Tethered (10 page)

“Anything else?” Emmet asked with a little more patience.

“Don’t forget to take care of the garage like your daddy told you.”

“Okay.”

“Hug your mama, child.”

I heard slight movement from the door and I heard Emmy talking in the hallway.

“If Donya comes over tell her I took her boots.”

I put a hand on my hip. I saved up long and hard for those boots. My parents couldn’t afford things like Emmy’s parents, and though Fred and Sam treated me like their own, I tried not to take advantage. I would have never asked them for two hundred dollar boots. I was tempted to go out there and steal my boots back from Emmy and hit her with them.

The commotion in the hallway faded as Emmy and Sam went down the stairs. I heard Emmet out in the hallway, probably standing at the top of the stairs as he spoke to them. A couple of minutes later the front door slammed and a few seconds after that Emmet’s door closed. I pushed out of the closet, tripped over the length of Emmet’s sweat pants, and nearly fell on my face. I pulled at the pants to uncover my feet.

“I can’t believe she took my boots,” I murmured.

I stood on one side of the rumpled bed and Emmet on the other. We looked at one another. I tried not to show how horrified I was by what almost happened in that rumpled bed. It scared me how far I let myself go. How much further would I have gone? Would we have been joined together in the most intimate way? The thought scared the crap out of me.

I tore my gaze away from Emmet and looked at my wet clothes hanging on the chair. I was lucky Sam didn’t venture further into the room and see them there. I was glad I kept a whole wardrobe in Em’s room.

I walked over to the chair and gathered up my wet clothes. I knelt down and picked up my wet sneakers. Emmet watched me with apprehension.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“I’m going to change into my own clothes and go home,” I answered.

He stepped in front of the door. I stopped a couple of feet away.

“You are home,” he said.

“My other home.”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay here. Spend the day with me, just the two of us.”

He looked so hopeful that it made my heart ache.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“Why can’t you, Donya?”

I gestured to the bed. “That scares the shit out of me,” I admitted forcefully. I wasn’t sure if I should admit the next part, but I didn’t think Emmet would take advantage of my confession. “If your mom hadn’t come to the door, I’m not sure where I would have stopped –
if
I would have stopped.”

“I know you’re not ready to go all the way. I wouldn’t have -”

“Emmet!” I shouted his name in frustration. “You were no more in control than I was. You probably didn’t think you’d grind with me like that either.”

He let out an exasperated growl, put his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor for a moment. When he looked back up at me, I knew that I had been right. He hadn’t expected to kiss me, let alone push me towards my first ever orgasm.

“We’ll stay away from the bedroom,” he suggested.

“Well we both know that you have nothing against couches,” I said and instantly regretted it. He looked hurt by my words and I didn’t mean to hurt him. “I’m sorry,” I said gently.

He took a breath and some of the pain cleared from his face and he once again looked hopeful.

“I just want to spend the day with you,” he said softly.

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t trust myself, Emmet. Move away from the door so I can leave.”

He stared at me for a few long moments before he finally stepped aside and opened the door for me. I rushed past him and into Emmy’s room and locked the door behind me.

Even after I stripped out of Emmet’s clothes, I still smelled like Emmet. I held my hair to my nose, inhaling deeply. It was driving me crazy. I had half the mind to run across the hall and get wrapped up in him again. Instead, I marched into Emmy’s bathroom and showered. I stayed in there a long time washing traces of Emmet off of my body.

When I was dressed, I carried my coat and wet clothes downstairs. Emmet was in the kitchen cooking something as I passed through to go to the basement. I stuffed my wet stuff in the dryer and went back upstairs.

“Can you at least stay for brunch?” Emmet asked over his shoulder as he stirred something on the stove.

My stomach rumbled.

“Okay,” I conceded.

“Have a seat.”

I sat down at the table. Emmet made an effort to talk about anything but us. While he cooked, he talked about college and possible law schools, and I talked about the colleges I was considering.

“Breakfast is served,” he said dramatically, putting a plate before me. It was loaded with pancakes, eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. I laughed and clapped. He smiled fondly at me and winked. “Orange juice? Coffee?”

“Orange juice, please,” I said.

He poured me a tall glass of OJ and got himself a cup of coffee before sitting down at the head of the table beside me. We quietly dug into our food and ate in a comfortable silent for a few minutes. But the silence didn’t last.

“What happens now?” Emmet asked me as he stabbed at his pancakes, but didn’t pick any up.

“What do you mean?”

“With us.”

I took a sip of my juice as I considered a response. He waited patiently. He had put his fork down, given up on eating, but he looked patient.

“I think…” I looked at him and I felt his body on mine and felt his lips on mine. “I’m still not ready,” I whispered.

“You seemed ready a little while ago.” He didn’t say it with any menace. It was an observation.

“I lost control a little while ago and I don’t want to be out of control,” I said apologetically. “I just want to be friends.”

I wanted more than friends, but that didn’t mean it was the right thing. The right thing was to move on and let him do the same.

“Donya, I lo-” I cut him off with my fingers on his lips before he could finish that thought.

“Don’t say it,” I begged. “Please don’t say it. I’m not ready for all of that, Emmet. Please.”

His eyes closed slowly and I knew I had hurt him this time. I pulled my fingers away from his mouth and folded them in my lap.

“Be my friend,” I whispered.

His eyes opened. “I’ll always be your friend.”

We sat at the table in a pained silence until our food was cold and unappetizing.

Chapter Eight

I was on the boardwalk beside my best friend, eating cotton candy and being rebellious by riding my skateboard. Skateboard riding wasn’t permitted on this boardwalk, which just baffled me because people were allowed to ride bikes and roller skate. I pushed myself alongside Emmy slowly, enjoying the leisurely pace as we talked.

It was mid-June. School had ended only days before. We would be leaving for Louisiana in another week, but we were spending a few days at the shore first. Now that my mother was beginning to find some level of normalcy, I was reluctant to leave her. With my dad gone completely, there wouldn’t be anyone at all to watch over her, but she insisted that I go. She got a job waitressing and said she would be working all summer and that would keep her busy enough. It took her a whole week to convince me to go. Now that my mind was made up, I was looking forward to the summer down south – fishing with Fred and maybe Emmet and hanging out with Emmy’s myriads of relatives.

“I don’t want to live in Louisiana,” Emmy was saying to me.“I love going down there for visits, but I don’t want to set up shop and get all cozy like my brothers and sisters. Besides, mom will be moving back when I get out of college and I don’t want to be near mom.”

“Don’t blame you there,” I said.

“Emmet thinks he’s definitely going to go back after college. I don’t understand how they all could just give up their lifelong friends up here and move down there.”

“Maybe you will change your mind when you’re older,” I said.

“No way. Besides, I need to be near you. Like always. My other half.” She grinned at me and I grinned back. I loved this girl to death.

“I definitely will not be living in Louisiana when I am an adult,” I assured her. My dream of living there with a certain husband faded away months ago.

I had finished my cotton candy, and as we were passing a man operating an ice-cream cart, I stopped and got an ice-cream cone. I loved getting ice-cream at the beach. It seemed like the two went hand in hand at the Jersey Shore. It was like, you couldn’t walk on the boardwalk and not get ice-cream, or cotton candy, or fries, or pizza, or funnel cake. I knew I was going to be so fat by the time we got to Louisiana I wouldn’t feel like doing anything. Emmy would have to roll me everywhere.

The ice-cream man had just rolled away when a man, a very nice looking man, with dark hair stood in our path. He wore a Rolex around his tanned wrist. He was preppy in his khaki shorts, button up Ralph Lauren shirt, and expensive loafers. His hair looked like every other guy’s hair in the mid-nineties, like he had the same hair stylist as the guys from
Beverly Hills, 90210.

He tipped his Cartier sunglasses so he could peer at us with his piercing brown eyes. Emmy and I stood there for a moment, looking at him, waiting for him to move.

“Hello. My name is Max,” he said in a fading Italian accent.

“So?” Emmy said nonchalantly.

He flashed a smile at Emmy but brought his eyes back to me. I momentarily looked away from Max to my ice-cream cone and my hand. I watched vanilla ice-cream drip onto my wrist, already melting quickly in the early summer heat. I didn’t bother cleaning it up, because more would drip and I’d spend more time cleaning myself than eating it.

“I promise you this is not a…pickup line,” he said to me.

“What’s not a pickup line?” Emmy demanded fisting one hand on her hip. “That already sounds like a pickup line.”

More ice-cream dripped down my wrist. I felt it sliding slowly down my arm. I ignored it and put the cold treat to my lips as I eyed Max. What did he want? Why was he looking at me like that? He was cute but he had to have a good fifteen or twenty years on me. I was a little grossed out thinking that maybe he was trying to pick me up with a non-pickup-pickup-line.

“I work for a New York agency that represents models,” Max said to me. “Forgive me for saying so, but you are exquisite. Do you work as a model?”

“Exquisite?” Emmy and I said together and laughed.

“Donya,” Emmy said in a fake Italian accent. She took my free hand and looked up at me with well overdone adoration. “My darling, you are exquisite. May I kiss your exquisite lips and touch your exquisite behind?”

I laughed at my friend’s stupidity. We cracked up while Max patiently waited for us to stop.

“Dude, that’s a great pickup line,” Emmy said, patting Max’s arm.

Max passed me a business card. It said Maximus Sobreno, Talent Representative. The address and phone number were out of New York. Anyone can make business cards, and I told him so as I tried to pass the card back to him.

“You are right to question my validity,” he said. “But before you disregard me entirely, do some research and find out for yourself whether or not I am as I say. I can change your life, beautiful girl. You may have potential.”

“Right, because ice-cream dripping down my arm is one of those modeling qualities,” I said.

He shrugged. “You look like a model posing as a carefree woman on the boardwalk eating ice-cream. It would have made a perfect shot, right down to your mode of transportation, but what caught my eye was when I saw you further back eating cotton candy. Something about it struck me.”

His eyes traveled leisurely over my body before he spoke again. “Don’t lose my card.”

He pushed his sunglasses back into place and walked away.

“That was weird,” Emmy said.

I nodded in agreement. I looked at the card for a little while longer and then pushed it into my back pocket. There was a slight pressure in my chest that I instantly recognized. I looked up and met Emmet’s eyes as he walked over to us.

“Who was that?” he asked, looking in the direction Max had walked.

“Modeling scout,” Emmy said.

Emmet looked doubtful. I only shrugged. I didn’t have any argument.

Emmy announced her need to pee and walked off towards the public bathrooms.

“You’re wearing more than you’re eating,” Emmet said. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but I had a feeling he was looking at the ice-cream dripping down my arm.

“It’s melting faster than I can eat it,” I giggled and took a lick.

“You got too much. You always get too much.” He closed a hand over my sticky wrist. I watched without breathing as he slowly sucked some of the vanilla goodness into his mouth. He licked his lips as he moved my hand so that the dessert was pressed against my own lips. I parted my lips and sucked-slurped. He brought it back to his lips and ate some exactly where my own mouth had been. I shivered in the ninety plus degree heat.

“Thank you,” he murmured and released my hand. He sucked a few drops of ice-cream off of his fingers. “I’ll see you later.”

I watched him walk away, pulling on my tether, as the ice-cream melted in my hand.

*~*~*

Wildwood is the go-to beach location for most teens and families in the South Jersey - Philadelphia area. During the summer, no matter what day you are there, you are guaranteed to run into no less than five people that you know. They may be a neighbor, a teacher, the clerk at the grocery store, or just people you recognize but don’t personally know.

By nightfall, there was a huge group of us from our town and nearby towns strolling down the boardwalk. We started out small – just me and Emmy, but then her cousins Mayson and Tabitha arrived. A little while later Tabitha’s best friend Leslie and her boyfriend Leo joined us. A few kids a year ahead of us at our school adhered to the group and soon thereafter Emmet and his friends were there. The group grew and grew, even kids we only knew from the shore joined in until we were at least twenty-five strong. Laughter and constant talking and shouts to one another filled the air. Whenever anyone bought any kind of food, it was instantly shared with the people around them. It wasn’t unusual to see someone’s hand in my bucket of fries or to share a soda with three other people. Many years later I would look back on times like this and wonder how I made it through my teenage years without getting mono or some other highly communicable sickness from all of the sharing we did.