Liam’s relocation contract with this new start-up in Mountain View included ten thousand dollars and first and last months’ rent on the property of his choice. This is what he chose. A two-bedroom Spanish bungalow in a planned development. The question is, is there a bed in each bedroom?
Liam pushes the front door open and the smell of fresh paint wafts out on a cloud of hot air. “Wow. The painters must have just left,” he says, heaving his suitcase over the threshold.
I let him grab mine as I step inside. “It’s furnished,” I remark as I wander into the living area.
“Of course it is. All we brought are these enormous suitcases.”
The living room is appointed in modern, understated furniture in shades of gray and cream. The coffee table is a gnarled slab of wood, sanded down and shellacked into submission, held up by thin metal legs that crisscross like the legs of a TV tray. The drapes and accessories are all various shades of aqua and orange with a few hammered metal lamps and bowls. It feels very yuppie-ish. I can’t decide if I genuinely don’t like the decor or if I’m just looking for something to pick on because I miss my plain apartment.
I wonder if Kenny has moved in yet. He agreed to take over my lease since he was on a month-to-month contract on his apartment in Killingsworth. He was more than happy to make the move to Goose Hollow, but he wasn’t certain when he would be moving in since he was still looking for someone to help him move his stuff into a storage unit. I smile as I imagine Kenny sleeping in my bed and watching Netflix on my sofa.
Liam’s hand lands on the small of my back and I flinch. “You want to see the bedroom?”
“I thought there were two.” I try to say this casually, as if this is a normal reaction when the guy you’ve been seeing for a month asks you if you want to see the bedroom, but he looks a bit put off by this question.
“Only one of the bedrooms is furnished,” he says, sounding a bit annoyed. “But if you’re not comfortable sharing the bedroom, I can sleep out here.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t move all the way to California to sleep on the sofa. I’ll sleep out here.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“No, but that look on your face? Priceless.” I lean in to kiss his cheek. “I have to shower. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll get you back for that one,” he calls out as I drag my suitcase into the hallway. “Hold on. Let me get that.”
He grabs the handle of my suitcase from me and rolls it into a short hallway that branches out in two directions. Looking both ways, he decides to go left and I follow close behind him. We stop just outside the door at the end of the hallway. Liam sticks his hand inside and flips the light switch. Then we step into our new bedroom.
It’s decorated in the same colors and materials as the living room. Nothing to see here. I grab the handle of the suitcase from Liam and lay it down on the floor so I can open it up and get my bag of toiletries. Liam sits on the edge of the bed watching me, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Because I’m thinking that this is going to be a very long shower.
Forty minutes later, I emerge from the tiny, but modern, master bathroom with my auburn hair mostly dry and my heart racing with anticipation. When I catch sight of Liam sitting up in bed with a book in his hands and both our suitcases lying on the floor totally empty, I feel like the scene has been staged.
“You unpacked everything?” I ask, my voice a bit shrill as my heart goes a million miles a minute. He must have seen the Sierra Nevada box containing Hallie’s suicide note and the three-carat diamond engagement ring Houston gave me.
“You look upset. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, I’m just… No, you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just that…”
He puts the book down on the bedside table. “I put the box in the top drawer of the dresser with your other unmentionables.”
I wish he would flash me that perfect smile, just so I know that he didn’t look inside the box, or if he did look inside, the contents didn’t upset him. But he doesn’t smile. He just waits for me to respond and I don’t know what to say, other than “Thank you… for putting everything away.”
This pulls a smile out of him. “You don’t have to thank me. That’s part of living with someone. You help each other out. I’ve got your back.” He winks at me and continues flashing me that gorgeous smile, but all I can think is Does he think this is the first time I’ve lived with a man?
I know the ups and downs of cohabitation. I know what it’s like to trade off the duties of cooking and doing dishes. I know what it’s like to wash a man’s dirty laundry, and what it’s like to bury your insecurities when it’s his turn to wash yours. I know what it’s like to spend all day feeling as if the weight of adulthood is pressing down on you, crushing you, only to come home and find your boyfriend has purchased a special edition of your favorite childhood book, just to remind you that love can bring stuffed bunnies to life. Or what it’s like to comfort your boyfriend with silence when you wake to find his tears shimmering on your belly as he cries over the loss of his baby sister.
It’s only just dawned on me that the few times I saw Houston cry over Hallie, he wasn’t just mourning her loss. He was flooded, overflowing with conflicting emotions, anger, frustration, sadness, over not being able to share her suicide note with me. God, how did I not see that before?
I don’t notice Liam is standing next to me until he clears his throat and I jump at the sound. “Shit. Sorry.”
He chuckles. “I’m gonna take a shower. I won’t be long.”
Eight minutes later, Liam comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of snug black boxer briefs. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with his shirt off and he’s gorgeous. The light smattering of hair on his chest and the happy trail leading down beneath the waistband of his boxers make me giddy. I’ve grown a bit obsessed with running my fingers through Liam’s beard over the past five weeks. I should probably just skip the denial phase and get an “I love furries” bumper sticker already.
Oh, yeah, I can’t get a bumper sticker since I left my car in Oregon. Liam assured me I won’t need my car here until I start working, then I’ll have enough money to lease one.
The left corner of Liam’s mouth pulls up in a ridiculously sexy smile. “Are you checking me out, young lady?”
I close the e-reader app on my phone and set it down on the nightstand. “Maybe.”
He stops when he reaches the other side of the bed, then he spins around to show me his backside. “What do you like better: my tits or my ass?”
“Why not both?”
He turns back to me wearing a sly grin. “I like the way you think.”
He slides under the covers and the clean scent of his skin makes my nerves tingle. I’ve never slept with anyone other than Houston. It feels so strange knowing that Liam and I moved in without having slept together. But considering that’s exactly how things progressed with Houston and me, I guess that’s just my modus operandi.
I can only hope that tonight is as beautiful as my first night with Houston.
Liam turns off the lamp on his bedside table and I take a deep breath as I turn mine off, too. I lie back as we’re plunged into cool darkness. Clasping my hands over my belly, I wait for Liam to say something, or do something.
“The road to hell is paved with awkward moments like this,” he whispers into the darkness.
I smile as we both turn onto our sides to face each other. “Are you saying we’re going to hell?”
“After we do all the dirty things you’ve been thinking about since I walked out of the bathroom, we’re definitely going to hell.” He reaches forward and lightly brushes a lock of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “But I wouldn’t want to go there with anyone else.”
He leans forward and I close my eyes as his lips fall softly over mine. His hand slides down from my face, skimming over my shoulder and landing on my hip. Houston’s face flashes in my m
ind and I let out an involuntary gasp. Liam takes this to mean I’m urging him on and he responds with a soft moan as he gently eases me onto my back.
His knee slides between my legs and I tangle my fingers in his hair to keep reminding myself where I am and who I’m with. Liam’s dark hair is cut in an undercut, about three inches long on top and about a half inch everywhere else. It’s very different from Houston’s caramel-brown hair, which is thicker and about half as long on top. I used to love that I could manipulate his hair to stick out in just about any direction. Liam’s hair is very soft and requires manly hair products in order to stay put.
But he’s fresh out of the shower now, so all I feel is the softness of his hair. I tug lightly and his erection twitches against my thigh. He uses his knee to push my legs open as his hand glides down my waist, stopping briefly as he finds the waistband and slides his hand underneath. He’s not going to waste any time tonight.
We’ve made out for hours at my apartment. There’s no reason to spend hours on foreplay tonight, especially when it’s almost one a.m. But I must admit that I’m a bit disappointed in this approach.
His finger slides into me and I tighten my arms around his neck as I brace myself. He fucks me with his finger for a few minutes, feeling me out, exploring me, then he gathers my wetness and drags his finger up to my clit. I whimper into his mouth and lean my head back, waiting for him to keep going, but he moves his finger slightly to the right and the pleasure is gone.
He rubs the area just to the right of my clit for a couple of minutes before I give up. Through the darkness, I look him in the eye as I reach down and move his hand into the right position. The moonlight glints in his eyes when he smiles. He continues to stimulate me in the right spot, only I’m no longer wet and his finger is actually hurting me.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask, my subtle hint that we should move on.
He nods. “Did you come?”
“Not yet, but I will. I just need you inside me.” Need is a strong word for what I’m feeling right now.
He rolls off me and reaches into the drawer of his nightstand to get a condom. He pulls out a single foil pack and I watch as he rolls it over his erection. I feel as if I’m floating. As if this is happening to someone else. The irrational center of my brain is attempting to disconnect from this experience while also sending out warning signals tingling throughout my entire body: Red alert! Intruder!
My body belongs to Houston. I’ve held this belief bone-deep inside me for as long as I can remember. It’s my gospel. The doctrine I’ve followed for a billion years. I belong to Houston.
It’s not too late to stop this.
Liam climbs back on top of me, settling himself between my legs. Placing his elbows on either side of my head, he leans down and kisses my forehead. I wrap my arms around his middle, ignoring the slight sting on my tattoo arm, then I coil my legs around his hips as the tip of his erection presses against my entrance.
“Thank you for coming with me,” he whispers, laying a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth.
I know he’s referring to my decision to come with him to California, but I can’t help but notice the irony in the fact that I haven’t actually come with him yet.
“And thank you for being so goddamned sexy,” he continues, running his hand down the length of my thigh until it’s clasped behind my knee. “You make me feel lucky.”
I sigh as he kisses my neck. I want to say something like I’m the lucky one, but I can’t bring myself to do it. So I say the one thing I know will move this evening forward.
“Fuck me,” I whisper in his ear.
The words cause his erection to twitch against me. He reaches down and guides himself into me, then he lifts my leg so he can slide farther inside. My nails dig into his back and I close my eyes as I try to push aside memories of the first time I had sex with Houston.
I can’t keep comparing Liam to Houston. They’re different. I have to expect them to do everything differently. I can’t expect homogeny or I’ll always be bored and disappointed.
I reach up and grab Liam’s face to force him to look me in the eye. He grunts softly as he moves in and out of me. The smell of sweat and stale bedsheets is at the forefront of my thoughts. I push it aside, trying to focus on the sensation of his hard length piercing me slowly and deeply. He kisses me and I shove my tongue into his mouth, as if I can force him to swallow my traitorous thoughts to rid myself of them.
He pulls his head back and looks me in the eye, a quizzical expression painted across his boyish features. “Are you okay?”
I nod and tighten my legs around his hips. “Much better than okay.”
He flashes me a tight smile, though I’m certain it’s only because he can’t control his mouth anymore. He’s about to blow.
He thrusts a few more times, then I grab his face and turn his eyes back to me. His arms shake with the effort of holding his own weight and his eyebrows scrunch together as if he’s in pain. I hold his head still, forcing him to look at me as he comes.
We need to imprint on each other, and there’s no easier way to do that than gazing into someone’s eyes while they’re coming inside you. Houston taught me that. There’s no reason it shouldn’t work with Liam.
December 5, 2014
The moment I step inside my office at seven a.m. my heart stops. Adaline did exactly as I asked and got the photos I gave her printed, and some of them framed. Three new sleek silver frames are propped up on my desk, their backs facing me as I approach. I round the glass desktop slowly, drawing in a deep breath as I prepare to see her face.
I haven’t seen my sister’s face since the last time I visited my mom in McMinnville, more than a year ago. The moment I see the first picture, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a picture of Hallie and me when she was just a baby. I’m about three or four years old and baby Hallie is sitting in my lap as I awkwardly try to hold her while one of my parents takes a picture.
I shake my head as I look at the next picture. Hallie is about eleven years old and she and Rory are dressed up as CatDog. Rory’s face is painted with whiskers and her hand is making a clawing motion, but I can definitely see her blushing under the white face paint. Hallie’s tongue hangs out the side of her mouth and her “paws” are raised like she’s begging. My mom stands off to the side positively beaming at how adorable they look. I remember taking this picture and thinking how lame their costume was. I might have actually said the words, “Who likes CatDog anymore? That’s so lame.”
Now I see how perfect that costume was for Hallie and Rory. From the very beginning, they were inseparable. We had just moved to McMinnville two months before this picture was taken. I get a deep ache in my belly thinking of how much pain Rory must be in right now.
The third picture frame holds a picture that instantly relieves the gnawing sensation inside me, replacing it with a dull, warm ache as I recall the day this picture was taken. Troy, Hallie, and I were watching the Olympics on the TV in the living room. At my mother’s insistence, I’d come home for a few weeks that summer to help Hallie get ready for college and take her back with me to UO in August.
Hallie had been happier than I’d ever seen her before that summer. Though her summer job in Salem was keeping her busy, away from the usual summer festivities, she didn’t seem to mind. And watching the Olympics was usually one of her favorite things to do. But on this day, she was sullen and moody, sitting in the corner of the couch with her arms crossed over her chest and her Blazers hoodie pulled over her head.
“Put your game face on, Hal,” I said, setting a bowl of potato chips on the coffee table in front of her. “Phelps is going for his eighth medal today.”
“Fuck Michael Phelps.”
Troy laughed as he reached for the bowl of chips. “What crawled up your vagoo?”
“Can you please not use that word? It’s disgusting¸” she said, recoiling when Troy offered her the bowl.
I snatched the TV remote off the table and plopped
down into my mom’s favorite armchair. “Why don’t you ask Rory to come over? Maybe she can help you pull that stick out of your ass.”
“Hey! Rory’s eighteen now,” Troy said, as if this should mean something to us.
It definitely meant something to me. And the glare Hallie was shooting in my direction told me exactly what it meant to her. She was probably pissed that Rory had turned eighteen more than a month ago in June and I still hadn’t asked about her, despite my griping about her being underage last Christmas Eve.
Hallie turned to Troy. “Who told you Rory’s eighteen now?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Facebook.”
“Fucking Mark Zuckerberg,” she huffed.
Troy looked at me questioningly, and I shot him a look to let him know I’m just as confused by Hallie’s shitty mood.
“Like I said before. Why don’t you just invite Rory over so you’re not stuck here with us?”
“Invite Rory over?” she responded, and I knew if I didn’t drop it she was going to say something about how I needed to man-up and ask Rory out already. So I dropped it.
“Whatever. Then go over there.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t go over there. She’s gone. She went to dinner with her parents, some corny anniversary crap.”
“Anniversary of what?” I asked, scrolling through the guide on the TV to see when the swimming finals were coming on.
“Anniversary of when her parents met.”
I glanced at Hallie and she was pulling the strings on her hoodie tighter, as if she were trying to disappear into her sweater. “That’s real fucking sweet,” I replied as I stopped scrolling when I find the right channel. “That’s too bad. Rory’s gonna miss out on today’s festivities.” I jump out of the chair and toss the remote to Troy. “I’ll be right back.”
I disappeared into my room and locked the door, otherwise Troy might walk in, and I wanted this to be a surprise. I changed out of my clothes into my new “festive” outfit, digging through the top drawer of my nightstand for the final piece. When I reentered the living room, Hallie and Troy fell over laughing. Troy actually rolled off the sofa onto the floor.