The Infinite Moment of Us (15 page)

“Dad, I already signed the Project Unity acceptance let-

ter—”

“Just like you signed your acceptance letter to Emory,”

her dad said. He snorted. “How do you expect that to con-

vince me?”

Her tone was imploring. “I’ve been given so much—by

y’all, by my teachers, by my friends. I want to give some-

thing back. Does that make sense?”

“No, Wren, it doesn’t,” her father said. “This plan of

yours, though I can hardly call it a plan, is foolish and fan-

ciful, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but nothing you’ve

told us has changed my mind.” He splayed his fingers and

exhaled, his nostrils flaring. “Do you want to know why

your mother and I are letting you follow through with it?”

Wren’s lips parted.

“We decided to let you fail,” he said, clipping his words.

“If you won’t listen to reason, what other choice do we

have?”

Wren’s cheeks went blotchy, and Charlie tightened his

jaw. He’d tried to give Wren’s dad the benefit of the doubt,

but he was a bastard. Couldn’t he see that he was hurting

his daughter? Making her want to run farther and faster?

Charlie didn’t want Wren to go to Guatemala any more

than her parents did, but it was her decision, and he wasn’t

about to tell her what to do. He hugged her instead, leaping

up and joining her the minute her parents left the room.

“It’s okay,” he told her when she clutched him. “You’re

okay. And you’re not going to fail.”

“I might,” she said dismally.

He kissed her forehead. “Never.”

Now, in the parking lot, Charlie kissed her forehead

again. “Hey. If you don’t want to leave yet, don’t. Let’s

hang out a little longer.”

“I thought you needed to get to the shop,” Wren said.

He did, but he said, “Not yet. We’re good. Want to sit in

the back of your car?”

A particular smile lit up Wren’s face, one Charlie knew

and adored.

“Yes, please!” she said. She unlocked her car, climbed

into the backseat, and pulled him in behind her. The back

of her Prius was another of their favorite spots, and their

backseat activities had a rhythm all their own.

First she locked the doors and tossed the keys into the

driver’s seat. Next she kicked off her flip-flops. Then, uti-

lizing the full length of the backseat, she scooched down

and stretched out as best she could. He propped his weight

on his elbows and stretched out on top of her. He bore part

of his weight with one foot, which he wedged against the

car’s floor, and kissed her nose.

“Mmm,” she said, and she arched her back. In some

ways they’d moved fast physically, which Charlie was 100

percent fine with, although there were certain things they

hadn’t done that he wished they would. She’d touched his

arms, his abs, his chest—she seemed to adore running her

hands over his chest, which made him happy—but she had

yet to touch his dick, for example.

Was she shy? Nervous? Worried he wouldn’t like it?

He would love it. Christ.

He kissed her for real, and she looped her arms around

his neck and her legs around his hips. Skin. Warmth. Sweat

and breath and Wren’s perfume, all of it intoxicating.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he said. He kissed her neck.

Ran his hand over the curve of her breast, and then down

along her side. Down farther, pulling her close. She was

wearing a skirt today, and he found the hem and slipped his

hand underneath. Her thigh, her ass. Silk panties with soft

lace around the edges.

He ran his fingers below the lace, and Wren made a

small sound. Wren tried to be quiet when they were

together like this. It embarrassed her, she said, that she

made noises. But Charlie loved it. His cock strained against

his jeans. He pulled back slightly and used his forearm to

push her legs apart. He slid his hand beneath her panties

again and found the spot he was looking for—heat and

wetness and skin softer than any silk or lace—and slipped two fingers inside her.

“Oh,” Wren said. She was breathing hard. Charlie drew

away from their kiss, but kept on with his fingers, watch-

ing her. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted. She

lifted her hips, and when Charlie leaned in and kissed her

again, the universe opened up and swallowed him whole,

and Charlie brought Wren with him. This, the two of them

together, was how it should be.

They stopped, eventually and reluctantly. They were

still in the backseat of Wren’s car. It was still a bright June day. They heard kids shrieking on the play structure, which

was far away but not far enough away.

Wren sat up and wriggled out from under him. Charlie

sat up, too. As always, he wished her hand would go to him,

but he didn’t want to push her.

He pressed his hands onto his quads. He knew he’d have

to let off steam soon.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back.

“You have amazing eyes,” she said. She nestled up close,

tucked her legs beneath her, and rested her head on his

shoulder. With one hand, she played with his hair. Her

other hand drifted down his chest, stopping at the waist-

band of his jeans. She put her hand under his shirt and

found his belly, tracing lazy circles. It amazed her that he

wasn’t ticklish. She’d told him so. For a while, she’d tried

to prove him wrong. Now she seemed to simply enjoy run-

ning her fingers over his skin.

She sighed happily and hugged him, a warm kitten snug-

gled against his side.

“I’m glad it wasn’t Dev who called,” she said.

“Me, too.”

“I mean, I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Mmm,” Charlie said.

“Can I ask you something?”

Tension coiled in his stomach. “Sure.”

“What happened to him? Was he born with his legs par-

alyzed?”

Charlie, as a matter of principle, didn’t talk about Dev

that way. Dev’s story was Dev’s to tell, not Charlie’s.

Charlie knew Wren would keep it to herself, though.

Anyway, he couldn’t say no to Wren if he tried.

He exhaled. “When he was a baby, his father punched

him in the gut.”

“What?” Wren said. “When he was a
baby
?”

“He got a blood clot in his spine, and a week later he was

paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Poor Dev,” Wren said. “And then—social services . . . ?”

Charlie nodded tersely. A baby. Who punched a baby?

“I’m glad he found Pamela and Chris,” Wren said. “Or

that they found him. Either way.”

“Me, too,” Charlie said. Dev came to them when he was eight, and having him there was good for everyone. One

night, early on, Charlie had helped Dev into a pair of soft

pj’s, because Dev asked him to. When Charlie wheeled Dev

out to the TV room, Pamela looked at Dev and said, “Aw,

honey. You look so cuddly.”

“I
am
cuddly,” Dev said. “Right, Charlie?”

“Sure,” Charlie said, and when Charlie sat down, Dev

found a way to put his head on Charlie’s shoulder. That was

it. Sold. Charlie had loved him fiercely and protectively

from that moment on.

“I’m glad
you
found Pamela and Chris,” she said. “Or

they found you. Either way.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Dev and I are lucky.”

“Pamela and Chris are just as lucky,” she said.

“That’s what they say. That, and stuff like how we should

never feel like guests, and how their house really is our

house.” He rubbed Wren’s arm. “You know what’s amaz-

ing? I think they really mean it.”

“Of course they do,” Wren said. “You guys make their

house a home.” She groaned. “Ugh. Corny.”

“I don’t mind corny. Not from you.”

She sat up straight. “We were talking about ‘home’

recently, P.G. and Tessa and I. Tessa was being mopey about

everyone splitting up, and she was like, ‘But Atlanta will

always be our home! We’ll always come back to Atlanta!’”

“I hope she’s right,” Charlie said.

Wren shot him a look. “Maybe. I’m just not sure a per-

son’s home is determined by where he or she lives. I think

home is more than that.”

Charlie mentally cataloged all the places he’d lived.

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“You say ‘okay’ to the strangest things.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

“Okay,” he said, and then he glanced at his watch and

realized it really was time for him to go. He told Wren

good-bye and gave her one last kiss. He missed her even

before he pulled out of the parking lot.

At a stoplight, he fished his phone out of his pocket and

flipped it open. Starrla had left not just one voice mail but

four, and he grimaced. He was glad he’d turned his ringer

off.

c h a p t e r e l e v e n

“You two are going like gangbusters, so when are

you going to
do it
already?” Tessa asked, loading the term
do
it
with every ounce of cheesy intonation she could muster.

Tessa’s mom was out and about, and Tessa and Wren were

sharing Tessa’s backyard hammock, Tessa’s head by Wren’s

bare feet and vice versa. Tessa wanted girl time with Wren.

Demanded girl time with Wren, especially since soon—

too soon—Wren would be gone.

Leaving would mean being separated from Tessa, and

that would be hard. It would also mean being separated

from Charlie, and that would be awful. Wren was reluctant

to admit this to Tessa, and she would never admit it to her

parents, but the thought had crossed her mind that maybe

she didn’t want to go so far away after all.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to go to Emory instead. She

just wanted to be with Charlie. It felt like an unsolvable

dilemma, because if she stayed in Atlanta, she’d “fail,” to

quote her father. She’d fail to stand up for herself, fail to

help the kids she’d committed to helping, fail to escape her

parents’ control.

But if she went to Guatemala, she’d fail, too, because

she’d have left behind the boy she loved.

Tessa touched Wren’s chin with her big toe. “Tickle,

tickle,” she cooed.

“
Tessa
,” Wren said, pushing Tessa’s foot away.

“Then answer my question. Do you
want
to?”

Did Wren want to have sex with Charlie? Definitely. It

was hard to talk about, that’s all. Tessa had had sex for the

first time when she was sixteen, and since then she’d had

sex with two other boyfriends before P.G. And, yes, Tessa

and P.G. were now having sex (“And it is soooooo good

between us, oh my fricking God,” Tessa raved), which

brought Tessa’s count up to four.

That was a lot of sex, Wren thought.

“Have you at least touched his dick yet?” Tessa said.

Wren squeezed shut her eyes. “Tessa!”

“Oh my God, Wren. That poor guy must have the worst

case of blue balls ever.”

“Not helping, Tesseract,” Wren said. She peeked at Tessa

through half-opened lids. “I
want
to. I want to do everything. I just . . . don’t know how.”

“Dude. Lady. You just
do
it!” Tessa said. She handed Wren a water bottle full of “special” lemonade. Enough lemonade

to make it taste good, but definitely lots of “special.”

“Here,” she said. “Drink.”

Wren obeyed. The late-afternoon sun felt wonderful on

her skin. The sun, plus the vodka in the lemonade, plus

Tessa’s questions . . .

She thought of Charlie’s strong chest. His forearms. His

kind auburn eyes. She felt tingly, and she draped one foot

off the hammock and pushed against the ground.

“Sex is a basic human drive, Wren,” Tessa said. “And you

know what else? It’s fun, especially with the right guy, and

P.G. is definitely my right guy. Sex with P.G. . . . oh man.”

She softened her tone. “It’s incredible. I had no idea.”

“That’s awesome,” Wren said, and she meant it. It scared

her, too, though. If—or more likely, when—Charlie and

Wren had sex, Charlie would be Wren’s first. Would Wren

be Charlie’s first? She was pretty sure the answer was no,

though she hated thinking about that. What if Wren wasn’t

good at sex? What if Charlie was disappointed? What if he

couldn’t help but compare her to . . . ?

Forget that.

Back to the question of the day: Did Wren want to have

sex with Charlie?

She took another swig of lemonade for courage. “Yes,

I want to have sex with Charlie. I even”—she stopped

breathing—“went on the pill?”

“Are you serious?” Tessa exclaimed. “
You?
Went on the
pill
?”

“I did.” She winced. “Is that bad?”

“Are you kidding? Wren! Yay!” Tessa said. She wiggled

her fingers for the lemonade, and Wren passed it to her.

“To you and Charlie!” she exclaimed, downing a long sip.

“This is huge!”

Wren’s heart felt jumpy. She smiled.

“I really like him, you know,” Tessa confided. “Charlie,

I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“P.G. does, too. P.G. says he’s a good guy.”

“He
is
a good guy,” Wren said. “So is P.G.”

Tessa propped herself up, not an easy task on a ham-