Sins of September

by Graysen Blue

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Missy and I both have commented to each other about it. When you come out all ready to leave with us it’s like he’s inspecting you—taking inventory, you know? It’s kind of possessive, and truthfully, it’s kind of hot.”

  I shake my head, putting my hands up to my face. I know that I’m supposed to keep this thing with Jesse private, and that he specifically told me not to confide to my girlfriends, but my heart is so heavy these days that I want—no I need to talk to someone about it. I need to know that I’m not the trash that Casey said I was; I’m not my mother’s daughter.

  The tears start flowing from somewhere. And it surprises me.

  Shayla sits down right beside me and immediately wraps her arms around me. “Oh hell,” she says gently, “I didn’t mean to upset you, girl. I swear, Missy and I are just plain stupid idiots for thinking that shit about you! Please don’t be mad at us, please?”

  I look over at her, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I love him, Shayla. I fucking love him.” And then I dissolve even further, sobs overtaking me as she pulls me against her, my face buried in her long, blonde hair and she tells me to shush, that everything is going to be fine.

  We leave the mall and head back to her car so that we can talk in privacy. Between tears and sobs I tell her everything—every last thing starting with my mother and ending with last night when he came into my room again and we made love. And how sweet it is when we do. It feels good to unburden myself with it. And Shayla is a good listener.

  Afterwards, she doesn’t lecture me or voice her opinion or offer advice. All she says is that she’s here for me, and that it will go no further and I trust her because at this point in my life, I need to trust someone.

  We go back inside the mall and I complete my shopping. She helps me pick out clothes for Jesse, telling me how hot he’ll look in this or how sexy he’ll look in that and then it dawns on me that Shayla doesn’t think that there’s anything wrong or trashy about what Jesse and I are doing. Because if she did, I know her well enough to know that she wouldn’t have taken the time or care to select stuff that is in fact, perfect for my Jesse.

  Chapter 19

  * * *

  Scout has invited Amber for a sleepover on Saturday night after the intimate birthday party I’ve thrown for her and Jesse. I make homemade lasagna; bake and decorated a vanilla cake, and of course, the pile of presents I have for each of them.

  Scout and Amber trot off to her room to play with the new Barbie Dream House and Jesse helps me clean up in the kitchen.

  “You know, you went to an awful lot of expense with all these gifts, September. I thought maybe you were saving money for college next year.”

  I look over at him as I’m laying a sheet of plastic wrap over the glass pan of leftover lasagna before I put it in the fridge. “Don’t you like your sweaters and jacket?” I ask. “You don’t buy a lot of casual clothes for yourself, Jesse.”

  “It’s not that, baby,” he murmurs, “I love everything you bought me, it’s just that I think you need to be saving for college, that’s all.”

  And my heart is doing a pitter-pat because he’s called me ‘baby’—and he never does that unless we’re in the bedroom. My stomach feels all fluttery inside.

  “Well, I did kind of over-do it I guess, but that’s because it’s also your Christmas presents, too.”

  I can’t bring myself to look at him so I seal the edges of the plastic wrap around the lasagna and put it in the fridge.

  “Well why didn’t you just hold some of them back until Christmas then?” he asks, giving a soft chuckle, as he loads the dishwasher.

  I swallow, mustering up some nerve. “Because I won’t be here at Christmas. I’m going back to Meridian once the semester ends.”

  Dead silence fills the room as he stops what he’s doing and I freeze where I stand, afraid to look at him because if I do, I know I won’t be able to hold it together.

  Breathe . . . just breathe.

  I feel him behind me; his warm breath is caressing the back of my neck like silken fingers. His hands are on my shoulders and he gently turns me around to face him.

  I look up into his blue eyes and I wait for him to say something . . . anything because it’s his turn to speak, and because he’s the only person who has a chance of changing my mind.

  But he doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me.

  The air around us is thick with confusion with too many words left unsaid. They aren’t my words to say though, they’re Jesse’s, and he’s not saying them. His hands remain on me; his gaze continues to penetrate me as if somehow he can see what’s in my mind if he stares at me long enough.

  All the silence is making me feel cheated and sad because he can’t—or won’t say the words that could make all of the difference in the world. The words that will assure me that whatever we’ve done, whatever we’ve been to one another, it’s beautiful and acceptable, and it doesn’t make us bad or ugly people.

  Finally I can stand it no longer.

  “I’m going to get a shower. I’m going over to Shayla’s to hang out for awhile.”

  And he releases his hands from me but not his eyes. I feel his gaze follow me as I leave the kitchen and head down the hallway towards my room.

  Chapter 20

  * * *

  I drive over to Shayla’s house; Missy is already there. We decide to go to a movie which is fine because neither one of them will notice how quiet I am tonight.

  So far, Shayla has kept her word; she’s not said anything to anyone, even Missy as far as I can tell. After the movie, Missy asks to be dropped off at her house because her boyfriend, Clint, is coming over later.

  “You’re dick-whipped,” Shayla teases.

  “You’re just jealous,” Missy replies, flipping her off.

  Once Missy’s been delivered, Shayla turns to me. “What happened?” she asks.

  “Wh-what makes you think anything happened?” I ask, frowning and wondering if she’s got some sixth sense or something.”

  “Because I can feel your pain in a way—I’m sensitive to certain things.”

  “Care to clue me in,” I reply, fairly certain there’s more to Shayla than what I know, and maybe it’s time she shares with me.

  “Have you ever seen me hanging with any dudes at school?”

  “No.”

  “Did I go to Homecoming even though Brian Temple asked me to go?”

  “No.”

  “Do I ever share with you what I’ve done over the weekend—like Missy does?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  My mind is racing to find an explanation because Shayla doesn’t talk about boyfriends, or crushes, or even man-whores like Missy does.

  “You’re a—a . . . lesbian?”

  “No! Fuck you,” she laughs loudly. “I’m seeing a man . . . he’s a bit older than me, too. I mean not as old as Jesse, but he’s twenty-four. And he’s . . . married.”

  “No . . . I mean, really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Does Missy know?”

  She laughs again, good-naturedly. “Of all of the questions you could’ve asked me, you want to know whether Missy knows or not?”

  I shrug, giving her a smile. “I know—I’m a dork.”

  “Yes, Missy knows and she doesn’t approve so we don’t discuss it. So, you see, I know how you felt having that secret and not being able to share it with anyone, and I also know how you might be feeling right now because I can tell that something is eating at you.”

  I tell her what happened earlier with Jesse. This is the first time she’s learned that I’m leaving at the end of the semester. That’s what upsets her the most.

  “Why?” she asks me, “If you love him, why the hell would you leave?”

  “Because he doesn’t love me; because it’s the right thing to do, and because I don’t want anything to happen that will hurt my little sister. I
love Scout too much.”

  “Oh please,” she replies, getting angry for some strange reason. “You’ve been more of a mother figure to Scout than your own mother was for Chrissake! She of all people doesn’t want you to leave. You’re just still all fucked-up over what that next-door-neighbor skank said to you. She’s not gonna run her mouth or she would’ve by now. She’s just jealous because Jesse’s fucking you and not her.”

  “Okkaay,” I reply, “But there’s still the matter of Jesse not loving me back, and the fact that I love him and my sister.”

  “Hey, I love my sister too, but I’m still sleeping with her husband, because guess what? I love him more.”

  Oh. My. God.

  We sit in stunned silence having pulled up in front of her house.

  “Well, aren’t you gonna say something? Get all judgy on me?”

  “Nope,” I reply. “I’m in no position to judge anyone, Shayla. I would like to know how it happened—I mean, if you feel like telling me.”

  “Hell yeah, but we need to talk out here. I can’t risk my parents over-hearing this.”

  “I understand.”

  Shayla relates to me how it happened that the affair started between herself and her brother-in-law, Pierce, nearly eight months ago. Shayla’s sister, Sonya, is the oldest, and at twenty-five, she’s on the fast track career wise. Sonya and Pierce have two young children together, a four-year-old and two year-old.

  Sonya travels extensively on business; Pierce is able to work out of his home office as a regional sales manager. At her mother’s urging, Shayla starting helping out when Sonya traveled for weeks on end last winter.

  In early spring, Pierce confided in her that Sonya was having an affair with her superior, and that he was—as Shayla put it—totally fucked up over it. Shayla became his sounding board, and from there, things have just continued to heat up. The first time they slept together was on St. Patrick’s Day she said. She was watching the babies while he went out with some friends to celebrate.

  Shayla said when he got home he was totally hammered and told her that he was falling in love with her, that he has dreams about her all of the time, and that he wanted to make love to her. She said she was trying to get him to bed to sleep it off and then things just ‘got out of hand’ and they fucked. She said he was the best ever and they’ve been hooking up ever since.

  “Does he tell you that he loves you?” I ask.

  “All the time.”

  “So, what are you going to do, Shayla?”

  She shrugs. “It’s a mess, I know. But I love him—the same way that you love Jesse.”

  “Hey, I get that. I’m just wondering where you see it going. I mean he loves you, that’s different than me and Jesse.”

  “Well,” she says wistfully, “I turn eighteen next March, and then we’ll be graduating in late May so I guess we’ll see what happens after that. I guess we need to be making some plans before then.”

  “What kind of . . . plans?”

  “For our future,” she replies, a bit tersely.

  “I’m sure everything will work out fine,” I assure her, not wanting to ask any further questions because clearly, she’s not comfortable answering them any longer.

  “Oh—and September? Just because Jesse doesn’t say that he loves you doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you. I mean I’m the one that said it first to Pierce, but now he says it to me all the time,” she says, giving me a meek smile. “Mostly right before he comes.”

  Chapter 21

  * * *

  I’ve been virtually tiptoeing around Jesse for the past couple of weeks.

  Ever since I gave him the news.

  He’s not approached me about it since. He’s not come to my room since then either, which is probably for the best, considering the whole point is to get him out of my system—and out of my heart.

  That’s not going to be easy.

  Scout senses something is amiss between us. She’s grown extra clingy with me, which must mean she’s feeling insecure about something.

  It’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and she and I have been out of school all week. Jesse seems to be working later and later these days, we haven’t all sat down together for a meal since that Saturday of the birthday celebration.

  He won’t have an excuse for tomorrow though. He’s off work and Scout and I are making the Thanksgiving feast, though she’s grumbling a bit about it at the moment.

  “I still don’t see why I have to learn all of this,” she grumbles from her chair at the kitchen table where I’ve perched her in front of a stack of stale bread. Her job is to tear it into little pieces for the dressing.

  “Because when I was your age I learned how to do it and that’s why I know how to cook now,” I reply, sifting some flour into a bowl for a piecrust.

  “Well who taught you?”

  “Mama,” I reply softly, “And then when she left, Gram taught me a lot more stuff. If you do it often enough, you don’t even need to bother with recipes, it’s just in your head.”

  “Well you know how to cook and Dad knows how to cook some things so I don’t see why I need to know all of this stuff. I’m just a kid.”

  “You won’t always be a kid, Scout. You need to learn so that you can help your dad with this stuff. Did he make Thanksgiving dinner for you last year?”

  “Un-unh, we went out to eat.”

  “Well this year you can be proud when we set this turkey feast out on the dining room table because you helped make it happen.”

  She isn’t buying it and only grudgingly helps with the things I instruct her to do.

  By late afternoon, the pumpkin pie is cooling and the turkey is dressed and in the refrigerator ready for the oven tomorrow morning.

  My cell rings. It’s Jesse.

  I answer it and immediately I hear a lot of whooping and hollering in the background.

  “September—I’m gonna be late tonight. Don’t worry about keeping my supper warm. I’m going to a fish fry and Monte Carlo night at St. John’s. They have it every year the night before Thanksgiving. I forgot all about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t think to ask if maybe you had plans with Shayla or Missy tonight.”

  “It’s fine. I didn’t have any plans. Scout and I’ve been working in the kitchen most of the afternoon getting tomorrow’s dinner ready.”

  “Oh shit,” he replies, “I usually just take her out for Thanksgiving dinner. You didn’t need to go to all that fuss for just the three of us.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I say firmly. “She needs to learn how to do some of these things.”

  There’s silence on the other end, and if it weren’t for the loud noise and voices in the background, I would’ve thought the call was dropped or ended. “Jesse?”

  “Yeah. Um . . . I’ll be late so see you in the morning.”

  Now the call is ended.

  I order a pizza and Scout and I veg out in front of the television, watching ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’ for the umpteenth time since I’ve been here I think. It’s one of her favorites.

  Once she’s showered and gone on to bed, I busy myself with finishing up laundry and then chat with Shayla on the phone for a while.

  “Holidays suck,” she says, “At least for me for obvious reasons.”

  “Damn,” I reply, “I never thought about that! So, it’s like all your family is together and you have to keep your distance from Pierce so that no one suspects anything, right?”

  “Well—yeah. But the hardest thing is when my mom and dad start yammering about me not dating anyone and asking Pierce if his younger brother is seeing anyone—my God! They pull that shit every holiday from even before we were in love with each other. Get’s old, ya know?”

  “You know, Shayla, if you’d rather bug out of being with your family tomorrow, you’re more than welcome to come over and have Thanksgiving dinner with us. Things are kind of . . . weird . . . since I told Jesse I’m going back to Meridian
and all.”

  “Thanks but no thanks, Hun. I’ll take my chances at home. Besides, Pierce and I have plans to sneak a kiss or ten during the afternoon. Have it all planned out.”

  “Well be careful,” I warn, wondering why the hell I’ve become so ‘motherly’ these days. What the hell happened to just being a teenager?

  And I know what happened. Jesse.

  “Have a good one,” she says. “I’ll call you Friday if you feel like shopping. Laters.”

  I think about the subtle ways that I’ve changed since Jesse made me a woman—and yes, I know how completely cheesy and corny that sounds, but how else do I explain it?

  I mean, let’s face it—I used to lie when the truth would’ve done just as well. And like he said, I did pull sneaky shit—and he was never fooled. I carefully crafted this whole seduction with him, making sure that Casey was out of the picture.

  Why?

  I can honestly say that there had been a point in time when I just knew that I wanted him. Maybe it was way before I even came to visit this time—as far back as when Mama left and I felt the need to take care of him like she should’ve. Because the truth is that Jesse has always taken care of me.

  He wasn’t the one that wanted to return me to my grandparents to live after she had left; they were the ones that insisted on it. But he’d let them and that had hurt. I remember the hurt.

  And then I realize that when I first came here in June, I still harbored some resentment towards Jesse—and some jealousy over Scout because their lives had gone on fine without Mama—and without me. I was the outsider trying to fit in.

  It didn’t take long though before I felt like I did fit in—that I belonged here with them, only in a different way. And I had done my best to get exactly what I wanted—no matter what.

  Hearing that Jesse is spending his hard-earned money to find out if our mother is really dead—or still alive seals the deal as far as I’m concerned. He’s never gotten over her, so what in the hell have I been to him? Just someone that reminds him of Mama—but never someone that he intends to love?