“Do you?” My voice is uneven, clearly affected by his lips on my throat. But then I laugh at a memory so old I wonder if I made it up. “Do you remember that year on the Fourth of July when Agnes made us dress up like presidents for the parade?”
He pulls back for a minute, bracing his hands on my thighs. “Oh my God, yes. I was Roosevelt. You were Truman—”
“And Hattie was Lincoln, and she cried because her beard was itchy.”
He smiles. “Those suits were so hot. It was July. What was she thinking?”
It’s so hard for me to comprehend sometimes that we’re still the same people we were then. There’s just a lot more kissing, and Freddie’s not scared of the ocean anymore. “Hey, should I plan to be out all night on Saturday? I can get Hattie to cover for me. Not that my dad really cares if I’m out late.”
“That’s up to you,” he says coyly.
“Well, actually, that’s more than likely up to Agnes.”
He kisses my nose quickly like a pecking bird. “Curfews are made to be tested, right?”
On Saturday morning after my paper route, I work the breakfast and lunch shift at Boucher’s, so by the time I get home, it’s already two o’clock in the afternoon.
In my bedroom, waiting for me is Hattie, of course. She’s sprawled out on my bed, reading a paperback romance in a pair of cheer shorts and a sports bra. Her growing belly looks like a melting sun on the horizon of my bed. “Tyler’s at work,” she announces, as if I am at all concerned by the cretin’s whereabouts.
For a moment, I start to wonder how much time she spends in my room when I’m not here, but before I can get worked up, I remember that I’ve got to shower and change.
I don’t have time to bother with washing my hair, so I twist it in a knot and hop in the shower. The head on our shower is so low that I’ve actually got to go out of my wayto get my hair wet if I want to. I scrub and rinse the smell of dirty dishes and sweat from my skin. As I’m getting out, the door swings wide open and then slams shut.
It was quick, but not so quick that I didn’t recognize Tyler in the doorway.
“You don’t knock?” I scream as I wrap the towel around my chest. Anger boils under my skin.
“It was unlocked,” he says from the other side of the door. No sorry. No excuse me. But of course he doesn’t say those things.
I swing the door open. “Well, you wouldn’t know it was unlocked if you hadn’t tried the handle, and besides, the lock doesn’t even work.”
“Damn,” he says. “I didn’t see anything. It’s almost like looking at a guy anyway.”
“How are you so ignorant?” All I can register is red-hot anger. I can’t believe the stupid dribbling out of his mouth, and just being in the same place as him makes me feel completely unreasonable. It’s one of those moments where I wonder how I can truly love Hattie if she honestly thinksthisis a good decision.
He’s silent.
“What? Because I’m a lesbian? Adyke?”
“What’s going on out there?” calls Hattie.
“Your little sister’s overreacting.”
Hattie sticks her head out my bedroom door, the yellowing paperback dangling from her fingers. “Are you being an asshole to my sister?” She looks to me. “Is he?”
I glance between the two of them. “It’s fine. Just a misunderstanding.”
She gives him a pointed look and shuts my door behind her.
I check the towel to make sure it’s tight around my chest before I point my finger right in his face and say low enough that Hattie can’t hear, “Don’t forget whose house this really is, you piece of shit.”
Back in my bedroom, Hattie is sitting on my bed with her book.
“Where are you off to?” she asks.
“Hanging out with Freddie.” I turn my back to her and put my bra and underwear on, before opening my tiny closet. Most of my clothes reside on the floor or in the never-ending cycle that is my laundry basket, but the good stuff—and there’s not much of it—stays hanging because I don’t get around to wearing it much.
I pull out a yellow-and-black-striped trapeze dress and a peach shirtdress with little white cats all over it. I know Freddie’s taking care of our outfits (whatever that means), but I still want to look different when he first sees me.
