I held Grant’s hand as we pulled out onto the main road. He squeezed mine in return, though his grip seemed weaker than usual. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t want to press him, but eventually the rattling of the engine started to get to me.
“Grant.” I put a hand over his and leaned over, lightly kissing his cheek. “We’re near the lake. Pull over.”
I used the light on my phone to find a small path and, taking his hand, led him into the woods toward the tree house where we had gone after that first party. I remembered every step of the path; I had thought of that night so many times that I could have made my way to the lake in my sleep. Grant was distracted, or nervous, or both, so he followed my lead. We reached the old tree house and climbed up wordlessly. The lake was as beautiful as last time, though a cold wind whipped across its surface, sending my hair swirling. Grant touched the back of my arm, and suddenly I felt very warm.
“You’re the first person I ever brought home,” he said, pulling me closer. I breathed in sharply and felt a pressure building near the bottom of my stomach. I realized I was shaking. “I’ve been too embarrassed to bring anybody over since we moved into the trailer.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” I said. The silence swelled between us. “When I was fifteen,” I began, feeling like I should tell him about my suicide attempt, like I should trade one of my secrets for his, but he kissed me before I could go any further. Our kiss started innocently enough, just lips pressed together like a dozen times in the past, but then his lips parted and mine parted, and our lips moved like we were whispering silent secrets into each other’s mouths. I felt the tip of his tongue brush my teeth, and then our tongues were touching, and I heard myself whimper without meaning to do it. My knees failed and we lowered ourselves to a kneel, our fingers laced and our mouths never parting.
His fingers brushed the bottom of my stomach. I wanted them there, but years of terror made me brush his hand away. After a moment, I gently took his wrist and put his fingers back where they had been. His hand moved up farther, and then he had the hem of my shirt in both hands, and he was lifting it. I broke our kiss and scuttled backward, breathing heavily and trying to pick just one out of the swirl of feelings fighting to break the surface. I closed my eyes and tossed my shirt aside with trembling hands. We came together again and his hands were everywhere, on my back and sides and stomach and tracing my ribs. He reached behind me and, without breaking the kiss, started to unclasp my bra. Instinctively I backed away again, leaving my bra clasped.
“Can we slow down?” I said, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Of course,” Grant said, quickly handing me my shirt. I pulled it over my head and saw him smiling gently once I had it on. “Of course we can.”
“Can we … is it okay if we cuddle?” I said, brushing my hair back. “I didn’t get touched much before I met you.” I didn’t finish the rest of the thought: and I didn’t think I ever would. “I kind of need to—to ease into the idea of it.”
“I think we can manage that,” Grant said, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me in so I was lying on my side using his arm as a pillow. I kissed his cheek and we both turned to look at the stars. They were even more visible in the crisp fall air than they had been in the summer. I could even see the Milky Way, a band of white smeared across the night sky.
“I saw you’re reading Sandman,” I said. “I would have loaned you my copies.”
“I actually got it before we started dating,” he said. “I thought if I read the books you liked it might impress you.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, closing my eyes and nuzzling deeper into his arms. “You know I was already into you, right?”
“I didn’t at the time,” he said, pulling me in tighter. “You acted like I was a serial killer at first.”
“Things were hard at my old school,” I said, bringing my face closer to his again.
“I figured, from some things you’d said.” Grant nodded. “You wanna talk about it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think so, but maybe not right now.”
“That’s okay,” Grant told me, and we were quiet until he started talking again. “I don’t know where Dad told Mama he was workin’. I don’t know if she even remembers anymore, but I remember it was a real job, and I remember the day we found out he didn’t have it. The police showed up at our house, back when we had a house in town, and they had papers from the judge. It turned out he’d been going out in the woods to an RV with some buddies and cookin’ meth for years.
“Avery wasn’t even a year old when this happened. Mama had three kids and no income. We moved in with my grandma for a little bit, but then Mama had what the doctors called a psychotic break from all the stress, and apparently she said some things grandma still ain’t forgiven. Mom’s medicine made her better, but she can’t really work on it, so—”