats.

  Twisting my hair up off my neck before I blow on the steaming cup, Ryan’s mom stops short when she sees my mother’s earring sticking out of my earlobes.

  “Those are very beautiful,” she comments coolly, stealing a glance at Ryan.

  “Thank you, they were my mother’s,” I extend graciously, although wildly uncomfortable.

  “Oh.” My response seems to placate her.

  Ryan and his mother exchange some small talk as I quietly sip my coffee, feeling very much like an outsider.

  “Have you seen Sean lately?” Mrs. Pierce goes on to ask.

  “No.” Ryan is annoyed. As much as he wants to have a relationship with family, that wall is always up. A barrier of past transgressions forever separating them.

  They exchange a strange look, and I try desperately to interpret their facial expressions, but I’m not versed well enough in Ryan’s family to understand what they’re silently communicating.

  “He’s here,” she clears her throat uncomfortably, “in the bathroom.”

  “Great,” Ryan bites.

  A moment later Sean slaps Ryan on the back. “Yo, bro.”

  We all look at him for a beat before Ryan stands up—slowly, menacingly.

  So not good.

  “Hey, Alana,” Sean tosses out as he keeps a vigilant eye on Ryan.

  Ryan immediately steps in front of me. “Don’t even look at her.”

  “Geez, defensive much?” Sean heckles him.

  I put my hand on Ryan’s arm. “It’s okay.” But Ryan isn’t having it. He’s still pissed about what happened at Culture.

  “You look like shit, brother.” Ryan leans in close to Sean’s face. I sneak a glimpse of Ryan’s mom and feel the stress build monumentally as she watches them attentively.

  “I caught a bug,” Sean fake coughs.

  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? A bug?” Ryan rebukes.

  Sean’s face hardens. “I may look like shit, but I can still kick your ass.” He shoves him.

  “Really,” Ryan doesn’t back down, “because the last time I saw you I smashed your face into the floor.”

  “Boys,” Mrs. Pierce reprimands, “if you’re gonna fight, take it outside.”

  I think I just caught a sneak peek into Ryan and Sean’s childhood.

  I study the three of them standing together, taking in their mannerisms and features. It’s obvious where Sean and Ryan get their looks from. They have their mother’s straight nose and wide eyes, perfectly proportionate lips, and even the same hair color. You can tell through her worn features and tired eyes that she was stunning once.

  Ryan hesitates to move so Sean punches his arm. “C’mon, don’t act like a bitch.”

  “The only bitch around here is you,” Ryan spats.

  I can’t see Ryan’s face, but I can see Sean’s. He’s fighting not to smile, smug bastard. Ryan’s right, though, he doesn’t look good. His face is pale and thin, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

  “I’m not going to tell you again, hash it out outside,” Mrs. Pierce orders.

  “Fine,” Ryan bites, never taking his eyes off Sean. I’m getting an educational introduction to the dynamic of Ryan’s family.

  “We’ll be right back.” Ryan kisses me chastely on the cheek then heads toward the door.

  “Don’t kill each other,” Ryan’s mother drawls.

  I see Sean and Ryan talking animatedly through the front window. They’re both exactly the same height and even have an identical profile, except Ryan’s hair is fluffed up, while Sean’s is covered by a hat.

  “So, Alana.” Mrs. Pierce chews on my name, but pronounces it Alaner. “Ryan tells me you’re a lawyer.”

  “I’m in law school.”

  “You must be really smart.” She crosses her arms as we converse.

  “I study a lot.” I’m humble.

  She glances out the window intently before leaning on the counter. “Let me ask you something, honey.”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing with a boy like Ryan?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “What’s wrong with Ryan?” I demand.

  “Nothing, except for the fact he’s a boy with no future who takes his clothes off for a living.”

  “That’s a highly negative opinion to have about your son.” I frown.

  “It’s not an opinion, it’s reality.” She stares past me bleakly, looking at the two of them. Her sons. Her lost boys.

  “I’m not the one who put him in a position to have no future,” I dispute.

  She glares at me coldly. Her pupils as sharp as the tip of an icicle.

  “Maybe not, but what do you think you’re going to do? Save him?”

  “Ryan doesn’t need to be saved,” I assert.

  She grunts, looking past me once again, this time des
pairingly, like those two boys are her only lifeline, and without them she’d disappear.

  “Ryan needs so much more than you will ever know.”

  “Then, please, enlighten me.” I glance back and catch Sean pulling Ryan into a hug.

  “He wants to marry you.” Her statement is blunt.

  “Yes, I know.” I turn back to look at her.

  “And what’s going to happen when he asks and you say no?”

  “Who says I’m going to say no?”

  “Sweetheart,” she’s condescending, “the pauper doesn’t end up with the princess, he ends up on his ass.”

  It’s exactly what Sean told me at Culture, and I realize the prejudice against me runs so much deeper than I could have ever imagined. It stings, especially because I would never do anything to hurt Ryan, but neither Sean nor Mrs. Pierce seem willing to believe that.

  “Look,” I snap, “it doesn’t matter to me where Ryan comes from, it only matters where he’s going.”

  Which is straight to Las Vegas to be a headlining act. Oy!

  “I hope he doesn’t make you eat those words,” she threatens ominously, before plastering on a fake smile as Ryan sits back down.

  “Everything okay?” I elevate my voice pseudo-sweetly. I don’t want Ryan to catch any whiffs of the sour conversation.

  Ryan sighs. “Yeah, as much as it can be.”

  “Where’s Sean?” Ryan’s mom asks with a hint of concern.

  “He borrowed my car.” Ryan thumbs. “To go to the clinic.”

  Ryan’s mother shoots me a cautionary look, then pulls out two menus from under the counter and drops them down in front of us. “Hungry?” she huffs.

  “Starved.” Ryan picks up the menu and starts flipping through it.

  But eating is the last thing I want to do, because I suddenly feel a current of dread pulling me under.

  Sean returns an hour later, right as Ryan and I finish our lunch. He looks crappier than before, his eyes are bloodshot and he stinks like I don’t even know what, something foul—skunk.

  Ryan seems oblivious, or just acts like he is, as he grabs his keys off the counter and stands. “Thanks for lunch, Ma.”

  I guess we’re leaving.

  “Thanks for coming, Ryan.” There’s so much sadness in her voice. She’s so broken. They’re all so broken.

  Ryan’s mom walks around the counter to him, puts her hands on his shoulders, and stares into his eyes. The eyes that look exactly like hers. “Love you.”