by Mary Whitney
“You’re going to have to do better than have a few marks on this fit little body of yours to scare me away. I’m not leaving. No way.” Leaning in to kiss me, he added, “And I like the way you smell.”
Was he saying that just to get laid one day? I didn’t care. I found his chin and tilted it up so I could kiss him, but really, I also wanted to touch him like he was touching me.
We kissed hard and wet for the next few minutes before I finally demanded, “Take your shirt off, too. I don’t want to be the only one topless.”
He complied with a smile, and there was a half-naked Adam Kincaid sitting on my sofa with me—all lean muscles with some soft golden chest hair that darkened in color as it disappeared into his jeans. I rubbed my hand all over his pecs and followed the trail well past his belly button and then back up again.
“This. This is very nice.”
“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, and his whole body tensed when I touched his happy trail again.
“Oh yeah.”
At once, Adam wrapped his arms around me, and I straddled him. Pressing into him, I tickled my own nipples against his chest hair as I kissed him with everything I had. He groaned in response and grabbed my butt, pulling me flush with his erection.
And then I heard a car pull into the driveway. “Shit! It’s my mom.”
Adam was discombobulated. “Fuck. Uh…my shirt…your shirt.”
Hopping off him, I tossed him his shirt and headed for the stairs with mine. “I need more clothes.” Mom would flip if she knew I’d let Adam in the house when I was wearing so little.
Luckily, she was getting things out of the car, so it gave me enough time to throw on sweats and a fleece. But as I rushed out of my room, I caught a view of my face in the mirror. Shit! My ponytail was a mess, but even worse, my lips and chin were red. I obviously had been making out with a guy with stubble.
By the time Mom walked in, Adam and I were standing at the door. He greeted her, and she responded happily, if a little surprised, “Adam, it’s nice to see you again so soon.”
Adam got a smile from her. I only got a knowing look, which I ignored. “I’m just walking Adam out,” I said.
When the two of us got to his car, he gave me a kiss behind my ear. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“No, thank you. It feels good to have told someone.”
Then he let out a throaty laugh. “And I really like that map you have. I…like the directions.”
“You do, now?” It was impossible for me not to flirt with the guy.
“I do.” He winked and got in his car, leaving me with a final “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Walking back to the front door, I sighed. “Oh my…”
The wait had gotten ridiculous. Christmas was less than three weeks away, and Mom still had not talked with me about it. So, at the beginning of that week, I took it on myself to bring it up at dinner. I tried to do it as casually as possible.
“So, Mom, what’s the deal with Christmas? Where are we going to see Grandma and Grandpa? Here or Baton Rouge? I want to know so I can make plans with Dad.”
With her head stuck in the fridge, she had her back turned to me. “I’m so glad that you asked, Nicki.” She slowly turned around. “Grandma and I just finalized it today. We’re driving to Baton Rouge on the twenty-third and going to New Orleans for a few days. We’ll have a very low-key Christmas. Just little presents this year, no tree, no big deal. Then we’ll be back here on the twenty-sixth. That will let me get some work done over the break.”
I looked at her like she was insane, because she was definitely acting that way. Did she really expect that I wasn’t going to notice what she was doing? I was pissed. I slammed my silverware down on the table.
“Mom, this is really fucked up.”
Her eyes flashed at me with disapproval. “Nicki, your language.”
“Whatever. This is really screwed up.”
“I don’t know what ‘this’ is. Be specific when you speak.”
“This is your obvious attempt to avoid Lauren stuff.”
She stared at me and pursed her lips. She was ticked. “I don’t like your tone, and I don’t know what ‘stuff’ you’re talking about.”
Why was she lying to me? “I’m not stupid, Mom. I can tell what you’re doing. You’re never home. You’ve basically put Lauren in a box somewhere in the attic. You refuse to talk about her with me or, I’m guessing, with anyone else either, but I don’t know. You’ve obviously put off even thinking about Christmas until the last minute, and now you and Grandma—who seems equally fucked up, too, by the way—have concocted this…this Anti-Christmas.”
I teared up as I got even madder. “Do you ever even think about me? About what I may be going through? Because I really can’t see that you have.”
“I won’t have this conversation with you like this. Until you calm down, it’s not up for discussion.”
Fuck it. I stomped away to my bedroom. I was pissed and panicked and devastated. Mom would never have treated me that way in the past. Had she gone over the edge? Or worse, was it as I’d always suspected? Lauren was her favorite, and she was mad that Lauren had died and not me? I knew it was irrational, but I was so upset that I wondered.
After a few minutes, Mom knocked on my door. I cringed, but her coming to me was a good sign. “You can come in.”
Without saying anything, she sat on my bed beside me and put her hand on mine. She waited a moment before declaring, “I’m…actually, you’re right. I’m not dealing with things very well.”
Leave it to this new mother of mine to sterilize the most emotional of situations. I kept quiet. She must have gotten the hint. “I haven’t been thinking about you as I should.”
Looking at her out of the corner of my eye, I felt terrible. I had made my mom cry.
Wanting to console her, I gave her a hug, but it just made me sob. “Mom, I’m sorry if I was mean. I guess…I guess I miss you. I mean…I miss Lauren so much that my heart…like, hurts, but I miss you, too—the old you.”
Was that okay, what I said? I’d just told her she had changed and for the worse.
She didn’t say anything for a moment, but then said into my shoulder, “I’m sorry, Nicki. I’m trying…but it’s hard.”
She broke our hug and wiped her tears. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I just want you to know that you should never feel like you can’t talk to me. I can’t have that with my daughter.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
Thinking of what was going on, I began to laugh. “You know…right now Lauren would say something to you like, ‘It’s not a big deal. It’s not like she ever talked to you before.’ Lauren always knew what to say.”
Mom let out a little gasp and laughed. “She really was a bit of sunshine around here.” Her smile stayed as she said, “I’ll call Grandma and rearrange Christmas. We should have it at their house with a tree in Baton Rouge. But I would still like to come back early for work and some other things. I’m sorry that I haven’t been here as much, but it does help me to be out of the house.”
“That’s fine. Thanks, Mom.”
Seizing upon my weak moment, she went in for the kill. “So, we haven’t talked in a while, and we’ve never had a talk about Adam. He seems very nice. And from what I know of her, his mother is very kind. How do you feel about him?”
Cringe again. Uncomfortable. She must have been saving that question since Saturday morning when she’d caught us; she had said nothing about it that day.
But even though I had just told her I wanted to talk, Adam was still not up for discussion. “Er…yeah, Mom. Can we go back to not talking again?”
“Sure.” She smiled and sighed. “I wouldn’t want to talk to my mother about anything like that either.”
Chapter 17
THE FUN THING ABOUT DATING the guy who has the locker next to you is that the school day is like one long date, and Adam and I took full advantage of that. We both arrived to school early
, stayed late, and then he drove me home, where we’d spend half an hour in his car talking and making out—or, as he called it, snogging. The first time he called it that, I told him it was a goofy term for a pretty fun activity. He laughed hard at that, and with his eyes still twinkling, he gave me another kiss and slid his hand inside my shirt.
Though I’d been there before, I was anxious as we walked into Adam’s house on Wednesday. Mrs. Kincaid was in the kitchen and happily got us Cokes, asking us to sit down. After a few minutes into the conversation, I realized I’d been ambushed so she could grill me about my family. Adam looked at me apologetically; it seemed he was an unwitting accomplice. You could tell she was trying to parse out what was going on with me. All the while, she was complimentary of Mom, but she asked a few questions that made me wonder what she was getting at. Why did she care if Mom slept or not?
After about twenty minutes, she left, announcing she was going to a meeting at church before picking up Sylvia at the art studio. Adam immediately reached over and pulled me to him.
“She left us alone in the house. That’s a very good sign.”
“How so?”
“She’d rarely do that even with Kate, and our parents are good friends.”
Kate again. I was quiet. Didn’t he know I felt weird when we talked about her?
“Well, you should know my mum is a counselor, and whilst she says she doesn’t do it, she ends up analyzing everybody. Believe me; it drives Sylvia and me mad.”
That was unexpected. “So, you think she’s going to practice on me. She wants to…fix me.”
“Maybe, but she does like you. I think she thinks you’re good for me. I don’t know. That’s the problem when you have a mum who’s a counselor. She’s always trying to figure you out, so you end up always trying to figure out her motive.”
“Okay. Good to know. I’ll watch out and won’t be offended if she probes too much.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “It’s nice to see you outside of school.”
“I agree.” He whispered in my ear, “I did my trigonometry homework last night and had the hardest time not thinking about your map…”
“You’re teasing me,” I said, poking his chest.
“Without a doubt. It’s fun.”
He was smiling at me, but I was skeptical. “Don’t you think that all this map talk might make me even more self-conscious than I already am?”
“I hope not. That’s not my intention.” With his forehead knitting together, he reached out and touched my hair. “I was hoping it would have the opposite effect.”
“I know you mean well. Don’t worry about it. I was also teasing a little. It’s not a big deal. I’m just not very comfortable in my new skin, so to speak.”
“Well, I’m more than comfortable with it. You’re gorgeous, and you make me want to rip your clothes off.”
“You are blind, then.”
“Utter bollocks!” With a quick peck, he announced, “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you my room.”
He grabbed my hand and started pulling me forward. I needed that lead. Going to a guy’s room when his parents are gone is kind of a dicey thing to do, but away I went.
Most of his room was like that of any normal guy. It had a blue comforter on the bed, a large pile of clothes in the corner that were probably both clean and dirty, lots of Liverpool Football Club posters and stuff, and a big stereo and CD collection. The drafting table was atypical, though, as were all the cartoons and caricatures he had up around the room. I could tell that he had done them, because they were similar to ones I’d seen him draw at school. I was impressed.
“Oh my gosh, all of your work! This is great.” I went up to the one closest to me to study it.
“Oh, that’s a bad one of Boris Yeltsin.” He looked down. I could tell he wanted to show me, but he was also shy about it.
“I think it’s awesome.” I smiled and continued to walk around the room, looking at all the different characters: Margaret Thatcher, Prince Charles, the Pope, Yasser Arafat—and those were just the ones I could identify. “In fact, they’re all really cool. So you really do want to be a political cartoonist.”
Shrugging, he said, “It would be fun, but I should probably go to university, then become a reporter first. You know…the traditional route.”
“Well, I’m impressed.”
For the first time, Adam was the one blushing. As if to change the subject, he kissed me on the cheek and declared, “You’re kind.”
He was in such close proximity, I fidgeted, and he must have known I was a little nervous being in his room alone, because he said, “I swear I only brought you up here to show you my room. We can go back downstairs.”
“Only?” I laughed.
“Maybe it wasn’t the only reason I brought you here.” He wore a sheepish smile. “But, I’m perfectly happy being wherever you want to be.”
The truth was, I was painfully attracted to him. It wasn’t like I didn’t want the guy touching me, and I absolutely wanted to touch him. The past Saturday on the sofa together had been hot.
I looked at him slyly and moved over to his bed. “Okay. Let’s sit here.”
Adam’s face was covered in surprise. I kicked off my shoes and sat on the middle of the mattress cross-legged. He joined me and leaned against the wall on one of his pillows. I could tell he had no idea what to expect from me.
I pointed to the walls. “So tell me more about your work.”
With a huge smile, he pulled me to him in a big hug. We spent the next half-hour talking about his cartoons—who the people were and what he liked and disliked about them. He seemed so happy and engaged as we discussed them.
“I can’t believe it. Not too many people are interested in this sort of thing.”
“I don’t know. I’m into politics, and I always look at the cartoons in the editorial section of the paper. Political cartoons are kind of cool. They tell about current events but in a way everybody can understand.”
Whatever I had said, Adam must have really liked it. He squeezed me tighter to him, grinning so appreciatively that I had to look away. I spied a brand new copy of Catcher in the Rye on his desk.
Nodding over to the book, I asked, “Are you starting on that book early? I thought we were reading some short stories first next semester.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve got a couple long flights ahead of me. I thought I’d get a head start.”
“You know, I might actually read that one again. I’ll probably get a whole lot more out of it now than when I was eleven.”
Looking again at his desk, I noticed a small corkboard with photos to the right of his drafting table on the wall. I pointed over to it. “Are those photos of your friends from home?”
“Oh…er…yes. Do you want to see them?”
“Sure.”
He went over, pulled down the board, and brought it to me. Starting clockwise at the top, he described his “mates,” naming them and telling me a little about each one.
But I wasn’t listening. I was staring at a girl, who had to be Kate, in a group photo at the top. She was really pretty—not in the Meredith sort of beauty pageant kind of way—but in the fresh-faced, willowy, J. Crew model way. She was fair with light eyes and perfectly coifed, straight blond hair. I cannot compete with that, I thought.
When he finally pointed to her, he said flatly, “And this is Kate.” To his credit, rather than playing it down, he then pointed to another group photo at the beach. She was in the front and at his side, both of them smiling as happy as can be. She wore a one-piece. Thank God she’s got small breasts. I couldn’t handle any more perfection.
“She’s very pretty.” What the fuck else was I supposed to say? I couldn’t add my next thought: Are you still in love with her?
“Yes, but then so are you.” He kissed my cheek.
I eeked out a nervous laugh. “Not like that, though.”
Dropping the board beside him, he looked a little befuddled. “Nicki, you’re beautifu
l. Why do you say that? And you’re a different person. I like it. I tried to tell you before, you’re…you’re so much more. She’s still a friend. That’s why she’s in the photos.”
Since I was already feeling awful, I thought I might as well get it all out on the table. “So, do you get to see her over the break?” I tried to make it sound as cheery as possible, but I failed miserably.
Adam was now obviously uncomfortable with how the conversation was going. “Probably…we have mutual friends. And our parents are friends—her father lectures at Cambridge as well. We grew up together and…um…we’re still in touch.”
Great. She’s gorgeous and probably brilliant, and they talk or write or whatever, and have some sort of lifelong bond that I’ll never know anything about. I said nothing. I felt sick.
When they saw each other, would he want to be with her again? Would he have sex with her? They had only broken up because he’d left. It’s not like they hadn’t still loved each other. I felt like an idiot. What had I gotten myself into? I couldn’t think of anything to say.
Running his hand through his hair, he said, “Oh, Nicki, this isn’t how I wanted…wanted to explain things about Kate to you. Honestly, I’d forgotten she was even in these photos.”
But did I really have any right to an explanation? He wasn’t my boyfriend; I wasn’t his girlfriend. At that moment, I hated myself. Why had I put myself in such a vulnerable position—telling him all these deeply personal things about me and knowing so little about him? Was I that desperate for attention and affection to put myself at such risk? I was pathetic.
But I needed to respond. I wanted to play it down because I had to take my feelings for him down a notch. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t owe me anything.” I hoped I sounded convincing.
I must not have. He sputtered out, “But I want to…I have wanted to. I was waiting for the right time, but I also didn’t know about how you felt. Things have gone so fast in the last few weeks, but it hasn’t been that long. And—”
“And” whatever. That was it for me. The conversation was going nowhere good, and I didn’t want to be there anymore. I kept my voice perfectly even and straightforward. “Maybe we should talk some other time.” Thank God I could deliver lines well when I really needed to.
