Catching Tatum (6 page)

His bed was made. Did he know that morning that he was going to try to sleep with me and that's why he made it? I didn't. I thought I was strong enough to call timeout if we got carried away. I already said no, but it wasn't convincing and he kept going, and I kept letting him. And then he was laying me down on his bed, getting on top of me, and straddling me. I let him take off my bra and unbutton my pants. If only he had been a clumsy lover or it didn't make me feel so good, but it did, and I didn't want him to stop. Before I knew what was going on we were naked and he was reaching for a condom. He had them in a drawer next to his bed. There was something wrong about that: we weren't even officially going out and they were right there, like an emergency preparedness kit, like he expected to have sex. I could have still backed out; I should have. It was my last chance and I knew it, but I was too far down the road. I couldn't turn around. I take that back. I could have, but I didn't. I was with a beautiful boy who knew all the right moves. We were close enough by then, why not go the rest of the way? We were two naked kids in bed together; there was only this one last thing left to do.

WE DID IT.

It wasn't bad, but it wasn't what I wanted for my first time. I guess up until then I kind of imagined it on my wedding night, or on a blanket on the beach in the middle of the night with the moon and stars shining in the sky above me, or, I don't know, something special and romantic, but really, I never gave the moments leading up to it any thought and then, just like that, it was done and over with and I knew it wasn't how my first time should have been. That was when I couldn't back out. It was too late. I would never be a virgin again. He was a skillful lover because he had plenty of experience before me. He made sure I had an orgasm before he took his own; he wouldn't have won his game if he hadn't, but then it was done. No fireworks, no promises of a forever kind of love, nothing to make it special. It was just done.

My first time.

Cole Jackson; the first, the worst.

Despite the orgasm, the whole thing was very anti-climactic. When we were done he cuddled me for a while, kissing my neck and cheek while we spooned. I liked that, but he got bored and asked if I wanted to play a video game with him. When I said no he turned on his console and played without me. I felt like I was in the wrong kind of dream. Weren't we supposed to spend the rest of the night in each other's arms? Or at least weren't we supposed to do something together that consisted of more than staring at a TV screen and driving imaginary cars? Or was I being too dramatic? My parents always said I was a passionate kind of person; that was their nice way of saying I made too much out of situations than they were worth.

I tried to tell myself to calm down. He was into me or he wouldn't have asked me out. I convinced myself I was expecting too much. This was not a romance novel; we were not star-crossed lovers. Neither of us was dying or moving a thousand miles away or anything tragic like that. He wasn't a vampire; I wasn't the hero of a ruined society. We were two ordinary kids that did it one Friday night—that was it.

Then the most horrible thought of my life struck me.

What if it was worse than plain and ordinary sex on a Friday night? What if it turned into a one-night stand or booty call? I didn't know him, he didn't know me. It was an accidental encounter in the hall and I had sex with him less than a week later. I couldn't be
that
kind of girl. I needed reassurance there would be more to us than this one night. I crept up behind him and wrapped my arms and legs around him, nuzzled his neck and kissed it.

“Hey there ...” he said, looking over his shoulder, kissing me quickly, before turning back to the screen. That was good: he acknowledged me in the middle of a game. That had to mean something.

“Hey,” I said into his neck, “Wanna go finish the movie?”

“Yeah, hang on a minute. Lemme finish this first,” he said.

A minute was more like fifteen, but eventually he obliged, finished his game, and took me back to the couch. We made it as far as the next sex scene before we started seriously fooling around again. By then my drink was gone, so much for not drinking it all. I didn't have anything left to lose. We did it again, only this time when he carried me down the hall my arms and legs were wrapped around him, holding us together while his hands worked feverishly to undo my bra. I'd like to think it was the alcohol that made me so easy, but I was desperate to keep him for more than one night, and I wanted him to keep me. When it was over he lay on top of me, satisfied and spent, not declaring his undying love, not promising forever, but he did say I was awesome and wanted me to be his girl. The biggest wave of relief flooded over me. Success! I would not be
that
girl. I laughed a little too dramatically and demanded his Letterman’s jacket, and then it would be a deal.

I fell in love with him in that moment and breathed it in.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a memory.” Then I taught him what my mom taught me. He made a memory, too. Together we remembered everything about each other—the room, the feelings we gave one another. I thought it was perfect. It would have been if he wasn't a lying, cheating jerk, but in that moment, I couldn't see how he was all the things Theo accused him of being.

As we dressed, he looked at me for the first time without desire or satisfaction. I thought it might be love, but he didn't say it.

And that's how we got together. Luckily I wasn't a hit it and quit it but he never acted like he was madly in love with me either. I imagined our kids asking how we got together, what would I tell them: “We hooked up one night and decided to be together after that.”—How romantic. It depressed me, but I wanted to make it work because he was my first and that counted for something to me. Theo and Brett knew as soon as they saw us together at the mall. I was wearing Cole's jacket but I gave it back; my parents could not know I was dating anyone. The secret was out with the brothers, though, and Theo lectured me the whole way home about how stupid I was. We fought about them telling on me, but in the end, sibling code won out and they kept my secret.

Two months later, Cole finally met my parents.

I told him about needing permission to date so we lied and pretended to have our first date the week after I turned sixteen. That was kind of fun. It felt like I was putting something over on my parents. He came to the house; they let him in and sat him down on the couch. I sat close but not right next to him. Dad asked him what his grades were like, what he wanted to be when he was finished with school, how we met. Cole charmed his way through all the answers the way he charmed his way through everything. “Sir, please. I know you don't know me, I know you don't have to give us permission, but I really like Tatum,” he said, looking over at me. “She's beautiful, but she's cool, too. I've never met a girl who loves baseball as much as me, sir. I want to get to know her better.” Then he turned the charm up. “I want to get to know you better. I mean, for Tatum to be as amazing as she is, she's gotta have pretty cool parents. Mine work way too much. I've seen you,” he said, pointing to my mom, “at every game. And you,” he said, looking at my dad, “at a lot of them. Mine are hardly ever there. They're proud of me but they work crazy hours and me and my stepdad don't get along at all. I don't know; it would kind of be nice to know you're all there cheering for me as much as for Theo.” I saw my mom falling for it; she was a sucker for kids who didn't have parents in the bleachers. She was sold. My dad was not as easy. He stood up, still in his fatigues, arms crossed, and looked down at Cole, every inch of him saying he was bigger, stronger, and meaner than Cole ever would be ... and then he extended his hand to Cole.

“You treat her right—you hear me?”

Cole and I both grinned way too big. I wanted to jump on him and hug him right then and there, but I knew that was way too much since we were hiding the fact that we were already a couple.

Cole played me good and I was stupid enough to fall for it. He kept me around but never went out of his way to show me he cared. He was always flirting, too, always, and he made me feel bad for thinking it was rude. I started to feel like a mitt he could, and would, replace if I got too worn out or a better model came along. But I had to have him. I hated feeling so dependent and insecure. I was always looking for his favor, desperate for his approval and assurance that we were OK. I tried so hard to make him love me. I had a job at a fast food place on the weekends and spent way too much money on him: forty dollar video games, new pants, concert tickets. He appreciated the stuff but never reciprocated except for, like, flowers for our “monthiversaries,” and such. The only nice thing he ever got me was a heart-shaped locket for our six-month anniversary that July. I did what I could to convince myself it was a good relationship. I learned to play the video games with him, even though I would have rather been doing something in real life. I got into the TV shows he liked to watch and let him brush my hair out and massage my head while I sat between his legs; OK, that was nice. We tossed a ball back and forth and played backyard baseball sometimes, but it wasn't enough to make me feel his love. The smooth words that rolled off his tongue like honey, the sex—it wasn't enough—something was missing. I always felt like he loved me less than I loved him. I loved him big. I knew I would die without him, but despite the fact that he told me he loved me, I doubted him.

The other girls didn't help either. They were always there—lurking, waiting, wanting him, trying to break us up—and he dug it. We fought constantly about it. He said I was too jealous; I said he was cheating or at least flirting too much. We were both right. I started to question who I was, why I was with him, and why did I always feel like he paid a little too much attention to the other girls to be truly mine? Why did I love him so much? Why didn't he love me back? Was I just too jealous, and if I was, what about the rumors of him with other girls? I didn't make those up. He swore they were lies and I tried to believe him every time. Then we would make-up and make-out, have some kind of crazy make-up sex, but every time I felt a little weaker. I hated that I was becoming this weak, cheap, girl, believing lies that everyone else saw through. I started thinking that being the desperate girl that gets cheated on and takes him back was almost worse than being a one night stand. Our fights got even worse. My parents would send me outside when we argued on the phone because they didn't want my “drama” in their house. I would remind them it wasn't their house, it was the government's, and slam the screen door after me.

In August, after seven months of hearing us fight, Mom couldn't take it anymore and had a talk with me about my relationship with Cole. She took me out on a long drive. I was trapped. I couldn't go anywhere, I had to listen to her and she was going to talk boys and love and sex whether I wanted to hear it or not. I appreciate it now, but at the time I was mad and embarrassed, and couldn't believe what she was doing. I didn't want her in my business.

“You are growing up and able to make your own decisions about boys, but I can't keep my mouth shut any longer. Sweetie, I like Cole, I do. He's a nice kid, but he's got a lot of growing up to do and ... well, I'm honestly surprised that you put up with him. Seems like you're always fighting to me.”

“We're not always fighting.” I crossed my arms. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of being right.

“Well, seems like it from what I see. You can't even go a week without crying on the phone because you don't think he loves you. I can't figure out why you put up with it. There are other fish in the sea, he's not the only one, and there are boys that will treat you so much better.”

“Really … ? I don't think so. Cole treats me fine.”

“Really? Why do you worry he's cheating on you? And what does that mean anyway?”

“Mom, stop. I'm not even going to talk to you about this.”

“I'm not even going to ask if you two are having sex. I hope to God you're not but if you are I don't want you lying about it because you know what answer I want ...”

“Oh, c'mon, Mom! You're saying you think we're sleeping together.”

“Don't
'c'mon, Mom'
me. That's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is you're in a pretty involved relationship and I don't like what I see going on, and whether sex is or isn't part of the mix now, it has to be talked about.”

I sunk down in my seat and stared straight ahead. “Whatever!”

She was quiet for too long but after a while she started again. “You understand why it's a big deal don't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Mom, really?”

“Yes, really ... humor me.”

Silence. Miles.

“Dad's not expecting us for days. I am going to drive this car until we need gas or until you inject yourself into this conversation.”

“It's not a conversation. You're going to tell me how I should live my life and that Cole's not good for me and be all in my business and I'm going to get pissed.”

“Yep, so the sooner you talk, the sooner it can be over with.”

“This sucks.”

“It doesn't have to.”

More silence.

Finally, after an hour of listening to nothing but her favorite country hits and the tires on the road, over bridges, over asphalt, over chip and seal, I gave up and answered. “Because it should be special, because you should wait until you're married, because you should love the person, because it complicates things, because you can get pregnant, because there's supposed to be just one person for you, because you can get diseases, because you can get a bad reputation, because you don't want to give yourself away to just anyone. Are we done?” I thought I covered about everything they had ever told me or school had.

She smiled in victory. It was the first and only time in my life I actually hated her. She won; then she made her point.

“All of that, but that's not it. There's more. You see, a woman is a mystery to a man. Men like to figure things out, see how they work, why they work. They like to fix things, put things together, and if they work, well, they like to make them better. They like puzzles to solve, and battles to win, and adventures to have,” she said with a flourish of her hand. “Women are the ultimate question to them and they'll spend their lives trying to figure us out. We're overly complicated; we have these feelings they don't get and bodies that are so different from theirs. They want to figure us out and they'll work hard to do it. And if you find the right guy, he'll spend the rest of his life trying to help you be the best woman you can be. You .. and no one else.” Then she looked at me and smiled. “And it's a woman's job to keep being a mystery to her man for the rest of her life. The trick is to find the right guy. Do you know how?”