Cody has Diane’s cold now. Despite the fact that she should probably be in quarantine, she has decided to come to school again. I wonder if she’s even taking cold medicine, or if she’s playing up her symptoms on purpose to get sympathy and attention. Cody, at least, has a reason to be at school with a cold. He has a test he can’t miss, but he keeps a careful distance from everyone at lunch and at least he is taking something for the coughing.
Diane takes the empty chair beside Willa. I expect her to ask Diane to move or to get up and switch seats, but instead Willa puts her foot on the edge of Diane’s chair and physically pushes it about two feet to the left.
“Hey!”
“You’re invading my bubble.”
Whatever witty riposte Diane has ready is cut off by a massive sneeze that she barely bothers to cover.
“You’re phlegming all over the table!”
“No one needs to catch your cold before grad,” Paige interjects. Diane narrows her eyes and asks in a spiteful tone if Paige has found anyone to go with yet. She hasn’t, and it’s a sensitive subject with her, so Hannah does the gracious thing and interrupts the tension. While the chatter turns to movies, I study Willa. I promised her we’d make plans to avoid the grad dance. I’ll have to think of something special to do with her that night.
*
I’m due to arrive at the Kirk house at five for supper. I wear a nice shirt, but nix the idea of a tie. I don’t want to look like a kiss-ass. I ask Mom to give me a ride, mostly because I want to exploit her gentle presence to keep Frank Kirk from shooting me on sight.
“You seem nervous,” she says as we turn onto the Kirks’ street. I’ve met girlfriends’ parents before, but this is different. Frank already has a grudge against me and I know he’s suspicious of me as a cancer patient, like I might unintentionally hurt his sister with my health problems. I already have, so in a way he’s right. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“Not nervous, just terribly alert.”
Mom even offers to walk me to the door. Luckily it’s Willa that answers. She gives Mom a hug and extends the dinner invitation to her as well.
“Thank you, but I have to get back.” She gives me a hug goodbye and I almost wish she would stay.
“Is your brother in a good mood?” I whisper to Willa as I hug her hello. She just shrugs. Helpful as ever, I see.
Frank is in the kitchen, sitting at the table and nursing a beer. He asks me if I want one, which seems like a pretty obvious trick question.
“No thank you, sir.” The man looks at me like I’m a strange, wild animal in his house that he isn’t sure how to deal with—whack it over the head with a baseball bat, or keep a door open and hope it leaves on its own? He sits there and stares at me while I make myself useful to Willa however I can, stirring pots, setting the table. She’s making beer batter fish and home cut fries for her brother, and barley with vegetables for me. She serves herself an equal portion of both my food and Frank’s, like she’s trying to be impartial.
Frank looks from the bowl of barley to me and something clicks behind his eyes.
“Is that some vegan…stuff?” he asks. Something tells me he had a different word than ‘stuff’ in mind.
“No, Frank, it’s just barley,” Willa said.
“Barley?”
“You’re drinking it,” she says before he can complain, and points to his beer. Frank doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look happy.
I like the barley dish, almost as much as I like the fact that Willa made solid food for me tonight. Eating soup in front of her brother, who already doesn’t like me because of my illness, wouldn’t do me any favors. The barley is bland and easy to chew, mixed with small slices of boiled celery, carrot and chickpeas. I detect a hint of lemon and ginger in the dressing.
“So, Jem, how are your parents?” And thus the inquisition begins.
“They’re doing well. My mom is working on plans to expand a school in Ottawa.”
“That must keep her busy.”
“It does.” She’s been singing in her office a lot, so that’s a good sign.
“And your dad?”
“Same as always. He likes working in Smiths Falls better than Ottawa—fewer violent injuries in the ER.” The crime rate in Smiths Falls is boringly low. The worst Dad sees are domestic and workplace accidents, and maybe the odd car crash.
“I there’s a nasty flu going around,” Frank says. "But I suppose that’s not something a surgeon would see much of.”
Willa rolls her eyes and says, “This bitch at school has it and is determined to infect us all.”
Frank casually scolds her for foul language and then asks me if I’m feeling all right.
“I’m fine. Better every day.” And I actually mean it this time.
Frank nods thoughtfully as he chews. “So…what are the odds of you getting sick again?”
He flinches as Willa kicks him under the table. “Jesus, Frank.”
“I don’t know, sir. I don’t look at the stats. That’s just a quick way to drive yourself insane. Knowing the national average won’t predict an individual patient’s future.”
Willa’s toes rub mine under the table. It’s like she’s apologizing for the awkwardness. I rub her right back.
“But if you did get sick again,” Frank persists, “it would be harder to beat it twice?”
No sense in lying to him. “Yes.”
Frank gives his sister a hard look. Willa picks up his beer and drains the remaining two inches before pushing away from the table. “Excuse me, I’ll just go beat my head against a wall.”
“Willie, come finish your supper.”
“I’m not hungry.” She goes to the kitchen and starts filling the sink to wash dishes. I start to stand up, to go join her or talk her back to the table, but Frank stops me. “Jem.”
I sit back down for a moment.
“It’s nothing against you personally. I think you’re a decent guy. But I don’t think you’re good for her, and you both need to face that reality.” He nods to the kitchen door and his sister.
“Respectfully, sir, I disagree.” I take my plate and hers and clear them away. Let him eat his dinner alone.
I find Willa vigorously scrubbing a frying pan, taking out her frustration on the Teflon. The pan is scratched to shit because her brother can’t be trusted in the kitchen. I set our plates beside the sink and wrap my arms around her.
“Are you okay?” I whisper into her hair.
“He promised he would behave,” she says stiffly.
“It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal.”
“Let it go.” I rub her arms and shoulders, trying to calm her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I expected worse.”
“You shouldn’t expect to be treated like shit.”
Frank comes in from the dining room, carrying his empty plate and scowling. “Rule number four,” he says. Whatever that means.
“Frank,” Willa says, “go watch TV.”
Saturday
I get up at a reasonable hour for a Saturday and enjoy a shower. As I get dressed I hear Elise playing music down the hall. She’s blasting Wheatus in her room. I thought I hid that CD from her months ago.
She starts belting the lyrics to “Teenage Dirtbag.” Ugh, how is it even possible that we share DNA?
I barge into her room without knocking and march over to her CD player. “Hey!” she protests as I eject the disk.
“As your brother it’s my job to protect you from epically shitty music.” I open the window and fling the CD out like a Frisbee.
“Jem!” And now my eardrums are bleeding. Elise punches me in the shoulder and races downstairs to retrieve her CD from the lawn, yelling “Mooooom!” all the way.
“You’ll thank me when you’re older!” I yell out the window at her. Elise picks up her CD and gives me the finger. I send it right back at her.
Elise stomps inside and appeals to the parental court for justice
due to the microscopic scratch on her shitty CD. It doesn’t go precisely as she thought it would: Dad takes one look at the name on the disk and says, “You paid for this?”
“Dad!”
“Have a pancake.”
*
Elise comforts herself with a Harry Potter marathon, including the DVD extras. Eric sits down next to her to offer comfort, but when he hears about what happened he just laughs. That puts Elise in an even worse mood. She hears the doorbell ring when Willa arrives, and tries to mar my happy moment by practically shouting the dialogue along with the actors.
“Morning.” I lean in for a kiss as Elise declaims along with Mrs. Weasley’s Howler. Willa looks to the living room and raises an eyebrow questioningly.
“She’s having a rough day.” I put an arm around Willa and usher her upstairs.
“Something about that guy?” Willa asks lowly as we cross the upper landing.
“What has she told you?” If he did anything to her, I will break him.
Willa shrugs. “Nothing. She’s been trying to get over her crush.” I automatically grin at the news.
I take Willa into my bedroom. Maybe we can create a playlist together for once instead of over the phone.
Willa locks the door behind us. What for?
“I like those jeans.” They’re the one pair that fit me. Willa casually squeezes my right cheek and gives my butt an appreciative pat. I realize my mouth is open when she makes a jerking motion in front of my lips. I’m just surprised, is all. I’m not used to being… attractive. She touches me so casually, like there’s nothing complicated or different about grabbing my ass.
I grab hers right back.
“I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”
She has?
I slip my hand into her back pocket. Willa’s arm wraps around my neck as she reaches up for a kiss. The hand in her pocket flexes as she begins to walk me backwards. My knees touch the foot of the bed and we fall back on it together. Willa is careful to break her fall with her arms so as not to hurt me.
“I like your shirt.”
It would look better on the floor.
“Always the tits with you, isn’t it?” Like she’s complaining. “Will you take off your hat?”
I refuse to let her kill this moment. “Nope.”
“It’s t-shirt weather and you’re wearing wool.”
“Actually, I think it’s alpaca. You’d have to ask Elise.”
“Alpaca is wool.”
“Nuh-uh.” She opens her mouth to argue so I pull her down for a kiss. It’s my favorite way to interrupt her. Willa tries to talk anyway.
“You really”—kiss—“won’t”—kiss—“take—”
“No, it stays. I keep my hat on, you keep your pants on.”
“And what if I don’t want to keep my pants on?” She gives me a wicked smirk. Willa loves to call my bluff.
“Well then too damn bad.”
“Where are your parents?” she whispers.
“Uh, Dad’s at the hospital. Mom’s in her office.” I can see where she’s going with this. “Eric’s just down the hall, in the library. Close enough to hear.”
“We’ll have to be quiet, then.” She dips her neck into mine and I can’t think straight when she kisses me like that. Some magnetic force attaches my hand to her boob. She’s wearing a thin cotton bra—no wire, and I can feel everything through it.
“Did you ever think about this, before?” I ask. My voice might be a little husky. Might.
Willa just chuckles. Her teeth close around my earlobe and I melt. My thumb makes its way to the little valley between her breasts, and I feel a ridge of plastic. She’s wearing a front-clasp bra.
Sweet baby Jesus, yes!
You’re not going to do anything with it, genius.
“Did you ever picture me naked?” she murmurs with a smile. I freeze for a second. Not because I don’t want to admit that I did—do—picture her naked, fondly and frequently, but because I think her tone just implied that she thinks of me in the same manner. I bet she imagines something better than the reality; more weight, fewer scars, hair in all the appropriate places…
“You look guilty,” she observes.
“Uh…”
Willa giggles and kisses my cheek. “What? You got some weird fantasy?”
“No.” Bending her over in the bathtub. Over the desk. In my desk chair. Against the door. On the couch. On the rug. On her knees in front of my piano bench… “Nothing unusual.”
You forgot ‘in the car.’
Willa rolls onto her side next to me and props her head up on her elbow. Her other hand stays wrapped around my middle, idly stroking my side. “Tell me.”
“Uh…”
She whispers in my ear, “What do you think about when you’re alone?” Does it get her off to hear this? Does Willa like dirty talk?
“Um…” I’m just full of eloquent answers today. The honest answer to her question is ‘how much I know it’s going to hurt should I manage to come,’ but that’s not sexy. I should lie, if only for form’s sake.
“I think about you.”
“What am I doing?” Her breath is hot on my neck. The magnets in her nipples tug at my hand again. Willa only encourages me to touch.
“You’re on your knees.”
She chuckles. “And where’s my mouth?”
Screaming for more.
“You’re facing away from me.”
“And what are you doing?”
I swallow. I don’t want to set up the expectation that I will be able to follow through on this fantasy in the near future, because I won’t.
“I’m…”
“Do you want to show me?” Her hand migrates from my waist to my crotch. Unlike Ava, she doesn’t bother to feel around. She goes right for the goods and strokes me through my jeans. Hello, marshmallow dick.
I pull her hand away. “I don’t want you to touch me there.” Willa looks more than a little confused. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have played along—I teased you.”
Willa’s eyes travel southward and I bend my knees up to make it look like I’m hiding a boner. She isn’t fooled.
“You’re not into it?”
“I am, really.” It’s Ava all over again, only this time I don’t want to push Willa away and shut her out while I lick my wounds. “It’s complicated.”
Willa raises an eyebrow. She sits up, and just the smallest signal of her pulling away makes me panic a little. I pull her back down and she lands on me awkwardly. I kiss her desperately and squeeze her ass to prove that yes, I am into her.
Stay with me; stay with me…
I can tell she’s confused, but she still kisses me back. At first she doesn’t know what to do with my sudden aggression, since our kisses are usually slow and gentle, but then she picks it up and matches me stroke for stroke. I get her bra undone through her shirt—I love front clasps—and Willa grabs my hand away.
“Jem.” I am in such trouble. “Fair is fair. You don’t get to touch me if I can’t touch you.”
“I do want you,” I try to impress on her.
“But you don’t want me to touch you.”
“In certain places,” I agree lamely. Willa stares at me for a few seconds. There’s understanding in her eyes, and that’s the only reason her silence doesn’t scare the shit out of me.
“Is it a kidney thing?” she asks.
“What?”
“Why you don’t want to be touched there.” She signals to my crotch with her eyes. “I don’t know much about kidney problems. Is, uh, incontinence an issue?”
I can’t decide whether I should throw myself out the window or stick my head in the oven. I’ve sabotaged myself again, somehow managing to turn a hot make out session into a conversation about whether I piss myself involuntarily.
What is wrong with Willa that she looks so damn understanding? What if I said yes, I do pee my pants and wear an adult diaper? There is something seriously wrong with her if she would
stick by a guy like that.
She takes my hand and I don’t want her to think I’m that guy. I end up telling her the whole sordid story. I tell her that if I get hard it’s almost always by accident, and I don’t stay that way long enough to finish. There’s no intensity of feeling down there. When I do finish, it feels like I’ve been kicked in the balls; just painful ejaculation with no orgasm to make it worthwhile.
Willa listens to the whole thing patiently. When I run out of words she cups my jaw in her hand and tries to kiss me. I don’t want to be kissed; I’ve never felt less sexy than I do right now, and I don’t want her to try to ‘fix’ my problem the way Ava did.
“How long has this been going on?” she asks.
“Since winter.”
“No wonder you’re so grouchy,” she says. “Months without an orgasm. I’d be climbing the walls.”
“Not funny.”
“Put on a t-shirt.”
“What?”
“Short sleeves. I want to show you something.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Humor me, please.” She smiles so sweetly, but I just can’t do it. I close my eyes and rest my forehead on hers with a sigh.
“Please, Willa, let it go.”
She wraps her arms around me tightly, drawing me into my favorite kind of hug. Willa holds onto me like she wants nothing more than to be as close to me as possible. She’s not overly gentle with me; I’m her boyfriend, not a piece of glass.
“Can you feel your heart beating?”
I sigh, happy and grateful. Willa always knows how to center me.
“Yes.”
“Feel it in your wrists?”
“Yes.” My wrists are pressed against her shoulder blades, holding onto her just as hard as she is to me.
“In your elbows?”
“Mmmh.”
“In your ears?”
She keeps going, whispering places and breathing softly against my neck until I’m so relaxed I’m almost asleep. She rubs my back and tells me she loves me, and I barely have the will to care when I feel her pushing my sleeve up.
“Feel your heartbeat here,” she says, and plants a long, wet kiss on my inner elbow. She lifts her lips away and licks me softly, dragging her tongue up the center of my elbow. The skin there is so thin I bet she can feel my pulse with her lips, and I, in turn, can feel every bit of her lips in acute detail. She slowly repeats the movement on my other elbow. A sigh escapes me as her fingers trace the backs of my knees.
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