For Lila, Forever

by Winter Renshaw

  His shoulders fall, as if he’s relieved. And his subtle show of happiness makes my stomach flip and sends a tingle all the way to my fingertips.

  “But.” I raise a flattened palm. “Just because we feel a certain way doesn’t mean we should act on it.”

  The flash in his eyes that was there a moment ago dims. “We’re both adults. Maybe they won't be thrilled about this at first, but if we can prove to them that nothing bad’s going to happen, that we’re capable of handling this like adults should things go south ...”

  “I’ve been here a week,” I say. “And your grandfather didn’t have to give me a job, but he did. If I didn’t have this? I’d have nothing. Nowhere to go. I have zero dollars to my name. My mom barely had enough life insurance to cover the cost of her funeral. If I’m fired? I’ll literally be homeless. And if my grandparents are fired because of me?” My stomach knots. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing I was responsible for that.”

  “Granddad loves Ed and Junie. He would never fire them. Believe me. And I would never let you be homeless. We’d figure something out.”

  “And you? What if he cuts you off? Is a little summer fling even worth that risk?” I ask. “We’re talking about your future here.”

  “He won’t cut me off,” Thayer says. “It means too much to him that I’m going to Yale. It’s literally like a dream come true for him. He’s been talking about this since I was four years old.”

  Thayer sounds so confident, so assured about all of this. Like he doesn’t have a worry in the world. People who’ve lived comfortable lives with very little trauma and drama and loss tend to have that sort of world view.

  He takes the seat beside me, and I inhale the faded scent of the ocean from his clothes. It’s a strange scent. Not necessarily pleasant, but very much distinct. One I’ll remember and associate with him for the rest of my life, just like I associate the smell of lilacs with my mother since she was always cutting them off trees in the spring and filling vases around our condo with them.

  “They’re only around for so long, Lila,” she’d say. “We have to enjoy them while we can."

  “I don’t know if this is worth the risk,” I tell him.

  “Of course you don’t know,” he says. “Even I don’t know. Yet. But I want to know, don’t you? Because what if in a weird sort of way we were always meant to be together. What if we’re meant to have this epic love story that would make it all worth it? If we let other people and the fear of the unknown keep us apart, we’ll never know.”

  “And what if it isn't worth it? What if we fight and by the end of the summer we hate each other more than we ever thought it was possible to hate another human being?” I ask. “And let’s say I lose my job and my grandparents lose theirs and you lose your college education and we’ve destroyed lives and futures, and for what?”

  “Are you always this pessimistic?” he asks.

  “Are you always this optimistic?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “You realize we have nothing in common.” I bite my thumbnail before folding my hands in my lap. “Like … zero.”

  “No, I didn’t realize that because between you not giving me the time of day and hiding from me, you’re impossible to get to know.”

  “Then how do you know you even like me?” I mentally pat myself on the back, like I’ve just found a clue when I wasn’t even looking, a hole in his story.

  “I’m attracted to you, and I find you and all your confusing and mysterious and contradictory ways fascinating. Those reasons alone are enough for me to like the idea of getting to know you more,” he says. “I get the feeling that underneath this invisible coat of armor you wear, there’s a really amazing person, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t try to get to know her.”

  No one’s ever accused me of wearing an invisible coat of armor. It’s funny. I could’ve said the same about my mother. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

  “How about this,” he begins to say. “We test the waters. We sneak around, like Romeo and Juliet. We tell no one. We play it cool when we’re around the rest of the family. And at the end of the summer, if what we have is real—”

  “—that’s another thing. You’re going back to school in the fall. I don’t think I could afford the rent on a closet in New Haven and the long-distance thing is the worst, so ...”

  “Lila, will you just stop?” His voice is almost raised. Almost. He’s much too kind of a person to yell at me. “Stop thinking of all the reasons it’s going to explode in our faces and start thinking about all of the ways it could be the best thing to ever happen to us.”

  They say optimism is like a muscle. You have to exercise it to make it stronger. You have to practice it to make it second nature. They also say happiness is a choice, and it hits me now that perhaps I’ve been inadvertently choosing unhappiness for years without even realizing it.

  Growing up, we had good years and lean years. Some years we needed help affording groceries. I back-to-school shopped at thrift shops more times than I can count. Used the same backpack through most of elementary school and into middle school until it fell apart at the seams. It wasn’t until I was a sophomore in high school that Mom finally got a decent job with good benefits and a steady paycheck and life got a little more predictable.

  My point is, I’ve spent the vast majority of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  It dropped when just weeks ago, I was getting ready for school and realized Mom still hadn’t left for work yet, which was unusual. When I went to her room, I found her still sleeping in her bed.

  Only she wasn’t sleeping.

  She was ice cold.

  Turns out she’d had an aneurysm, died in her sleep.

  If there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it's that it’s not a matter of if the other shoe is going to drop … but when.

  “So what do you say?” he asks.

  There’s an earnestness in his voice that’s hard to resist, and my brain is firing on all cylinders and in all different directions.

  Do I listen to my gut? My heart? My head?

  If my mom were still here, she’d know. She always gave the best advice. It was always equal parts rational and heartfelt. The irony isn’t lost on me that if she were still around, I wouldn’t be here, faced with this dilemma.

  A random memory comes to mind from a few years back. I was having a rough time at school for whatever fifteen-year-old reason at the time and Mom called us both in sick. We took the day and drove to the ocean. She said sometimes life gets hard and it’s okay to bend the rules a little if you need a break.

  Well, life is hard as hell now.

  And I could use a break.

  Maybe I would have that with Thayer. If we kept everything on the down low, kept this strictly between us … maybe this could work.

  “No expectations,” I say. “And full honesty. Brutal honesty if needed.”

  “Okay. Easy enough.”

  “We tell no one,” I say. “We treat this like a secret our lives depend on.”

  “Got it.”

  “If this implodes … there’s to be no drama, no fighting, no going back and forth. We both walk away like it never happened.”

  “And if it doesn’t implode?”

  I don’t have a response, at least not one that immediately comes to mind because my pessimistic monkey brain is convinced this won't work out, that we’ll go our separate ways at the end of the summer and never see each other again and years from now, we’ll be nothing more than foggy memories of a meaningless summer fling from our younger days.

  “We’ll deal with it when the time comes,” I say. It's the best answer I can give him at this time.

  A dozen other questions flood my mind … like what do we do if we get caught? But I don’t bring it up because we won't get caught.

  And we won’t because we can’t.

  My skin tingles and my lips go numb and for some bizarre rea
son, the thought of looking Thayer in the eye right now makes me anxious. It’s like our entire dynamic has shifted and now the floodgates have been lifted and yet here we are, hesitating.

  Or at least, I’m hesitating.

  He’s probably trying to demonstrate that he's still a perfect gentleman.

  “So what do we do now?” I finally ask after I manage to steady my breathing.

  Slow and steady, his hand reaches for mine, and I ignore my dizzying nerves in order to look his way.

  His full lips inch up in the corner. “I think we kiss. But first ...”

  Thayer guides me into his lap, running his palms down my outer thighs as my heart hammers harder than it ever has.

  Our gazes catch, lingering for what feels like forever.

  I secretly love that he isn't rushing this, isn’t treating me like shark chum. That makes me think he wants to enjoy this, wants to take his time and prove me wrong.

  Conversely it also makes me want him that much more …

  “When’s your birthday?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “I'm trying to get to know you.” He winks. “When is it?”

  “November 8th,” I say, adding, “Scorpio. In case you couldn’t tell.”

  “Explains a lot ...”

  “Yours?”

  “April 3rd,” he says.

  “What's your favorite kind of ice cream?”

  “Not a big fan of ice cream.”

  “You’re lucky that’s not a deal breaker for me. I’m a huge mint chip fanatic. Used to eat it by the gallons every summer. My parents practically had to put me in rehab for it once because I was so addicted.”

  “Not surprising,” I say, “Seems like when you like something you really … go for it.”

  He laughs. “I definitely do that.”

  A strand of hair falls over his forehead, and without thinking, I brush it away. It’s strange to go from avoiding him to sitting in his lap playing fifty questions, but in an even stranger way, I’m actually having a good time.

  I'm not thinking about anything outside that cottage door.

  I’m simply here, in this moment, with him.

  Like nothing else matters.

  “Where did you grow up?” he asks.

  “All over Orange County,” I say, “But mostly Santa Monica. You?”

  “Bridgeport,” he says. “Born and raised.”

  “What's your biggest fear?” I ask.

  His brows rise, like my question catches him off guard.

  “I want to know the things about you that matter,” I say. “So tell me: what are you most afraid of?”

  He releases a breath through flared nostrils, glancing away. “That’s a good question. I … I don't know. I guess I've never really thought about it too much.”

  Of course he hasn’t. He’s Mr. Ray of Freaking Optimistic Sunshine.

  “Can I answer you later?” he asks. “I could give you some bullshit answer, but that wouldn't be fair to you, and I feel like I really need to think this one over.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I’ll allow it.”

  “Next question,” he says.

  “Okay.”

  “Can I kiss you now?”

  Chapter 15

  Thayer

  “Can I kiss you now?” I ask as my hands rest at the sides of her hips.

  Lila lifts a hand to my cheek, leaving it there for a second as she looks into my eyes. Makes me think her exterior hardness is just a thing she does to protect the softness inside of her.

  “Yeah,” she says, biting her lower lip for half a second. “You can kiss me.”

  With my hands on the small of her back, I pull her closer against me, as if her being in my lap isn’t nearly close enough, and a moment later we meet in the middle, my lips claiming hers, her lips surrendering to mine.

  She rocks against me before resting her arms over my shoulders. Everything about her is pillow soft, her skin, the tendrils of hair that frame her face, her mouth, her movements. She’s every bit as delicate on the outside as she pretends not to be on the inside.

  I’m not sure how long we’ve been making out when we stop and come up for air. My guess is at least an hour, though time seems to act funny when I'm with her so it could be half that or it could be twice that.

  My lips ache and if I touched them, I’m sure they’d be swollen.

  “You okay?” I ask, fighting a grin. I can’t help but smile when I look at her now because I know … one day she’s going to be mine and this is that sweet beginning that everyone always talks about.

  I had a couple of girlfriends in high school and I’ve dated some in college, but I’ve never had anything real and I’ve never been in love.

  When I look at Lila, I can’t help but feel like this thing we have, whatever it is, is going to be special.

  She climbs off my lap, taking a seat beside me.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  Lila doesn’t answer at first and for a moment I think she might be having second thoughts.

  “I’m thinking that we should probably keep going,” the little minx says as she pulls me over top of her.

  She’s pinned beneath me on the sofa, her thighs straddling my hips and me resting on my forearms above her. My cock begins to swell and throb the harder we kiss, but if I’m sent home with a case of blue balls, it’ll have been worth it.

  “I could do this all night,” I whisper before gently taking her full bottom lip between my teeth and then kissing her swollen mouth over again.

  My hardness pulses, throbbing harder than before.

  “You have no idea how turned on I am right now,” I say.

  “Pretty sure I do ...” Her hand glides between our bodies, stopping at the waistband of my shorts. With an impressively deft move, she undoes the button and fly and takes my cock in her hand.

  Lila kisses me, pumping the length, and while all of this feels incredible, all I can think about is feeling her, making her feel twice as good as she makes me feel.

  Still hovering over her, I press kisses into her collarbone, working my way lower, and when I get to her stomach, I lift the hem of her shirt and kiss my way down. Her belly caves at my touch and her chest rises and falls faster and faster. When I get to the top of her shorts, I slide my fingers behind the waistband and tug them down her sides before tossing them across the room.

  I go for her lace panties next, pulling them down her long legs before settling in between her thighs. With soft, gentle licks I taste her sweetness, and I take it as a compliment when her body writhes in response.

  Running one hand up her stomach, I slide it beneath her shirt and bra.

  The softest sighs escape her lips every few seconds, and she reaches down to grab a handful of my hair before her hips rock and her body undulates before she settles into a loose, limber, and breathless version of herself.

  “Holy shit.” She covers her face with both hands, breathing through her fingers. “That was ...”

  She sits up slightly, resting on her forearms, and she looks at me with wild eyes that flash even in the dark.

  I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. I mean, I’d hoped things would move in the right direction, but I had no idea that things would be moving full throttle this soon.

  Not that I’m complaining.

  Lila rises from the chair, nothing but a t-shirt covering her spent body, and then she lowers herself between my knees. “Your turn ...”

  Chapter 16

  Lila

  Shittttt.

  My legs feel like Jell-O as I sneak back to The Hilliard Cottage. According to my watch, it’s just past ten. My grandparents usually go to bed around nine, but since I wasn’t home at nine, I’m one-hundred percent certain they’re waiting up for me.

  When I invited Thayer to meet in the cottage earlier, I had no intentions of messing around. I was going to tell him to stop pursuing me.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  My mom’s crazy friend a
lways said, “Only fools make plans.”

  I never understood what that meant until tonight.

  I take a deep breath before heading into the house. From the porch, I can see the light is on in the living room. And the TV is flickering.

  “Lila. Oh my goodness.” Grandma rises from her recliner and Grandpa mutes the TV. “Where have you been? Any longer and we were going to organize a search party.”

  I hope she’s joking, but I don’t think she is.

  “Just went for a walk on the shore,” I say, praying she doesn’t check my shoes for sand. “The stars are so pretty out here at night. You can see each and every one of them. I’m not used to that back home ...”

  Grandma studies me for a moment before sighing. She’s too tired to argue or lecture. She just wants to go to bed. I see it in her eyes.

  “Next time tell someone where you’re going, okay?” she asks. “Or at least leave a note.”

  “I promise,” I say before slipping my shoes off. “I’m sorry I kept you up.”

  My grandfather walks up and puts his arm around me. “You’re all we’ve got, kiddo. It’s our job to worry about you. Heck, we worry about you when you’re in the next room. No more running off, okay?”

  “Okay.” Guilt sinks into my bones when I think about what I was doing just mere minutes ago. I hate that I made them worry, but this just means I need to be more careful next time. “Goodnight.”

  I trek down the hall to my room, closing the door behind me, and I peel out of my clothes and change into some clean pajamas before washing up.

  In the bathroom, I trace my finger along my neck and collarbone, almost wishing I could feel his kisses again, though I’m sure I’ll be reliving that entire experience as soon as my head hits the pillow tonight. It’s already beginning to play in my head like a movie, and I can’t wait to do it all over again.