by Dina Silver
When I came to the surface he was waiting for me.
“Nice intimidation tactic,” I said.
“Just stooping to your level.”
The party was rocking by the time my initial curfew had come and gone. I said goodbye to my friends close to two in the morning and headed for the Gold’s front driveway where my car was parked.
“Sydney,” Ethan called after me.
I turned and stopped a few yards away from my car. “The roots of my hair are nearly dry, so keep your distance,” I pointed at him.
“Just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Thanks,” I said and studied his physique. He was wearing only his bathing suit and flip-flops. His hairless chest was muscular and toned, and his stomach was so flat it was almost concave. His swim trunks were struggling to stay on his waist.
“So, what are your plans this summer?”
“Not too much, I’m waitressing part time at Onwentsia Country Club in Lake Forest, and just hanging out,” I said, my voice filled with hope.
“Sounds nice.”
We stood there for a second before I looked at my Swatch.
Two-thirty.
“I’m so sorry, but my curfew was days ago, and if I don’t get home soon, my summer plans will be much different than the ones I’ve just mentioned.”
Ethan ran a hand through his damp hair. “That’s cool, maybe I can call you and we can hang out together sometime.”
“I would love that,” I said quickly. “Would you like my number?”
He looked down at his outfit. “I don’t have a pen.”
“We’re in the book. Last name is Shephard, on Maple Street.”
“Thanks Syd, I’ll find it,” he said and took a couple steps closer. I could smell the chlorine on his skin. “I had a great time with you tonight,” he said.
I looked up at him. “Me too.”
Ethan bent down and kissed me. It happened so quickly that our heads turned, and our lips clicked into place immediately. I felt lightheaded as he wrapped one of his large arms around my back and pulled me tightly into his chest.
The evening began with nary a romantic expectation.
Despite that, I fell madly in love.
CHAPTER THREE
During the two weeks I was grounded after Taylor’s graduation party, Ethan had called my house and left a message for me at some point, but our date was postponed until my mother and I were on speaking terms again. As soon as she was able to get past my defiance, I was allowed to return Ethan’s call…four days late. Since all I cared about during high school was spending time with my friends, cutting me off from them was typically my mother’s punishment of choice.
“Hi, Ethan, it’s Sydney Shephard,” I announced when he answered the phone.
“I was beginning to think you were mad at me for throwing you in the pool,” he said.
Hearing his voice made me smile. “I was grounded, forbidden from using the phone, leaving the house after eight o’clock, and making eye contact with my mother.”
“Sounds rough.”
“It’s over,” I informed him. “I’m actually heading over to Taylor’s in a little bit.”
“Do you want to get together later?” he asked.
I had the phone cord wrapped around my index finger. “I would love to, what did you have in mind?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight, and we’ll decide from there.”
I ran downstairs, past the staged family photos we’d sat through over the years, and found Kendra having a bowl of cereal in the kitchen.
“I have a date tonight!”
“With Ethan?” she asked excitedly.
Kendra was my rock. And having her home for the summer made it bearable for me to live under the same roof as my mother. My dad would always make an honest attempt to defend me against my mom’s wrath, but he was a naturally soft-spoken man who hated confrontation. Many times after he’d listen to me arguing with my mother, then endure slamming doors, Dad would come into my room and tell me to ignore her. Which was nearly impossible, but it was his way of trying to clean up the mess rather than get his hands dirty. But Kendra was a different story. My mother worshipped her, and if Kendra defended me when I was in trouble, my mom would back off in a heartbeat. When we were young, Mom had Kendra in art classes, dance classes, and skating lessons. I remember being dragged along to all of them. I’d sit there next to my mom and dream about the day I’d be old enough to take the same classes, but that day never came. She never signed me up for anything except Girl Scouts, because my next-door neighbor’s mom was the troop leader and offered to drive me every week. When I was old enough to ask her why, she’d just say Kendra was better at those things.
I resented my mother for that, but not my sister. My sister was the kindest, most loving, beautiful person I knew. She was smart and accomplished, and she was fiercely protective of me. And even though she wore skinny headbands, pearl earrings and Bermuda shorts, she never once tried to convince me to be anything other than who I was. She inherited the good height and hair genes, but her beauty was so natural that I couldn’t begrudge her for being prettier than me even if I’d wanted to…she simply was born that way.
“Syd, that’s wonderful, where’s he taking you?”
“I’m not sure,” I said and took the stool opposite her at the table.
“What are you going to wear?”
Despite the time I spent fine-tuning my hair each morning, I never gave my clothes very much thought. If the occasion called for anything more than a t-shirt and jeans, chances were I wasn’t going. “Just jeans, I guess.”
“Well, help yourself to anything of mine if you want,” she said and walked her empty bowl to the sink. “I can’t wait to hear about it, I’m so excited for you,” she said and squeezed my arm.
“Thanks.”
I had to tell my mom about Ethan because he was coming to the house to pick me up. She was sitting at her dressing table, and as soon as I mentioned his last name, her eyes lit up.
“Caroline Reynolds is one of the town’s biggest philanthropists,” she enlightened me. “In fact, she was chairman of the JDF ball last spring. Have you seen their home? It’s the crown jewel of the Holiday Home Tour every winter. What a wonderful family,” she whispered the last line to herself. “How did you meet this boy?”
“His name is Ethan. We met at Taylor’s graduation party.”
She nodded slowly, planning the wedding in her head.
I sat through a five-minute biography of Ethan’s mother and her many claims to local fame, until my mother stopped abruptly and looked me over. “Please put some make-up on before you leave, and make sure he comes in and says hello to your father,” she took a breath and folded her hands in front of her. “Would you like to discuss how you’re feeling about him?”
I stared at her, speechless.
Chapter seven of child rearing book #3 clearly states: encourage romantic interests with caution and counsel. Allow your child a comfort zone so that they feel they can come to you with sensitive subject matter. Keep conversation light so they don’t think you’re focusing on their private business. Act like you care, even if you don’t.
“I know!” she continued excitedly as though Caroline Reynolds had just asked her over for lunch. “Would you like to borrow my long silver earrings? You know, the ones I bought when your father and I were in New Orleans. You’re always saying how much you like them every time I have them on.”
“No thanks, Mom.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I reiterated. Not a special occasion went by when she didn’t try to push those damn Cajun sparklers on me. I barely recalled complimenting them once, in an effort to distract her from something else, and I’ve never lived it down. For sure, the only thing she’ll be leaving me in her will.
“You know the ones I mean, right? They would look so nice if you wear your hair down.”
“I know the ones, Mom, and I’m quite sure, thank you.�
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She turned to the mirror and finished applying her mascara. “Well, have fun then, and be smart.”
“I always am.”
Ethan pulled in the driveway at five minutes to eight o’clock. I begged my dad to greet him at the door, so Ethan wouldn’t feel awkward, and Dad was happy to oblige.
“G’nite!” I yelled after speeding through the introductions and hurrying Ethan back to the car.
“Be smart…” I heard from behind me.
Ethan suggested we head to Gilson beach in Wilmette, and all I wanted him to do was kiss me like he had in Taylor’s driveway. He was dressed in long khaki shorts, a navy blue polo shirt and Paco Rabanne cologne. A smell that sends chills down my spine to this day.
We walked down the long gravel path to the sand, and spent about three minutes deciding on the perfect spot to lay the blanket he’d brought with him.
Ethan kicked off his flip flops and plopped down on one side, propping his body up on his left elbow. “Any chance you want to skinny dip?” he asked me.
“Not on the first date.”
“You free tomorrow night?” he smirked.
I nodded. “So, why’d you wait so long to call me after Taylor’s party?”
“Did I?”
“Just kidding,” I backpedaled, thinking I’d just sprayed a mist of desperation in the air.
“No, seriously, were you waiting for me to call?”
Yes, I was waiting for him to call! In fact, since I was grounded at the time, I had really nothing more to do than pray it was him on the line every time I’d hear the phone ring. It was at least a week before Kendra ran into my room with the good news. “No, I was just kidding,” I said again.
“No, you weren’t.”
I could see him looking at me, as I was straightening-out the blanket underneath us. “Just drop it,” I mumbled, as my cheeks got warm.
The sky was black as ink, with the exception of the moon, and the air was breezy but warm. He tapped the ground next to him. “You could drive a car between us, care to come closer?”
I gladly inched my way over to him and he placed his hand on my knee.
“I love coming down here at night,” Ethan said.
“With all your dates?”
“You’re the first…girl I’ve brought down here…not my first date,” he clarified. “That came out wrong,” he smiled at me. “I actually wanted to ask you out years ago.”
I was stunned; I hadn’t even known he existed prior to Taylor’s party. “Really?”
“Really, even though you were too busy to notice a six-foot-two hockey player you had three classes with.”
He was right. I’d spent my entire high school career lusting after Andrew Harrington. How many other amazing men had I overlooked? “I’m flattered,” I said.
Ethan talked about college and how he was trying to decide on a major by the start of his sophomore year, which was only a couple months away. He asked me about my family, my sister, and my fears about leaving them in the fall. We talked for two hours about our lives, our dreams, our friends, and how weird it was that we never connected with each other before that night.
Ethan sat upright. “I think you’re beautiful, Sydney,” he said so abruptly and honestly I almost cried. “Can I kiss you?”
Our eyes met, and his body came over me like a large shadow, forcing me to lie down in the sand and disappear beneath him.
I playfully put a hand over his mouth. “Aren’t you going to wait for my answer?”
“Nope.”
And with that, we had our first real kiss. His mouth was smooth and open, and not too moist. We lay there in various positions in the sand, kissing and tugging each other’s hair for almost an hour. He seemed much larger in that domineering state, and I was straining to get my arms around his chest at times. We were both highly focused, panting and breathing rapidly, but neither he nor I attempted to take it to the next level. There was nothing I remember doing that I enjoyed so much in all my life, and I never wanted it to end.
“You okay? I feel like I’m crushing you,” he asked, backing away slightly.
I sat up and shook out my hair. “I’m great.”
After another fifteen glorious minutes, he reluctantly inched away, stood up, and offered me his hand. I took it disappointedly, because I knew it meant he was taking me home.
“We don’t want to get you grounded again, do we?” he said.
“Some things are worth the risk.”
Ethan pulled into my driveway and put his car in park. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“I would love that.”
“Goodnight Sydney.”
“Thank you for tonight, and for not crushing me,” I grinned.
“My pleasure.”
I memorized his face before exiting the car. I’d dated a few guys before that, but none that had given me butterflies the way Ethan did. I could feel them fluttering their way through my body, first at my toes, then at my waist, and finally landing up inside my head at the root of my unruly hair. I watched him drive away, and then entered my house through the garage door. It was dark inside, except for the light in the kitchen, which my mom always left on to deter potential thieves.
The next two months were spent with Ethan, kissing in the sand and taking our relationship to the next level.
Ethan was not my first, but he was my first love. I’d had sex once before with a guy named Charlie Fleetwood, behind the public tennis courts near my house, and it was quite a disappointment. In fact, we weren’t even naked, just lying with our pants pulled down and grass in our hair. The sex was almost as quick as my entire relationship with Charlie.
But with Ethan it was different, and felt more like what I would have wanted my first time to be like. We were at the beach one night, him lying on his back, me on my side, and we began to kiss. I moved on top of his stomach, leaning over his body, and he lifted my shirt over my head. It was the first time he’d seen me without my top on. He paused and propped himself up on his elbows.
“You look amazing,” he said, excitement in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I blushed.
Ethan stood and removed his own shirt too. His chest was as smooth and solid as a slab of marble, and his muscles were so naturally thick that they flexed with every little gesture he made. I lay down on my back and he stroked my hair, kissing my neck and bra.
He paused to look at me. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Code for ‘will you have sex with me?’
I nodded.
“Are you sure?” he very politely confirmed.
I nodded again and pulled him closer to me, my hands shaking, body trembling with indescribable anticipation.
And he did not disappoint.
CHAPTER FOUR
grace
I've looked down on my mom since I was nine years old. Not because she was an embarrassment, or led her life in a contemptible manner, but because at nine years old, I was a towering five-feet-six inches to her five-feet-two. I’ve always been tall, and people have never ceased to remind me.
“Grace is so tall!” they would say.
“Yes she is,” my mom would add.
“Where does she get her height?” they would ask.
“Her father,” Mom would add.
“Well, she got your looks and his height I guess,” they would conclude with a wink, while I would just stand there feeling shy and ridiculous. I may have been tall, but deaf I was not.
People were right; I did look like my mom with her almond shaped blue eyes, sun kissed blond hair and full lips. But physically that’s where the similarities ended. She was petite and small-boned, and I had broad shoulders and more of an athletic build. My dad stood just over six-feet tall, not a giant by any means, but larger than most people in our family. He had much darker features though.
My mom used to tell me how my infant and toddler clothing was always two sizes ahead of my age, and how she and I shared t-shirts when I was seven. My rapid vertical d
evelopment never had much of an effect on me until someone else would comment about it, and the remarks over the years left me with mixed emotions. At first, my self-esteem took a hit. I would get embarrassed and inch closer to my parents, thinking if I stood behind them people would shut-up. Honestly, what sort of response did they expect to get from telling me how tall I was:
Then one day I was with my dad at the grocery begging him for Lucky Charms when our neighbor, Mrs. Phelan, barged in and opened her big mouth.
“She’s going to need a king-sized bed soon!” she exclaimed, and winked her intrusive eye at my father.
My dad turned and looked at me in confusion, then back at her. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“She’s just getting so tall,” she said with her smeared cherry red lips.
My dad looked at me and sensed my discomfort. “Should she be getting smaller?” he posed the question to Mrs. Phelan with the utmost concern for my well-being.
Mrs. Phelan strummed the handle of her cart with her inch-long finger nails, and looked away from us both. “I just can’t believe…well you know, she’s just getting to be such a big girl…a lady…you know.”
My dad rubbed his head, lifted my arms carefully one at a time, like they were covered in hives, and looked me over in horror. I just giggled and reveled in Mrs. Phelan’s own embarrassment.
“Nice to see you both,” she said, and waddled off.
From that day forward, I learned how to handle people in almost any given situation. If someone was going to make me feel awkward, they were going to regret it. I credit my mom with my looks, and my dad with my personality.
I’ve always had a great relationship with my parents. One that was honest and open. They always encouraged my brother, Patch, and I to talk things out with them rather than resort to a shouting match. However, my teen years were the most harrowing on my relationship with my mother. She and I would easily kick ‘talking’ to the curb and have it out over things like what I was wearing, how much I talked on the phone, and how often I smacked Patch.
