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I spread my legs and try to get comfortable. It takes a second to get into it again.
Then the tiniest fireworks show ever erupts inside of me. It’s comparable to lighting a single Black Cat after going to the city fireworks display.
Whatever. I finish showering, dry off, and crawl into bed. My drifting-off mind sandwiches me between the guys. I startle awake. They’re not there.
In a pathetic attempt at positivity, I remind myself that I’m in control of my life. Yay! It’s what I want.
Those heights of pleasure I attained—they give me something to work for. I know how good life can be. My future adult self will get back there someday.
Nineteen
Mark
Elvis’sBlue Christmasis playing on the PA system at the store where I’m buying decorations. Memories of Mom listening to it over and over again filter into my mind. I thought she just liked Elvis.
Now I get it.
I grab the box of blue ornaments with silver glitter. If Bianca’s silence wasn’t so deafening, I’d make a blue balls joke when I get home.
My fears that I wouldn’t be able to commit, and take care of her, and be enough for her, have come to life. I bought a fucking house and it might as well be empty when I walk in the door and can’t say, “Honey, I’m home.”
How did I go from the idea of the penthouse being nothing more than a landing pad between trips to buying a house, having a white picket fence installed, and wanting to say that classic line every single day? And that’s only when I absolutely can’t work from home.
The irony fucks with my head.
Putting up a tree and going through the motions of decorating appease the piece of me that Bianca will realize we’re soulmates.
Would things be different if I hadn’t held back? If I hadn’t let business get in the way? If I’d just admitted that I wanted her instead of pulling that macho big brother shit?
And if we’d revealed our relationship to our parents differently, would they have been less shocked? Yeah, that’s a given. There’s not a worse way to have let them in on our little secret than by defiling Daddy’s little girl on the kitchen counter. The penthouse reeked of bleach for a week with Mom trying to eliminate our sin.
She’s doing better now, insisting that we continue with plans for the family’s holiday dinner. Mom thinks I canceled my trip to Poland for her. I let her have it.
I won’t be leaving the city until I hear from Bianca.
Carl drives us to the penthouse on the day of the party. Snow is starting to gather on the road and the sidewalks have been shoveled.
“Do you think Bianca’s going to show?” Sean asks. She’s not returning calls or texts.
“Mom hasn’t heard from her. And without a car, she’d need a good rideshare driver.”
Carl says “I can’t blame her for not wanting to face our parents again, that was pretty rough.”
“I think she could have dealt with getting caught. But her father kicking her out? Too much.” This will be the first time I’ve seen Frank sincethat day. I promised myself not to throttle him, but I’m popping my knuckles as we ride up the elevator.
The second we’re in their apartment, I give a polite hug to Mom, confirm that Bianca isn’t there, and storm over to Frank.
“You need to get shit straight with Bianca. We don’t know that she’s safe. We don’t know that she’s alive.” I pull my voice down. “We love her even if you don’t. Give us a fucking chance.”
“Whoa, that’s a big word.”
“Do you need me to define it?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with your generation. It’s going to hell in a handbasket. All of you think you can share women…your sisters no less. Earlier this week, the social media rag, SmorgasSmut had stories about semi-local rock stars and hockey players sinning with their stepsisters.”
“It’s not a sin to love someone.” My voice is too loud and angry.
Mom pats my arm. “Now, now, Son. Let’s be civil.”
