My Soon-To-Be Sex Life (16 page)

Rehab graduation day, I'm thrilled to report, involved multiple instances of bodily contact. AKA – hugging. A lot of it. While this same group of strangers had once been awkward and resistant to each other, that was clearly no longer the case.

A folding table stood in the center of the reception area decked out with a multi-colored plastic tablecloth, finger food and all the fixings, as well as a huge rectangular slab ice-cream cake that a beaming Max cut into liberal wedges. He handed me a piece - so liberal - the paper plate buckled under its weight, and ice cream dribbled over my hand.

“Thanks, Max.” I licked melted cake off my thumb. “Nice spread you got going.”

“We like to give our people a proper send off,” he said, offering me a napkin. I took it and mopped up the rest.

Conscious of the hungry hoard, I joined Max behind the table. While we chatted, I alternately scarfed down cake and helped to feed the line.

“You should be proud of the work your mother's done. She's come out of this a winner.”

“I
am
proud. I'm over the moon, raise the roof, proud.” I shot him a sideways glance. “But I'm nervous.”

“So is she.” Max nodded in Mom's direction. She'd planted herself near the exit, as if ready to bolt for freedom, but she was leaning against the cinderblock hospital wall like she was glued to it. “They
all
are, and with good reason. Staying clean in here is one thing, out there,” he waved a plate toward the exit sign, “every day will be a challenge.”

“Hey.” I dumped my empty plate into the garbage can at the end of the table. “Mom can do this, you know. She's a strong woman. When she commits to something, she gets so into it, she probably
should
be committed. Besides, she has me.” I gestured across the room to where Mom stood – with Grace cracking jokes to make her smile – and Monty making himself useful by holding the single piece of luggage she'd brought with her. “She has
us
.”

“I know,” Max said. “I just wanted to make sure
you
did.”

“Ah…playing mind doctor, are we?” I wagged my finger in Max's face. “You're tricky.”

I left him to it and made my way across the room. Considering I'd thought Mom would lay into him on sight, inviting Monty to her graduation had gone pretty smoothly. I knew I probably had Grace to thank. She'd had several meetings with Mom after the frying pan incident, and between the two of us, we'd managed to negotiate a truce. Not only that, Mom had agreed to let Monty and Mona move in with us.

No guarantee it'd work out, or how long we'd be able to care for him at home, but for the moment, it kept Monty out of the likes of Horizon Way. Grace and her soon-to-be ex-husband – we all knew that one wasn't going to last – had helped with the move and sent loads of Monty's stuff to storage. The house was up for sale, and of course, Roach's mom had the listing.

“There's my girl,” Mom said, pulling me in for, you guessed it, a hug. “Isn't she beautiful, Dad? I've always thought she looked a bit like Mom. Do you see it?”

“She's there in you both, don't you forget it.” Monty's eyes scrunched up in one of his winks. He picked up Mom's bag that he'd had resting on the floor. “When are we leaving? This place gives me the creeps.”

“I've said all my goodbyes,” Mom said. “I guess we can be on our way.”

Grace made a move to scoop the bag from Monty's trembling grip, but he bared his teeth, letting his top denture drop onto his tongue. She quickly stepped back, dropping her hand.

“Children, behave,” Mom said.

We started for the exit, just as Eric entered.

There was an awkward moment where we did that horrible sidestepping dance, both avoiding eye contact, then he faked right when I dodged and he slipped past. I turned to watch as he walked right up to Morgan, swept her off her feet and spun her in his arms.

“Isn't that…?” Grace said, leaning in so my mom couldn't hear.

“Yeah.”

She put her arm around my shoulder. “I'm sorry, kiddo.” I realized she'd made the same mistake I had and thought Eric and Morgan were a couple. I didn't have the strength to explain. Free man or not – he hadn't looked my way. Not once.

Monty led the way out, actually heading in the right direction.

“How long before they kill each other?” Grace asked, slicing a glance to Monty and then back at Mom who trailed behind us.

“We might make it to your car.”

We both laughed.

Mom lingered in the entrance. “Here we go,” she sort of whispered to herself.

She took one step, then another, catching up with us in a few strides. She wormed her way between us, linked her arms with ours.

And we went home.

“I don't see why we can't have sloppy joes,” Monty griped, taking his place at the table while Mona whined at his feet.

“We can. We do. Just not every night of the week,” Mom said. “Doesn't matter, you won't be eating a thing if you don't get that dog out of my kitchen.” She put her hands on her hips. “It's one rule, Dad, and don't pretend you forgot. That's getting old.”

Grace, Mr. Adams – I just couldn't call him Wesley – and I exchanged amused glances.

The doorbell rang. No one moved to answer it.

Mr. Adams stood. “I can get that if you like.”

“No!” Mom and Grace said in unison. Mom waved him back to his seat. “Relax, Charlie will get the door.”

I signed and I slid my chair back, hand out for what I knew was coming.

Mom dropped a few bills onto my palm. “He can keep the change.”

“Of course,” I said, counting the money. “This should go over well.”

Seconds later, I started to speak even before opening the front door, “Heya Mr. Pizza Dude…” I swung the door wide. “We meet again.”

Only it wasn't Mr. Pizza standing on my doorstep with a toothpick between his teeth. It was Eric.

My Eric. On my doorstep, holding an oversized brown paper delivery bag baring the
Up A Chuck's
logo balanced precariously on his forearms. Sans toothpick, he did have a sales slip between his teeth, which he promptly spit out on top of the paper bag.

I shot a glance back over my shoulder to see Mom and Grace standing in the hall, hopeful expressions on their guilty faces. They'd known exactly who would be on the other side of the door. I stepped out onto the front step, closing the door so the would-be matchmakers couldn't gawk.

“That'll be $54.40,” Eric said. Damn, I'd missed his voice. Missed his face. Missed
him.

My heart fluttered like a thousand of Eric's paper cranes. Breathing became optional.

“Why are you here?” Was Eric in on this ploy to get us face to face?

“Tony usually drives, but he has the flu.” Hmm. I bet Grace arranged that.

“Since when do you guys deliver?” Where were these questions coming from? How did I manage to sound so calm when I was wigging out?

“Since I thought it would be a good way to expand our reach. Now do you mind?” His eyes were deliberately vacant. “$54.40.”

“Oh, right.” His distance pissed me off, but I couldn't very well jump the guy, could I? We awkwardly exchanged goods, the moolah for the bag. Immediately after the transfer, Eric spun on his heel and made for the car parked on the curb.

I stood there for a second. I turned to face the house. I spun back to watch Eric getting closer to that damn car.

Shit. Dumping the bag inside the house, I called out to anyone who cared, “Come and get it!” I bolted after Eric, slipping in my socks, the ice propelling me right into his back.

He grunted at the impact, spun around and held me upright. “What the hell, Charlie. Get back inside.”

“Not until you own up to what you did to me.”

“What
I
did to
you
?” Eric snorted. “Shouldn't that be the other way around?”

“You left me waiting at the theatre for hours.” I crossed my arms. “That was a shitty thing to do.”

Eric pursed his lips. “Yeah, that was.” He nodded.

“Nodding is not an apology.”

He threw out his hands. “What do you want from me, Charlie? So I didn't show that night. You see, I'd just been handed this
list
.” He took a step forward.

I took a step back, my toes cramping on the cold cement sidewalk.

“A list of guys you think might be up for the task of popping your cherry. And the guy who's telling me this is grinning in my face, and I'm pissed, but then I see my name at the top and I'm kind of excited.”

He was so close his breath warmed my cheek. And it was crazy, because he was so mad and yet, not yelling. More like pleading for something only I could give him.

I closed my eyes, and leaned into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me like I was a magnet and he was a million steel shards. My breath hitched in my throat. I nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in.

“Until I see four words typed beside my name.” He whispered the hurt into my ear, even as I shook my head in denial. “Absolute. Total. Last. Resort.”

What? Oh, shit…I'd forgotten we'd put stupid comments in the margins. I leaned back. “Wait, that didn't mean…”

He pushed me away. “What happened, Charlie, did someone else seal the deal and you had that goon give me the kiss off?” He gave me a cold stare. “Was it
him
?”

I flushed, thinking of Ty and what we'd done together. Thinking of Gavin. How did I explain?

“It doesn't matter, you can do whatever you want, see whoever, sleep with…” Eric's throat worked. “I just misread the situation. I thought—” He struggled to speak, then shook his head. “I felt something you obviously didn't.”

“I felt it. I
feel
it,” I blurted. “Forget the list. The list is shit, okay? And the last resort thing.” I sucked in a breath. “That was just there, at the top, because I knew how stupid this whole thing was. But it wasn't about you. Because you changed everything.” I bounced on my feet, struggling to keep warm and fearing hypothermia was making me botch this. “And you made me feel all this stuff, crazy, scary, wonderful stuff.” I rubbed my arms with my hands. “I want to explain everything, I do, but I am as cold as fuck right now. Can we just go for a drive?”

Behind me, Mom called out from the front step, “Charlie, so what's the deal? Are you eating with us, or not?”

Eric opened the passenger door, he raised a brow.

“Not,” I called back, breathless, and I slipped inside the car. As we pulled away, Mom waved, a smile playing on her lips.

We drove in silence for a few minutes while I held my fingers up to the vents in the dashboard. Fine tremors shook my shoulders.

“How are those feet of yours?” Eric adjusted the heater; soon warm air gusted from the lower vents as well. “Feel them yet?”

“Oh yeah,” I said on a sigh, pressing my toes directly over the heat. “That's the shit.”

Eric shook his head. The movement had me staring at him, watching the smile that spread across his lips.

“What?”

“You. The way you talk.” He shrugged. “I like it. I never know what you're going to say next.”

“Neither do I.”

He laughed.

“I'm serious. It's the story of my life. I blurt, or react, or question, and then everything blows up in my face. You need to know that. I'll do it again.”

“Hey, I'm no saint.” Eric made a smooth pass. “I don't take criticism well, never have. It's something I'm working on, getting past. I have to if I want to go into business on my own.”

“I think that's why I want to be a writer.” I grinned. “You're always your own boss.”

“You write?”

“Screenplays.” I nodded.

“Ah, that explains Bueller and the movie fixation.”

“There's a lot we don't know, isn't there?”

“That's part of the pull of it, don't you think? Are we seriously going to try?” His fingers flexed around the wheel.

“I want to.” I swallowed back a rush of nerves. “Do you?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I'd always wonder if we didn't.”

I pressed back against the headrest. “Me too.” I fidgeted with my seatbelt.

Eric shot me a sideways glance, then held out a hand. I placed my palm over his. Our fingers interlaced. I savored the warmth of his skin, the way he held gently rubbed his thumb along the back of my hand.

“You never did tell me about that vow of yours.” I shifted so I could take in his strong profile as he drove.

Eric began to laugh, inducing sympathetic snickers from me.

“What?” I asked, tightening my grip on his fingers. “Tell me already.”

He dipped his chin. “It's a bit ironic.”

“I live for irony.”

“When I left rehab, I took a year-long vow of celibacy. I still have six months left to go.”

“A vow.”

“Of celibacy, yeah.” He turned his head to study me. “I've been worried about how to tell you.” His gaze held mine for a second too long. A car horn honked and he focused on the road. “Are you okay with it?”

“I'm more than okay. It's perfect. Hilarious, but perfect.” And then I laughed. I laughed so hard, I cried, and I couldn't stop for a long time. Laughing and sniffling, and making an ass of myself as we drove off into the…

There really should have been a sunset, but it had already set hours ago. Then again, that was my life.

Not quite according to the script.

Judith Tewes
- author and screenwriter - resides in small town northern Alberta, where she: writes, sings, plays bass guitar in an all-woman band, walks her three crazy labs, and suspects she's living the life of a superhero's alias. Her edgy, contemporary young adult fiction is full of heart with a side of snark. She also writes paranormal YA under the pen name, Judith Graves.

You can find her online at
@judithtewes