Relativity (11 page)

My nights usually end with me feeling overwhelmingly guilty for not thinking about Mom enough and calling her phone to leave her a voicemail where I’m sobbing so hard that she probably wouldn’t understand it even if she could somehow hear the message. Something about being able to still hear her voice comforts me though and I manage to drift off to sleep. But today is a new day and all that bullshit that everybody keeps force feeding me.

The doorbell rings just as I’m pulling my hair back in a ponytail. Dad had some mysterious errand, which I’m pretty sure consisted of running to Target to buy lots of DVD’s to keep him busy this weekend. The dad that used to spend the weekend woodworking has been replaced by one that zones out for hours in front of the television. I cut him some slack, knowing it could be a lot worse.

I bound down the stairs wondering who could be here. I fantasize that it’s Knox and he storms through the door and ravages me. I have about two hours to get this friend thing down. So far, I completely suck at it.

I whip open the door to find Karen, her arms full of something that smells edible but probably isn’t. She looks impeccable, just like her picture on all of her real estate billboards around town. God love her, she’s been bringing us food for the last three weeks and every single thing has tasted like shit. It’s become a running joke in the house. It’s been nice to have something to laugh about even though I feel guilty now that Karen is actually here.

“Karen, seriously? You really have to stop doing this,” I plead.

“It’s just a lasagna and some garlic bread. Nothing fancy,” she insists. That, I don’t doubt.

We know it is the thought that counts and I can tell that Karen just wants to do something to help us.

“Come in,” I offer, realizing how rude I’ve been in the past just taking her food.

“No, I shouldn’t,” she says, glancing behind her. “Well, are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I say, meaning it. I escort her into the kitchen and set the food down on the stovetop. “Dad will be home soon and he loves lasagna.” Thank God I have to work tonight so I can bow out of dinner.

Karen glances around the space that used to be filled with aromas of Mom’s home cooking. I push down the sadness of never tasting Mom’s homemade lasagna again. Man, that woman could cook.

“Are you okay?” she asks, delicately.

“Sorry, sometimes I just have these moments where I think about something that I’ll never experience with Mom again and it’s hard,” I explain.

“I lost my mom when I was nineteen,” she shares. “It was the hardest year of my life. Grief can take you down paths you never knew existed. If you are anything like I was, you’re probably going to question every single judgment or decision you make. You’ll probably outgrow a few friends because they just won’t understand. I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here,” she offers.

“Thanks, Karen,” I say. Mom always had a lot of respect for Karen and I know she would be touched by her attempt to bond with me.

We chat about Karen’s son, who was in Knox’s graduating class, and what he’s up to. She tells me that her divorce is final and she seems deliriously happy about it. Her husband was weird, always very OCD about everything. I once watched him take ten minutes to get the garbage can lined up at the end of the driveway. It is sad that she is alone now but she seems happy so I guess that’s all that’s important.

My phone chirps so I pull it out of my back pocket and check it. It’s a text from Nat asking if I can open the shop for her. I don’t have any excuse why I can’t, even though I know that likely means I’ll be alone with Knox for an hour. Maybe it will be good for us to test ourselves even though I can’t help but wonder what I’m facilitating in the process. I consider pressing Nat for details but decide against it, knowing it will be easier to get the truth out of her in person.

Sure
, I fire back, glad I’m already dressed. Today I’m wearing a jean skirt and my hot pink Mozzarella T-shirt with black lettering and picture of a giant slice of pizza on it.

“I’m sorry to cut this short but I have to go to work early,” I tell Karen.

“Oh, no problem,” she says, rising to leave.

I scribble down a quick note to Dad about leaving early, and the dinner Karen brought, then follow her out, locking the door behind us.

I wave good-bye to her and slide in the mini-van. I turn the key over but nothing happens. I try it a few more times but still nothing. I jump out, prepared to wait until Dad gets home to bum a ride. I hate that he is going to have to deal with car problems when I know he can barely handle figuring out how to microwave his dinner.

“Car troubles?” Karen asks, retrieving her mail.

“Yeah, the van is dead,” I say, cringing at my choice of words. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to use that word again without thinking of Mom.

“Hop in, I’ll drive you,” she offers, punching her key fob and unlocking her Mercedes SUV. I don’t hesitate, not wanting to be late.

“Thank you so much,” I tell her as we pull into Mozzarella.

“Are you okay to get home?”

“Yes, my friend can bring me home,” I assure her.

“Okay, but you can always call me if you need anything,” she says, handing me one of her business cards. “That has all my numbers on it.”

I wave gratefully and let myself into Mozzarella with the key the Parson’s gave me last week.

The door slams behind me and I lock it again, just like I promised Mr. Parsons I would for safety until the shop actually opens.

“It’s about freaking time, slacker,” I hear Knox yell from the back.

I breeze in, grab my apron, and quickly tie it around my middle then start washing my hands. “I’m sorry, my car wouldn’t start,” I offer as an excuse.

“Shit, Rip, I didn’t know it was you. I was just giving Natalie hell. She’s been a ghost lately.”

I don’t disagree with him but get busy pulling premade homemade crusts out of the walk-in refrigerator like I’ve seen them do at opening. Knox is stocking the plastic bins with ingredients, a process that will be repeated many times through the night. I never had a clue how many pizzas go out of this place before I worked here.

I boot up the computer and check for online orders. Most people are too lazy to even call in a pizza order when they can just fire one off from their tablet. It seems quiet, too quiet, then I realize that the jukebox that is normally going non-stop is getting a much needed nap.

“We’ve got an order for ten pizzas and they want them delivered at five,” I say, trying to be normal.

“No problem,” Knox says, firing up the pizza ovens. I print out the ticket for the pizza order and stick it on the first silver clip hanging above the ingredient assembly line so that Knox can see it.

“Can I help you?” I ask, not making eye contact.

He eyeballs the ticket, then says, “How about you take the four pepperoni?”

“Okay,” I agree, thinking that maybe we can succeed at this friend thing after all, especially if I don’t focus on how the muscles in his biceps strain against his T-shirt sleeves. I swallow hard and force myself to look away.

Knox busies himself with his part of the order as I set out my first crust. I’ve never actually made a pizza before but I watched Natalie on Tuesday. How hard can it be?

I start by sprinkling corn meal on the back of the crust then flip it back over and start ladling sauce on it. I use the back of the ladle to spread the sauce smoothly but it doesn’t look like it does when Natalie does it. I’m about to reach for the cheese when I hear Knox snicker.

“What?” I ask, self-consciously.

“You’re doing fine. Just let me show you something,” he says, moving behind me before I can protest.

He takes hold of my right arm with his right hand and guides it to the ladle to scoop up more sauce. Then, he dumps it in the center of the crust and guides my hand to make concentric circles from the middle to the outside of the crust distributing the sauce perfectly. His other hand rests firmly on my left hip. I thought I knew how much I had missed being near him, but I didn’t have a clue. There is no way we’ll ever be able to be just friends. I know that now.

“That’s it. Slowly,” he says, his breath in my ear, driving me wild. “Now, add a tiny bit of cheese.” He helps me put the ladle back into the sauce pot and grab the small plastic glass in the cheese bin and shake it over the crust. Then, placing both his hands over mine, he plunges them into the pepperoni bin. I grab several stacks of pepperoni as our fingers intertwine. He presses himself against me and I can feel his crotch against my butt. He presses his lips against the back of my neck and I’m instantly wet.

The sensation makes me gasp. He knows I can’t resist him. Ever so slowly, I rub my jean-skirt covered butt up and down against him. He grips the counter, rocking against me, the pepperoni tossed on the crust haphazardly, forgotten. I won’t fight this anymore.

He nibbles my neck as I rub faster and harder against him. His right hand travels down my skirt and under it. His thick fingers urge my panties to the side. I spread my legs apart making it easier for him to go where he wants. He’s rubbing my nipple with his left hand, while kissing my neck. His fingers have found my throbbing center but he’s teasing me by rubbing them in a circle near my sweet spot.

“Please,” I beg him, lifting the back of my skirt so he’s rubbing his jean-covered hard-on against my panties. I’m so insane with desire that it never occurs to me to be worried that someone could walk in on us, changing the course of both of our lives forever. That’s what Knox does to me, makes me lose all normal perspective.

He expertly glides two fingers inside of me and any rational thought flies out of my head. I’m just a machine, grinding against him, needing release. I throw my head back on his chest and reach back to grip his hips, riding his fingers until I feel my body start to spasm.

“My God, I love to make you come,” Knox says, his voice husky with desire.

“Come for me, Knox,” I beg, riding the waves of my orgasm as I feel him start to jerk convulsively with his own. He slides his fingers out of me and grips me tight around my middle.

“I love you, Ripley,” he whispers in my ear. I close my eyes and let his words swirl around in my mind, savoring them.

Some part of my brain not still riding a endorphin high recognizes the sound of a key turning in the front lock. I jerk away from Knox and adjust my skirt while he grabs an apron and ties it around his now wet crotch and rushes over to wash his hands.

I try to resume strategically placing pepperoni on the pizza still in front of me while trying to look normal.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in here?” Natalie shrieks.

I jump back and clutch my chest, ready to blurt out an apology and beg for her forgiveness.

“My dad would freaking kill you if he caught you preparing food without gloves on,” she clarifies, tossing me a pair of plastic gloves. She disappears back out the front.

“Thanks, friend,” Knox whispers, a grin spreading over his adorable features.

Instead of my thirst for Knox being quenched by our little escapade, and being terrified of almost being caught, I’m actually craving him more. “Take me to your house tonight?” I whisper, making sure Natalie isn’t in ear shot. I know I should feel guilty about going behind her back but she is up to something herself. I know it isn’t the same thing, but I’ll take any morsel of justification I can get to be with Knox.

He nods vigorously, looking pleased with himself. “You’re never going to want to leave,” he promises, and I know he isn’t lying.

******

It wouldn’t be possible for this shift to go any slower, I think, delivering my umpteenth pizza of the night. I rush around gathering garbage and dirty plates, even though we have a busboy for that, just to keep myself busy. I’m spraying down a particularly nasty booth, some people let their children behave like absolute Neanderthal’s, when the sound of guitar strumming catches my attention. It takes me a minute to realize that it isn’t coming from the jukebox.

When I turn around to see why a hush has fallen over the restaurant, and where this strange music is coming from, I see six guys wearing matching black shorts and those ridiculous T-shirts that look like tuxedos. Tate is in the middle of them, strumming a guitar and looking right at me. One of his friends is holding a bouquet of roses and the other four are each holding up signs that combine to say, ‘Go to prom, Ripley?’

Oh, dear God. Now Tate is singing. I can’t make out the words exactly but it is all about us having a great time at the prom. I’m frozen in place, terrified. I’ve heard about these promposals but never thought I’d have to worry about being a recipient. I think I might puke.

Natalie comes tearing through the restaurant and starts pushing me toward Tate. I catch Knox’s eye and he looks bewildered. I can’t imagine what he must think. I would do anything not to hurt him but then Tate stops singing and focuses his dazzling green eyes on me, and says, “What do you say, Rip? Go to prom with me?”

And I just can’t say no in front of all these people so I nod my head up and down. I know Tate was just being sweet but when I notice Knox storm out the back door, I’m also pissed that I was put on the spot. What kind of girl is going to say no in front of all these people? You’d have to be Satan.

Natalie is jumping up and down, shrieking with excitement. I just feel more weight pressing down on my shoulders to do the right thing. Too bad I don’t even know what that is anymore.

******

Just as soon as the excitement over the promposal dies down, the restaurant explodes with carry-out orders and tons of Saturday night walk-ins. I don’t have time to do any damage control with Knox because I’m too busy trying not to screw anything up.

By ten p.m., things finally slow down. I’m going to ask Knox for a ride home knowing that Natalie won’t suspect anything because we both get off at the same time since I worked for her. Then I can explain how on the spot I felt when Tate asked me to prom. We’ll figure everything out even if we have to sneak around a little while longer.