Clay swallowed his food and looked at my parents. “I totally understand. You can't be too careful about the crazies.” His words were sarcastic and I shot him a look that clearly asked what the hell he was doing.
My mom cleared her throat. “Well, tell me, Clayton. You're from Florida, right?” She asked, trying to move the conversation into another direction. Clay stiffened beside me and his entire demeanor changed. Little did my mom know this was the last topic Clay wanted to talk about.
“Yeah, he's from Florida. But he loves Virginia. We had a blast at the outdoor market in Charlottesville last weekend. Remember that crazy vendor with the bird feeders made from gourds? They were too funny.” I rambled desperately.
My mom looked at me questioningly, but my dad hadn't taken his eyes from Clay. I nudged Clay with my elbow, trying to get him to talk, but he remained stoically silent. “I love that outdoor market! Your Dad and I need to get back down there soon.” My mom started telling me about this lady who made homemade jams and I tried to pay attention.
But I was too worried about Clay. He hadn't said anything else. The rest of dinner passed with my mother and I making ridiculous small talk while Clay stared at his bowl and my father stared at Clay. When Clay got up to help my mother clear away the dishes, I gave my dad the glare of death.
“What is your problem, Dad? You're making him uncomfortable!” I hissed. My father looked at me levelly. “I'm just getting to know him.” Was all he said. I cocked my eyebrow. “Getting to know him? You're staring holes into his head is what you are doing. Just stop it okay? Clay is my friend and I want him to feel comfortable being here.”
My dad frowned. “I'm just watching out for you, Maggie May. You're my only child. How much do you really know about this boy?” He asked me quietly. I looked at Clay as he helped my mom get dessert together. He still seemed closed off and distant, but at least he was talking to my mom.
“I know a lot about Clay. Probably more than most people. And I like him, so just let it go.” I urged, giving my dad the pleading eyes he could never say no to. My dad softened a bit but didn't let the subject drop.
“There's something about him. I'm not sold, Maggie. Just keep your head about you with that one.” He advised as Clay and mom returned to the table with a chocolate cake and plates.
Clay had left right after dinner, despite me asking him to stay and watch a movie. I think he wanted to get away from my dad's eagle-eyed stare. I walked him to his car and stood in the driveway with my arms wrapped around me. It was chilly and I could see my breath.
“Sorry if that was weird.” I said as Clay got into his car. Clay shrugged. “It was fine, Maggie. I'll talk to you later.” And with that he left. And I hadn't heard from him for the rest of the weekend. I had tried calling him all day on Sunday, but his phone kept going straight to voice mail.
But then Monday morning, Clay was at my locker like nothing had happened. We never mentioned the dinner again. My mom had let me know that Clay was welcome at the house. My dad had stayed resolutely silent.
But I made sure Clay only came around when I knew my dad was at work. Clay never questioned why I was specific about the times he could come over. I don't think he wanted a repeat encounter with my dad.
But he had started waiting for me to get out of cross country practice so he could take me home when he wasn't working at Ruby's shop. Today, he had brought over his Calculus homework and was trying to get it done while I worked on dinner. My mom was going to be home late and dad was still at the library.
Clay tried to stifle a huge yawn. He was looking haggard today. I reached over and ruffled his hair and he smiled at me. “You look tired.” I commented. Clay rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands and sat up straight, trying to wake himself up. “It's one of the side effects of my medication. Extreme lethargy. Sure I'm out like a brick at night. But I could probably sleep all day as well.” He looked at me as if to say, see, this is why I hate being on medication.
Wanting to change the subject, I put the vegetables I was chopping up in the pot on the stove and set it to simmer. “Come up to my room. I want to show you this dress. It's hysterical!” Clay got to his feet. He curled his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. My breath hitched in my throat. I always got this way when he decided to be touchy feely. Which was a lot more frequently now, I noted with giddiness.
“Your bedroom, huh? You sure you want me up there?” His voice was husky and I had to stop myself from shivering. Damn straight I wanted him in my room. I wanted him in my room, naked, and in my bed, preferably.
I flushed at my rated R thoughts. I gave him a playful shove. “Just come on.” I tried to affect a playful tone and led him to the stairs. Clay had never been upstairs in my house. Maybe because having him in my bedroom felt too intimate. There was this unspoken line between Clay and I that we were both hesitant to cross.
Sure we were close; he had become one of my best friends. But it didn't stop me from lusting after him and wanting something so much more. And some instinct told me that he felt the same. Even when he could have any girl in the school, he chose to spend his time with me.
But we were still holding back. Clay was still trying to get a handle on his issues, trying to do what he needed to do to be healthy. There were days that he still fell into depressions, times he shut me out completely, even with the medicine. I had talked to him about going to see a therapist. I knew he needed more than the medicine to get a handle on things.
To say Clay was unwilling was a bit of an understatement. He had told me emphatically that he had had his fill of “head doctors” when he was hospitalized. I tried to not get frustrated with how stubborn he was about his mental health. But he was insistent, stating he knew what he needed and the meds were enough.