Dawn crept into nighttime as a thin yellow line across an indigo sky and this pinstripe became a band of gold that gradually permeated the air, raining the colors of the world back where they belonged. Unnoticed, to those whose eyes were still closed, for when Timber opened her eyes, all was as she left it the day before. The stars had never stolen the shades of green in the grass, and dawn had never snuck them back into place. The Moffatt’s living room was bright and vibrant with the eastern windows flooding in a nearly blinding ten AM light.
She could hear Bob in the kitchen with his father and Clint, and, much to her dread, she could smell breakfast. She caught wind of the butter and the sausage and the pancakes. She wanted to vomit all over herself with disgust.
Bob peeked his head in through the archway as if his sixth sense were somehow connected to her sleeping patterns.
“Up and at ‘em George McPhathom!” he exclaimed, seeing she was awake and entering.
Timber groaned, raising her head that was cocooned in a nest of tangled hair. “Hey.” She stated, blinking, then rubbing her eyes in hopes that they would somehow open wider.
Bob hopped, skipped, and jumped into the family room, hoisting himself over the back of the chair and landing directly on her legs with a satisfied smirk. Timber cried out in pain, trying to recoil her lower extremities from beneath him.
“Ow!” she whined. “I can already tell that this is going to be a very crabby morning for me.” She pouted. “I had like a second of sleep and did you hear the racket last night?” she demanded with her eyes lighting up. “I mean... hello?! That was like... damn!” she dropped her voice to a lower whisper. “I thought I had dialed one of those places that charges by the minute or something!”
Bob just chuckled. “Isn’t it a little early in the morning for gossip?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow. “I mean, you haven’t even had your morning piss.”
Timber looked in deep thought for a moment, smoothing her wrinkled hair. “I do really have to pee-pee.” She commented, uncoiling her legs and throwing them over the edge of the sofa onto the floor. She started to get up but paused. “But that was some good, good sex I heard last night!”
“Yeah, Dave’s in the kitchen.” Bob said, dropping his voice to a low tone.
Timber’s eyes widened and she snapped a hand over her mouth. “Ooops!” she giggled. “Okay... I’m going to go pee and change and shower... not necessarily in that order. I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bob rolled his eyes, smacking her backside as she got up.
She squealed, skipping out of the room.
* * *
Jeanine woke with a near start, hearing the bathroom door slam in the hallway. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she stretched like a kitten in Dave’s bed, rolling onto her side with the great expectations of seeing him, but instead seeing that his side was empty. From where she had lent her body to his side, cupping him in her hand as she drifted to sleep, she wondered where he had run off to so early, and why he had run off without her.
“What did I do?” she wondered aloud, sitting up suddenly and allowing the sheets to fall from her bare chest.
An eyebrow furrowed, her eyes lightened to the pinpricks of tears as she feared she had made another great mistake in the game of love.
“No, no, no!” she whimpered.
Climbing out of bed, she searched for the various articles of her clothing that had come to hang and drape in various places like a glass room over-cluttered with draperies, but just as she was plucking her jeans from where they were half-obscured under Dave’s bed, she saw the blue-plaid pajama top folded neatly at the foot of the bed. There was a scrap of paper tucked in the one-hundred-percent- cotton lapel. Jeanine’s lips twisted into a smirk. She plucked the notes from the garment.
“This cotton feels like heaven,” she began to read aloud. “You put this on, while I make you breakfast. I love you Jeanie.”
Jeanine’s lips twisted into a wry smile, no matter how she attempted to keep her guard in place. She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of scrambled eggs at the tip of her nose, exhaling in a drawn-out sigh. The gentle cotton slipped over her head like a warm silk as she pulled it on, wrapping her arms around her middle and smiling.
It smelled like him.
* * *
“You put de lime in da coconut and shake it all up, put de lime in da coconut and drank them both togethah, put de lime in da coconut and shake it all up, you put de lime in da coconut, you such a silly woman...” Clint sang, twirling about the kitchen with a bowl of strawberries for a new version of pancakes he planned to perfect.
Dave, Bob, and Ben watched with caution as their brother and friend poured the strawberries into the blender with a bowl’s-worth of blueberries and one of bananas.
“I said, Doctah, ain’t their nothin’ I could take, I said Doc-tah, to relieve this belly-ache,” the young man with a young boy’s frame continued to croon in falsetto, shimmying in his pajamas as he turned on the blender and filled the whole house with noise.
Dave just shook his head as he tried not to let the fried eggs at his mercy in the pan before him burn.
The blender cut off and Clint continued in an exaggerated voice of stern and professional quality; which involved his chin drawn into his neck and his forehead wrinkled with concentration. “Now lemme get this straight, you put the lime in the coconut and drank it all up, you put the lime in the coconut you’re such a silly woman, to put the lime in the coconut and drink dem both togeda,”
Bob just rolled his eyes and continued to pore over the pancake batter he was taking the time to mix for his twin.
“Brother bought a coconut, he bought it for a dime and sister had another one she paid a quarter lime,” Clint began just before turning on the blender once more.
“Damnit Clint!” Ben just rolled his eyes.
“I was about to say the same thing.” Frank added, lowering the newspaper from his face.
The two sat at the kitchen table; Frank with the sports page, checking the latest hockey scores, and Ben with the Sport Illustrated swimsuit edition, checking the latest bikini clad models.
As Clint turned off the blender, Jeanine appeared in the archway, smirking awkwardly to see that nearly the whole family was present.
“Good morning.” She said softly.
“See Clint!” Bob stated. “I told you that blender makes too much noise. You woke up the whole house!”
“The blender makes too much noise!” Ben quipped, chuckled.
“Ohhhh! Snap!” Clint guffawed, dropping his head back.
Jeanine flushed a deep red, as did Dave.
“Good morning Jeanine.” Frank, also adorned with a crimson tint, provided.
“Hi...” she said slowly, brushing her disheveled hair from her cheek in an attempt to look presentable.
Dave thought she looked perfect. He liked the idea of her disheveled, like she had just rolled for hours in his bed and at his mercy. He took a deep breath and smiled.
“Shit! Dave!” Bob scolded as the eggs began to splatter, becoming charred on the bottoms.
“Dave!” Clint cried, abandoning the blender. “You burned the fucking eggs!” he shouted. “If this breakfast is going to run smoothly, you cannot burn the eggs! The eggs tie the whole thing together Dave!”
The youngest triplet merely looked down at the pan. “Sorry.” He stated in the most insincere tone Bob had heard for a long time.
“Dave! Sorry doesn’t cut it! You burned the eggs!” Clint over-dramatized.
Timber slipped behind Jeanine into the kitchen donning a pair of sweatpants and one of Bob’s plain white tee-shirts.
“Geez Clint.” She commented, finding her place at the table. “Must you be so histrionic?”
“Yeah,” Ben added. “What’s the theme of this meal? A Nazi breakfast? Are you searching for the Aryan eggs?”
Timber smirked, pleased with her friend’s witticisms.
“No! I just want a damned good breakfast!” Clint defended himself, prying the pan-handle out of his triplet’s hands. “I mean, why can’t we have a good breakfast without someone fucking it up.”
“So!” Ben interrupted. “Not to change the subject, but did you sleep well Jeanine?”
Jeanine lowered her eyes. “Um...” she started to say, not sure how to reply. They had heard. She could not be more mortified.
“Shut up Ben.” Dave rolled his eyes. “I’m going upstairs.” He announced, slipping around his girlfriend in exiting the room.
Jeanine remained standing there, naked from the mid-thigh down, twisting a piece of her hair as she wondered how she was ever going to face the individuals before her ever again.
“I know I didn’t sleep well at all.” Timber added. “There was just so much noise coming from... was it Dave’s room? I think it was!” she giggled.
Dave’s arm appeared only seconds after he had stormed out, and he gripped Jeanine’s wrist, dragging her with him. The only sounds to be heard of their departure were quiet footsteps heading towards the second floor of the house and her giggles unfurling in her wake.
“Any question what they’re about to go do?” Bob snorted.
“Good times.” Timber smiled.
Frank suddenly dropped his newspaper. “Wait a minute!” he exclaimed, getting up from the table quickly and heading out of the room.
“Oh shit.” Bob snickered.
“Bob!” Clint shouted. “Keep mixing the batter! I don’t want it to get all dried out! Nobody likes a dried out pancake! Moist! Moist!”
“Yeah, so upping Clint’s dosage of Valium.” Timber began, nodding. “Glad to see that everyone’s on board with that plan.”
* * *
Jeanine entered Dave’s bedroom first and she could smell sex in the air. He shut the door behind her, locking the sweet scent between the four walls that surrounded them, smirking lightly as he watched her turn to face him.
“Sorry...” he started to explain. “I didn’t say anything... they... I dunno. My brothers are such dorks sometimes it’s ridiculous.”
Jeanine just began to laugh, walking towards him and sighing. She threw her arms around his neck and he paused a moment, caught off guard, slowly encircling her waist and melting against her body. He nuzzled his face along her neck to kiss her, but she pulled back slightly.
“I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.” She murmured, finding his face in her half-closed eyes.
Dave recognized that look from the night before. He smirked broadly. “Neither have I.” He coyly stated.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” she suggested.
“Hell yeah.” Dave avidly accepted, completely disengaging and all but leaping towards his bed.
He tugged his Johnny Cash tee-shirt over his head and started on his sweatpants without the elastic. Jeanine started to laugh, watching him hastily undress for a moment before she shrugged lightly and removed his pajama top. He was already sitting up in the bed with the sheets over his lower half, watching his approach, his lips already wet. He took a long and deep breath, eyes widened at the sight of the female physique.
“Um...” Jeanine started to say, sliding underneath the sheets and sitting up next to him. “Do you think this is too soon?” she asked.
Dave looked confused for a moment, casting his eyes towards the wall across from his bed. “What’s too soon?” he asked.
Jeanine shrugged. “This.” She stated.
Dave squinted, as if squinting would give him a better understanding of his girlfriend’s ambiguous language.
“Like... should we wait?” she elaborated, clearly at a crossroads in thought.
Dave returned his stare to her. He honestly could think of nothing more that her breasts, which were exposed. “Do you want to wait?” he asked, wondering why she was taunting him so.
Jeanine appeared pensive for an extended period of time. “No.” she admitted.
“Me neither.” Dave agreed, nearly sighing in relief. “I mean, this is our relationship.” He added. “There really aren’t any rules to relationships, and even so... we should make the rules... you know?” he rambled as he narrowed in on her mouth.
Jeanine just nodded, twisting her upper half at an awkward angle to wrap her arms around his shoulders. After a long and drawn out lip lock, she slid down in the bed and pulled the comforter and sheets up over her shoulders as Dave followed suit with a zealousness she couldn’t help but find amusing.
She ran her finger down his waist, pausing at the onset of pubic hair, but slipping lower and beginning to rub him. He sighed hoarsely, his eyes closing, and he began to touch her chest delicately, trying to maintain some sort of control so he didn’t loose it too quickly.
“Dave?” Jeanine said softly, moving her hand to enclose around his back.
“Mmmm...” he half answered, feeling an ache with the absence of her hand.
“Should you put on a condom?” she asked.
Dave nodded. “Probably.” he agreed, starting to kiss her.
She pulled back from his lips. “What if they can hear us?” she asked in a whisper.
“We can be quiet.”
“But what if they’re listening?”
“Then let them listen... they’re just jealous.” Dave chuckled, not wasting anytime in positioning himself over her in the bed.
Jeanine obediently spread her legs.
He dropped a kiss on her cheek, briefly cupping her breast as he attempted to guide himself to her without the aid of his hand.
Jeanine giggled when he clearly missed, jabbing her thigh with his tip. She snaked her hand down, guiding him to her opening and securing him at the entrance, hands returning to his back and allowing him to do the rest. Dave slowly pressed against her, trying to gain admittance, but rubbing raw on the skin.
“Ow, ow...” Jeanine whimpered.
“Sorry...” Dave murmured, wondering why he could not just be sexually savvy like he was sure Scott was.
He wet the tip of his fingers on his tongue and lubricated the tip of his full erection, trying again and finding himself to slip inside her with ease.
Jeanine sighed with somewhat of a relief, gripping his skin more tightly as he commenced his slow passage to complete penetration.
“Is this okay?” he asked, easing himself inside and noticing her wince. The act of love making seemed quite different in broad daylight.
Jeanine nodded slowly, opening her eyes and looking at him.
The two met in a staring match, frozen at once in quite the awkward position. Then suddenly, the balloon of tension snapped and the odd feeling of the moment rushed out through the cracks as the two teenagers burst into laughter.
“This isn’t supposed to be funny.” Dave stated, resting his chest against hers with his face in her neck.
Jeanine tried to control herself, tangling her fingers in his hair with her chin tipped upwards so she could laugh towards the back wall. “I know!” she choked.
Dave cleared his throat, still smiling.
“You’re still in me.” Jeanine announced and the two were sent into childish giggles once more as if the realization of their gender differences were as amusing as they once had been in the first grade.
“Oh yeah?” Dave challenged, propping himself on his hands. “You think it’s funny?” he demanded, growling at her as he prepared himself to thrust.
“Yeah! I do!” Jeanine giggled, spreading her legs even more as she felt him slowly sinking deeper.
“How about this?” Dave demanded, thrusting his hips forcefully on hers.
She gasped, her pupils sinking in a sudden shock of her nerve endings. “Ugnh... Dave...”
“Still funny?” he growled, dipping his head to bite into her neck.
“Yes!” she continued, but in a breathy whisper.
He thrust hard once more, following that with another, setting a forceful motion that quelled all laughter previous transpiring.
“That feels so good...” Jeanine whispered against his shoulder, attempting to keep her vocals to a minimum as she panted for air.
“Dave?”
The couple froze at the sudden voice from just outside the door. Dave raised up onto his hands, looking down at Jeanine with wide eyes.
“Ummm... yeah Dad?” his voice cracked.
“What are you doing in there?” Frank asked curiously.
“Nothing!” Dave exclaimed, his voice breaking again and his face contorting like he were about to cry.
“Is Jeanine in there?” Frank continued.
The two looked at one another in alarm.
“You’re still in me!” Jeanine mouthed, flushing dark red at the mortification of the moment.
“Um... we’ll be down in a second Dad!” Dave cried desperately, easing his way out of his girlfriend and trying to be as silent and stealthy as he could in rolling over and off the bed to a standing position. “We just... um... we were just... uhh...” He searched the room frantically for an alibi. “We were... reading!” he exclaimed.
“With the door locked?” Frank continued suspiciously. “Couldn’t you have read in the family room?”
Dave tugged his shirt over his head, looking over to Jeanine with a beet red face. She was stepping into her jeans from the night before.
“All that noise downstairs.” Dave conversed. “Umm... we’ll be down in a second Dad, just give us a minute.”
“Breakfast is getting cold.” Frank warned.
Dave was furious at his father’s stalling tactics, tossing Jeanine his pajama shirt in noticing her rapid search for the rest of her garments. She pulled it over her head, slipping her arms into the sleeves, and began to rearrange her hair.
“I’m all sticky.” She chuckled upon taking a step in her jeans.
Dave grinned. “Save it for later.” He mouthed before he rushed to the door and swung it open.
Frank stood just beyond with his arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow raised at his son.
Jeanine rushed forth and gripped Dave’s hand. “So... pancakes!” she announced, beginning to slip past her boyfriend’s father.
“Smells good!” Dave agreed, simpering slightly at Frank before galloping after Jeanine.
“Hey!” Frank called. “I’m going to talk to you later Dave!”
* * *
Angela stood on the steps of the library in the late afternoon wondering what she was doing there. She tried to remember what had convinced her to get into her car and drive the minimal blocks at four o’clock in the evening, knowing full and well who was going to be there. She knew exactly what she was doing. She just failed to pinpoint her reasoning.
She searched the street over both shoulders, as if there were a spy to catch her in the act of something rather innocent on the surface, yet somehow forbidden to her.
She took a deep breath.
She reasoned that she and Scott were no longer together, so she was allowed to do what she wanted. She was her own person; there was no reason why she had to stop herself from having fun, from meeting new people and making new friends. She could do whatever she wanted to do.
“I’m nervous because I don’t know if I’m ready to go in.” she murmured under her breath, nodding and resolute in her conclusion.
“Angela, hello.” Miguel spoke smoothly in his awkward English.
Angela whirled around, her hair whipping recklessly, her petit shriek exposing her startlement. “Oh! I did not see you there!” she attempted to rescue herself, her heart thudding so loudly, she could not control the quaking of her hands.
He smiled a winning smile, ascending the remaining steps until he was on her level, however so much taller. “It is good… to see you.” He said slowly, his smile never breaking although he struggled for a moment with his language barrier.
Angela nodded, attempting to maintain a smile on her face but finding it to falter.
“We go?” he asked, motioning towards the door, his hand grazing the small of her back and causing her hairs to stand on end.
She nodded slowly, taking the next two steps at once to slip away from his touch.
* * *
Clint linked his hand in Timbers as they entered the Burberry boutique.
“Yeah, Kelly has called my cell about nine times.” Clint informed his friend, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket yet again.
“I turned mine off.” Timber stated, branching away from the center aisle and tugging on his arm. “Oh!” she gasped, pointing out a large wool poncho in the classic nova tartan. “How much am I loving this!”
Clint flipped up the tag. “You’d better not after your dad put you on a budget.”
Timber wrinkled her nose. “I hate when Chandler comes home. He always starts talking shit. It’s so annoying. If he weren’t always telling my parents all this crap, they would just let me do what I want to do. I mean, it’s the least they can do after they just leave me by my lonesome all day.” She frowned.
Clint smirked. “So what are we looking for?” he changed the subject.
Timber released his hand, still searching through the ponchos for her size.
“Oh! Check out that trench coat!” Clint exclaimed. “Now that is worth a month without the Visa.”
Timber turned to her friend. “Clint, nothing is worth a month without the Visa.”
“That poncho?” he asked.
Timber shook her head. “Nope.”
“A pair of strappy sandals?” he challenged, following her as she continued deeper into the boutique.
“What kind?” Timber asked, pausing in her stroll and turning her head slightly back to see him.
“Um… Michael Kors.” Clint threw out.
“He doesn’t really do the strappy thing, so no.” she concluded.
Clint took a deep breath and Timber perused a line of cashmere sweater with a Union Jack in the Burberry tartan across the front.
“Those rainboats!” he suddenly exclaimed.
Timber looked up nonchalantly, scanning the area for what he was referring to. She spotted them on display on the top shelf next to a pair of plaid pumps. They were rubber in the classic Burberry nova plaid and were cut off just under the knee she suspected.
“YES!!!” she shouted, clapping her hands together dramatically. “Me Likeee! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Clint chuckled. “Those say ‘Timber’ all over them.” He sighed.
Timber turned to the nearest salesgirl who was folding shirts across the aisle in the men’s section.
“Miss! I need those in a forty-two immediately!” Timber exclaimed, pointing upwards.
The salesgirl chuckled at her zeal.
“This is a boot-emergency!” Clint rhapsodized.
“Oh my God! I’m in LOVE!” Timber whimpered, suddenly crumpling to her knees in the middle of the store. “Sweet mother of God! I’m in LOVE!”
Clint shook his head. “See! I told you. So worth a month without the Visa.”
* * *
Bob had spent most of the afternoon laying in front of the television with the constantly nagging notion to get up and swim laps in the pool for exercise’s sake. Carmen had eventually come over, slinging onto the loveseat with Ben napping in the recliner. Scott entered the house sometime just before the normal dinner hour with an armload of shopping bags. Entering through the front door, he poked his head into the family room to greet his brothers.
“What are you guys watching?” Scott asked.
“Exercise.” Bob responded lethargically.
“Exercise?” Scott asked, fully entering enough to see the eighties aerobic show playing out on the television. “May I ask why?” he asked.
“Too lazy to see what else is on.” Bob grunted.
Scott raised an eyebrow. “You guys disgust me.” He chuckled, setting his bags down in the foyer and sitting next to his brother as Bob retracted his legs enough to give Scott room.
As soon as Scott sat down, Bob extending his feet over his lap.
Moments passed with the soundtrack of bad eighties pop blaring in the background.
The front door opened soon after and in walked Timber and Clint with a bevy of shopping bags as well. Timber wore a large Burberry poncho and her hair was tied into braids over her shoulders. On her feet were a pair of matching rainboots with her skinny legs drifting around in the top. Clint wore a green and white Von Dutch trucker hat with a dark red Burberry trench coat although it had been especially hot that day. Both of them donned designer sunglasses.
“Hi honey! We’re home!” Clint announced.
“And you HAVE to see what we bought!” Timber exclaimed, giggling.
“Well if it isn’t Sonny and Cher!” Bob chuckled.
“I’m so Cher.” Clint joked on his way back out the front door.
He reentered moments later with another armload of bags. “What a way to boost the economy!” he smiled proudly.
Scott raised a questioning eyebrow. “I thought you guys were shopping for the pageant.” He reminded them.
Timber nodded, removing the sunglasses from her face. “Chanel!” she announced.
“Oh Lord.” Bob shook his head. “Your dad will kill you.”
“But at least I can be buried in a pair of Burberry rain boots!” she announced.
“Those are CUTE!” Carmen marveled. “So you!”
“Why does everyone say that?” Timber wondered. “Anyways, we did go shopping for the pageant, but then I saw the boots… and then… it just went downhill from there.”
“Alright Hilary Banks,” Scott grinned. “So what did you guys get for the pageant?”
“Yeah,” Bob agreed. “Kelly’s coming over in like half an hour, so you’d better make sure you have something to show for your shopping excursion. She called like ninety times asking where you were.”
Timber paused. “Well… let’s see here…” she muttered beginning to dig through various bags. “Um… THIS!” she shouted louder than she had intended, flashing a black piece of fabric very fleetingly.
“What was that?” Scott asked, voicing the thoughts of the others in the room.
“Um...” Timber started to say.
“It was a secret!” Clint provided, nodding as he worked at the buttons of his trench. “Sorry. Clandestine.”
“Word of the day toilet paper?” Ben asked.
Clint opened his mouth to object, soon closing it and reducing himself to a mere nod.
* * *
“Your dad is going to kill you.” Bob stated yet again, his hands full with the straps of a multitude of shopping bags.
Timber shrugged. “Hey man, at least I’ll die happy.” She chuckled, setting an identical load down by the garage and fishing through the wool of her new poncho for the house keys she had dangled so carelessly from her pocket. “A man could never understand a girl’s right to shopping. Never. Not in a million years… since the troglodyte days of fur trappings.”
Bob smiled, shaking his head. “Unless, of course, your name is Clint Moffatt.”
She laughed, getting the door open. Somewhere between the Moffatt’s front porch and her driveway, her riled-up mood had simmered to a calm that was ever elusive with her. She turned to him and thanked him for his assistance.
“Oh, you don’t want me to come in?” Bob asked, confused for a second.
“Oh, yeah, of course.” She stammered. “I just thought that since Carmen was over there…” she shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. “I mean…”
“No… I just… I mean, Carmen’s fine. I was kinda wanting to just sit and chat or something.” He continued, made uncomfortable by the sudden awkwardness. He cleared his throat. “Carmen’s been over for a while. I haven’t seen you all day.”
She nodded, startled by the fact that she had gone a day without the longing. She was moreso startled by the fact that over the course of an afternoon she could be growing away from Bob, entertaining the thought of Clint and the recent developments of his affections.
Maybe things had just become so difficult. With Clint it was easy. He was open with how he felt. But Bob had always been open… maybe she just didn’t want to believe that there was nothing more. What was it that kept her holding out for him. Maybe Clint was the one she should be with. Granted, she and Bob would always be best friends, maybe best friends could only truly be best friends without the sexual tension. Maybe she only felt that way because the sexual tensions weren’t reciprocated. Maybe she was just afraid of her own sexual urges towards Bob. Maybe it was easier with Clint because the sexuality was out there. Maybe…
“Timber?” Bob said softly. “I can just go.” He stated. “I’m sure Clint will be by soon or something so you guys can read Vogue and talk about Hugo Boss and Dolce and Gabanna.”
He hadn’t meant it to sound so curt, but somehow his tone bordered on spiteful.
She certainly caught on. She wanted to say, ‘No Bob, it’s not even like that. You’re the one I love, but with Clint it just doesn’t get in the way,’ but that had never been her style. “Maybe you can just go home and not have sex with the love of your life Carmen.” She snapped back.
His eyebrow creased in surprise.
Her eyebrow raised, daring him to one up her.
“Are we having a fight? Why are we having a fight.” He stated more than asked, wanting to avoid the situation at all costs.
Timber loomed in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her right shoulder, swooping a braid over the left. “I dunno.” She responded, suddenly empowered. He didn’t give a shit so why should she?
Pause.
“You just seemed a little hostile.” She said.
Bob started to turn around to leave, setting her bags down. “Maybe Clint should come over.”
“Bob! What’s your deal?” she demanded.
He contracted into himself at the middle as if preparing to slink away, tail between his legs. “I dunno. I just feel like… we haven’t had like any time to chat in a while.”
His eyes lowered and she allowed her smile to take shape fleetingly. She finally had the upper hand. After an eternity of masochism, she had the upper hand and she found it oddly erotic that she could tear him down even if just for a moment. A satiating price for the Hell and Back she had traveled since the onset of Carmen Matthers.
“Well…” she started to say, leaving it at that and gauging his reaction. “I mean, it’s been kind of a hectic time.” She was nothing in the neighborhood of apologetic.
Bob looked up to meet her stare and gave a slight smile, believing that all had smoothed after the three minute storm.
She rolled her eyes, feigning the ultimate in annoyance. “Get my bags. I have to show you everything I bought.”
He beamed like a toddler at the sight of candy, a preteen at the glimpse of an exposed nipple. She waved him into the garage from the side door glancing heavenward at the clear sky with its perfection threatening something to go wrong.
* * *
“How come you never let me go shopping with you?” Bob asked, falling into the pseudo assembly line of removing items from shopping bags, folding the shopping bags, snipping tags from clothing and discarding them in the trash, then placing them neatly at the end of the bed for storing in the closet and vanity dresser drawers. Not so much an active participant, moreso a spectator, he fingered the various fabrics and chatted while Timber pranced about her bedroom uncharacteristically quiet.
She was still simmering in her own world of testing her newfound power. There was a certain swivel in her hips that she had practiced countless times in front of Clint, testing the effectiveness yet shying away when she realized the power of untapped femininity. Albeit Clint was attuned to her every move, she wanted to see how far she could go, how much she could get away with before her best friend, the boy next door, the boy who knew her as she knew herself, as she knew him… almost… would catch on.
From the swivel to the grandiose removal of her poncho. She set it at the end of the bed beside him. She left her flip flops in the closet as she passed, making her rounds around the room, preoccupied.
“My dad was kind of pissed about the whole Dave and Jeanine thing.” Bob stated, touching the poncho slightly before pulling it onto his lap like a woolen pet.
Timber smirked. “Most likely due to the lack of sleep.” She quipped.
“I mean, I never really get why parents always think it’s so bad for their kids to have sex, but I kind of understand.” He continued as if he hadn’t heard her, his eyes roaming about the room.
Timber attempted to crouch gracefully beside the barrage of shopping bags in the middle of the floor, but found the task difficult in her low-slung denim mini skirt. She finally dropped to her knees, the tattered ends of the garment grazing her thighs in sporadic strings.
“… like… Dad was telling Dave how he just wanted him to be safe, which makes perfect sense. That’s what I think all parents should do. Instead of threats about having sex, and telling their kids not to do it, they should just get the point that we’re going to do it anyways. And the more they push us not to, the more it’ll become this rebellion thing. And that sucks. That’s the wrong reason to do it.”
She nodded in agreement.
Bob looked directly at her. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.
“No Bob. You can’t.” Timber laughed.
He shared her chuckles for a second before continuing with his philosophical tirade.
“Like, Carmen is an example.” He said. “She used to have a ton of sex. She’s very sexual. But not like… Madonna sexual. I think she’s more obsessed with the rebellious factor and that’s why she was such a slu—I mean… you know. That’s why she was like having sex so much.” He winced, hoping his best friend didn’t catch his slip.
Timber laughed. “Well damn Bob. We’re all family. You can tell me that you think she’s a slut.”
She extracted a pair of jeans from one bag, along with a white tee-shirt. “If you see someone who is dressed to kill, does that make you an accessory? – Kenneth Cole.” She read smiling proudly at the bold black writing.
Bob laughed.
Timber extracted another tee shirt in black with hot pink cursive across the front. “Shoe whore.” She read.
“Speaking of whore!” Bob guffawed.
“I KNOW!” Timber howled, tossing the shirts to the end of the bed.
Bob made no effort to fulfill his duty as the Tag Cutter.
Timber rose to her full height. “Wasn’t Carmen fucking since she was like… twelve?” she asked, sitting down next to her best friend, hands clasping on her exposed lap. “And she was like doing other sexual things at like nine and ten?” she almost stated, astounded.
Bob just stared ahead, nodding sadly.
“I mean, when I was ten… I had no idea about that kind of stuff.” Timber continued, wide eyes and emphatic. “I remember not even knowing what it meant to be aroused...” She began anew, almost reminiscing, intending to push the envelope until it broke.
“I remember feeling aroused… but… I didn’t understand what it was exactly that was coursing in my veins.”
She turned her eyes to his. He swallowed And she knew that she had his full attention.
“I would sit on the toilet seat backwards… with my legs spread… in agony for what seemed like hours sometimes… biting into my lip until it was raw… clawing my fingers into my thighs… wanting nothing more than to make that… tingling… subside.” It was her turn to swallow. “And I remember not understanding the wetness and the aching and the pulsating… the torment.” She was starting to sweat. “Then I one day learned that it has to be satisfied, or the fire will never really go away… and…”
He put his hand on her bare knee, grazing slightly upwards towards her thigh. He hummed—groaned almost—and she wasn’t sure if he was silently asking her to stop or pleading her to continue. But she was a child again, squatting backwards on the toilet seat and this was that sensation, that pulsating pain, that she doubted her own fingertips could sufficiently quell.
But she didn’t want to look at him. Embarassed, she suddenly wondered if she could ever look at him again.
He bit his lower lip. “I should get back.” He cleared his throat then said. “Everyone’s probably wondering where we are.”
Timber nodded slowly, regretting the past few moments. She felt so shameful, as if she was being punished for tapping into a side of sexuality she had never before expressed.
He stood up from the bed, passing a hand on the waistband of his jeans, tugging awkwardly as he headed for the door.
“Come on Timber, let’s go.” He stated, no tone of comedy, just a bland statement as if his mind were off wandering.
Her eyes followed his swaggering steps with a certain, unquenchable thirst.
"But..." she began to protest, hoisting herself off the bed obediently and following with the fear burning in her chest that she had perhaps crossed the line.
* * *
The library became a stroll into the downtown area of the suburban city, which transformed into a stop at the ice cream stand in front of a boutique with clothing suitable only for older women with much money to burn. The breeze blowing gently in her hair, Angela raised a hand to brush unruly curls from her hair, finding that she was for once carefree. She had not even relished the thought of Him catching her on the town with another man.
The same loyalty she normally felt towards Him was gone; that same need to remain his girl was temporarily forgotten as she fell headlong into a comfortable state with a piece of her home-- a place that always would possess a place in her heart, even as the other claimed piece was left dangling.
"Angela," Miguel stated, with a tentativeness, although he was speaking in their common, native tongue.
She paused, allowing the great lick of vanilla frozen yogurt to melt heartily on her tongue.
"I want to take you to dine." he responded to her silence.
And just like that, the memories of the last years spent in purgatory came rushing back. Suddenly at a fork in the road, Angela realized she had one of two choices to make.
"Tonight..." Miguel continued, his steps slowing until he stood still in the middle of the sidewalk.
She too paused, but did not turn to face him. " I--"
"Please. Have dinner with me." he stated, his deep eyes earnest.
She closed her eyes placidly, staving off the onset of emotions that seemed to be so close at hand.
"I can't." she responded, sorry to see the smiles that had run so rampant that afternoon fade away. "Not yet."
He extended his fingers to touch her hand, but as she shied away, he knew.
"I'm sorry." she said softly.
"Then tomarrow." he spoke in English this time. "Tomarrow, we do this same thing again."
She just smiled.
* * *