Glass (16 page)

Opens the door. She’s about six and looks

like an Irish doll—with bright green eyes

and soft red curls.
Daddy! It’s Trey!

Trey reaches down, scoops her up.

How’s my little Devon tonight?

The affection between them is clear.

The doorway shadows. Brad is younger

than I pictured him, somewhere in his late

twenties, and there is a definite resemblance

to Trey. Okay, you get what I mean by

that. For an older guy, he’s really cute.

LaTreya stands behind him, attached like a tail.

Trey pushes inside, reaches around

Brad to tickle LaTreya under the chin.

She can’t help but giggle.
Stop it, Trey!

Trey reaches for my hand, pulls me across

the threshold.
Hey, everyone, this is Kristina.

He kisses my forehead.
Isn’t she pretty?

The kids give dubious looks, and I suspect

a fair amount of jealousy.
They want to be

his girls. [Tell them to get in line.]

Brad, however, gives me his instant stamp

of approval.
She sure is. Lucky you. Go on

upstairs. Ladies, you can watch TV, okay?

Devon gives a little
Aw,
but LaTreya, who’s

older, knows enough to take her into the other

room and turn on the oversize flat panel.

I trail Trey up the stairs to a studio over

the garage. Like the rest of the house, this

room is nicely kept, with a quilted bed beneath

the window and a fluffy futon against the opposite

wall. Apparently, this is the party room. A faint

scent of crystal lingers above vanilla air freshener.

We settle onto the futon and Trey puts

his arm around my shoulders, pulls me close.

Brad looked like he wanted to eat you.

I do too. And I’ve got first dibs. Don’t

worry. I promise it won’t hurt, unless you

want it to.
He nibbles my neck for effect.

Thankfully Brad’s footsteps interrupt,

or I might have let Bree throw Trey

on the bed right then and there.

Brad can’t help but notice the way

I’m blushing.
Wow, cuz. What did you

do to the girl, in only three minutes?

Trey answers with a laugh.
Three

minutes is a long time to wait.

We were getting bored.

I can fix that, says Brad. I’ve got

just the thing right here.
He goes

into the bathroom, digs in a cabinet,

returns with a quart Tupperware

container. It’s filled to the brim with

the same crystal Trey had yesterday.

My eyes go wide and my mouth

starts to water. Just call me Pavlov’s

pooch. And within a few short minutes,

no way could we be bored. Despite

no sleep last night, I’m wide awake

and flying. And the higher I go,

the more I want more of the guy

sitting next to me. OMG. Maybe

Kevin is right about me, after all.

Exchange our pooled cash

for a spectacular stash,

one-quarter ounce for me,

one-quarter ounce for Trey.

We smoke several bowls,

climb higher and higher,

until it feels like my heart

might explode, drown

me from the inside out

with iced-over blood.

Damn, it feels great and so

do I. [Me too, me too.]

Why does feeling like you

could die any moment

give you such an incredible

rush? [Who cares? Go with it.]

Finally Brad glances at his

watch.
Oops. Ten fifteen.

Better get the girls to bed.

You two make yourselves at home.

Trey walks with him to the door,

pokes his head into the hall behind

him, says something I can’t quite

make out, except for the words

“alone time.” He closes the door,

dims the overhead light,

walks to me slowly. Oh, God,

he’s so impossibly fine I can’t

believe I’m here with him.

His hands cover mine, pull.

I believe you said something

about our second date?

I should say no, know I should

say no. But I don’t. “Okay.”

And then we’re on the bed,

and our clothes are off and his

body is hard and smooth

and brown. He kisses me—

full on the mouth, hard

on the mouth, and when he moves

lower, I begin to tremble. Shiver.

Suddenly I start to cry.

He stops, rests his chin on my

belly, looks into my eyes.
You okay?

I nod. “It’s just…it’s been a really

long time. I don’t know if…”

He grins.
It’s like riding a bike.

Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.

And then he does things no

one has ever done, takes me places

I’ve never been, and my tears

turn to cries of indescribable joy.

He holds me, strokes

my damp hair, softly

kisses my face. And in

a moment

of weakness, I confess,

“That’s the first time.”

He doesn’t understand.

“The first time

I ever had a…a…” I

can’t bring myself to

say the word, so I try,

“…you know.”

Realization dawns and he

smiles, dimple to dimple.

Really? Want another one?

His touch

is like the perfect wave,

one you can surf but just

barely. It lifts me,

thrills

me, nearly engulfs me

as we crest together and

he knows I had another

“you know.”

And he knows he’ll never

have to take it by force,

never have to insist
You know

you want it,

because he knows what

he has just given me

is something I’ll lust for

forever.

Back to work.

Back to the valley.

Back to freaky Kevin.

Back to my mom, Hunter.

Back to you…but when?

Back to school.

Back to Stockton.

Back to freaky Robyn.

Back to my apartment.

Back to you…but when?

Soaped and watered

away, hair neatly combed,

makeup completely gone,

Trey takes me [and a whole

lot of crystal] back to my car.

He kisses me one more time.

Careful driving home. It’s pretty

late. The cops will be on the prowl.

He guides me into my car.

I’ll be in touch soon, okay?

I look up into his eyes, hoping

to find honesty. But I realize

I’m not completely sure what

honesty is. Not honesty between

a guy and a girl, anyway. “Okay.”

I drive home, thinking about

honesty. I drive home, thinking

about possibilities. I drive home,

thinking about rediscovery. I drive

home, sifting thoughts of Trey.

I’ve measured the seasons by holidays,

how we spend them. This year, so close

on the heels of the birthday/baptism

fiasco, and with Hunter still too young

to care, Halloween was a non-event.

We stayed home, no trick-or-treaters

in sight. Never are up here on the hill.

Still, Mom always

buys candy, just

in case.

It’s been a little over three weeks since Trey

and I were together, and I can’t get him

out of my mind. At work, at home, amidst

Thanksgiving preparations, he’s all I can

think about. Well, Trey and ice. Every

morning before work, I get high.

Every day after work before I go

home, I get high. Not too high, just

maintenance high. I’m at the point

where that’s enough to stay semisane,

but not so much that I can’t eat.

A little.

Sleep.

A little.

I know I’ve got to sleep a lot soon.

Suffer the crash-and-burn. Come down

all the way. But with a fabulous stash

within easy reach, I don’t know how to

make myself do that. I’ve heard after

a while your body will just shut down,

speed or no speed. I’m almost looking

forward to that. Today is Thanksgiving.

I’ve got to work, so Mom is planning

the feast for after four. Turkey and all

the trimmings.

Ugh! How

will I do

that?

Apparently even perverts

celebrate Thanksgiving.

And oh, is he ever

the pervert.

I hate when he comes

into the store, all steamy

and leering. Hate that he

won’t leave me alone.

His back room “chats”

now include touchy-

feely games.

But I don’t

know how to make

him back off. I need

the paycheck, don’t

want to piss him off

by telling him he makes

me want to hurl. I think

he knows I’m high, think

he’s high himself,

and that makes him even

more determined to back

me into a corner. Literally.

So far I’ve managed

to extricate myself without

getting physical, relying

on what’s left of my brain

to use a little humor,

crack jokes about my baby

fat or how Mom always warned

me against storeroom sex.

So far, I’ve managed

not to let him kiss me or

touch me under my green

smock. So far I’ve managed

to keep him at bay.

And the Sev actually being open,

we’re getting a lot of customers.

Seems everyone forgot whipping

cream or cranberry sauce.

We are currently out of both.

Personally, I am currently out

of cigarettes. I reach for hard

pack Marlboros, tell Midge,

“I’m taking a smoke break.”

It’s arctic cold outside.

They say a storm is moving in.

With luck, we’ll have snow

before Christmas. As I consider

hitting the slopes, my cell rings.

The voice makes me shiver.

Hey, you. You at work?

That sucks. Well, I’m in town

for Turkey Day. I want to see

you. When can we get together?

Trey wants me, I’m there.

I know we should wait until

tomorrow. But I can’t. “Will

you come pick me up after

dinner?” Mom will be livid.

But I couldn’t care less.

I don’t announce my plans until I choke

down the last bite of pumpkin pie.

I managed to eat a little of everything

Mom cooked, and even as “maintenance”

wired as I am, it tasted better than cardboard.

I help with the dishes, then turn to leave

the kitchen.
Where are you going? asks

Mom.
Hunter needs a diaper change.

I lift him from his infant seat, sniff

his lavender-scented head. “Can you

watch him for me tonight? I’ve got

a date.” I grit my teeth, anticipate the fall

of Mom’s ax. It’s a heavy swing.

You’ve got a what? Kristina, you can’t

be serious. It’s Thanksgiving, for chrissake!

This is supposed to be a family day.

“Mom, you don’t understand. Trey

is here for the holiday weekend. He has

to go back to Stockton soon. I have to see

him. I…” OMG! I’m ready to admit it

for the first time. “…I’m in love with him.”

How can you love him, Kristina? You

hardly even know him. And what about

your baby? Don’t you love him anymore?

Bam! Bam! That hurts, but not as much

as it should. “Of course I still love Hunter.

But I need the other kind of love too.

Anyway, I’m eighteen. I can do as I please.

You can’t stop me from leaving.”

She draws even, anger flickering in her

eyes.
You have responsibilities, a child

who needs you. What if I refuse to babysit?

[Go ahead. Call her bluff. You know

she won’t let you do it.] “Then I’ll

just have to take him with me.”

As if intuiting what that might mean,

Hunter puckers up, starts to cry.

Mom snatches him from my arms..

Go on. Go out. Get out of my house.

But someday you’ll regret this.