She screamed, “Get out of my room!”
I screamed back, “No problem!” and slammed the door behind me. But I was surprised and shocked at my sister’s behavior. What the hell was going on?
*
Ryan and I waited until it was dark. Nicole was still in her room. I knocked and said, “I’m going out,” but she didn’t respond. I grabbed the keys and the alarm code, then walked down through the backyard to where Ryan was waiting. He’d parked his truck in the shadows down the street. The neighbors’ house was on an acre and set far back from the road—perfect. No one from the nearby houses could see what was going on, but just in case, we still used flashlights, laughing in the dark as we crept up on the house. I turned off the alarm.
Inside the house, we snuck around, breaking out in hysterical giggles as we bumped into each other. We lit some candles Ryan had brought and found the liquor cabinet, pulling out vodka, Southern Comfort, whiskey. Ryan found a suit jacket in the closet and put it on. I found some high heels and rolled up my jeans, strutting around while he whistled.
“We should put them back,” I said. “I don’t want to wreck anything.”
He laughed but agreed. We were careful to smoke near the windows, balancing our drinks on our laps as we sat on the windowsill. Cold now, we found a blanket and turned on the gas fireplace. We cuddled, my head on his chest, the warmth from the fireplace making us sleepy. It was nice, pretending to be a real couple in a real house.
“Maybe we’ll have a big house like this one day,” I said.
“Yeah, that would show my dad—he’s always telling me I’m a loser.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re super-smart and amazing with mechanics—and the best fisherman I know.”
I hated that his dad made him feel bad. I’d see how much he wanted his dad’s approval, trying to get him to come watch his motocross races. But his dad would get drunk that day and never show. It made me even more disappointed that my parents weren’t more accepting of Ryan—I could tell that he liked my dad. Sometimes, his voice all proud, Ryan would tell me how his mechanics teacher had said he’d done a good job on something, and I’d be happy for him but also sad, knowing his dad never said anything nice like that.
“You always make me feel better,” Ryan said.
“It’s not like I have some huge future prospects myself, you know. I’ll probably be a waitress for the rest of my life.”
“Now, that’s bullshit. You’re smart and can do lots of stuff too. You’re a really great cook.”
I smiled at him, flushing a little. I’d only made him a few things, like cupcakes or brownies, but he always loved them. My grandma had given me all kinds of recipes. Sometimes when it was just me and Dad, I’d cook us stuff and I really enjoyed it, especially when he’d say, “This is really good, honey,” and ask for seconds. I didn’t cook when Mom was home because she always had suggestions for how I could make it better.
I said, “Maybe I’ll be a chef.”
He rolled over, dragged a finger down my belly button.
“Oh, yeah? You gonna cook for me when we get our own place?”
“Sure, if you do the dishes.”
We talked for a while longer, about how great it was going to be, how his uncle had an old couch for us, how we could stay up late and do whatever we wanted. We’d work for a year, then travel Europe for a year, maybe get jobs there. Ryan wanted to rent a motorbike so we could ride through Italy. We drank some more, giggling when some vodka sloshed onto the floor and our bodies.
Finally we made love, slow, not feeling rushed for a change, not worried about who might come home. We experimented, tried some new stuff we’d read about. I loved how brave I felt with Ryan, how comfortable, but mostly how beautiful he made me feel. When I straddled him, he caught his breath, reached up with his hand, and cupped my cheek. The glow from the fireplace made his skin turn to a dark tan. I moved slowly, gently, our gazes locked the whole time, then leaned down, pressed my mouth to his. We kissed hard and soft, until our bodies were sticky with sweat, until we both gasped, “I love you, I love you.”
We fell asleep, my head on his shoulder, his hand playing in my hair, his chest rising and falling under my cheek. When we woke a few hours later, we cleaned the place, making sure we put the booze back in the right spot and hadn’t tracked in any leaves or dirt. Ryan said he was okay to drive now, he’d lost his buzz, so he took off in his truck and I walked back to my house.
It was about four in the morning when I snuck in the front door, carefully putting the keys back in place, trying to be quiet. Upstairs, I startled Nicole in the hallway as she was coming out of the bathroom. She gave a little squeak, then, when she realized it was me, she said, “Are you just coming home?”