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CHAPTER1
Mari
“Hey Benji,” I greet, opening our front door. My boyfriend steps into the house, his wiry frame clad in a hoodie and baggy jeans.
“Hey Mari,” he says with a smile while brushing away at his floppy brown bangs. “You look good.”
“Thanks,” I say with a shrug while fluffing out my chestnut curls. “I just washed my hair, so you’re in luck. You’re about to get a dose of jasmine shampoo that will bowl you over.”
But instead of burying his nose in my locks, Benji gets a worried look on his face.
“No doubt, but um, before we do that, can we talk?”
I shrug.
“Sure, of course. Take a seat,” I invite, gesturing to the huge sofa in the living room.
Benji shakes his head, his eyes darting left and right.
“Actually, is your stepdad home?”
I nod.
“I think so. Why?”
The young man clears his throat uncomfortably.
“Well, I just think what I have to say is best done in private. Not that I think Harris would be eavesdropping, but thisishis house. He could appear at any moment, so can we go to your bedroom instead?”
I nod.
“Sure, no prob, Benji. You seem jumpy though.”
The teen boy doesn’t answer. Instead, he makes a beeline up the stairs, and down the hall before stopping in front my bedroom. My stepdad’s door down the hall is closed tight, and to be honest, I have no idea where Harris is.
It’s an odd story because actually, he and my mom divorced four or five years ago. Jeanette left him for some guy who lives in the next town over, but the high school in their area isn’t as good as the one here. As a result, I remained here with Harris in order to stay in the Oakdale school district.
I feel like most men would say no to this arrangement. They would tell their ex-wife to take her daughter and scram, but Harris isn’t like that. He’s brooding and domineering, to be sure, but there’s a gentle side to him too. Back then, I was only thirteen or so, and he must have seen how destabilized I was by the divorce. As a result, I stayed put in my room upstairs, and visited my mom on weekends.
But over time, those visits grew infrequent because of … well,life. I had band practice after school, as well as chess club, the soccer team, and of course, hanging out with my friends. Now, I barely talk to Jeanette at all. Harris is the man in my life, for better or worse, except that I hardly see him these days. Sure, we glimpse each other in passing, but for my whole senior year, he was basically MIA. The man of the house is always at the office, or when he’s not working, he’s in his study or at the gym, working up a sweat.
His efforts have paid off too because Harris is absolutely gorgeous. I’m not sure why my mom left him, but it definitely wasn’t because of lack of sex appeal. My stepdad is built like an Olympic athlete with broad shoulders, a developed chest, and thick, powerful thighs. I’ve seen him shirtless after his workouts, and wow … what I wouldn’t give to run my tongue along those sexy washboard abs. But these thoughts are wrong, I know. He’s the man of the house, and I shouldn’t be such a naughty brat by fantasizing about my stepfather.
Still, I don’t understand why my mom left Harris because he’s filthy rich on top of being godawful handsome. He has his own company called Burns Fabrication which manufactures and sells auto parts. All the biggest car brands buy from him, so his customers are companies like Ford, Toyota, and Volkswagen. Yet we haven’t moved from this two-story house because Harris is modest that way. Even though my stepfather could afford a lot more, he feels no need to show off even if he could basically buy and sell this town all on his own.
But right now, Benji has something to tell me, so I push the thoughts of my stepdad out of my head. We enter my bedroom and Benji shuts the door firmly after we’re both inside. My room’s actually a little embarrassing because it’s the cozy nest of a little girl. The walls are a pale peach color that I picked out when I was in junior high, and my narrow twin bed is covered in a quilt that I made during my days in 4-H. Not only that, but I used to have an obsession with sheep, particularly cute little baby lambs with lots of woolly fur. As a result, there are lamb stuffed animals scattered all over the place, including on my chest of drawers, on my desk, and of course, on my bed too.
But Benji doesn’t comment on the lamb explosion because he’s used to it. We’ve been dating about a year now, and it’s been great. He’s always been endearing in an awkward teen way, and I daresay that we’re happy enough together. Maybe we’re not Romeo and Juliet, the ultimate star-crossed lovers, but at least we’re alive, right? Surely, that’s better than the grisly demise that Shakespeare crafted for the most famous couple of all time.
But life in Oakdale isn’t like that. Romeo and Juliet came from feuding families going through lots of drama, whereas in our tiny suburban town, the most happening event every year is the Fall Harvest Festival. They’re so PC that they won’t even call it “Columbus Day” or “Indigenous Persons Day.” Both terms are “too loaded” (or so the mayor claims) and as a result, we have a bland moniker to describe the weekend of crafts, food, music and merriment. It’s fine, if you ask me. Everyone can read the sub-text of “Fall Harvest,” and again, most of us are just happy to live in the beautiful town of Oakdale, Illinois.
But now, it’s all coming to an end. Benji and I graduated from high school back in May, and it seems that change is afoot. I’m headed to Concordia College for my freshman year, whereas Benji’s enlisting in the Army. In my bones, I can feel that this conversation has something to do with these impending shifts.
Sure enough, the teen boy takes my hand, his expression serious as we sit on my bed next to each other. Benji’s good-looking in a charming way. His features still have a bit of baby fat on them, and he’s got some cystic acne on his chin, but it’s not too bad. We’ve made love before, and it was fine, even if I had to close my eyes and pretend that he was Henry Cavill from theSupermanfranchise. Is that terrible? I hear that married women use this technique too, so I think it’s very normal.
But right. My boyfriend stares deep into my eyes, his own hazel ones troubled.
“Mari, you know that I’m shipping out next week, right?”
