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“Just blowing off a little post-grad steam. If it eases your mind, I only had three girl beers, and I’m not much of a fan of drinking, or anything else for that matter.”
“Good to know.”
You know nothing.
“Who brought you home?”
“Just a local.”
“Ah, does he have a name?”
“He does. Friend.”
And that’s the end of our discussion. I make sure of it.
Coast is clear.
Sean: I’ll be there in thirty.
I’ll be out back swimming. Join me if you want. The gate code is 4611#.
My first jump in the pool is glorious. I make sure of it by doing a cannonball and screaming a curse at the top of my lungs. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I don’t know enough about my dad to discern if he’s satisfied with his life, but I’m pretty sure he’s not happy.
Happy people can’t pick up pennies with their ass cheeks. He’s too high strung, a trait I’ve inherited, and am determined to try and rectify. But if this year is all about getting into his good graces and being on my best behavior, I’ll wait until I’m left to my own devices to ensure a quiet rebellion. Everything about my time here so far feels calculated, like everything is in its place, the feel and look of perfectly combed hair that I’m dying to ruffle up. If I’m a rebel at all, my fight is against the monotony. Maybe that’s why I felt so at home at that party. Everything about that group screamed lawlessness, at least in the parental sense. And this time—my time—between graduation and college should be the time I have the same freedom. I spend the first half of my morning deliberating on how to steal some of what’s being stolen back.
My dilemma has a simple solution. From now on, I’ll say yes more often. To whatever and whomever I choose. Playing it safe my first eighteen years has proven to be flavorless, if not a bit fruitless. I don’t want to move into the next phase of my life or the one after regretting chances I didn’t take. So, this summer I’ll trade no for yes. I’ll trade playing it safe for playing, period. I’ll toe the grey area, which includes my obligations to my parents and figure out a way to swirl in a little color for myself.
I’ll take this year of confinement and mix it with some much-needed liberation, not only from my responsibilities, by from my own self-inflicted moral code.
Free time will take on a whole new meaning for this wallflower.
I seal that deal with myself with a leap into the pool.
I’m several laps in when I see the blurry reflection of my new arrival. Breaking the surface, I manage to stifle the gasp that threatens when I spot Sean in swimming trunks, a lit cigarette in hand, standing at the edge of the pool.
From the mere sight of him, I have the urge to cross myself in the Holy Trinity and send up a prayer of thanks. He’s ripped, in every sense, from head to toe, from the razor-sharp cut of unruly hair to his obscene pecs, to the extra pebbled muscle flaring just next to his ribs. The delicious trail of golden hair leading past the waistband of swimming trunks accentuated by arrows of his deep V. It’s as if the devil himself and his physique made a deal, giving him zero room for anything other than golden flesh and muscle. Hovering above, he oozes with sex appeal on dry land as I drown in the sight of him. Even with his chunky gold glasses covering his eyes, I can feel his stare, and it’s a shot of adrenaline straight to the chest.
“Miss me, Pup?”
“Maybe.”
He leans down cupping water to snuff out his cigarette, and it’s the first time I can clearly see the tattoo on his arm. The feathered tips belong to a raven with stretched wings taking up the whole of his upper arm, the head and beak rest against his bicep, facing away from him as if watching his back. The menacing and lethal claws at the foot of the body embedded in such a way it’s as if they’re anchored painfully into his skin. The ink is so vibrant, so bold. It’s as if it’s a separate entity from him. Like if you were to reach out and touch the intricately defined feathers, the bird will react.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks, I’ll tell the owner.”
He looks around. “You really don’t want to stake any claim in all this?”
I shrug. “I didn’t earn it.”
He shakes his head and lets out a low whistle, scanning the grounds. “So, this is how the one percent lives.”
“Yep, and trust me, it’s just as foreign to me as it is to you.”
“How so?”
“We’ve been estranged for years. I had to outgrow my adolescence before he decided we could have a relationship again.”
