She rolls her eyes and with one hand, she forms what I’m going to assume is a penis by sticking two fingers out and curling the others into her palm to represent balls. Clever. With her other hand, she points to her hand, laying out the parts of the penis. “This is the scrotum . . .”
I put her hand down to stop her. “I don’t need a lesson on cock, babe.”
She huffs from my dismissal. “Seems like you do if you don’t know what the meatus is.”
Challenging her, I say, “Go to the mall, query every man and woman that passes by and ask them if they know what the meatus on a man is. I can guarantee you no one will know.”
“Ugh, the education in this country.” She folds her arms over her chest indignantly and sticks her chin in the air. “For your information, the meatus is part of the urethra. I hope you keep yours clean.”
“Christ.” I run my hand over my face.
“Hey, you wanted to talk about sex tonight. This is your doing.”
“We’re not talking about sex, we’re talking about fucking pee holes on a man. Can we at least talk about nipples or something? Jesus, Emma.”
She starts flipping through the pages of the Playboy rapidly and says, “Ugh, men. They always have to go back to the breasts. Heaven forbid a woman gets to talk about what entices her.”
“All right, what entices you? Besides a good meatus, that conversation is fucking over.”
“What do you mean? What can get me to strip my clothes down?”
I laugh from Emma’s words. For some reason, I can’t quite see her as a girl who strips down. In my mind, she’s shy in the bedroom—sweet, innocent—but then again, I’m learning a lot more about Emma here. Maybe she’s a little wild, different to what I presume.
“Yeah. What turns you on, Emma?”
Her posture switches from confident to modest in seconds. She quickly brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins to keep her legs close to her body. She rests her chin on her knees and avoids all eye contact with me while she speaks. “What turns me on? Hmm, besides the obvious meatus?” She giggles.
“No more fucking meatus. Christ, woman.”
“Fine. All right, what turns me on.” She thinks for a second and I know immediately when she comes up with her answer because her pretty cheeks stain pink with embarrassment. It’s fucking adorable. “The kiss.”
“The kiss? Explain.”
She quirks her lips to the side, a picture of innocence and joy on her face. “The kiss. How can I even describe it? It’s the defining moment of any new beginning. It can either make or break what’s to happen next.” She sighs and looks off to the side. “It’s all about the pressure of his lips, the passion in the way he holds me, and the confidence in his body language. It should be soft, delicate, but also passionate, as if my lips are the only thing holding him up. Nothing sloppy, nothing too demanding, just the right amount of yearning that won’t scare me away. It should sweep me up into a dreamland where I forget everything around us, where I’m captured between two strong hands and one set of perfectly attentive lips. The kiss, the kiss is everything, Tucker.”
Silence falls between us as I think about her words.
Fuck.
Why do I want to kiss her now? Why do I want to prove myself to her, to see if my kiss would be everything she wanted? This is Emma, my friend, someone I’ve cared about my whole life, not someone I’ve wanted romantically. The only person I’ve ever wanted, tasted, is Sadie. But fuck, that ship has sailed, even though I’m still not in a place of my life where I want to say goodbye. I still feel bitter. And fuck me if I still don’t want her . . .
“It’s stupid, I know.” Emma cuts through my thoughts and shrugs. “I’m a dreamer.”
Shaking all thoughts of Sadie out of my head, I focus on Emma and clear my throat. “It’s not stupid. It’s sexy.”
“Sexy?” Her nose scrunches cutely.
“Yeah, sexy. You know what you want. That’s hot.”
She stares at me for a few brief seconds before her hand covers her mouth and she starts to giggle.
Fucking giggle.
What’s so damn funny about me saying that’s sexy?
Growing a little irritated, I ask, “Why the hell are you laughing?”
She waves her hand in front of her face, trying to ward off the giggles. When she composes herself, she says, “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” she bites her lip and looks up at me through her eyelashes, “Tucker Jameson just said that something I said was sexy.”
“So?” Why am I not getting this?
“Oh, come on.” She gives me a pointed look. “You’re the hometown heartbreaker.”
“The what?”
She clenches her knees even closer to her body as her cheeks blush. Her blue eyes search me over, making me feel exposed, as if I really should know what she’s talking about. Honestly, I have no clue.
“Figures.” She smiles. “You were so wrapped up in Sadie, you had no idea how many hearts you were breaking with every kiss you gave her. You were the boy, Tucker. Every girl wanted you to look their way, to give them a second of your time, to . . .” she swallows hard and continues, “to be swept up into your world.”
I grab the back of my neck uncomfortably. “That’s, uh . . .” Fuck, what does someone say to that? “That’s interesting.” I cringe inwardly.
Emma chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re so oblivious. You always have been. And it never made sense why you thought you weren’t good enough for Sadie.”
“Clearly, I wasn’t.” My voice is forlorn, pensive almost.
Emma scoots closer and puts her hand on mine, causing me to look her in the eyes. “You were good enough to be with her, Tucker. You just weren’t right for her.”
Seems to be the common opinion amongst our group of friends, besides me. Not for one fucking minute did I think I wasn’t right for Sadie. In fact, I thought I was the perfect fit for her. We’d been through hell and back together. Up until she met her boyfriend Andrew, there was nothing I didn’t know about her; there was nothing she kept hidden from me.
Irritation consumes me, my patience growing thin quickly with every memory of Sadie that passes through my mind.
“I don’t believe that,” I answer honestly, my voice stern, to the point. “Sadie was the love of my life. Is . . . she is the love of my life.” I run my hand over my face and try to calm my racing heart.
“Tucker, I didn’t mean to—”
“You know what, it’s getting late,” I snap. “I think we should call it a night.” I snag the magazine from bed and toss it to the side, putting an end to our “sex talk.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Emma shifts off the bed, her voice weak. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Tucker.”
Consider me fucking offended.
“It’s fine. I’ll catch you later, Emma.” And just like that, I shut down, tucking myself into bed and letting her show her way out of my bedroom.
There are two things I don’t want to talk about, ever: my mom and Sadie. Both topics cause me pain, self-hatred, and make me question every aspect of my desperately pathetic and shitty life.
As she slowly leaves my room, I turn on my side away from her and her “opinion”, still fuming from thoughts of Sadie, of everyone’s doubt in our relationship. Of fucking Sadie’s doubt in our relationship. She didn’t even give me a second chance to prove to her that I’m the man she needs. Not a boy, but the MAN she fucking needs.
No, Emma, you’re wrong.
I wasn’t good enough.
I wasn’t good enough for Sadie to stay.
Chapter Nine
EMMA
Have you ever said something you wish you could take back the moment it comes out of your mouth? I’m sure you have. I’m sure there has been a time in your life where you say something stupid, something that changes the course of a relationship, something so out of character that you start sweating. And not just underarm kind of sweat, but the type of sweat that coa
ts the back of your neck, your upper lip, and every crevice of your body.
Regret immediately hits you hard in the chest and all you can do is sit back and chastise yourself while apologizing profusely to whomever you offended. And they can say it’s fine, they can act like everything is hunky-dory, that life is still the same, but it’s not. Do you know why? Because those words you uttered are out there in the universe, sitting there like a giant purple set of man balls, unshaven, in the room. This isn’t pink-elephant-in-the-room status. We’re talking nasty, uneven, purple, hairy man balls, tickling you under the chin with its pubes. It’s there, exposed, reminding you every day of the one sentence you should have kept to yourself.
You just weren’t right for her.
Those . . . how many words are there . . . four, five, six. Those six little words changed everything in my living arrangement. It’s been a week and I can count on one hand the amount of words Tucker’s said to me despite trying to reach him. I’ve tried. I try every damn day to include him in conversation but he’s short, terse, and uninterested. Somber. Hiding.
Note to self: he doesn’t like to talk about Sadie. Got it.
And you know what? Even though I regret saying those words out loud, I still believe them. I actually didn’t like them together at all, because even though they had some really good times, their bad times outweighed the good . . . easily. Their relationship was volatile. I can remember some of the arguments they would get into at parties, how they would scream at each other, and verbally hurt one another. Some nights they ended on a good note, some nights I wound up driving Sadie back to my place.
Unfortunately for me, I was privy to all their fights and most often, what soured between them on that particular occasion. They were two broken kids, seeking comfort from the wrong outlet. I can’t even recall how often I sat with Sadie in my arms, crying over the boy, wishing he could move past his troubled relationship with his mom and stop projecting that relationship onto theirs. Granted, they were in high school, and it seems Tucker has done some growing since then, but never once did I sit back and think, these two were meant to be with each other. In some respects, it felt like a small-town relationship of convenience. You know, too hard to break up because you’ll see them every day.
I always thought they were pulling each other down rather than lifting each other up.
But I guess my opinion on the matter doesn’t count. What do I know? I was only there for Sadie through the trials and tribulations of the Tucker and Sadie melodrama. I know nothing.
Absolutely nothing . . .
Do you hear the sarcasm? Gah! So frustrating.
I’m shaking with irritation now. He really shouldn’t be mad at me. It’s not fair. I was just being a friend, telling him like it is, and I even tried to do it in a sensitive way. Last time I do that.
Yes, that’s my bratty thirteen-year-old self popping in for a visit. Just let her fester for a few seconds.
“Stupid men,” I mutter as I wrap my robe around my waist and head to the kitchen for some coffee, no longer feeling sorry, more in the mood to kick some crotches.
I’m not surprised when I enter the kitchen and see Tucker hovering over the stove making himself eggs. Unlike our previous mornings when we had breakfast together, he only makes eggs for one now. Typical spiteful man. I get it. You’re giving me the cold shoulder. No need to rub your fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon in my face.
Prick.
My sorrys are long gone now; forget the regret. I’m a girl without coffee and yummy eggs and with a roommate who is acting like a dick. Beware of what’s going to happen next.
I reach for a mug in the cabinet but come up empty. I look over at the sink and see the one I used yesterday morning . . . dirty. Brain is starting to boil.
Honestly. Who only has two fucking mugs?
On the verge of losing it, I slam the cabinet shut with more force than necessary and huff toward the sink. “You should really get more mugs. Two is ridiculous; you’re a grown-up, Tucker; it’s called owning things,” I snap at him. And the mature award goes to me, the girl with the morning hair and ragey eyes.
I turn on the faucet and start washing my mug. It’s not even a pretty mug. It’s from his construction company. It’s your basic white mug with a blue logo on it. Hideous. Where’s the Disney Princess mugs? The Boob mugs? The lick-my-dick mugs?
“Ugly construction company mug,” I mutter as I rinse it out.
When I turn to fill it up, I catch a glimpse of Tucker, his back still toward me, pushing eggs around on his pan. Did he even hear me? Does he even care about dinnerware? Why is he being a giant jerk and not talking?
“You know, it’s polite to talk to your roommate.” I fill my mug up with coffee and turn toward him. “You’re being rude by not even saying good morning.” He doesn’t say anything, causing my bitch pants to be pulled on one leg at a time. Things are about to go downhill quickly. “Okay, so you’re just going to hover over your stupid yummy-tasting eggs and not say anything? That’s just fiiiiinnnnne.” My arms open wide as I say the word, and I can feel the crazy starting to take over. This is what happens when someone gives me the silent treatment. I lose my shit. “Just stand there in your holey jeans and, and, your, well, you’re not wearing a hard hat now, but if you were, just stand there in your stupid holey jeans and hard hat eating your bacon and jerking yourself off to your morning eggs while drinking out of your one-of-two coffee mugs.” I give him the thumbs up, exaggerated of course, really making sure he can see it. “Real cool, Tucker. You’re sooooo cool. Don’t mind me.” Walking over to the cabinet, I bump him into the stove as I reach for a granola bar. I hold it up to him, making sure he can see that my Chewy Bar is what I’ll be eating for breakfast. “I have my Chewy Bar and, you know what? My Chewy Bar is a better friend than you are; at least it lets me eat him.” Eh . . . I pause. Not what I wanted to say. I shake my head. “I don’t want to eat you, that would be weird. Shit, forget I said that.” To myself I say, “I was on such a roll.” Getting back to my rant, I poke Tucker in the shoulder, which garners his attention. At last. His face is devoid of any emotion as I continue my mini tirade. I hold up my Chewy Bar and coffee and say, “I’m taking this to my room and, you know what? I’ll have a hell of a better time staring at my walls than listening to you heavy breathe over your scrambled eggs. Yeah, you breathe heavy.” He doesn’t, but it’s the only insult I can come up with. “Blow your nose every once in a while, it might stop you from sounding like a barge coming into dock.”
Satisfied, I start to leave but then realize I forgot something. I turn to him once more and say, “And for your information, it’s polite to keep your condoms in your nightstand, not the medicine cabinet, unless you want me to start tossing my tampons around like fireworks, popping them in your face. Is that what you want, Tucker? Tampon fireworks? Because don’t test me, I will make it happen. I will make it rain period products.” Walking off, I shout, “Feminine hygiene will be your worst nightmare, son!”
I slam my door shut and smile to myself. Job well done.
***
“Oh God, I was such an idiot this morning.” I slouch in a booth at the student union and place my tray of food in front of me on the table. I ordered my favorite orange chicken from my favorite quick-order place in the food court but now it’s not looking so appetizing. I’ve spent my entire day at school. This will be my second meal in the union because I can’t bear to go home. Not after my embarrassing morning rant.
Tampon fireworks? Come on, Emma!
Adalyn sits across from me and starts to open her straw, tearing the paper off at the end and expertly working the plastic through the opening, saving the tube of paper so she can tie it in a knot, like she always does.
“Oh, you were an idiot? This is exciting. What did you do?” Adalyn takes a sip of her Dr. Pepper, orange soda combination—gross—and leans forward.
Before telling her what happened, I ask, “Was I a bad roommate?”
&n
bsp; “No. If you were a bad roommate, do you really think I would have roomed with you for so long? Why do you ask?” Adalyn is always to the point, and I like that about her.
“I feel like I’m a pretty considerate person. I mean, I didn’t put mint on your pillows or anything, but I made sure to make things as comfortable as possible between us, right?”
Adalyn picks up her wrap and looks at me, a knowing glint in her eye. “Uh oh, trouble in roommate paradise? How is that possible? You’re rooming with a genuine, bona fide, certified, personified piece of man meat. What could be wrong with rooming with the epitome of all men? I mean, his smirk alone should make you feel complete at night.”
I haven’t seen that smirk in days.
I tug on my ponytail and shift in my seat. “I said something stupid the other night. I meant it, but I shouldn’t have said it to him and now he barely says anything to me. We’re just co-existing, not actually living together.”
“What did you say?”
Groaning, I poke my fork at a piece of chicken and put it in my mouth. I talk and chew at the same time; it’s Adalyn, she doesn’t care. “I mentioned his ex-girlfriend who is one of my best friends.”
“Who?” Adalyn is really getting into the conversation.
“Sadie, you met her.”
“Oh yeah, she has the hot, nerdy boyfriend with the glasses. God, I wish she would use him as a feather against my body.”
Slightly weird, but it’s Adalyn. “Yeah, that’s her. Tucker and Sadie were childhood sweethearts. Our group of friends always thought they’d get married one day.”
“Huh, what happened?”
I think back to the day Sadie called me in tears, unsure of what to do, her future in the balance. “They were always rocky, especially when Sadie went to college at Cornell, but it wasn’t until she got pregnant that everything went spiraling.”
“Sadie was pregnant?”
I nod and take another bite of chicken. “Yeah, she lost the baby a few weeks later which changed everything, even our friend dynamic. Their relationship combusted and we were all kind of forced to choose sides. They didn’t make us, but it felt like we had to. Tucker, being two years older than us, easily slipped out of the scene and that’s why I didn’t see him for so long.”