28
ON THE WAY HOME, we play ‘guess the song’ again. We eat Pringles and fight over the bottle of orange Gatorade. We count the motorcycles we pass on the road, which are few and far in between this time of year. We chat about Momma, Tim, Mandy, Marilyn and the gang.
We don’t talk about our relationship (whatever it might be), about the amazing sex, about our past, about my leaving, nor about Peter. Why end such a nice getaway on a sour note?
“Here, let me,”he says. “I’ll get it.”
“So gallant,” I say, my voice flirty.
He smirks at me. “Always.”
He pulls my large suitcase out of the back of Momma’s car with ease. “Hard to believe you were gone for only one night,” he teases.
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m high maintenance.” I am, and I own it. I like shoes. I like purses that match with my shoes. I also like jackets and makeup. Blake used to always call me a girly-girl. He wasn’t wrong.
Momma is out the door with wide open arms before we even get to the front porch. She hugs both of us. “Did you have a nice time?” she asks. I think she might be more excited than I am. “Come in,” she urges. “You can tell me all about it. I’ll put some coffee on.”
Blake and I look at each other shyly. We both know there’s not much we can share. We went for a hike, had dinner, we fought, had amazing sex, more amazing sex in the bath, watched a movie, and then more amazing sex in the morning. I blush a little.
“I’m sorry, Sheila,” Blake says, “but I have to get going and check on things at the stores.”
She shakes her head. “You’re such a workaholic, Blake. Now tell me you’re going to be here for dinner tonight. I’m making roast beef.”
He grins and his gaze jerks to me, as if he’s checking with me first. I smile at him.Yes, I want you to be there.
“I wouldn’t miss your roast beef for the world, Sheila.”
Her face lights up. “Be here at six.” She helps me bring my suitcase in. “Your hair looks great.” We both wave at Blake as he heads toward his house, duffel bag over his arm.
I bring a hand to my curls. “I haven’t worn it like this in so long.” I like my hair straight and smooth, but it’s so much work. I probably wouldn’t go through the trouble if it weren’t for Peter, because I know he loves it straight.
“It suits you,” she says. “Come in. I’ll make you your favorite tea.”
* * *
When I sawyou I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew. –William Shakespeare
Dear Journal,
Finally… Blake and I made love. After all these years. And it was amazing.
I think Blake and I have always loved each other. We’ve also always hated each other. Ever since we were small. I’ll always remember the first time we ever played together. It’s one of my first memories. I’m not sure if I remember it because it was so traumatizing, or because Momma has recounted the tale countless times, always laughing as she tells it, although I’ve never thought it was especially funny.
We had just moved in next to the Taylors. This was our first play date. Since we were just a few months apart in age, our mothers thought we’d get along. Boy, were they wrong. Blake’s mom had lemonade and cookies out, and we were playing in Blake’s sandbox. His mom, a wonderful lady, had the hose going and was lugging some buckets of water for us because we wanted to build sandcastles. When I accidently (on purpose) destroyed Blake’s castle, he took it upon himself to lift up the bucket of water (I have the distinct memory of him using all the strength in his little skinny body to hitch up that bucket over my head), poured it and drenched me. I was livid, and vowed revenge. From then on, it was war.
I hated him, but I also liked him a lot. Even back then, he was my whole world. And once in a while, when he’d bring me an ice cream or a Popsicle, or give me some coins from his piggy bank (he knew I didn’t get an allowance), I knew I was his whole world too.
As we grew older, we went through an awkward stage in our pre-teens where we pretty much ignored each other. It wasn’t until we were teenagers and found ourselves on a camping trip together with a bunch of friends, that we truly rediscovered each other. We ended up against a tree, under the moonlight, and shared our second kiss. Our first had been at a Deli when he told me he liked me. But this one, this was something else. It aroused me, made me want to touch him everywhere, and also made me long to be explored. It was my first true taste of Blake Taylor, and like an addictive drug, I never did get him out of my system.
And now we find ourselves together again, in my hometown, for one week. I get to indulge in him again, so briefly. I don’t know how my body will deal with the withdrawal. In a perfect world, I’d get to taste him every day for the rest of our lives. But that’s fantasy. Unfortunately, reality is a whole other matter altogether.
Later, Journal.
M
* * *
My brother wrapsme in a tight hug, stealing my breath away. I don’t think he realizes how much bigger he is than me. “My favorite sister,” he jokes. He likes to say that when Marilyn is around.
