I put my arm around her shoulder. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”
She glances sideways, her smile shy. “It’s just, you’ve gotten so pretty these past few months. The hair, the makeup . . .”
My mouth starts to drop, but then the sparkle in her eye glints and I push her over. “Don’t be an asswipe.”
She busts out laughing. “Oh my God, the look on your face was priceless. I scared the shit out of you. You really thought I was going to kiss you.”
“Har, har. I only thought you’d lost your damn mind.”
But she’s right. I did think she was going to kiss me. And it confused me, because a part of me, an old part, was inches away from going along with it. And that would have been the shittiest thing to do ever.
The next day, I’m a nervous wreck. I vacuum the house twice. Then nab scented candles from the bathroom and put them on my bedside table, then move them back. I shouldn’t be presumptuous. I’m not sure I want to be presumptuous.
I call Dad at four thirty. “How was your sermon?”
“Good. I like this church. Very open. Very much my philosophy of moral responsibility based on kindness and caring and trust.”
Now there’s a kick in the conscience.
He continues. “Did you go to youth group today? Elizabeth’s parents said they enjoy seeing you there, and they’re really looking forward to our big Thanksgiving dinner so we all get a chance to spend more quality time together.”
“No. I skipped today. But yeah, Thanksgiving should be cool.” And it will be. It also might be the last time I’m invited over if they’re as close-minded as I think they are, because that’s the deadline I gave to Mary Carlson. The more time we spend together, the less I can think about keeping this a secret.
“Thanks for calling, sweetheart. We’re about to head out to a restaurant here with some of the congregation. Call me if you need anything. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
After I hang up, a text buzzes in. From Dana.
Get it, girl. ☺ But don’t forget your BFF.
Ha.
Then the doorbell rings. And my mouth goes dry. I turn my phone off and slide it under a newspaper on the counter. It must take five hundred steps before I get to the front door. Then the dead bolt wants to stick.
When I get it open, chilly air rushes in and so does Mary Carlson, looking apple-pie girl-next-door in an argyle sweater and jeans, her hair swept into a casual ponytail.
“Hi.” She blows on her hands.
“Hi.” I take them.
“So this is your house?”
“Yep.” I’m sure I look like a grinning fool, but I can’t believe she’s here. And that we’re alone. No prying eyes or nosey Gemma. No parents or disapproving citizens of Rome, Georgia. Just me, and the prettiest girl ever.
“You going to show me around? Or keep me standing in the foyer?”
“Right.” I shake myself into alertness, then kiss her on the lips. “Come on.”
The house is a standard suburban two-story. Dad might buy big diamonds but he doesn’t believe in mini-mansions. Says it’s only more to clean and gives the wrong impression. There’s a living room, dining room, big den, and granite-countertopped kitchen with stainless appliances. There’s a small office and a massive deck looking out over the wood-fenced backyard. In comparison, Mary Carlson’s mini-farm is way more interesting.
“Upstairs it’s just a hall and the bedrooms. Um. I can show you those later?”
Mary Carlson colors slightly at my mention of upstairs. “Yeah, later.”
I lead her back to the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? We have all the usuals, milk, juice, sweet tea, there might be some ginger ale, or there’s drink drinks, too.”
“Ginger ale’s good.” She slides onto a kitchen island stool and I fumble with the ice maker on the front of the fridge.
“Tell me more about your audition.” We’d texted a little bit about it last night but she’d been on their family date night and couldn’t really have her phone out without pissing off her parents.
“It was fun. All the regular drama kids sort of hang out together. But that girl Deirdre came over and talked to me. She’s nice.”
My heart kick thuds. It shouldn’t matter. Another two weeks and supposedly we’re coming out together, but still. “Like nice, nice?”
Mary Carlson lifts up the corner of her mouth, then pulls me toward her, wrapping her legs around me so I’m face-to-face in her embrace. “Nice, like a maybe friend, for when I tell my parents I like to do this.” She reaches her hand into my hair and pulls me to her. She starts by pressing tiny kisses along my jaw, then works her way to my mouth. I part my lips to meet her tongue and press against her. Her taste is like molten fire trickling down into every part of me. Ten minutes pass before we break apart.
I rub my thumb against the side of her face. “Will you be so explicit when you tell your parents?” My voice is thick with intensity.
“Explicit like this?” She locks her eyes on mine but slides her hand under my shirt. Goose bumps rise on my skin. She works her way up toward my bra clasp.
I wriggle out of her grasp. “Hey now.”
Mary Carlson hops off the stool and grabs my hand, pulling me with her. In seconds we’re lying on the couch, me stretched full length on top of her. “How are you feeling about all of this?” Her voice is gentle as she runs her fingers in my hair. It’s starting to curl slightly on the ends where it’s growing out.
“Good.” I run my fingertips over her cheekbones and down her nose. “This feels good.”
She grins. “Not this, but us. Telling people.”
Now would be a good time to spill my secrets, but she keeps talking. “It’s going to be hard, you know. Jessica’s convinced it’s a sin. I think Betsy and Gemma are going to be cool, though.” Her face grows solemn. “My parents are going to be heartbroken. Especially since Barnum’s already different.”
I slide so I’m wedged in next to her and we’re face-to-face. “But they’re awesome with him. Won’t they be okay?” My dad was already preaching sermons about tolerance and acceptance and all of God’s children long before I was even old enough to know what sexual attraction was, so coming out for me was a nonissue. It was pretty much “Dad, I like girls” over dinner and him asking if I was sure and when I said yes, him telling me he loved me no matter what. But I know, for other people, it can really suck.
She touches her nose against mine. “I don’t know. But I’m not willing to lie to them. I’m better than that.”
I want to spill everything right this second. To tell her about me, about my friendship with Dana, my life in Atlanta, but I need to talk to Dad first. I’ll get through the Thanksgiving feast, then when Three’s parents leave, I’ll tell them about me and Mary Carlson.
She rubs her nose back and forth. “They’re not the kind of parents who would throw me out or disown me. More like they’ll try and convince me it’s a phase.”
I remember what Dana said at breakfast. “Is it?”
“Does this seem like a phase to you?” She silences me with an intense kiss and slides her hand down between my legs. I push her away, for now, even though I’d really like to lock her hand there to do things I’ve only ever done to myself.
“I like when you play hard to get. That is what you’re doing, isn’t it? This is okay?” She whispers in my ear and tiptoes the scorned hand under my shirt. I mumble a yes and this time I don’t stop her when she deftly unclasps my bra. I take off my shirt and reach for hers. She lifts her arms and I throw her shirt to the floor. We push back together, feeling the warmth and silk of each other’s skin, our breaths coming faster and harder. Mary Carlson’s mouth circles the soft skin of my breasts and I cry, arching up into her as she pushes against me with equal force. I flip over again, straddling her, and kiss my way down her breastbone, taking each nipple lightly between my teeth, scraping ever so softly until she’s moaning and bucking against me. She
reaches for the button on my pants as I kiss my way down the front of her stomach, my own hands ready to pull her out of her jeans, when I hear something that sounds suspiciously like the engine of a car pulling into the garage.
“Stop.” I push her away. There’s the thud of a car door. But this is crazy, there’s no way. My dad and Elizabeth aren’t coming back till tomorrow. “Shirts.” I dive and grab them, throwing one to Mary Carlson, sliding my own over my head, and shoving my bra under a couch cushion, as there’s a three-tap knock and the sound of a key in the door. Althea.
“Hey, baby,” Althea calls as she comes in. “It’s just me.”
I leap to the far end of the couch away from Mary Carlson and open a home decorating magazine between us. My hands are shaking and my nipples are spotlights under my shirt without a bra to hide them. Mary Carlson’s hair looks like a bouffant gone wrong.
“Oh.” Althea stops in the hallway, a covered cake plate in her hand, but she recovers smoothly. “I didn’t realize you had company.” Her voice turns disapproving. “Your father said you were all alone.”
“I just stopped by to talk about a paper for school.” Mary Carlson is the picture of innocence. Well, except for the hair slipping out of her ponytail holder and the puffiness of her lips and the sweet smell of girl aroused.
Althea’s bullshit meter is spot-on. She probably figured out exactly what I was up to the minute she stepped into the house.
“Mm hmm,” Althea mutters to her but looks at me under her perfectly penciled brows. Then to Mary Carlson, “Well, you might as well stay for a piece of cake, but after that I’m sure Joanna has her own homework to be attending to.”
Fuck. I hope she doesn’t tell my dad.
Mary Carlson glances at me for guidance.
I hop up and hug Althea. “Don’t be snarly. Dad wouldn’t mind that Mary Carlson was here.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t?”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
She sets the cake plate on the counter. “My son-in-law redid my hardwood floors on Friday and I had to get out of my house. I stayed with them the past two nights, but six grandchildren wear me out. So when your father suggested I come up and stay with my other granddaughter, I jumped at the chance. Even made a red velvet cake. Didn’t know you’d be entertaining.”
“Like we said, homework, strictly homework.” I try to act normal and swipe a finger full of frosting, dodging my hand out of the way before Althea whaps it. “Besides, you’ve met Mary Carlson and you said she had nice manners.” I open my eyes wide, begging for mercy.
She breaks, a crinkle creasing the corner of her eyes and a cluck settling on her tongue. She won’t tell. “Yes, I did. Good manners are a blessing and a virtue, not like that other friend of yours.” Then she whispers under her breath, “It’s a good thing I got here when I did to make sure that virtue stays intact.”
Mary Carlson doesn’t hear and noses at the cake. “What other friend?”
I look at Althea in panic. She arches an eyebrow. Our silent language is fluent.
“Oh, just this old friend of mine in Atlanta. She was always trying to get me in trouble. Althea never trusted her.”
Mary Carlson nods when Althea measures out a huge piece of cake with the knife. “You and unsavory sorts? I can’t imagine.” She glances sideways at me. “You’re such a good girl.” She smirks and lifts a forkful of deep red cake to her mouth.
Her word emphasis doesn’t go unnoticed by Althea, which makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. But now I need to make sure Althea doesn’t rat me out. Because then I will be in hot water.
When we finish our cake, I stand up. “I’m taking Mary Carlson upstairs for a minute. She hasn’t seen my room.”
We clomp up the stairs. My room is the first one on the right. Mary Carlson steps gently inside, taking in my mom’s black and white photographs of trees and flowers.
She turns in a circle. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Where are you in this room? I don’t see my Jo.”
Her possessive pronoun turns on the warmth. It rushes from my legs to my chest to my cheeks. “It didn’t make sense to put stuff up. I’m only going to be in this room for a year.”
She grabs my hand. “You can put up pictures of your friends, and then I’ll be there. Smiling at you all the time.”
“Maybe you can pick one out. I do have that empty corkboard.”
“Consider it done.” We step in toward each other and stand nose to nose, her head tilted down, mine tilted up, fingers laced. Mary Carlson speaks first. “So, I guess our plans got changed.”
“Yeah. If I tell Althea you were planning on spending the night, I’ll get grief from Three and Dad.”
“I think that’s so weird. I mean, most parents would be glad to have their kid have a friend over if they’re not home. For safety. It’s not like you’re some huge party animal.”
I lift my shoulder. “I know. But we’ll figure out another time to try again.”
She whispers, even though we’re alone, “We better. I want a repeat of earlier. A longer repeat. A more repeat.” She bites my earlobe. “For you. An everything repeat.”
I whisper back, “Who knew you were such a wicked, wicked girl, Mary Carlson Bailey?”
This gets me a deep kiss. Only the sound of Althea, coughing at the bottom of the stairs, breaks us apart.
Twenty-Five
THE TEACHERS ARE IN PRE-THANKSGIVING holiday slack mode, which means Mary Carlson and I have been running it loose and risky for a couple of days. Pocket texts and meeting in the girls’ bathroom or back behind the drink machines have become as anticipated as breathing.
“Hey.” She grabs my hand and pulls me behind the humming vending machine.
“We’re going to get caught.” But I lift my neck for the string of kisses anyway and push my leg between hers.
“We’re going to light Rome up with the shock when they find out about us.” She laughs and nuzzles against me.
“What’d you say?”
“You know. Two girls, hot for each other instead of the Chazes of the world. It’s going to blow the roof off this tiny town. We’re going to be infamous.”
I take a step back. “Mary Carlson.”
Her eyes grow confused. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want to be infamous.” Because even though I do want to be honest, and even though I’m totally in think-I’m-in-love with her, I still respect Dad. I don’t want to be blowing any roofs off this town.
“What are you saying?”
“Just that I don’t mind telling people, but I don’t need to tell people.”
She lets go of my hands and steps away from me. “Seriously. You think we can tell people and not have it blow up? Think of who I am, Jo. Think of who your dad is. We’re going to be the talk of the school at the very least, Foundation Baptist for sure, and the town maybe. I’m brave enough. Are you?”
I’m not being fair. She’s dealing with real issues of coming out and I’m dealing only with a promise to my Dad and the ego of a radio show. I grab her hand again. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But can we start slow?”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe with Gemma and George?” Okay, so I’m a cheater because I already know George won’t care and now that he and Gemma are officially a couple, she’s bound to have met his moms. But at least it will slow Mary Carlson down and give me a little bit more time to have toed my dad’s line. Maybe keep me from losing the show entirely. Gemma and George can keep a secret.
She chews her lip. “Okay. But soon. You promised after Thanksgiving. Everyone’s going to Jessica’s house to watch football on the Saturday after. Can we do it then?”
“At Jessica’s house?”
Mary Carlson laughs. “Yeah. Sneak attack.” The bell rings. “Shit.” She looks around the corner. “Mr. Phelps is going to wonder if I fell in the toilet or something. See you later.”
I watch her trot off and slump against th
e wall. My life, which was supposed to be so bland this year, has become a lot like a three-alarm fire.
Three’s cheeks are pink from the oven. “Joanna, can you help me pull those pies out? Oh heavens, I don’t know why I said I’d do Thanksgiving here.”
“Are you okay? You look kind of pale.” And it’s true; the pink flush from her cheeks has gone pasty white all of a sudden.
Three barely gets the pie she’s holding to the island before she doubles over, grasping her belly. “Joanna, get your dad. Tell him I’m cramping.”
“What?”
She’s breathing steadily in and out and walking herself toward the couch. “Just go, please.”
I run outside where Dad is wrestling a folding table out from the car. “Dad. Elizabeth said to tell you she’s cramping.” My mind is starting to process what this could mean and I have an idea, but they haven’t said a thing.
His face pales and he sets the table against the wall, then takes off at a sprint into the house. In a minute, he’s back leading Three to the car and easing her into the passenger seat.
“What’s going on?”
“Call Elizabeth’s mom, tell her we’re on our way to the hospital. Shut down the house and oven, put up the food, and come meet us. I’ll explain there.”
When I finally get to the hospital, my dad’s leaned over with his head in his hands. Three’s parents must have taken a hover jet or something, because they’re already there, too.
“Joanna.” Dad looks up and motions me over. “Pray with me.”
“Can you tell me what I’m praying for?”
“For your brother or sister. Ask God to see fit to let them hang on.”
“Whoa. What?” My mind, which had been in a pretty steady state of focusing on my own chaos, is thinking I heard my dad say brother or sister. Which means Three is pregnant. “Pregnant?” The word bumps out of my mouth and tumbles in a confused heap on the floor.
Dad grips my hands, but he can’t speak through the tears building.
“Oh. Okay.” I squeeze back. The cramping. Dad’s panic. Three is losing a baby. My sibling. A sibling! I lean into Dad and pray in earnest. Together we whisper words of hope and please and will. When we stop Dad hugs me. There are tears shining in the corner of his eyes.
Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit Page 17
