Sins of September (20 page)

I turn around, placing my hands on his broad chest. At five feet, seven inches, I still have to look up to him. His eyes are searching mine, wanting to understand where I’m coming from and the truth is, I have no idea.

“I’m unsettled,” I say, because that’s the only way I can describe it in a nutshell. “What are we doing?”

“What does it feel like we’re doing, September?”

“Playing house.”

“Playing house?”

“Yeah. Temporarily.”

He closes his eyes when he hears that one, pressing his fingers deeper into my shoulders as if he’s squeezing one of those rubber stress-relieving balls. It kind of hurts.

“Jesse,” I say, “There’s more.”

“Let’s hear it,” he breathes, eyes opening a bit, darker blue now.

“I love you with all of my heart. But I’m not sure I trust love.”

“Oh baby,” he sighs, lowering his head so that it nudges mine. “You and me? We’re in the same place, I promise.”

And relief sinks in with that admission. Because I know that Jesse is feeling every bit as vulnerable and exposed as me. His own life experience with love hasn’t been the best.

“You said Mama was the first woman you ever loved, right?”

“Ummhmm,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “And then you.”

My belly tingles, but there’s more I want to know.

“Were you with a lot of girls—women, I mean
sexually
before Mama?”

He chuckles softly. “I guess I was a bit of a man-whore in high school. Kind of typical I guess. But romance didn’t really play a part in that. They were just hook-ups, you know?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I guess you wouldn’t. You know, you were a bad girl acting like you’d been around a bit with your boyfriend back home and all. I mean, shit—didn’t you think I’d know the damn difference?”

I bury my face into his white cotton tee, breathing in the fresh scent of the fabric softener I use, and the manly scent of Jesse. “Actually, I didn’t think I was a virgin,” I confess, my cheeks warming a bit.

“Say what?”

So I tell him the truth—about Austin being the first. About the bumbling idiocy of the whole episode with him in that hotel that Casey had paid for.

He’s not pissed and I’m grateful.

“Look,” he says softly, pulling back so that he can see my face. “I realize that you’ve taken on way more responsibilities that most your age don’t have for several years yet. I don’t want that for you, September. I don’t want to turn you into some replica of your ma, trust me. It wasn’t right then, and it’s not right now. Not for me and not for you.”

My chest tightens because now I feel like he’s taking a different direction. “Let’s just take it slow, you and me, okay? I meant what I said about enjoying the things you’re supposed to be enjoying at your age. I don’t want you stressing out about Scout, or me or the house. It’s not fair of me to expect you to do it all. We’re all gonna start pitching in around here. You’re not a wife, you’re not a mother—and I’ve basically turned you into one. I’m sorry, baby. You’re right about playing house, but your dead-ass wrong about this being temporary—at least I don’t feel that way. I love you.”

He lowers his head and kisses me softly, over and over again on my cheeks, my forehead and the tip of my nose. “Things are gonna change. You have my word.”

Little did I know at that time the full magnitude of his commitment that day. Of course, Jesse had no idea either when he said those words, just how prophetic they would turn out to be.

I turn around several times, checking my reflection in the mirror. I’m not one to self-praise, but I seriously rock this dress. I give myself a mental pat on the back for selecting it for the spring dance.

It’s tight, but not to the point of being skank-like, it’s short, but covers everything that it should. And it’s red, which is seriously at the top of my color palette.

I’ve flat-ironed my recently highlighted and trimmed hair that now has several shades of blond streaking through it versus just the dirty blond I was born with. It looks “chunky” as one of my new friends at school commented. Her name is Willow, and she dates Evan’s best friend, Chance Martin. We’re double dating to the dance and then the after-party at Chance’s house.

Yes. You heard me correctly. I accepted Evan’s invite to the dance with Jesse’s blessing and now, I’m thinking with his regrets. I think Jesse forgot—or maybe he never knew from high school—that accepting a date to a formal dance does require some preliminary communication with said date; and some phone calls for the sole purpose of just chatting—as in
getting to know
one another?

True to his promise, things have changed at the Ryan household. Jesse has assigned chores to Scout, which he in fact oversees; he’s arranged a cooking schedule for us. Two nights a week he cooks, two nights a week I cook, and two nights a week we either eat out or he brings take-out home. On Sundays we all fend for ourselves with sandwiches or microwaveable stuff.

He’s even hired a weekly cleaning service freeing up more of my time. All of us pick up after ourselves during the week.

I started a part-time waitressing job two weeks ago. I work Friday evenings, Saturday lunch shift and Sunday brunch. Twelve hours total per week, but the tips are really good.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Evan should be here any minute. I swallow nervously, not because of Evan—he’s a nice enough guy—but because of Jesse.

This whole thing seems a bit anticlimactic considering where we’ve been. Comparable to falling
out
of the looking glass and back into the reality that no longer seems normal or familiar.

Yet here I stand, recapturing my high school years that Jesse somehow feels he’s taken from me; years that most adults later claim are worth forgetting because of youth being wasted on the young or some such shit.

I hear the doorbell ring—moments later Scout comes bouncing into my room.

“Your
boyfriend’s
here,” she says with an evil little smile. “Dad’s shaking his hand.”

Lovely.

I take a deep breath, and head out of my room, down the hallway towards the living room. The only thing that’s gonna make this picture complete is for Jesse to do or say some totally father-like thing in order to turn my face as red as this slip of a dress.

What the fuck had I been thinking?

“There she is,” I hear him say in his deep, rich voice. The same voice that moans when I’m pleasuring him, and the same one that whispers crude and filthy tidbits in my ear while we’re fucking.

Yes. We still fuck. We still make love. None of
that
is changing anytime soon. Which is why all of this is totally bogus.

I. Mean. What. The. Fuck?

Jesse’s eyes are flickering over me now, in a possessive way and I hope like hell Evan doesn’t notice.

But Evan’s eyes are on me as well. He’s gazing at me appreciatively, but in a way more wholesome manner than that of my stepfather.

“Hey,” I say to both of them as I close in.

“Wow,” Evan says, giving me a crooked grin, “You look awesome, September.”

“Thanks,” I reply trying my best to look demure.

“This is for you,” he continues, holding out a clear, plastic florist box with a wrist corsage inside. The flowers are red roses nearly the same color as my dress, intertwined with white lilies giving it a spring-like flair.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Evan,” I breathe, taking it from him.

Jesse clears his throat, but I don’t look at him as I open the box, taking the wrist corsage out. I hand the empty box to Jesse and bring the flowers up just beneath my nose. It smells floral and finally I feel as if spring is officially in the air. It’s late March and the leaves on the trees are starting to burst forth.

Evan watches as I slip it on to my wrist, and he smiles. “I’m glad the red matches,” he says. “My mom tried to talk me out of red, saying it could clash with all the different shades, but somehow, I pictured your dress being this exact shade.”

“You chose well,” I reply.

Jesse’s clearing his throat again.

“Chance and Willow are meeting us at the restaurant,” Evan says, “I guess we better get goin’.”

Scout is now part of the audience, kneeling on the seat of one of the living room chairs, peering over the high back of it as if she’s spying. “Are you gonna
kiss
September?” she asks, stifling a giggle with her hand.

Okay. I make a mental note to embarrass the shit out of my baby sister in a few years.

“Scout,” Jesse says, his tone clearly irritated, “You get to your room. We’ll talk about manners in just a bit.”

Scout gets the same hangdog look I’ve seen on Jesse once or twice, usually after he’s pissed me off with something he’s said that’s inappropriate. “Yes sir,” she says quietly, taking leave.

Jesse turns back to us. “Have a great time. Remember curfew, and oh, September? You got your cell in case there’s a family emergency?”

Family emergency? Seriously?

“Yeah, uh . . . it’s in my purse,” I reply, picking up the slim shoulder purse I bought in black to match my three inch heels from the table in the entry hall.

“Well make sure you keep it on in case I need to reach you. Where’s your jacket?” he asks, looking around and not seeing it, his eyes then returning to my dress—the upper part where my boobs are pushed up nicely on the strapless, ruched dress.

“Dad,” I tease, knowing my reference to him as a father figure will end this verbal torture. It’s the mid-seventies out. I’ll be fine.”

He mumbles something that sounds like either “Have a good time,” or “That dude’s slime.” I really can’t be sure. Evan doesn’t notice, that’s how quietly it was said.

“Nice meeting you, sir,” Evan says. “I’ll make sure September is home by curfew.”

“Uh huh.”

“‘Nite,” I say, starting to enjoy this little game. “Don’t wait up.”

We quickly make our exit into Evan’s late model Impala. I’m impressed at his manners, opening the car door for me, holding his hand out to help me out once we arrive at the restaurant for dinner.

The restaurant they selected is one of Fort Smith’s finest. Willow and I gab in the restroom about how totally expensive the entrees are.

“That didn’t stop me,” she brags, applying a bit more mascara. “Hey, Chance can afford it and I know damn well Evan can too, so let’s just enjoy the fuck out of it.”

“I hear that,” I giggle and then wonder whose voice it is saying that. I hear my cell beep from inside my clutch. “Hey, I’ll be right out,” I call after her.

I pull my cell out. I have a text from Jesse.

Don’t let him put his fucking hands on you. I mean it.

Okay. What’s this about?

Or what?
I text back. Yeah, he needs to be called out on this shit. He’s the one that wants me to fucking go through these rites of passage, and now what? He’s stalking me all the way through it?

I don’t think
so!

Don’t fuck with me, September.

I’m on a date. Phone is off now.

And I did. I powered it off and left the restroom to join my date and my friends. This was Jesse’s idea and by God, he’s going to see it through.

We finish dinner, and head to the dance. A great band is playing some awesome cover tunes and some original stuff of their own. They’ve got a unique sound—somewhere between Train and Maroon 5.

Evan, with his sandy-brown hair, green eyes and all-American kind of jock look can dance and move like I’ve never seen. I feel flustered, as if I can’t keep up. We wear each other out on the dance floor, and finally, he drags me off, because we need to get freshened up for pictures.

Willow and I run into each other again in the restroom.

“Looks like you’re digging the fuck out of Evan,” she remarks, re-applying lip-gloss. “Chance says that Evan is so freaking hot after your ass, girl. So are you guys gonna hook up tonight you think?”

Our eyes meet in the mirror. “Uh . . .
no,
” I say, acting insulted. “This is like our
first
date.
Hello?”

“Shit,” she says, caressing her cheek with a blush brush. “You’re eighteen, right? And a senior?” she continues.

I nod.

“What’s holding you back then? This is the last formal dance of our school year. Seal the deal, babe.”

I glance at her, not really getting the message.

“Look,” she says, giving me a long sigh. “Evan’s mom works with your neighbor, Casey Collins? And well she kinda spilled the beans on the details of the relationship you had or still have with your step-daddy. I’m not getting all judgy on you, here. I mean I only know because Evan told Chance, and he told me. The point is that Evan asked you out, in
spite
of that, so it must make you feel, I dunno—
grateful?”

Fuck me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Willow. I mean, Casey dated my stepfather and he dumped her. Sounds like she’s trying to get some revenge for being scorned. What I can’t get past is the fact that you pose as my
friend,
and then dump this shit on me?”

She tries to appear contrite, but it isn’t working. “Well,” she says with a shrug, “I just thought you should know, and for the record, I for one certainly didn’t
want
to believe it.”

And then the point really hits me. Evan
believes
it. Evan asked me out in
spite
of it. Evan must think I’m gonna be
grateful
for that.

Fuck Evan.

She’s finishing with her make-up, pushing her make-up bag back inside of her purse. “Ready?” she asks.

“Yeah—I gotta go potty. Meet you back out there.”

“‘Kay,” she says. “See you in a couple.”

Before the door to the bathroom closes behind her, I’ve got my cell powered up. There’s a text from Jesse.

Sorry I’m an ass. Love you.

Some of my anger dissipates. Jesse is just trying his best to make sure I don’t miss out on my coveted teenage years. But it’s too late to go back when you’ve been older. It’s the equivalent of turning back time, and I’ve no desire to do that.

I smile and text him back.

Skipping the after party. Be ready to bury your cock inside me when I get home.