“I mean…” I snickered. “I know what you’re doing, but you don’t have to…” I pulled her up to a standing position. My fingers combed through her hair. “I know you haven’t done anything before.”
Embarrassment filled her eyes and as she began to turn away from me, I rotated her back, taking her hands in mine. “Who told you to do that? Cheryl?”
She squeezed my hands twice.
I hated that. I hated that she felt she had to do certain things because of wha
t others said. “Five minutes?” I asked, taking a few steps back from her.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped backward. When her eyes reappeared, she smiled and unhooked her bra, dropping it to the floor. I slid my boxers off, tossing them to the left. Her panties glided down her beautiful thighs and she stepped out of them.
Her hand flew up and she nodded. Five minutes.
We stood there, staring at one another. Five minutes to erase any fears. Five minutes to remember who we were. Five minutes to find our own way, our own story.
When five minutes were up, I took Maggie’s hand into mine and led her to lie down on the bed. “Maggie…” I kissed her lips. “We don’t have to do what other people do…” I kissed her neck. “We’re not them. We don’t have to follow their guidelines.” I kissed her collarbone, and she closed her eyes as I moved down her body, kissing every inch of her, tasting every piece. “You don’t have to do things a certain way.”
I spread her legs apart, kissing her thighs. My mouth grazed against her skin and she twisted her fingers into my hair. “And you can always pinch me or hit me if you ever want to stop.”
She arched her hips up toward my mouth, demonstrating how much she wanted me to continue, silently begging me to taste her. Oh, how I wanted a taste. I glanced up at her, and her eyes were on me. She was watching my every move, and I wanted her to see it all. I wanted her to watch me explore her body, to taste her body, to love her body. She and I, we weren’t following anyone else’s rules, no one else’s transcript. We were writing our own story.
Leaning forward, I swept my tongue against her, slid a finger deep inside, and introduced her to chapter one.
“I cannot believe that! I just can’t.”
The next Saturday night, Mama was having her girlfriends over. The girls had gone to high school with her, and since they now lived in different states, they only came around once or twice a year, which was too much if you asked me. Whenever they were around, I did my best to stay invisible. They weren’t the nicest people in the world. There were five of them, including Mama. Even though they had gone to high school together, I hadn’t a clue why they all traveled to hang out with each other—they couldn’t stand one another at all. Everything they talked about always seemed like a competition. If Loren’s daughter walked at ten months old, Wendy’s drove a car at nine months. If Hannah could run a 5k, Janice could do a 10k in less time.
Their favorite topic of all, though, was me. When it came to my silence, they were all professionals on what it meant to be mute.
I sat at the top of the stairs, listening to them discuss me that evening. I wished Brooks were over, but he and the boys were off watching some super indie underground band play at some hole-in-the-wall venue. He kept sending me videos of the space, where they were packed like sardines and it was loud as ever. Whenever the camera faced him and I saw his giddy smile, my heart fell for him just a little bit more.
I wanted to be there with him, feel him holding me in his arms, completely losing myself to the sounds. In the video, I saw Stacey swaying back and forth to the music with Calvin, and I felt selfish—selfish for not being there for Brooks, selfish for not being able to do the things normal couples did.
“She really has a boyfriend?” Loren questioned, finishing off her glass of wine before pouring some more. “How is that even…possible?”
“Who is it?” Wendy hammered.
“Brooks,” Mama said nonchalantly while eating chips and salsa.
“Brooks who?” Wendy hammered some more.
“Griffin.”
“What?” all four girls screeched at once.
“No way,” Janice said. “But Brooks is… He’s pretty popular with the ladies, isn’t he? I get that he visited her every day out of the kindness of his heart, but dating? That can’t be true.”
“Is that even healthy?” Loren questioned. “You know, with Maggie’s…condition?”
“Her condition?” Mama asked.
“You know, her…trauma. I’m just saying. I read an article once—” Loren started.
“You’re always reading articles once,” Hannah cut in, her tone a bit feisty.
“Yeah, but this one had actual scientific statistics. It said individuals who suffer traumatic incidents as children struggle with relapses in their healing when placed in relationships.”
“Loren,” Hannah scolded.