His face screws up and he leans toward me in a slightly aggressive way. “Why would you say that?”
He’s always teasing me about stuff, making fun of the things I do or say, and it seems pretty obvious that we’re using each other for sexual favors. Companionship too, but that comes second.
“Why don’t you think I like you?” he persists.
“I don’t know.” I glance around, feeling super uncomfortable. It’s kind of like the first week of school, when he claimed he was “hitting on me,” and I thought he was just being an asshole. But maybe it’s me who’s not fully invested in the feelings department of our relationship.
“It’s not for the lawn maintenance part of it,” Dave says, “though Becca told me to do whatever it takes to keep you happy.”
His yard does look pretty tight. I even planted some leftover impatiens to make him and his aunt matching garden beds next to their front doors. When I don’t respond, he continues.
“I’d totally be your boyfriend, Theo, if you weren’t so hung up on Mitcham.”
I lean forward and stare at my hands, ashamed of my own impossible desires and how transparent they are. By being silent, I basically just acknowledged I’m using him. Dave wants to be in a committed relationship, like boyfriend-boyfriend, and I just want sex without any complications or responsibility.
Jesus, maybe I am like my father after all.
“I’m trying to get over him,” I tell Dave, which is the honest-to-God truth.
“So let me help.” Dave sets down his bong and lays a proprietary hand on my thigh. He waggles his eyebrows at me. Maybe it’s guilt or maybe it’s my libido, but I totally crumble, and we end up giving each other what we mutually agree are the best blowjobs of our lives, which for me is much higher praise because Dave is something of a blowjob connoisseur.
And that’s why Dave and I work. Because every situation that could potentially end badly turns into another opportunity for Dave to get me to pull my pants down and vice versa.
Somewhere inside me I know it’s not going to last, but I’m willing to ride it out for the time being. And maybe that’s me being selfish, but for the moments when we’re together, Dave makes me forget about Chris and all the things I can’t have with him, and in my situation, that’s really the best I can hope for.
Dinner with Dad
“DID YOUget my text?”
I walk through the door that same afternoon and find my sister standing at the kitchen counter, nursing a Diet Coke and decapitating carrot sticks with her big white teeth.
“No, what?”
“Dad wants to take us out to dinner tonight.”
I groan.
“It’s for our birthday, Theo. He said he has a surprise for us. Maybe it’s… a new car!” She makes her voice sound like a game show host and wiggles her fingers. I smile. She used to be funny like that. We used to crack each other up before she started caring so much about being cool. Now it’s rare for her to risk acting silly.
“I doubt it’s a new car, Tabs.”
She shrugs. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”
“You don’t even drive.”
“It’s not about the car, Theo. It’s the thought that counts.”
“I don’t want him buying us stuff.”
“Well, I do.”
“Just because he buys you stuff doesn’t make up for him being a shitty father,” I say with a rush of anger that takes me by surprise and leaves me with a prickly heat on the back of my neck.
She glares at me, her lower lip jutting out like it used to right before she’d start wailing to our mom to tell on me for being mean or hitting her, usually because she hit me first. I feel bad for saying it, not because it isn’t true but because I don’t want to hurt her feelings. My sister still has some faith left in my dad. I should let her hold on to it as long as she can.
“He’ll be here in forty-five minutes. Don’t be an asshole tonight and screw it up for me,” she says tartly and takes her Diet Coke downstairs with her, slamming the door on her way out. Outside my bedroom window, I see her cross over to Chris’s house. His front door opens and she disappears inside. Before the door shuts, Chris pops his head out and glances up to my window. I feel caught and slowly back away, pretending I wasn’t already looking for him.
I quickly shower, then survey my closet to find something to wear because whenever we go out to dinner with my dad, it’s always to some ridiculously fancy place where the servers all fall over themselves to kiss your ass. I’d rather my dad put that money toward helping my mom with the bills, but he likes flaunting his wealth in front of us. At least, that’s how it seems to me.
