Misunderstandings

Page 10

“Hey, they have like a hundred-year shelf life. How’s the art?” I finally asked, since we seemed to be on a tentative truce.
“It’s good. I do a lot of freelance stuff. That job at the hospital that you convinced me I should charge for snowballed into more jobs than I could handle. I guess I owe you a thanks,” he said, looking dismayed at the idea of giving me credit for anything.
“I’m glad it worked out. You’re an amazing artist and should be treated as such.”
“What about you? Did you get your degree in elementary education?”
“Yep. I’m working part-time at the school in Woodfalls, mostly subbing until a full-time opening becomes available.”
“Still scaring the kids?” he asked, making me chuckle that he remembered.
“It’s not like it’s intentional. My boss teases me about the tight ship I run, but I like things orderly. At least elementary-aged kids don’t scare as easily as the kids at the daycare,” I mused, thinking back to the days when he and I had dated. I was working part-time at the daycare on campus and it had become a long-standing joke with my co-workers how the babies all seemed scared of me. It wasn’t like I ever yelled or anything, but I guess a serious tone of voice was just as frightening. Anytime the other teachers lost control of their classes, I was the one they called. Justin and my friends had found the whole thing hilarious and nicknamed me “Drill Sergeant.” The only kid who ever seemed immune to my voice was Justin’s sister, Hollie.
“You’re lucky. You seem like you’ve been able to put it out of your mind and move on,” he said in a voice that was hard to distinguish. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or cordial.
For a moment, I considered punching him. A quick punch to the jaw or maybe to the gut. It was awfully presumptuous of him to think I could erase it from my mind. In the beginning, it consumed my every thought. Eventually, time heals, I guess, because the pain tapered off to where I would only think of it a handful of times a day. Now, if I was lucky, I could go a whole day without thinking about it. He was an asshole to think I’d ever be able to forget. Let alone move on.
14.
Thanksgiving 2010
“I changed my mind,” I said, sinking down on my bed as Justin paced the narrow floor in front of me.
“You can’t change your mind. It’s all Hollie has been talking about. She’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“I’m sure I’ll be over there in the next few days. Just not today.”
“Why not today?” Justin implored, running his hand over his hair in frustration.
“Because.”
“Because? What the hell kind of answer is because? Because why?”
“Because . . .” I dragged out. “Spending the holidays with your family seems too fast, too soon. It’s something a couple does when they’ve been dating for a couple of years, not weeks. For God’s sake, we haven’t even made it past third base.”
“Third base? Does anyone still use that term?” he laughed.
“Shut up, jerk. You know what I mean.”
“Okay. Let’s fix that right now,” he answered, sweeping his eyes around my room. Melissa had left the night before to spend the four-day holiday with her folks. She wanted me to come with her, but I was too broke to buy a plane ticket, so I lied and told her I’d be spending the holiday with Justin and his family.
“Gee, how can I resist such a romantic gesture? Besides, your family is expecting you,” I said weakly as he approached me.
“They’re expecting both of us,” he murmured, stepping between my parted legs that were hanging off the side of the bed. His hands gently cupped my face, tipping my head back until our eyes met. Everything inside me came to life as he slowly lowered me back on my bed. He moaned with desire as his lips found my neck. I felt his hand making its way beneath my shirt, sending shudders rippling through my body.
“Do you like that?” he whispered against my lips.
“Mmm-hmm,” was my only answer as I shifted so he could lie fully on top of me. It had been a while since I had been with a guy whose every touch left me yearning for more.
“What about this?” he asked, moving his hand slightly lower so his fingers slipped just inside the band of my jeans.
I nodded, unable to speak as the sensations from his touch muddled my brain. I wanted his hands everywhere. His callused palm against the sensitive skin of my lower stomach made my body arch in a silent plea for more.
“Brittni, you keep moving like that and I’m going to skip third base and slide into home,” he said, pulling his lips from mine. I could tell by his glassy-eyed stare that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him.
“And that’s a problem, why?” I asked, looping my legs around him so he was intimately pressed against me. My eyes fluttered closed as he crushed his lips to mine. The desire in me raged out of control. I pulled at his clothes, wanting the last barrier gone that separated fooling around from sheer ecstasy. He had his shirt halfway off when a familiar ringtone blared from the pocket of his jeans.
“Damn,” he said, showing me the phone, which displayed “Home” on the Caller ID.
“Yes?” he answered in a strained voice.
“Are you on your way back?” I could clearly hear his mom thanks to our close proximity.
“Almost. Brittni needed to finish a few things,” he answered, grinning devilishly. I pinched his arm and pushed at him, trying to get him to move off me. Even though she couldn’t see us, it felt weird to be getting it on with her on the phone.
“That’s fine, but I need you guys to pick up a can of cranberry sauce from the grocery store. You know how your grandpa insists that the canned version is the only good kind.”
“No problem, Mom. We’re heading out now,” Justin said, finally rising off me.
“Thanks, son. Love you.”
“Love you too,” he answered, ending the call. “You ready?” he asked, looking down at me where I was still sprawled out on the bed.
“What part of ‘I’m not going’ did you not understand?”
“You have to. Hollie made you a place card thingy and everything. You wouldn’t want to crush my poor kid sister’s heart, would you?” he asked, reaching a hand down and hauling me to my feet.
“Why does she like me anyway? Most kids hate me,” I said, sliding my feet into my favorite boots.
“You sure education is the right career choice for you?”
“Yeah, ironic, right?” I answered. “Believe it or not, I enjoy it. I like the idea of teaching our next generation. Technically, kids are not scared of me. They just listen really well when I’m around.”
“I could see that. You’ve got that drill sergeant voice nailed.”
“Is that your way of telling me I’m bossy?”
“Not necessarily bossy. I’d say assertive.”
“Ha, that’s just a nice way of saying bossy as hell,” I said, grabbing my bag as we left. I wasn’t as sad as I thought I would be leaving my room behind. Even though I fought the dinner invitation, the idea of being alone on Thanksgiving was a real downer. Who cares if we were mixing up the steps in the relationship? It wasn’t like there was some rule book that said you couldn’t join your boyfriend for a major holiday after only a few weeks of dating.
“Oh, you still have the roof on?” I asked, tamping my disappointment at the fully enclosed jeep.
“Disappointed?” he asked, opening my door.
“Sort of. It’s cold as hell, but I liked the freedom of no doors or roof.”
“It’s only until spring. You’ll appreciate it more when it’s not so frigid.”
His words hit me like a bucket of water had been dumped on me. Spring was months away. Did he really think with our dating track records that we’d still be together by then? Sure, we were getting along well at the moment, but up until now, my longest relationship was in the eighth grade when Garrett Blinn and I decided we were a couple after a rousing game of Spin the Bottle in Tressa’s basement. We lasted four whole weeks. The first week was bliss as I added his name to every square inch of my notebooks. By week two, I was wishing I had saved a little space for other doodling. By the third week, his wet lips on mine no longer held the same appeal they had during Spin the Bottle, and by the fourth week into our relationship, I was busy plotting different ways to break it off with him. In the end, he wound up with a bloody nose and a busted lip when I punched him for trying to stick his hand down my pants during a make-out session. The tale of how he had acquired his busted lip spread like wildfire through our small school. Needless to say, my next relationship was two years later. After Garrett, I was pretty much a two- to three-week kind of dater. Experience taught me that most guys showed their true colors four weeks in. Considering Justin and I were just shy of three weeks into our relationship, he was probably banking on a fairy tale to think we would make it to spring.
“I can’t wait,” I answered, deciding now was not the time to get into the logistics of failed dating.
The grocery store was packed with harried shoppers who were frantically searching for the last few items they needed. Buggies with crying children and women arguing over the last bag of russet potatoes were just a few of the obstacles we had to maneuver around in our search for cranberry sauce. We were about ready to declare the trip a failure when a helpful bag boy found us a dented can behind one of the registers. Justin hurried and paid and we hustled out of the store.
“Damn. Women get scary when it comes to shopping,” Justin said, hopping into the jeep and slamming the door quickly, as if the insanity of the shoppers were an airborne virus.
“You’re not kidding. Life lesson here: Never visit a store on a holiday,” I added, relieved we had made it out alive. “They were like vultures in there.”
“I sure hope Grandpa appreciates this,” he said, tossing the bag with the single can inside into the backseat.
“He better do backflips when you show it to him,” I added, fastening my seat belt.
“That would be funny as shit,” Justin laughed.
“Truth.” The fact that he had the same dry sense of humor as me was definitely a perk.
My good mood dissipated when Justin pulled into his overcrowded driveway behind four cars I didn’t recognize.
“How many people did you guys invite?” I asked, slinking down in my seat.
“Relax, it’s all family,” he said, climbing out of the driver’s seat.
“Swell. That helps so much,” I grumbled.
“Hey, Uncle Fred,” Justin warmly greeted a good-looking distinguished gentleman. He appeared to be roughly the age of my mom.
“Justin, how’s the art?” his uncle replied, pulling Justin in for a massive bear hug.
“Not bad. How’s the insurance business?” Justin countered.
“Not bad,” his uncle Fred returned, laughing. “And who is this lovely lady?” he added, turning to smile at me.
“This is my girlfriend, Brittni,” Justin said proudly. He pulled me closely against him like I was a coveted possession. I fought the urge to elbow him for his possessiveness.
“Girlfriend? That’s terrific. We’d all pretty much given up hope that my nephew here would find a nice young lady,” Fred said, shaking my hand with both of his.
“Oh, I’m not nice,” I answered.
He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “You are my kind of lady,” he said, putting an arm around me and leading me toward the house. Maybe it was the warm way he smiled or the twinkle in his eyes, but my natural instincts to stiffen up from a stranger’s touch never manifested. “So, how long have you been making my nephew a better man?” he asked, guiding me up the porch steps to the front door.
“Only a few weeks,” I answered, laughing uncomfortably. This was what I had been afraid of. By coming to dinner, I was giving the impression that we had a history.
“A beneficial few weeks, if the grin on my nephew’s face is any indication,” he professed, opening the front door for me.
The noise inside the house was overwhelming as we stepped into the entryway. Everywhere I looked there were people. An elderly couple sat on the sofa while adults stood around the room chatting. Children of various ages darted through the living room, dining room, and kitchen like they were on a racetrack. Every few seconds one of the adults would tell them to stop running.
“Everyone, this is Justin’s girl, Brittni,” Fred announced, nudging me into the middle of the chaos. I looked back at the door longingly, feeling like I had been thrown into a shark tank. Just when I thought Fred was a good guy. Suddenly everyone’s conversations became less important as a dozen eyes pivoted to look at me. With a gentle push from Fred, I was introduced to another uncle, whose name escaped me; Fred’s wife, Adriane; and his aunt Holly, who turned out to be Justin’s sister’s namesake, just with a different spelling. The three teenage boys playing the Xbox in the family room with Travis belonged to Fred and Adriane. The four younger kids running around with Hollie belonged to Justin’s aunt Holly and the uncle whose name I couldn’t remember. The adults all seemed nice enough, and the teenage boys were typical teenagers. They eyed me appraisingly before returning to their game. Hollie greeted me by giving my waist a crushing hug before racing back down the hall after her cousins.
After a few initial questions about my major and where I was from, the other adults quickly returned to their respective conversations. All the comments I had expected about how long we had known each other or how serious we were never surfaced. It wasn’t like they shunned me. They just accepted that I was there without question.
Justin and I stood around chatting with his grandpa and mother, who both had questions about the job he was doing for the hospital. I was distracted from the conversation by Justin’s uncle, the one whose name I couldn’t remember. He looked like he was watching the football game on TV, but every time my eyes drifted his direction, he was staring at me instead. If his wife hadn’t been sitting two feet from him, I would have said he was checking me out. It was completely creep-fest and grossed me out. His stares didn’t get better during dinner, and I made an effort to try to ignore him as he downed several beers. If the others noticed his behavior, they ignored it.
“What’s with your creeper uncle?” I asked Justin when we headed down to his apartment with our desserts in hand.