Us, Again

by Elle Maxwell

  “Thanks for that,” I say sarcastically as Shaina bursts out laughing. “And you sound awfully familiar with my boyfriend’s sexual prowess. Anything you want to tell me?”

  I’m kidding. I’m confident the two of them would never do that to me. But it’s too fun poking at my bestie.

  “We share a wall, chica,” she reminds me with a significant look and a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t stop there, though, turning to Shaina. “Our apartment is like that Friends episode where Joey and Chandler find a 24/7 porn station on TV.”

  When we stop laughing at that, we lapse back into silence for a little bit, and I keep watching Graham and the kids. I want that. I do. I never really had a doubt that I envisioned motherhood as a part of my future, but during those years Graham was gone, it seemed such an abstract concept, easily put out of mind in the category of “someday.” When I pictured that future, there was always a fuzzy and obscure partner beside me who I’d be creating and raising those children with. I figured he was just some forever guy I hadn’t found yet. It’s crazy how quickly Graham’s face has resumed its former place in that picture, especially today when my mind keeps superimposing images of our children over the kids he’s playing with. And again … all the womb throbbing.

  “Was he planned?” I ask Shaina, nodding my head toward her baby bump.

  “I don’t think anything about me and Griff has ever been planned,” she says with a little eye roll. Then she splays both palms over her stomach as though trying to cover her unborn son’s ears; she has small hands and the bump is gigantic, so she barely spans half of it, but I still find the effort cute. “Honestly, it isn’t the best time to be having another kid. Griff won’t actually say it, but I can tell he’s already worried about money even without a new baby. It’s going to be a stretch suddenly having to buy diapers and baby stuff, especially since I’ll have to be out of work for who knows how long.”

  Marisa and I make sympathetic noises but don’t say anything, because there’s nothing we can say. We may share a similar dirty sense of humor and have fun spending time with Shaina, but neither of us can truly understand the position she’s in. She’s only five years older than us, but sometimes she seems much older than that. At our age she already had Layla, a baby she had to care for on her own because Griff was in prison. Marisa and I simply don’t have the life experiences to empathize with the sort of burden and responsibility she and Griff have. I secretly strengthen my resolve to help Graham with his goal to help them out financially.

  “We’re happy, though,” Shaina says. “Griff and I traveled a long hard road to get here, but having what we do now somehow makes all that shit in between worth it. And I wouldn’t trade Layla for anything in the world, even though she came at a rough time too. A rougher time, actually,” she laughs.

  This woman amazes me and continues to do so every time I’m with her. She’s so strong and so incredibly resilient. And when she says she’s happy, I can tell she truly means it. I have no doubt that she and Griff will make it work no matter what comes their way. I’ve only heard little bits of their story from Shaina as we’ve spent time together the past few months, but it’s enough to know she’s not kidding that it was tough. Maybe because of that, I get the sense that they are even more appreciative of what they have together and will fight to survive anything that tries to get in their way. I can only hope Graham and I will hold up under the test of time the way our friends have.

  “I can’t even begin to tell you how much better this pregnancy is. Griff got arrested when I was only a few months along with Layla, so this time he’s going almost too far being sweet and helpful. I love it, but don’t tell him, because I like giving him shit. And being pregnant makes me horny all the time, so having him nearby is very helpful.” She gives us a little wink and waggles her eyebrows.

  “So glad you’re mentioning it, because I’ve been meaning to ask about those logistics …” Marisa says. She makes some insane hand motions that I think are meant to represent Griff’s giant 6’4” form and Shaina’s 5’2” petite frame.

  Proving why they became instant friends, Shaina doesn’t so much as blink or blush at Marisa’s question. She just leans forward a bit and smiles wickedly.

  “Well, first of all, yes … it’s huge.”

  25. NO ADDITIONAL FOREPLAY REQUIRED

  Mackenzie

  Graham and I help clean up the tables, which looked like a hurricane had blown through by the time the last kid’s mom came to pick her up. We fill a garbage bag with all the scattered wrapping paper, empty juice boxes, and plates of frosting smeared cake, then collect Layla’s presents neatly in a second bag. Once we finish, Shaina pushes her camping chair next to the picnic table and sits down with a sigh, propping her feet up on the wooden bench seat. She closes her eyes for a moment, tipping her head back to soak up the late afternoon sun.

  Layla, who still has tons of energy, is on the other side of the picnic tables animatedly chatting with her new BFF Marisa (well, she might be tied with Graham for that title. I’m not going to mention this because the two of them would have way too much fun arguing about it). I smile remembering the first time Shaina brought Layla over to our place. Before they arrived, Graham asked me (adorably hesitant and obviously choosing his words carefully) if Marisa could behave around a kid. I wish I’d gotten my phone ready to snap a photo of his jaw nearly hitting the floor when I informed him that Marisa—my sassy foul-mouthed roommate infamous for her sexually explicit comments, who calls Graham “Señor McFuckHot”—is actually focusing her studies on childhood and adolescent psychology. He’s now admitted that she’s basically magic with kids or a “kid whisperer” as Shaina calls it.

  “Heads-up!”

  A football flies into our area, and Graham immediately moves in and catches it midair. He does this gracefully and makes it look so simple, filling me with a little glow of pride. I’m reminded of so many great times in high school watching him play. I wonder when he last touched a football?

  A guy who looks a little younger than us—maybe an undergrad? —comes running over from the open field on the far side of the park.

  “Sorry!” His eyes widen slightly as Graham throws the ball back to him with the same easy perfection. The guy’s friend comes up to join him and together they walk closer to our group rather than going back to the field.

  “Nice arm!” the second guy says to Graham in an appreciative tone. The two wide-eyed boys look Griff and Graham up and down.

  “Ooh, I’ve read this one like fifteen times! This is a classic romantic comedy Meet Cute … they are soooo going to end up together,” Marisa narrates quietly so only Shaina and I can hear. We try to smother our laughter so the guys don’t notice and ask us to explain.

  “Uh, we could use a couple more. You guys want to play?” the first boy asks.

  Griff and Graham’s heads simultaneously swing in our direction, looking for all the world like two kids asking their mom for permission. I lay a hand over my mouth, faking a little cough as I struggle to hold in another bout of giggles.

  “What do you think? It’s up to you, babe,” Griff asks Shaina, aware she must be tired from the long afternoon.

  “Twenty minutes,” Shaina consents with a look and tone that screams ‘mom’ that I’ve seen countless times from my own mother. Perhaps it’s part of some standard hormonal programming that’s automatically downloaded into women when they give birth.

  Layla jumps up and down, even more excited than the men. We collect all of our things and follow the boys over to the field, which is just beyond a cluster of trees that mostly obstructed it from our view before. We set out our chairs along the sideline and get comfortable to watch, laughing about how it truly feels like we’re here to watch our kids at sports practice.

  The boys cluster around Griff and Graham then break off into two groups. It seems each team got one of our guys since Graham walks off in one direction and Griff in the other. I hadn’t noticed before, but now I see they must be
playing “Skins versus Shirts,” because the boys on one side of the field are bare chested. I’ve just registered this when something flies at me so quickly I don’t have time to duck. The fabric lands square in my face, covering my whole head and obstructing my vision. I instantly identify it as Graham’s shirt—I could recognize his scent anywhere)—and when I remove it, Graham is indeed now standing in the center of the field with every glorious dip and ridge of his chest on display. He smirks at the sound of Marisa and Shaina’s obnoxiously loud whistles and cheers. Layla joins along, although she is too young to understand that we’re celebrating her Uncle Graham’s hotness. I add a “whoop” of my own, and he winks at me before turning his focus to the other boys on his team as they begin the game.

  It’s immediately apparent that Graham is on a totally different level than the rest of the guys, and even with Griff’s formidable presence on defense, the Shirts team has no chance. Our guys stand out from the pack and are always easy to spot, not only because they are taller than almost every boy playing (Griff the tallest by far), but there is no question that they are men among a group of boys.

  This is without a doubt my favorite football game of all time. I obviously see Graham naked frequently, but I’m now determined to find more opportunities to have him remove his clothing outdoors, because the natural sunlight really shows off the masterpiece that is his body better than any lightbulb. I give up trying to follow the ball, too fixated on watching the way the muscles in Graham’s back and shoulders twist and contract as he runs and the sculpted finesse of his arm as he throws the ball. He works up a light sweat and the glistening moisture serves to highlight the definition in his chest and abdomen, a natural version of that oil photographers use on male models.

  Holy mother of sweet panty soaking views. The car quickie is no longer optional (and no additional foreplay will be required).

  For twenty minutes, our little group of four on the sideline is the world’s strangest cheering squad. We cheer for both teams indiscriminately, but for our men especially. Layla, not really understanding the rules of the game, claps and yells at completely random moments and screams “Go, Daddy!” basically any time Griff moves. Marisa ruins more than one play by distracting the players with her unique exclamations of encouragement. We can only hope Layla’s too busy in her own little world to pay attention because it wouldn’t be great if she parroted any of this at school.

  “Hey, someone on Skins switch with Gingerbread. Show us the goods! Yes, I mean you, Carrot Top!”

  “Aye Papi, get those hands on it!” (To a boy wearing a Red Sox jersey with ‘Big Papi’ on the back.)

  “Ooh yes, Abercrombie, way to get on top of him. Don’t be afraid to grab a little flesh!” (When one boy tackles another to the ground to prevent a touchdown.)

  When their twenty minutes is up, Shaina signals to Griff, and after some manly handshakes and back slaps, our sweaty men join us on the sideline. Layla, who finally seems to have run out of steam, immediately flies into Griff’s arms so he can carry her to their car. We say goodbye in the parking lot and all exchange hugs before dispersing to our own vehicles.

  Thankfully, Marisa drove herself.

  I fix my eye on Graham and watch his face change as he takes in the expression on mine.

  “Think you can find us a more private parking spot?”

  26. SHRINK SHADY

  Graham

  “Good to see you, Doc. It’s been a minute.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Graham. I was surprised—pleasantly—to see you on my calendar. I still don’t understand how you managed to get the front desk staff to make this appointment, though. It’s very … unconventional.”

  “Oh, you mean Beth? We’re old pals.” I shrug and try to tone my grin down to a smirk.

  Did I make a dozen calls just trying to find the woman I only knew as “Dr. Shady” and then another couple hundred to her office in order to end up in this chair? Yep. I won’t admit it to her, though.

  “You’re something else,” Doc replies with her own version of a smirk and a shake of her head. “But then you always were.”

  Turns out it’s not so easy to track down your old shrink from prison. I finally found the woman we all called “Shrink Shady”—whose full name I’ve now learned is Dr. Sade Hadiyah—in this little professional building in Roslindale where she rents an office twice a week for appointments with her patients who aren’t in prison. As I’ve now heard many times, it’s not standard practice for her to have contact with the inmates she counsels in prison once they’ve been released, but I managed to convince the lovely receptionist Beth that I am not “standard.” She finally decided I’m not a threat to the doc’s safety after I showed up a couple of times with donuts and coffee for the whole office staff, looking my most civilized with my beard groomed and wearing some of my dad’s expensive dress clothes.

  “So, tell me what’s been going on. How are you finding life on the outside?”

  Her voice is more familiar to me than most in the world, and I immediately settle in my chair and sink into the old routine of spilling my guts to her. She looks the same too. Her shiny straight black hair is closely cropped around her face—a look that she totally rocks, Audrey Hepburn style. She’s the opposite of Audrey in every other way, though, from her short curvy frame to her skin that’s the color of spiced apple cider. She’s a good-looking woman, which the inmates definitely noticed. It’s her face, however, that always draws and keeps my attention. There’s something … serene about it, this calm quiet strength that became something of a touchstone for me over the years I met with her, a steady constant that I drew comfort from the way some people do the North Star.

  At first, I just stick to the good stuff. She saw me through my darkest times, and I want to show off a little by sharing how well I’m doing. I tell Doc about being back with Mackenzie and how great things are going with us and even the online course I’m taking on founding and running a nonprofit.

  “I want to do some good with all this money Mom and Dad left me, you know? I certainly don’t need all of it. All I need is a place to live, funds to keep Mackenzie supplied with tacos and chocolate whenever she wants, some savings in case things go to shit, and enough to send our kids to college.”

  She gets a look in her eyes, the one that means she approves of something I’ve said.

  “That’s an extremely responsible and healthy vision for your life, and it seems you’re on track to accomplish that. You should be very proud of yourself, Graham. I’m proud of you.”

  Honest to God, I almost tear up hearing that from her, especially since the doc isn’t someone who throws around empty compliments. For so long I’ve felt like nothing but a fuck up, a part of me sure that I’d always be a fuck up. I can’t remember the last time I was proud of myself or thought that I might be worthy of anyone else’s pride.

  Unfortunately, she hasn’t heard the whole story. I wish I could just leave it here, on a high note, but the stuff I haven’t told her is among the more important reasons I came here today.

  “There’s some other shit I wanted to talk to you about too,” I finally make myself say. “This is still confidential, right?”

  “Of course.” She leans forward slightly in her chair, alert to the seriousness in my voice.

  “There’s a situation, and I’ve … had to keep some things from Mackenzie lately.”

  Fucking Eli. After months of hearing nothing from him, he popped back into my life and now seems determined to deliver perpetual reminders that he isn’t done with me.

  It started toward the end of April, a couple of weeks before Layla’s birthday. I walked out of my house one day to find that my Range Rover, which was sitting right there in my driveway, sporting a new cosmetic feature: it had been keyed, the word SNITCH scratched along the entire driver’s side of the car. That’s when I called Kenz and had to lie to her for the first time since I’ve been out—my first real lie, not just an omission—as I cancelled our plan
s by claiming car trouble and convinced her she didn’t need to come get me. Griff was my second call, and he referred me to a guy he said would do the body work for me quickly and discreetly. Those two days of driving around in my mom’s car were hell, a constant reminder that I was lying to my girl.

  Since then a week hasn’t gone by without at least one incident, though it’s often twice. It started with petty pranks, juvenile shit that was annoying but didn’t worry me too much. My car getting keyed. A dead rat left at my front door. A shattered window on the first floor of my house. It was creepy they were at my house, rubbing it in my face that they know where I live, but all basically harmless. Just intimidation tactics that I suppose Eli sees as a way to play with his food before he eats it. His food being me and the eating being … well, I’ve tried hard not to remember the chilling calm in his pale eyes when he threatened to kill me that night in the parking lot.