I stared at the words, absorbing. Thinking. I knew God didn’t talk to people who flipped through the Bible to random verses. That’s not how he communicated, and my seventeen-year-old brain knew that. When I was seven, though, I thought this was how God “spoke” to us. It had to be, because I never heard his voice booming down from heaven, giving me direction or telling me to stop being mean to Annabel in my class.
I grew instantly cold. And I didn’t want to hold my Bible anymore. Somehow it had turned into a bomb, the spark creeping along the last verse closer and closer towards a huge explosion. So I closed the book carefully and slid it back on the nightstand, praying I’d diffused it. I crawled under my covers and hid on the other side of the bed as far away from the Bible as I could get.
I don’t think God meant to tell me that, but he did anyway. And I was left to wonder at my worthlessness—my small brain and heart that longed for a man who could ruin my life. I wasn’t seeking God. I was seeking Mr. Connelly. And what disturbed me the most was that I wanted his guidance, his words, his assurance, because unlike God, I could see him and feel him and touch him.
At the moment, he was more real to me than God.
Dad believed me when I told him I was meeting Avery after school at Starbucks to work on the next youth group community service project. It was Wednesday afternoon, and I told him not to expect me home until seven. Youth group was cancelled since Pastor Allan was sick. I thought for sure Dad wouldn’t let me come home so late since we had dinner every night promptly at 6:30, but he said it was okay, and he even told me to tell Avery he said hello.
Of course, I filled Avery in on this, so she made plans with Gavin. We had a rule: we told each other as little as possible about our clandestine meetings and who we were with, but we always made sure to get our stories straight about the things we did when we were “pretend” together.
“Okay, you had your usual—mocha latté—and I had a black coffee,” Avery said over the phone while I drove to Mr. Connelly’s. I mean Mark’s.
“Gross. You drink black coffee?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Doesn’t that put hair on your chest?”
“You’re so cute, Cadence. I love everything about you,” Avery replied.
I giggled.
“Now, the newest project is a banquet we’re setting up for the senior center on Chastain Road.”
“Is this a real project or a fake one?”
“A real one, I just haven’t actually started organizing anything yet,” Avery replied. “We went over possible times and dates, and I put you in charge of entertainment.”
“What? I don’t know how to entertain old people,” I argued.
“Then ask your parents. I’m sure they can help you out with some ideas,” Avery said.
I grunted.
“I’ll text you the fake times and dates we considered before seven tonight. Is that when you said you had to be home?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Avery replied. “And Cadence?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time, give me a little bit of a warning, okay? It would have been nice to get a wax,” Avery said.
“Huh?”
“A wax, Cadence. Good God. You know? Hot gooey stuff to rip your hair out?”
“You get waxes? Like your eyebrows?” I asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of Mark’s building.
“Yeah, like my eyebrows. And my *, too,” Avery replied.
I nearly dropped the phone. “You do?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why are you acting so shocked by it? Who the hell wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, looking between my legs.
Avery chuckled. “Has Mystery Man been down there yet?”
She knew I was looking at myself!
“No!” I cried. “And there’s no mystery man!”
“Whatever. Let me give you a tip.”
“No.”
“Too bad. You’ve gotta make sure that shit down there is cleaned up. I can’t imagine any guy wanting his face in a big old bush.”
I was mortified. I didn’t have a big old bush! I trimmed.
“I’ll set up an appointment for you. We’ll go together. But not like be in the same room with each other while she does it.”
“Huh?”
“Bye bye, Cadence,” Avery said sweetly and hung up.
I sat in my car for a moment trying to compose myself. My face was flushed, betraying my nervousness. Mr. Connelly might try to kiss me today. I mean Mark. Damnit! His name is Mark! Mark might try to kiss me today. I was fine with that. I really wanted to kiss him, but what if he wanted to do more than kiss? What if he wanted to go up my shirt or down my pants? Avery had me worried about the way I looked between my legs.
My buzzing phone distracted me. It was a text from Avery.
I get it all taken off.
I didn’t reply. I rolled my eyes, fished a peppermint out of my book bag, and headed for Mark’s apartment. I really didn’t want that image in my brain on the day I thought Mark might kiss me.
“Hi,” he said, wrapping me in a hug. He smelled so good, and so did his apartment. Suddenly everything was scary again, and I didn’t know how to reply. I couldn’t think to say “hi” in response. Total idiot.
“What? Does Yankee Candle make a line just for men?” I asked, pulling away from him and throwing my book bag on his club chair.
“Actually, yeah, they do. They’re called man candles,” he replied.
I cocked my head.
“You know one thing I like about you, Cadence?” Mark asked, shutting the door.
“What’s that?”
“How you try to joke when you’re uncomfortable,” he replied.
I bristled.
“You’ve been here before. Just last Thursday,” he said softly.
“I know,” I whispered.
“Do we need to start over?”
I nodded, and he took my hand, leading me to the couch. He sat down and pulled me onto his lap like before.
“So what would you like to talk about today?” he asked, holding my hand.
I couldn’t get Avery’s revelation about her personal grooming out of my mind. And then it made me think about Mark and what he preferred down there. Hair? No hair? A little bit of hair?
I shrugged.
Mark grinned. “Would you like to eat something?”
I tensed. “Would you?” I cried, panicked.
“Cadence, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” I was agitated and flustered, pulling my hand from his to play with my fingers.
“Will you please talk to me?” Mark asked.
“I’m not ready for you to eat me out!” I blurted. I turned my face and stared at the feet of his club chair. What a freaking moron.