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I weigh the possibilities. I click delete and the email disappears. Whatever I need to find out about Jewel, I’ll let her tell me. And then, of course, I go creeping on her social media photos again, but none of it compares to the real memory of her asking me to rub my beard on her beautiful tits.
But how could any of that be real?
17
Jewel
Vince’s house is the embodiment of Vince.
Practical. Spartan. No clutter. No knick knacks. No art on the walls except for some posters with timelines about the evolution of the Ford Mustang. Not a single finger painting masterpiece by Max anywhere.
I dig through my messenger bag. “Wow, it’s a good thing I brought this.” I pull out one of Max’s sketches from school and magnetize it to the bare white fridge.
“There, that brightens the place up a bit!”
I can feel Vince’s hot, stoic gaze on me. “Sure does,” he agrees.
I turn to him, and he’s staring. My cheeks feel flushed. “I…um…I like your place.” My eyes have to look away. The way I feel when he looks at me like that…it’s almost too much.
“Thanks,” he replies, and I can’t tell if he’s staring at me hungrily or angrily.
“So, what cereal do we have on tap tonight, Cap’n?”
He smirks. “I took the liberty of ordering in.”
I walk over to the breakfast nook where the table is spread with about seven takeout boxes. “But what will you eat?”
He stifles a smile. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got some pad Thai, seaweed salad, dragon noodles, scorpion chicken.”
I nod and repeat the word “Yes” after everything he says. “I love all of it. I’ll take it all.”
He helps me take off my jacket and pulls out my chair for me.
Vince has a moderate skill with chopsticks and doesn’t subject me to watching him eat Thai food with a fork. I get it, some people can’t get the hang of it. But a man who tries—nothing is sexier.
The conversation flows freely over dinner and he makes me laugh without trying. But I feel like I need to dig deeper. After all, he’s had his lips all over me and if tonight goes well, he could be putting lots of other bits all over me too.
“OK. Three questions. Wanna play?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I put down my chopsticks and sit back in my chair. “Where have you been, where are you going and what have you learned? You go first. Where have you been?”
Vince takes a bite of chicken and thinks for a minute as he chews. “I’m not that interesting,” he says. “You go first.”
I don’t want to make the conversation this heady yet, but if he is going to insist I go first, I don’t have a choice. I only have one story to tell.
“Well, I’ve been living under the shadow of my mother’s passing for many years. She was murdered when I was eight years old. My father was convicted of manslaughter. They called it a “crime of passion,” which I didn’t understand until I was older. I have come to terms with all of it, but my older sister has not. She did not continue with counseling after the initial sessions we went to together. But that is her journey and I have to honor it.
“Me…I would not say I have forgiven my father, but I accept the reality that hurt people hurt people. He was a product of abuse, and I’ve let go of the hatred for my own mental health. And I have some peace knowing that she… she never saw it coming.
“And that’s where I’ve been.” I don’t tell him my father is getting out soon. I don’t tell him her birthday is fast approaching, the most difficult day of the year. I don’t want to weigh Vince down with my baggage, or involve him in a confrontation. Instead, I plaster on a brave face and fire back. “What about you, Vince?”
He doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he sets down his chopsticks and simply stares at me for a long moment. Mulling. I get it. It’s a lot for people to take. His stare is warm, not his usual angry or annoyed, and it’s filling in the empty places where my heart is cracked. He’s really listening. He sees me.
Just when I think I’ve turned him to stone with my harrowing tale, he blinks several times and reaches across the table. He squeezes my shoulder and then caresses my arm all the way down before wrapping my hand in both of his.
“I’m so sorry.” Genuine concern wrinkles his forehead.
