Page 17 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

Weirder was when I found out later that day Connor had been suspended and wouldn’t be walking at graduation. His parents took his phone, so I couldn’t check on him until he was off house arrest.

Later, he told me he got in a scuffle with some other senior boys and got blamed for it. It was a bizarre end to the school year.

I tried to have sex again after I graduated the following year. I was dating a cute guy who I worked with at the market, Robby Thompson. Things progressed much more naturally, and we escalated from days spent kissing in the storeroom, to groping over clothing, to touching under clothing in his car, to a mostly pain-free roll in the sheets while his parents were at work.

He disappeared for a week and his parents said he was in some sort of accident. He broke up with me over text and never came back to work at the market.

It was like I was cursed—any guy I touched ended up with some medical emergency and disappeared.

After Robby, I knew anything shy of being with Connor wasn’t enough. I’ve dated casually the last couple years, but I never allow it to get physical.

For years I’ve tortured myself watching women fawn over my best friend. I have no doubt he’s well versed in the bedroom. My stomach churns every time I think about it.

To satisfy my urges, I did copious internet research and tried out a couple of sex toys before I found my favorite one. My trusty purple rabbit was a consistent, complication-free lover.

All he needed was a thorough cleaning and new batteries every few weeks. He was a busy boy. Now he’s lost, never to be played with again.

Hours later, Connor returns from his awkward departure.

“Hi. Umm. You’re here. Of course you’re here. You live here.” Connor stumbles around the apartment because he’s looking everywhere but at me. His cheeks flush, growing embarrassed.

“Did you have a nice…outing?” I have no clue where he went, and I don’t want to know.

“Yep. Forgot I was supposed to visit my family today.” He slaps his forehead like duh.

His feet are still shoe-less, socks as clean as when he put them on this morning.

“You drove without shoes?” I know he’s fibbing.

“Quincy picked me up. Forgot she was giving me a ride.”

“Seems like you forgot a lot this morning.” I wish he’d forget the image of me in a towel, and that I’m the proud owner of a new sex toy.

He doesn’t answer, lips sealed shut. We don’t lie to each other, and he’s reached his limit for dishonesty. Instead he gives me a tight smile and occupies himself with his Xbox. It’s awkward and hurts my tummy, but it’s better than the alternative—conversation.

I lock myself in his bedroom, I mean, our bedroom, and unbox my new boyfriend. He’s a vibrant electric blue and has bumps and ridges my purple pal didn’t have. He’s also re-chargeable, so, no more dead batteries.

“Yes, you’ll do nicely,” I say to my new boyfriend, stroking his silky, silicone exterior. I conceal my new blue bestie in his silk drawstring bag and tuck him away at the back of my underwear drawer. Connor would never go digging around in my unmentionables.

It’ll stay my dirty little secret.

9

The weeks following the dildo disaster are blessedly uneventful. After we got over the initial excruciating awkwardness, we locked the incident away in the same box we lock away all the moments we’ve crossed the “only friends” line.

Thank god my request to permanently move to dayshift got approved. Now I can be home with Delilah regularly.

Every morning, we wake tangled into a pretzel and take turns showering. Whoever showers second makes the coffee, and when we switch, the other makes breakfast.

She studies so much I don’t know how her eyes stay open. She’s the first person in her family to get a college education and I’m so fucking proud of her.

Until recently she worked part-time at the market. Most of her income went to her deadbeat egg donor, and for several years the rest paid for textbooks while she relied on student loans for tuition.

Last year she got a full scholarship that covered tuition, books, and living expenses. She swears she doesn’t remember applying for it, but is grateful, nonetheless. The financial aid allowed her to quit her job and focus solely on her education.

She doesn’t remember applying for it because it doesn’t fucking exist. It killed me that she was always stressed about money, so I decided she shouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

After she registers each semester, I call the registrar and pay her tuition in full and pre-load her school account to cover anything else she needs.