by Deena Lipomi
He twirls a lock of my hair. His lips twitch, his eyes sparkle. “Do you?”
I nod, afraid my heart will burst. I take his hand and lead him to the stairs, glancing over my shoulder to see if Kasey is watching. She’s got her arms around a junior guy, dancing up a storm.
When we reach the main floor, I shoo away the poodles, pass the room where the birds are thankfully sleeping, and show Devon into the guest bedroom. Kasey’s mom’s bedroom is on the second floor and I hope she doesn’t decide she needs the sewing machine stored under the window sometime tonight. Not that I have anything to be ashamed of. Devon and I have been a couple for five months.
We love each other.
I close the door, press the lock, and realize how completely dark it is. Devon and I stumble toward around and laugh when our shoulders bump.
“Maybe we need some light,” he says.
“OK,” I say, hoping it’s not too bright.
Devon fumbles to the end table, clicks on a reading lamp, and bounces onto the bed. It creaks loudly and I cringe. Devon doesn’t seem to notice.
“Why don’t you come get warm next to me?” he asks.
I kick off my boots and pad across the carpet to the full bed, climbing in next to Devon. He wraps me in his arms and positions his head so his lips fit perfectly against mine. Just like no time has passed since we left the basement, I fall into his kisses and find myself grabbing his back and pulling him into me, slipping my tongue through his mouth like he is all I need to breathe.
Devon’s hands are under my dress before I realize he’s hiked my skirt up to my waist, and I shimmy out of it the rest of the way. I unhook my bra and he unbuttons his shirt so we are pressed skin against skin. The fire I feel between us is unreal, like nothing I ever thought I could feel. When he kisses my breasts, the ones I always felt were too big and too heavy to be pretty, and whispers, “You are so beautiful,” I nearly cry.
Or maybe I do, just a little bit.
“Mel?” Devon wipes a tear from my eye. “Are you OK? Did I…did I hurt you?”
“No,” I say, kissing his head so he knows it’s the truth. “I just feel…amazing. All over. Inside and out.”
“You deserve to feel amazing because you are.” Devon trails kisses from my neck to my chest, pushing against me so I feel him through his pants. His hand tickles its way down my back slips into my underwear.
“Oh god,” I mutter, laying back, my body a puddle of tingling goo that I can no longer control.
Was this how Annie felt, how she got carried away with Harris?
Was this how she ended up pregnant?
I jump like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over my head. Devon rolls back, half tossed by my frantic movements.
“Sorry!” I say.
“No, it’s fine.” He shoves his hair from his face. “I was going too fast.”
“No, I’m too slow,” I say, with a sigh. There’s no way I’m mentioning Annie or any thoughts of why I freaked. Conversations that involve her only end up making things awkward between us no matter how much I try to normalize it.
Devon passes me my bra that somehow ended tangled around his ankles. “This, uh, this is my first time…going this far,” he says.
“Me, too,” I say shyly, though I suspect we both knew this about each other going into it.
“I don’t want to mess anything up. Between us,” he says.
It’s like he can read my mind.
“Trust me,” I say, dressing again and feeling more beautiful than ever before, “everything just got even better.”
Chapter 24
I stir the tray of beige chicken and dumplings that I did my best to dress up with fresh chives, and watch the snow fall in thick flakes outside the hospital cafeteria window. I feel lucky to be warm, even if it is because of the heat given off by the burners at work instead of snuggled up under an afghan with Devon.
“So, your little sis is due pretty soon, eh?” Dexter says, probably because he just served a very pregnant woman a cup of chicken noodle soup. “’Bout three weeks?”
He’s right, though I haven’t talked to Dexter about Annie having her baby for a long time. “How did you know?”
“Oh, a young woman told me. Maybe a friend of yours?” He gestures to a table in the middle of the cafeteria.
Samara. Why is she talking to my boss about my sister? Is she trying to make my job as hard to take as school?
Belle catches my eye and her face explodes into a smile. She tugs on Samara’s arm and points at me. Samara turns and offers a weak wave. I adjust the latex gloves on my hands and wiggle my fingers back for the sake of Belle. She doesn’t need to know yet how nasty people can be, how her sister stole Annie from my life and then ditched her when Annie became an embarrassment, leaving me to pick up the pieces.
Again, I wish I was tangled up with Devon and his kisses right now. Ever time we touch I fantasize about being alone with him again like we were a week ago at Kasey’s house. I made an appointment for next week at the Parenthood Clinic, this time so I can find out about going on the birth control pill. If I’m going to sleep with Devon, I want to be able to do it with no reservations or distractions from the other areas of my life. I want to be able to enjoy our every touch without worrying about a condom breaking and a baby coming into existence.
“May I please have two servings?” a customer asks, snapping me out of my fantasy.
I comply and try to focus on the food.
“So how’s your sis feelin’?” Dexter asks when the line of customers dies down.
“Not bad, I guess.” I don’t really want to know about her swollen feet or anything else I saw when I flipped through her copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. “She’s due February twenty-seventh, but Mom thinks she’ll go early because she’s so big now.”
“My little niece Emmaline,” Dexter says, “she was born three weeks early, and let me tell you her mama’s belly was as big as a house. I wasn’t sure how much more stretching her little body could take. Of course now our Emmaline’s a perfect sized little girl. She’s gonna be three next week.” Dexter serves a cup of clam chowder. “I tell ya, there’s nothing like a little girl.”
***
I’ve barely kicked off my non-slip cafeteria shoes when Annie meets me in the hall.
“They found someone to adopt my baby,” she blurts.
A whoosh of relief rushes into my lungs. “Oh my gosh, no way! Already?” Once Annie has the baby and she’s adopted, there’ll be no more connection to Harris, no more need to hide and lie.
Then I see – really see – Annie’s expression. Her tight smile, pinched cheeks, and small fists.
Frustration wells inside me. This was what she wanted, what she was dancing about only a few months ago, her karmic decision to give her baby up to a couple who couldn’t have children on their own.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
Annie shakes her head, turns around, and stares at the TV. It’s on the animal channel. A snake is devouring some sort of small rodent. I have a feeling whatever she’s been watching has not been good for her mood. “Harris,” she starts.
“Forget him. Don’t let him make you change your mind.”
“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just…Harris never called back.”
“Good,” I say, not caring that it’s a lie.
Annie glares.
“I’m not mad at you,” I say as gently as I can. “Just him.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not your job to be mad at him.”
“Don’t you get it?” I stand in front of the TV. “Harris doesn’t care and he certainly doesn’t deserve to know anything about you or the baby, so just forget him. If you’re waiting for him to tell you to keep the baby and he’ll come home and the three of you will be a family, you’re wasting your time.”
Annie puts her hands on her belly. “What would you know about it? What would you know about loving a guy and having him love you back?”
“Are you that self-absorbed?” I ask, throwing her words to me back at her.
She sinks into the recliner like I shoved her.
“Devon and I love each other, OK? We really love each other. Whatever you and Harris had – or thought you had – that wasn’t it.”
Annie’s cheeks turn red. “You don’t know anything about what Harris and I had. You never even met him.”
I pinch my lips shut.
“He gets me. He understands me,” she says.
“Well maybe I would ‘get’ and ‘understand’ you too if you would talk to me,” I say, using air quotes and everything (as if it will help her “get” and “understand” my point).
“You could never understand.”
“Because I’d never had a boyfriend? Because I haven’t had sex?”
“No! Because you hated me and my friends and didn’t want anything to do with me as soon as I started high school,” Annie snaps.
“You picked jerks for friends!”
“You were nasty to them as soon as I started hanging out with Justine! You didn’t give her a chance to like you.”
I mean to sigh but it comes out a growl. “What are you talking about? I was totally nice to them.” Though the truth is I can’t remember anything other than the way they judged my hair, my clothes, and my weight with a simple look and upturned nose.
“You judged them the same way you say they judged you,” Annie says.
“Whatever,” I say. “They are treating us both like crap now so quit defending Justine.”
Annie tips her head and stares at her lap, eventually saying, “He said it. He said he loved me.”
“So he could have sex with you,” I say, not able to stop. “Why else would a twenty-year-old college guy want to be with a high school girl?”
“Shut up,” she says, her eyes red and raging. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
Dad bursts into the room. “What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“Everything’s fine,” Annie says quickly, folding her arms over her stomach.
“Yeah, fine,” I say.
That’s when Dad takes the 35mm camera from behind his back and snaps a picture.
“Dad!” we both say.
“I’m still in my work clothes,” I complain, looking down at my gravy stained shirt.
“I look like a fat slob,” Annie says, as if she ever has.
“Sorry girls. I have to use up the rest of this film. Besides, you both look lovely.” He takes one more shot for good measure and he leaves the room.
Suddenly exhausted, I rub my forehead and collapse onto the couch. On the TV, a commercial for cat food featuring singing kittens fills the silence between.
Annie speaks first. “I told Dad he could take pictures at the hospital.”
“At the hospital,” I repeat like one of Kasey’s parrots.
“Yeah, when the baby’s born,” she says.
I imagine what it would be like to see pictures on the mantel of Annie laying in her hospital bed with a baby in her arms. A baby that’s no longer hers.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say, because I am. Yelling won’t help anything except maybe send Annie into early labor. (I read about that in her book, too.)
Annie pushes her hair away from her face. “Just because you never liked Justine, it didn’t mean you had to stop being my friend.”
“Annie, Justine can’t stand me,” I say.
“No,” Annie says. “She was always just jealous.”
“Jealous?” I touch my poufy hair and picture the zits sprouting on my chin.
“Because you and I were best friends.”
Were. It’s funny how things happen, how we let them happen, and how we don’t know how to undo the past. But if the past was different between me and Annie, would it also be different between me and Devon? Me and Kasey?
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that? About Justine?” I ask.
“I didn’t want you to hate her more.”
“I never hated her. Not until this year when she was totally nasty to you.” I lean back into the couch so I’m staring at the top of the fireplace to the framed photos “You don’t think it will make you sad? To look at the baby pictures from the hospital?”
She shrugs. “I’m hoping it will make me happy. Seeing her might remind me of why I gave her to a couple who couldn’t have kids. I think remembering that will make me happy, don’t you?”
Annie’s response almost makes too much sense. I wonder why I even questioned her to begin with.
Then I know why: I was thinking of myself. No matter how weak Annie may seem because she can’t get over Harris, I’m wrong.
Annie is strong and I will help hold her up.
Chapter 25
Sleet crackles against my window and wind howls through the eaves, waking me before my alarm clock blares. The thought of chipping ice off my car makes me crawl further under the covers and consider taking the school bus.
Twenty minutes later I drag myself from bed, trip over my backpack, and bang my knee against the dresser where I turn on the TV. According to the news channel, school is not closed due to weather. Damn.
I dress in jeans, knee-high wool socks, and a fleece turtleneck, and then blow-dry my hair for warmth, not style. There’s no way it can look good in hat-wearing, blowing-snow weather. I slip my hand-carved beads on my wrist and think about how Devon has seen me at work, smelling of cafeteria food and wearing a hairnet, and still loves me. He’s seen my body, curves and all, and makes me want to embrace rather than hide them. That’s all that matters.
Annie’s door is still closed. If I’m running late, she’s running later. I knock and call, “Hurry. It’s gonna take us forever to get to school.” I run outside to warm up the car and when I return, Annie’s still not up. I open her door and flip on the light.
Annie lies in bed, her eyes cracked open and puffy, her face shadowed but pale. “I don’t feel good.” She lapses into a coughing fit.
“I’ll get Mom.” I run down the hall and knock on Mom and Dad’s door before busting in. One day I might regret that action. Thankfully it’s not today. “Mom, Annie’s sick.”
Mom bolts upright, leaving Dad snoring lightly. She makes a pit stop in the bathroom for the thermometer and then enters Annie’s room.
“Mel, go to school. Annie will be all right,” she tells me, though her voice wavers with sleep and worry.
“Do you want me to get Dad?”
She puts her hand on Annie’s forehead. “No, it’s fine. I’ll get him if I need him. Go to school.”
I open my mouth to argue again but there’s no point. Mom wants me out of the way.
“Angel?” she says to my sister as I back away. “Angel, you’re not feeling well? What hurts?”
Mom’s right, I can’t do any good here. I return to my car, clean off the windshield, and crawl to school on the slippery roads. Despite the freezing temps, my back is covered in sweat by the time I reach the parking lot. I almost welcome the cold wind whipping through my layers as I head for the building. Inside, I stuff my coat into my locker and grab my math books, rushing so I’m not late for homeroom.
“Hey,” Devon says, grabbing me around the waist. The sleeves of his sweater fall down over his hands so only his fingertips stick out, cozy and warm.
“Hey.” I turn to kiss him, slowly relaxing at the familiarity of his car shop fingernails, strong body, and crooked baseball hat attempting to hide his messy hair.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, backing away to study my face.
“Besides the crappy weather?” I ask, shaking my boot to let loose a layer of slush.
He frowns. “Besides that.”
I pull my books against my chest. “Annie was sick this morning. It’s probably nothing, just the flu, but still….”
Devon nods and kisses me again. “You’re worried about the baby.”
I stiffen and look around to see if anyone heard. Th
e hall is almost empty since homeroom is about to start.
Devon sighs.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. I know why he’s upset and I don’t blame him but I can’t help my reflex reaction. “No, you’re right. I’m worried. About both of them.”
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Not talking about it isn’t going to make her go away.”
“Obviously,” I mutter.
“Can I ask you something?” Before I can answer, Devon asks anyway, “Why do you care so much about what other people think of you?”
I flinch so hard he takes his hand away. “I don’t.” Didn’t I come to school with crazy hat hair this morning?
“Come on, Mel. You’re beautiful and have the best boyfriend in school.” He cracks a half smile. “Whatever anyone knows – or thinks they know – about your sister is not a reflection on you. You don’t have to worry about being judged.”
I know I should’ve been expecting Devon to get sick of my paranoia at some point. Still, it hurts to hear the impatience in his voice. So does the resemblance to Annie’s accusation about me.
It’s amazing how self-absorbed you can be while also being completely clueless about who you are.
With all the secrets and lies, I do deserve the accusations even if I don’t like them. Still, my instinct kicks in to defend myself. “My whole life has been spent being judged by other people so of course I worry about it. Me and Annie both. I’m sick of it. We shouldn’t always have to defend ourselves for being us.”
Devon puts his hands up. “Whoa, you don’t need to yell at me.”
My hands are shaking and my whole body trembles like I’m in the freezing wind again. I can’t control it or the fact that I am yelling. “It sucks, having everyone look at you and your sister when you’re kids, asking why she has squinty eyes and why you weren’t good enough for your parents. Why they had to get a Chinese replacement for you. It sucks having to protect both of us from everyone who would tear us down!”
“Mel, calm down,” Devon says, taking a step back.
