“This is delicious, Mrs. Young,” Clay said between mouthfuls. My mom glowed at the compliment. For someone who claimed to not be charming, he was doing a number on my mother. My dad had let up on his cool attitude, but continued to watch Clay closely.
“Thank you, Clayton. Well, the reason we wanted to have you over was so we could meet you. We don’t like Maggie May riding around with boys we don’t know,” my mom said, passing Clay the basket of bread.
My dad leaned forward on his elbows and stared at Clay. “We don’t know anything about you, and parents can’t be too careful about their children these days. There are too many crazies out there.” I closed my eyes and bit down on a sigh. This was mortifying.
Clay swallowed his food and looked at my parents. “I totally understand. You can’t be too careful about the crazies.” His words were sarcastic and I shot him a look that clearly asked what the hell he was doing.
My mom cleared her throat. “Well, tell me, Clayton: you’re from Florida, right?” she asked, trying to move the conversation in another direction. Clay stiffened beside me and his entire demeanor changed. I knew he was touchy about his past, though I hadn’t anticipated such a strong reaction to such a simple question. His instant shutdown left me feeling panicked and eager to smooth over the sudden tension.
“Yeah, he’s from Florida. But he loves Virginia. We had a blast at the outdoor market in Charlottesville last weekend. Remember that crazy vendor with the bird feeders made from gourds? They were too funny,” I rambled desperately.
My mom looked at me questioningly, but my dad hadn’t taken his eyes from Clay. I nudged Clay with my elbow, trying to get him to talk, but he remained stoically silent.
“I love that outdoor market! Your dad and I need to get back down there soon.” My mom started telling me about some lady who made homemade jams and I tried to pay attention.
But I was too worried about Clay. He hadn’t said anything else. The rest of dinner passed with my mother and me making ridiculous small talk while Clay stared at his bowl and my father stared at Clay. When Clay got up to help my mother clear away the dishes, I gave my dad the glare of death.
“What is your problem, Dad? You’re making him uncomfortable!” I hissed. My father looked at me levelly.
“I’m just getting to know him” was all he said.
I cocked my eyebrow. “Getting to know him? You’re staring holes into his head is what you are doing. Just stop it, okay? Clay is my friend and I want him to feel comfortable being here.”
My dad frowned. “I’m just watching out for you, Maggie May. You’re my only child. How much do you really know about this boy?” he asked me quietly. I looked at Clay as he helped my mom get dessert together. He still seemed closed off and distant, but at least he was talking to my mother.
“I know a lot about Clay. Probably more than most people. And I like him, so just let it go,” I urged, giving my dad the pleading eyes he could never say no to. He softened a bit but didn’t let the subject drop.
“There’s something about him. I’m not sold, Maggie. Just keep your wits about you with that one,” he advised as Clay and Mom returned to the table with a chocolate cake and plates.
Clay had left right after dinner, despite my asking him to stay and watch a movie. I think he wanted to get away from my dad’s eagle-eyed stare. I walked him to his car and stood in the driveway with my arms wrapped around me. It was chilly and I could see my breath.
“Sorry if that was weird,” I said as Clay got into his car.
Clay shrugged. “It was fine, Maggie. I’ll talk to you later.” And, with that, he left. And I hadn’t heard from him for the rest of the weekend. I had tried calling him later that night, but his phone kept going straight to voice mail.
But the next morning Clay was at my locker as though nothing had happened. We never mentioned the dinner again. My mom had let me know that Clay was welcome at the house. My dad had stayed resolutely silent.
I made sure Clay came around only when I knew my dad was at work. Clay never asked why I was specific about the times he could come over. I don’t think he wanted a repeat encounter, either.
In an effort to spend more time with Clay, I stopped driving myself to school. My dying car became the perfect excuse to ask him for a ride home. My oblivious parents would drop me at school in the morning, never realizing how I intended to spend my afternoons.
Clay would wait for me to get out of cross-country practice so that he could take me home when he wasn’t working at Ruby’s shop. Today he had brought over his calculus homework and was trying to get it done while I worked on dinner. My mom was going to be home late and Dad was still at the library.
Clay tried to stifle a huge yawn. He was looking haggard today. I reached over and ruffled his hair and he smiled at me.
“You look tired,” I commented. Clay rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and sat up straight, trying to wake himself up.
“It’s one of the side effects of my medication.Extreme lethargy. Sure, I’m out like a brick at night. But I could probably sleep all day as well.” He looked at me as if to say,See, this is why I hate being on medication.
Wanting to change the subject, I put the vegetables I was chopping in the pot on the stove and set it to simmer. “Come up to my room. I want to show you this dress. It’s hysterical!” Clay got to his feet. He curled his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. My breath hitched in my throat. I always got this way when he decided to be touchy-feely. Which was a lot more frequently now, I noted with giddiness.
“Your bedroom, huh? You sure you want me up there?” His voice was husky and I had to stop myself from shivering. Damn straight I wanted him in my room. I wanted him in my room, naked, and in my bed, preferably.
I flushed at my R-rated thoughts. I gave him a playful shove. “Just come on.” I tried to affect a playful tone and led him to the stairs. Clay had never been upstairs in my house. Maybe because having him in my bedroom felt too intimate. There was this tacit line between Clay and me that we were each hesitant to cross.
Sure, we were close; he had become one of my best friends. But that didn’t stop me from lusting after him and wanting something so much more. I knew, deep down, he felt the same. Even though he could have had any girl in the school, he chose to spend his time with me.
But we were holding back. Clay was still trying to get a handle on his issues, trying to do what he needed to do to be healthy. There were days that he still fell into a depression, times he shut me out completely, even with the medicine. I had talked to him about going to see a therapist. I knew he needed more than the medicine to get a handle on things.
