Higher Ground (14 page)

Oliver came to mind immediately. I loved him. I loved the way he listened to me and made me feel beautiful. He was sweeter than Elijah in the bedroom and also more daring. In a little over a month, I’d done more with him than my previous boyfriend of over a year, but he never made fun of my lack of experience. Instead, he used it to his advantage. I was an eager learner.

It was obvious Miss Verity didn’t like Oliver, and I wanted to ask why. At the same time, I didn’t want to know. She had her reasons the same way I had mine for loving him. There were few things I hated more than arguing with my grandmother, so I let my rebuttal die on my lips.

She changed the subject, and we spent the rest of the morning talking about school and Ronnie. Miss Verity had talked to her multiple times a week. It stung that my sister hadn’t called me at all. She hadn’t contacted Van, either.

Ronnie was the only reason a religious college in Texas had ended up on my short list of schools, but I wasn’t even worth a phone call to her. On the car ride home, I decided to eliminate Dallas as a potential future home.

Van was waiting for me at the top of the stairs when we walked in the door.

“What time are we leaving?” he asked.

“Is 2:00 good?” I was ready to be out of the house, away from the rest of my family, and with a joint in my hand.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I heated up leftover jambalaya, if you’re hungry.”

I wasn’t. We’d eaten a late breakfast, but since I knew my dinner would be liquid, I forced some down my throat.

Miss Verity kissed us goodbye on the porch, waved, and stood in the sunshine until we turned the corner onto St. Charles. We made it to Troya’s before Sonny or Oliver, so she started with Van and a tube of white face paint.

It was amazing the difference two hours could make. Sonny showed up, we smoked out, and then he got busy. Oliver arrived while I was in the chair being turned into a villainess. By the time the sun set, we’d all been transformed.

Troya made an impressive Sally to Sonny’s Jack. Their makeup was impeccable. Van had gone old school and looked disgusting as Beetlejuice. Oliver’s face was a shadowed skull. Death suited him, though. He was still hot in his black shirt, pants, and combat boots.

I felt out of place as Harley Quinn. So much of my skin was on display, but the others said it helped with the age illusion. Troya had worn the same outfit the Halloween before. Jester hats were easy to find in The Quarter, and since the one she’d used had been ripped to shreds by her cat, I also found a new, black tulle skirt there.

We left Troya’s around 7:00, when darkness shrouded the neighborhood and made our aliases more believable. A few people gave us second glances on the streetcar, but most shrugged us off as party-goers. The streets in the French Quarter were already packed, smelling of piss, beer, and pot. And food. The ever-present smell of Cajun spices was hovering, despite mankind trying to fuck it up.

Our first stop of the night was a small bar on the corner of Bourbon. We split up and walked over as pairs and as individuals. Troya and Sonny went first, because their costumes and the last names on their fake IDs matched. A married couple from Ohio was an easy sell.

Oliver sent me over solo, and I tried to steady my hand when I held out Felicia’s license. After glancing at the pic and the red-and-black tights beneath my skirt, the guy working the door let me pass. Troya had pulled her man onto the dance floor, and they were too busy grinding to notice me, but I was on a one-way mission to the bar, anyway.

I didn’t have to wait long, and the bartender barely glanced at me when he asked what I wanted. “Hurricane!” I shouted, setting the license on the hardwood in front of me.

A hand touched my back when the guy brought back my drink. “I’m buying.” A twenty landed next to my fake ID, and George Murphy leaned in to inspect both. “Felicia,” he said to me. He grinned and turned back to our server. “I’ll have a whiskey sour.” He waited for him to walk away before continuing. “Nice earrings. You were wearing those last night.”

“You knew it was me?” I asked.

“Only because I know you.”

His drink arrived, and he lifted it in the air between us. “Cheers.”

“Yeah.” I took a long sip from my hurricane and tried to think of something interesting to say.

“If your dad gave you any shit about it, I’m sorry about last night.”

“He didn’t.”

“Good. Mine never lets up.”

“Virgil’s good at ignoring us until it’s too late,” I said, bringing the straw to my lips for another pull.

“I heard about Ronnie. How’s she doing?”

“Constipated.”

He spit out his whiskey, showering my chest with sticky backwash. “Fuck.” He reached across the bar and tried to use a handful of napkins to dry me. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I took the napkins from him to get his hands away from my cold, hard, embarrassing nipples.

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” Oliver said from behind us.

I pushed away from the bar to block his path. “Hey.” A kiss on his chin eased some of the tension in his shoulders. “This is George. Our moms work together.” George was focused on Oliver’s hand at my waist. “George, this is Oliver…”

My what?

My friend? My fuckbuddy? My drug dealer?

It’s not like I could’ve introduced him as my boyfriend.

George stood and held out a hand, but Oliver simply stared at him. Van saved the day by finally showing up. After a few minutes, it was clear Van was more George’s type. It didn’t take long for them to drift away from us and out onto the street. A few minutes later, Van texted he’d see me back at home.

“How old is that guy?” Troya asked as we waited in line for round two.

“At least twenty-one,” I said. “Maybe twenty-two.”

“Damn.”

Any worries I had dissipated as the night progressed. After our second hurricanes, Troya dragged me out onto the street, with the guys following right behind us. Van and George were across the street, watching an impromptu street concert.

“Let’s dance!” Troya shouted in my ear.

Oliver said he couldn’t, and Sonny said he didn’t want to. They drank beer and watched us instead. I couldn’t dance to save my life, but once the alcohol took over, I was twisting and laughing with Troya and a crowd of strangers.

Penn started texting Oliver around 9:00 but didn’t make an appearance until almost an hour later. Oliver rolled his eyes when Penn’s green hair came into view.

“We match!” I pointed at his Joker face and laughed.

“You’re drunk,” he answered.

“Maybe a little.”

“Dance with us,” Troya said.

A fellow drunkard walked by and tossed Halloween necklaces into the air. Oliver snagged a skull on a leather cord and dropped it over my head.

“Thank you,” I said.

He accepted my gratitude with his lips on mine before taking my hand and pulling me away from our friends. We walked a couple of blocks until the crowd thinned. Beads of sweat glistened on my chest under the lamplight.

His makeup was starting to smear from the heat, so I could only imagine what mine must’ve looked like after all the dancing. I used both hands to fan my face, and he lifted his plastic cup to offer me a sip of his beer.

“Whoa,” he said, stopping me before I could drain it.

“Oops.”

The door of a restaurant swung open and nearly hit my back, but Oliver tugged me out of the way in the nick of time. “Watch it,” he grumbled at the couple stumbling out onto the sidewalk.

The woman froze for a moment and then leaned in to study Oliver. My heart nearly stopped when I recognized her as the same woman who’d been the class mom for Mrs. Wimberly’s kids a decade before. A few laugh lines, crow’s feet, and a silver, fringed flapper dress couldn’t disguise the fact that it was Oliver’s mother.

His dad wasn’t what I’d expected at all. He was tall and lean, dressed in a double-breasted, black-and-white suit reminiscent of the roaring twenties. The fedora on his head couldn’t cover his thick black hair, though. He was younger than I expected a riverboat captain to be.

Oliver grabbed my arm and started walking with me in tow.

“Fuck,” I whispered when we were out of earshot. “Do you think they recognized you?”

“I don’t give a fuck if they did. She won’t do shit.”

“Did you know your parents would be on Bourbon tonight? I thought your dad was gone.”

He stopped in his tracks, jerking me to a halt with him, and the pads of his fingers tightened on my flesh. “That motherfucker’s not my father. He’s not.”

“What?”

“He’s her boyfriend.”

Even drunk, I recognized how much it hurt him to spit out those words. His face scrunched in a way makeup couldn’t hide, and his voice had never sounded so quiet and loud at the same time before.

“Jesus,” I said. “Does your dad know?”

“That piece of shit can’t say a word. She’s not doing anything he hasn’t done.”

“Is that why you hate him?” The alcohol had deadened my ability to hold my tongue.

He leaned in close to say, “I hate them both.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let his head drop forward. “Can we go?”

“Yeah. Do you want to come back to my house?”

He shook his head. “No, mine. She won’t be home tonight. She told me she was staying at the hotel because of a huge convention.”

I was worse off than him, so he texted our friends to let them know we were bailing. Van replied that George was giving him a ride home. The others replied with “whatever” and “fuck you.”

Oliver didn’t say a word during the walk to the streetcar. He was silent and still on the ride back to Uptown. By the time we got to his house, I was beginning to wonder if he’d ever talk again.

I followed him through the front door, down the hall, and to his room. He didn’t bother turning on a single light.

“Are you okay?” I asked when he finally came to a stop at the edge of his bed.

“I’m fine.” He dropped to his hands and knees, reached under the bed, and pulled out a cedar box. “Text your parents, and tell them you’re staying with Troya tonight. Tell Van the same.”

“What?”

“Stay with me.” His voice trembled, matching the slight tremor of the box in his hand.

We hadn’t spent a whole night together since Ivan. I fired off a text to my father, convinced he’d care the least, and I wasn’t disappointed. He replied he would see me the following morning.

Next, I messaged Troya and Van to tell them to cover for me, and both agreed they would. Oliver thanked me by pushing me down onto his bed and shoving his hand up my skirt and into my tights.

He turned me over and sat up on his heels to unfasten his pants. I waited on my hands and knees while he moved and made noise behind me. “Here,” he said, shoving his upturned thumb in my face. There was a small, white hill of powder towered on the pad.

I’d never done it before, but it felt like more than an offer of coke, so I leaned down and inhaled. There was more noise behind me, and then I felt the tickle of powder on my back. His breath ghosted across my skin the moment before he huffed.

It took a few moments for the high to kick in. Oliver pulled my hips up, and every stitch of clothing that was hindering him came off.

For my part, I closed my eyes and let him take what he needed. I stayed upright for as long as possible, but he brought an energy I’d never seen before. When my strength gave out, he pushed me flat onto the bed and kept my head pinned with his palm entangled in my hair.

It was quick and brutal, but in the end, we were both satisfied.

Afterward, he fell onto the bed next to me and threw an arm across his face to cover his eyes. “That was so fucking good,” he said. “I needed that.”

“I’m sorry about your mom and dad. That sucks.”

“Don’t ever apologize to anyone,” he said. “Especially for shit that’s not your fault.”

I turned to mold my body to his side. Maybe it was his voice, or maybe it was the afterglow… “I love you,” I said.

“Ah, shit.” He sat up and reached for his cigarettes. “Don’t say that, Violet.”

I should’ve stopped there. “I do.”

“That’s the coke talking—the coke and the booze. It’s hormones and affection. Hell, it’s familiarity. There’s no such thing as love. It’s not real.” He leaned forward, lit his smoke, and started walking toward his bathroom. “It’s better to figure that out early. Trust me.”

“Bullshit,” Wade says. His fingers tickle the skin at my hairline as he pulls me closer until our lips are almost touching. “Love
is
real. He was a self-absorbed asshole…”

There’s a moment of hesitation on my part, because no matter what, my first instinct has always been to defend Oliver. I don’t, though, for maybe the first time ever.

“He was,” I agree. “But I wasn’t much better.”

“It’s a good thing he won’t be at the reception, Violet. I swear… I don’t know if I could sit in the same room with him, knowing how he treated you.”

Words get tangled in my throat, heart, and head. I’m left speechless, and a nod is all I can give him.

“It’s okay,” I say after a while.

“It’s not okay,” he says. “He was a cruel little shit.”

“He wasn’t the only one.” We all had it in us, circling and waiting for the right moment to strike, but Oliver always happened to be one step ahead of the rest of us.

A soft kiss at the corner of my mouth helps ease my tense shoulders. “None of that really matters anymore. I’m trying to understand—really, I am—but none of this sounds like you.”

“It wasn’t.” That’s the most pathetic part. I tried so hard to be someone else—to be cool, to be unaffected, to be loved. “I was seventeen. I didn’t know who I was. I only knew who I was supposed to be and who I wanted to be. Leaving helped me figure it out.”

“I had no idea your dad was like that. What the hell did he have against English majors?”

“I don’t know.” I fall back onto my pillow and stare up at him. “In his eyes, math and science mattered. Literature was entertainment, not a career choice.”

Wade smiles, leans down, and brushes his nose against mine. “Your dad and Hillary have a lot in common. She thought a double major was stupid when I might’ve had a shot at playing professionally. Journalism and basketball, a long career in the NBA, and then a job in front of a camera talking about it were what made sense to her.”

“It’s a good thing neither of us listened, huh?” I smile and lean up to kiss him.

He returns the kiss, squeezes my hip, and then shifts to lie next to me with a mischievous grin. “Sure. It would suck to be famous and rich and able to buy you whatever I want.”

I hold up my hand to gaze at the ring he chose for me. It’s large enough to be detailed and beautiful, but small enough to leave a patch of skin visible between it and my knuckle. He could’ve taken the free ring from his mom, but he saw this one and thought of me.

I shift onto my side and rest my hand on his chest. “I don’t need gifts. I love this ring, but it’s not why I said yes.” He could’ve offered me a trinket from a bubble gum machine, and my answer still would’ve been the same. “I know love is real, that
this
is real.”

“Let’s get married this summer.”

“
This
summer?” I laugh. “That’s impossible.”

“Do you want a wedding?” The idea sounds foreign to him.

“I don’t know… Maybe a small one with our friends and families.”

“Okay,” he says. “This summer might be too soon.” His hand covers mine, and he squeezes. “I want to do it soon, though, before you change your mind.” This time, he laughs with me.

“Not going to happen.” I kiss him. I start with his lips, move to his neck, and finish with the skin of his shoulder after I’ve settled into my spot on his arm. “Can we…?” The rest gets stuck, hating the thought of it. “I think we should wait to tell my family until after Van’s reception. Let him and Corey have their moment first.”

His lips rest on my head for a moment before he answers. “We’ll tell them on Christmas Day,” he says. “The reception will be over, and we know I’ll be there by then.”

“Perfect. Miss Verity will be so excited.”

“She probably already knows,” he says fondly.

“You’re right, but she’ll still be over the moon. She’s crazy about you.”

“It’s okay to tell my family, right? I’ll tell them to keep quiet until after the holidays.”

“Of course,” I say. “I can’t imagine telling your mom via text or over the phone.”

“She’d kill me.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” I rest my hand on his chest to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against my skin. “We’ll tell them tomorrow.”

He nods, pulls me closer, and rests his fingers on my neck. It takes a while for his breath to even out in sleep, but it takes even longer for me to get comfortable in a strange bed with unfamiliar noises and temperatures suitable for a tomb.

Hours later, I wake up alone to cold sheets and a note on Wade’s pillow.

Gone for a quick game with Dad. Be back soon. Call your parents.

Mom probably contacted him again. I have four text messages from her already, and the first is time stamped around 8:00 this morning. Instead of texting her back, I hit the call button.

It only rings once.

“Violet,” she says. “I see Wade gave you my message.”

“Actually, he’s out with his dad. He left a note for me to call.”

“I guess threatening to get in a car and drive to Georgia to find you works with him.”

“Really, Mom?”

“I’ve been trying to call you for days.” There’s a long pause for dramatic effect. “Days.”

“I’m sorry, but things have been busy. I had finals to grade, and we’re in Savannah now with Wade’s family since we’re spending Christmas with mine. I had to buy a dress for an unexpected wedding reception…”

She sighs. “All right. Point taken.”

“Thank you. This is a busy time of year for everyone, Mom. I have a life, too.”

“At this point, I’m just relieved to know you’re planning to come to your brother’s reception.”

“Of course I’m coming,” I snap. “My flight’s scheduled to arrive around 9:30 on Tuesday. I can catch a cab to the house.”

“Your flight,” she echoes. “What about Wade?”

“We’re not sure, yet. He has a job interview that morning, and he’s still scheduled to work on Christmas Eve.”

News of a potential job change is enough to pique her interest. She spends the rest of the call asking about the position Wade’s applied for and interrogating me on what I plan to wear for the big event.

“Have you looked at the guest list recently?” she asks.

“No. Wade and I saw the event page yesterday, but we were having breakfast at a diner, so I didn’t look closely.”

“It’s going to be lovely. The Murphys are coming. George and Louis will be in town for Christmas, so they’ll be there, too. Troya and her husband are excited, and that boy you used to run around with…” My lips press together as my eyes slip closed. “Penn. That’s his name. You remember him?”

“Yes.” The word is heavy on my tongue as memories swirl, shift, and settle. It’s been almost ten years since I’ve laid eyes on Penn. He’s another bad goodbye in my ledger, another person I never expected to see again.

My mother keeps talking, naming people she thinks I’ll be impressed by, but at the sound of Wade’s voice carrying up the stairs, I tune her out. For the first time, I hope he’ll miss the reception. I’d rather do it alone than face the landmines of Troya
and
Penn in the same room with Wade.

“Violet, are you even listening to me?” she asks.

“Yes, I am,” I lie. “How many people are you expecting?”

“Maybe eighty.” She couldn’t be prouder. The more, the merrier is always best in her eyes. Her friends will be talking about this reception for at least a year.

“Maybe I should stay at a hotel.”

“What are you talking about?” I can almost see her shaking her head. “You’ll do no such thing. Van, tell your sister she’s not going to stay in a hotel.”

My brother’s laughing voice is the next sound I hear. “Why do you say things to get her all riled up when I’m the one who has to deal with her?” Mom mumbles something in the background, Van laughs, and a door closes. “You’re not staying in a hotel,” he says to me a few moments later. “If I have to deal with this crazy, so do you.”

“I thought you loved me,” I say, letting a smile take over my face and tone.

“I do, which is why I want you here with me, next door, for old times’ sake. Corey has to go back to Missouri for a few days. When will
you
be here?”

“Tuesday morning.”

“Excellent. Tell Wade my Pelicans are playing his Hawks Tuesday night. Loser buys.”

“He’s still scheduled to work Christmas Eve.”

“Well, shit, Vi.” After a moment of silence, he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. He’s trying to work something out.”

“He’ll be here for Christmas, right?”

“No matter what,” I say.

“Good. Our gift is to both of you, and I’d hate to make you wait.”

“You’d sell me out like that for my…” The word fiancé almost rolls off my tongue. The pad of my thumb has been rubbing against the metal on my ring finger all morning. “For Wade?”

“Sure. He’s been answering my texts these past few days, unlike you.”

“What did he say?” I try hard not to sound alarmed. I don’t think Wade would talk to Van about Oliver, but anything’s possible.

Silence swallows me whole, and I know I’m wrong.

“He mentioned the closet…”

“Fuck.”

“He was worried.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. This has been a long time coming, and I’m leaving it up to you.”

“I miss you,” I say, and I mean it more in this moment than ever before. Revisiting old memories hurts in more ways than one. My senior year of high school was my last year of living at home with my brother, with my family.

Van thinks I’m braver than I am. His life is an open book—no secrets, no shame. My pages have been sealed tight and bound with wax for years. Talking to Wade about Oliver is the hardest thing I’ll ever do.

“I miss you, too.”

The bedroom door creaks open, and Wade leans into the room. His eyes land on my festive toenails, and his gaze is intense as he gives me a onceover, lingering at my bare thighs and again at my t-shirt-covered chest.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Van, I have to go. Wade’s back, and we’re exchanging gifts with his family today. I’ll see you Tuesday, okay?”

“Sure,” he answers. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I end the call and toss my phone into my purse.

Wade walks in, closes the door behind him, and scoops me into his arms. “Good morning,” he says.

“Morning.”

“Does this mean your mother’s calling off the search party?” He leans back and grins, letting his thumb graze the skin where my neck meets my shoulder.

“For now.”

His other hand drops to my ass. “Good, because I plan to keep you very busy until you leave me Tuesday morning.”

Soft kisses at the corner of my mouth turn heated when his fingers push past the waistband and into soft cotton and flesh. Before he gets both of us worked up, I step back and lift his hand from my underwear. “No way. I need a shower before your grandparents get here,” I say, reaching for my bag.

“Can I join you?” He grins, knowing he’s put me in a tough place.

I love taking showers with him, but we’re at his parents’ house. “No,” I say. “Go downstairs before we do something out of line that neither of us will regret.”

He laughs and gives my butt a light smack. “You’re no fun.”

“I don’t want to smell like beer and sand when I hug your grandma.”

He stops at the door and looks back at me before he opens it. “And me,” he says, letting the corner of his mouth turn up. “You smell like sex.”

I’m left hot, bothered, and standing alone when the door closes behind him.

The bathroom is the warmest spot upstairs, and a long, hot shower helps me shake the chill December mornings bring. It’s a good thing Wade wants to stay put in Atlanta, because I’d never survive winter outside the South.

He and Jeff seem unaffected by the cool breeze and lower temperatures, because they’re both wearing shorts, t-shirts, and hoodies. Some car restoration show has caught their attention, and they’ve tuned out everything else but it and the Gatorades they’re nursing.

“Who won?” I ask, taking the seat between them on the couch.

Jeff laughs. “It’s sweet of you to ask, but you know who won.”

Wade looks down at the ring on my hand and raises his eyebrows. He stays quiet, though, while Jeff gives me the play-by-play of their morning on the court. Wade slides his fingers against mine, covering my hand with his.

These are his parents, so I’ll follow his lead.

He waits until his grandparents have arrived and the necessary hugs and greetings are out of the way. “So…” he says, holding up my hand and the new diamond adorning it. “We’re getting married.”

Patricia stills for a moment, lets her eyes drop to my ring finger, and then clasps her hands together. “You finally asked!”

“And she said yes.” He leans in to kiss the side of my head. “Thank goodness.”

His grandmother, Sally, steps forward to pull me away from him for a second hug. “Congratulations,” she says. “This is wonderful!”

Jeff disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of champagne. “We bought this for New Year’s Eve, but what the hell? It isn’t every day our only child decides to tie the knot.”

Patricia laughs. “Definitely worth celebrating, just not too hard. They still have to drive home tonight.”

One toast is enough to make everyone happy. The hard part is lunch. Our change in status is the center of the discussion, and they bombard us with questions we haven’t even begun to consider the answers to.

We’ve been engaged for less than twelve hours, which is hardly enough time to choose a date. I’m no expert at matrimony, but I think weddings take time to plan. My siblings would disagree, but I want more than a justice of the peace in an office somewhere.

“Do you want to get married in Atlanta?” Sally asks.

I shake my head at the idea. “New Orleans,” I answer. Unlike Wade’s family, I’m not religious, so a church wedding isn’t something I’m interested in. Despite the heat and humidity, my parents’ yard would be beautiful for an outdoor wedding in summer or fall. It has a manicured lawn and fountain, with bushes and flowers in every color imaginable. There’s a reason it wins neighborhood awards year after year, why it’s been featured in several magazines.