USING A BLACK Sharpie, I scribble utensils across the sides and top of a brown cardboard box before sealing it up. Matthew hoists the box up effortlessly, leaning over for a quick kiss. I adjust the crooked glasses on his handsome face and give his tight tush a loving smack as he walks away.
“If it rattles a little, that’s okay. There’s nothing fragile inside,” I yell after him.
“Got it.” Matthew grabs two more as he exits my apartment, carrying boxes twelve, thirteen, and fourteen down to his car.
Our decision to move in together could not have worked out any better. Especially after some late-night budget planning where I realized that my dream wedding will cost a few more dollars than I originally expected. And by a few more dollars, I mean a few more thousand. And by a few more thousand, I mean ten thousand. It turns out my big day wishes ain’t cheap.
Both of us have promising careers, me in PR, Matthew as a physician assistant in the ER at St. Peter’s, but we’re just starting out; our salaries still need some time to build. However, I did the math, and if I take the money in my savings, and figure in the money we’ll save by only having one apartment, and add it to the money my parents have set aside, then we should just about make it. I may have to tweak here and there. I’ve been looking online for different ways to spice up Ramen noodles, and I’m not sure if we actually need cable, but I’m crossing my fingers that maybe my parents have more money set aside than I think.
My sister said they gave her fifteen thousand for her wedding, but that was eight years ago. Who knows? By now they could have twenty thousand set aside for me, or possibly even more. I was kinda hoping they would have mentioned it already, but next week when we go to Jersey hopefully they’ll bring it up, so I won’t have to ask. Once I know for sure, I’ll have a better idea of the exact amount I have to work with.
My parents. Jersey. My insides twist into a pretzel at the reminder. Very soon the inevitable is happening. Matthew is going to officially meet my parents. In the year and a half that we’ve been together, I’ve managed to keep visits between them brief and via FaceTime only. He did make a gallant phone call to my father asking permission for my hand (even though he had already proposed), but he’s yet to meet them in the flesh.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. My parents are… different. Strange. Odd. And I’m not sure if I should warn Matthew or not. My gut is saying no. I think. Or maybe it’s saying look for actors on Craigslist to play my parents until we’re married. Meeting the real-life Peggy and Jack Martin might just send him running, especially if it’s true what they say about men looking to their mother-in-law for a glimpse into the future. But there is one good thing—in my family, our visits tend to be few and far between. Unlike Matthew’s family.
I kick an empty box over to my linen closet and start loading up my towels. They’re blue, but Matthew’s bathroom is green. Should we paint? Get new towels? Deal with it until we get a house of our own? Tingles run down my spine, prickling me with an overwhelming sense of excitement. It’s all starting to happen. All the things I’ve dreamed of: wedding, house, babies. Right here. Right now. As I pack these towels, it’s all about to begin.
“You have the next box ready?” Matthew comes up from behind and startles a small yelp out of me. “Everything okay? You looked lost in thought.”
“I’m fine. Just excited.” I throw my hands around his neck and hoist my legs around his waist. But I’m not that light, and he’s not all that agile, and my body quickly slips down to his thighs. He reaches under my butt to try and catch me, but fails. We crash into the wall then slide down to the floor with a thud.
“What’s going on?” His voice is a bit strained. I think I elbowed him pretty hard in the ribs as we went down.
“I’m just thinking about how much I love you and how happy I am and how amazing our life together is going to be.” Still wrapped up in him on the floor, I nuzzle into his neck, and kiss up toward the stubble of his unshaven face, nipping at the whiskers.
“Holly… wait.” Matthew’s words are halted by my nibbles.
“We don’t need to wait.” I’m quick to slide my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. “We can do it right here. One last fling in my apartment.” I start pulling towels out of the box I just packed. “We can do it on top of these. Much softer, and it’ll absorb any wet mess.” I emphasize the last two words in my sultry voice, reserved for dirty talk. “You’re such a big, muscular moving man, carrying all those heavy boxes.” I cross over for some role-playing fun. “What do you say, sexy? You want to fuck me right here in the hallway before I move in with my fiancé?” I lower my voice to a whisper. “It’ll be our little secret. He never needs to know.”
Matthew’s breathing is heavy. He gives me a slight push, trying to urge me up. “Puh-pa-puh,” he pants out. Is he trying to say play, like as in role play? Good, he’s into it.
“I’m usually a very good girl, but today I’m feeling a bit naughty.” My hand drops down between his legs and grasps him through his jeans. “Oh God, you’re so big. I can’t wait to have this big cock inside me.”
“Holly… stop…. Pa…”
“Holly doesn’t want to stop. Holly wants to keep going.” I sit up, reach back, and unclasp my bra.
“Whoa!” Matthew’s brother rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. “Oh shit. I didn’t see anything.” He backs up the way he came, disappearing just as fast as he appeared.
“Patrick!” I scream and cross my arms over my chest, scrambling to get up from my straddled position over Matthew’s crotch. “Oh my God, Matthew. Patrick is here!”
“I know.” Matthew leans up on his elbows. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. Patrick came over to help us with the move.”
“Kill me. Somebody please kill me.” I refasten my bra, grab my shirt off the floor, and slip back into it. Goodbye, happy moment. Goodbye, sexy moment. “Holy shit. Do you think he heard us?”
“No,” Matthew says unconvincingly. “I don’t think so. Probably not.”
“Oh my God.” I want to die. Too bad I already packed the knives.
“Kent’s here, too,” Matthew adds, scratching a hand through his tousled brown hair. “They showed up when I was down at the car. Don’t be upset. I didn’t know they were coming to help us out.”
I return my attention to the towels, this time shoving them into the box rather than placing them in neatly. “I’m not upset. It’s fine. I’ll have to say thank you.” Humiliation still clouds me. “Actually, I already thanked Patrick by showing him my breasts. Maybe when you go down, you can send Kent upstairs so I can show him, too.”
“Holly, they’re just trying to help.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I cover my heated face and try to exhale out some of the negativity looming inside of me. I love Matthew. And his family is terrific, practically perfect, especially when you compare them to mine. But they are always around. Always. “I’m just not used to all this family time and helping stuff. We never did the whole Little House on the Prairie family thing like you guys do.”
“Come here.” Matthew opens his arms up to me and I collapse against his chest. My face is so hot, it’s probably burning a hole right through his shirt. “If you want, I’ll go down and tell Mary and Laura to go home, that we’ve got everything covered.”
I give a muffled laugh against his firm pec. “So what does that make me, Nellie Oleson?”
“No, it makes me Nellie. I’m the one sending them away.”
“You’re not Nellie.” My giggle turns to a laugh. “You’re way too sweet to ever be Nellie.”
“Well then, I’m Percival Dalton.”
Everything about Matthew is perfection. He is the most adorable, loving, fact-knowing, sexy-ass dork I have ever known. He makes being weird cool.
“I love you so much for knowing Nellie Oleson’s husband’s first and last names.”
“Really?” Matthew’s face flushes. “’Cause I kind of hate myself for knowing it.”
“Stop, you know it’s that nerdtastic charm of yours that helped hook me.” I straighten, giving him a peck on the lips before returning to the box of butchered towels. There’s still so much more that needs to be packed up and moved over to Matthew’s. “I guess they don’t have to go,” I say with a sigh. “We could use the help.”
“You sure?” He clasps my shoulders and bends down, meeting my eyes.
“Yes. Besides, the sooner we’re done, the sooner we can get back to, you know.” I lift a brow at him.
“Ah yes, the sexy moving man and… what was it again? Horrible girl cheating on her fiancé?”
I bite down on my thumb. “You didn’t like that one?”
“No. I did not.”
Oh God. That was awful. What was I thinking? Where does my brain go sometimes? I swear, whenever my hormones are involved, it’s like my brain packs a bag and leaves town. I twist the three-stone engagement ring on my finger, slide it off, pinch it between my fingers and hold it up. “If I were you, I would take this back and run. Do it quickly before it’s too late.” I close my eyes and turn my head away from him dramatically. The ring gets snatched from my fingertips.
My eyes blink open and my jaw drops. Matthew shoves the ring into his front pocket and shrugs. He reaches down and pulls the towels from the box at my feet, and places them back into my linen closet.
“Matthew, I know you’re kidding, but I swear, if one of the prongs on my beautiful ring gets caught on your pocket and breaks, I’m probably gonna be featured on an episode of Snapped because I will have to kill you.”
“Snapped? Really? We just went from Little House to Snapped?” He shakes his head and laughs, retrieving the ring carefully and unharmed from his pocket. “You are such an extremist. Sometimes I wonder why you went into PR when theatrics are so clearly in your blood.”
“Yes, but just as I love your nerdtastic charm, you love my dramatic neurosis.” I take the ring from him and slip it back into place, taking a second to admire the brilliant sapphires for the billionth time.
“Meh.” Matthew waves his hand in a so-so motion before breaking into a wide grin.
I punch him playfully in the arm. “Well, I got news for you, pal. If you don’t love dramatic neurosis, than you are marrying the wrong girl.”
“Oh, did you say dramatic neurosis?” He smacks his forehead. “I thought you said automatic halitosis. My bad.” His arms stretch back around my waist and he pulls me in close. I giggle, thankful for the minty fresh breath I have from a recent Altoid. “’Cause baby, I love your dramatic neurosis.” His whiskers tickle my neck as he goes in for a quick nip. My skin responds, puckering up into tiny goose bumps. I tug on his thick hair and urge his lips up to meet mine.
“I am in the front room. I am walking toward the hallway. I am getting closer. I am almost to the hallway.” Kent’s loud voice earns a groan from us both as we separate. Patrick has obviously shared the embarrassing situation that took place. Not shocking. They share everything on the prairie. “I am turning the corner.”
“It’s fine, Kent,” Matthew yells. “You don’t have to keep warning us.”
“Hey, Matty. Oh, uh, hey, Holl.” Kent greets me looking down at the floor. I want to die, but I check my pulse and my heart still beats in a normal rhythm.
“I am in the front room.” Patrick projects his deep voice into my apartment. I put my fingers back up to my wrist; okay, round two, this might actually kill me. “I am walking toward the hall.”
“Just get in here, you ass!” Matthew shouts.
“Hey.” Patrick appears. His large frame is slumped over and he too stares down at the floor. “Sorry about before. I didn’t see anything. I just saw… nothing, and I remembered that I needed to call Ash about something and I took off, that was all.”
Somehow my heart continues to beat through the spreading mortification that feels as if it’s smothering me from the inside out. I hitch a thumb toward my room and walk backwards. “I’m gonna go. I still need to pack up a few things in my room. Matthew, can you finish up the towels? I’ll just be in here packing and, um, packing.” I make it to my room, and without waiting for him to reply, slip inside and shut the door.
Relieved to be out of sight and away from the Daniels men, I reach for my cell sitting on my dresser, the perfect distraction while I take a minute to collect myself. Hopefully once we get settled in, we won’t have to spend so much time with his family.
Three missed texts are displayed on the screen, and one of those is from my mom. Strange. She is never one to text, or even call for that matter. Does she need to cancel next week? Is it wrong that I hope so? No wait, she can’t cancel on me. We’re supposed to go dress shopping while I’m down there, and we need to discuss my budget issues. I type in my code and open the message.
Mom: I have bad news. It’s Michael.
“THANK YOU BOTH very much.” I fold in the top of the box and reach for a second one to finish packing up the towels. I’m unsure why she has so many towels for just one person. We could probably just donate these and be fine with the ones I have. Although, I think she mentioned something about colors. Do towel colors matter?
“Dude, I was downstairs. You saw me. You knew we were here. Why the hell would you start something like that?”
“I tried telling her. I couldn’t get the words out. She just took over; it went fast.” I scratch the back of my neck, frustrated with myself. I have a functioning brain that never seems to work at full capacity when it comes to sex and Holly.
“You two need to pace yourselves. Show some self-control,” Patrick quips, followed by a slew of unintelligible words muttered under his breath.
I raise my brows. Pat’s not usually one for passive comments. Kent catches the tension surrounding the remark, too, but he seems to have some type of understanding of it. After Pat turns around, Kent lets out a soft chuckle behind his back. Not surprising that they have some secret knowledge between them. As the youngest in the family, I’m often left out of all the “grown-up” situations. I think sometimes… most of the time, my brothers still see me as a kid and not a twenty-six-year-old man with a promising medical career and a fiancée. I do my best to shrug it off, loading up a second box of towels and an unusual number of matching washcloths. Patrick takes the two packed boxes and storms off without a word.
“What’s up with him? Is he upset that he saw my fiancée’s breasts? Because I’m the one who should be upset by that, not him.” I motion for Kent to follow me into the living room where Holly’s bookcase, loaded mostly with bric-a-brac and very few books, is the next thing needing packing.
“Nah, he’s not upset about that. I think he’s just in a mood because….” Kent waves me off. “It’s nothing.”
“What? You can tell me. I’m not a little kid anymore.” There’s a big difference between my and my brother’s ages, but now that we’re all adults that has to have lessened the age gap between us in some way.
“Yes, you’re a mature man having sex in hallways,” Kent taunts like a prick. “You’ve matured immensely.”
“Fuck off, Kent.” I take down a sand-filled hourglass and look around for something to wrap it in so it won’t break. I see nothing. Why does she even have this? What is she counting down in hour increments that a trinket like this is necessary? It certainly isn’t reading. I reach up and blow dust off a book titled Unlikely Venture. Shit. We could’ve used the towels as packing material. I should’ve thought of that before packing them all up and sending them down.
“Relax, Matty. Patrick is just going through a dry spell. That’s all.” Kent relents and actually lets me into their private little world.
“Really? You mean him and Ashley? They aren’t….”
“Let’s just say…” Kent pauses to choose his words wisely. “Holly’s boobs are the only ones he’s seen in a long time. A very long time.”
This can’t be true. Ashley and Patrick are the perfect couple. High school sweethearts. Best friends. Soul mates and all that shit. “They have six kids.”
“Yes, and I believe the last time they had sex was when Ella was conceived.”
“Ella is four.”
“Exactly.”
“Are you telling me that Patrick and Ashley haven’t had sex in over four years?”
“Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little.” He checks behind us to make sure Patrick isn’t around. “It started getting bad around the time Ashley started writing that children’s book.”
“Princess Rainbow Kitten and the Magical Cloud Teapot.”
“That’s the one.”
We both laugh. It never went anywhere, but Ashley obsessively talks about it as if it were published by one of the big five and had won a Pulitzer.
“That was over a year ago.”
“I know, but that’s what happens when you’re married for a while. Things change, priorities switch. Kids, life, and princess cats get in the way.”
“Wait, are you saying, you and Robin?” Is he trying to tell me that this is what I have to look forward to? “Are you guys still doing it?”
“Oh. Me? Us? Hell, yeah. All the time.” Kent’s voice is high. Loud. He takes a rubber band off his wrist and throws his long hair up into a man bun. “Like rabbits, we do it all the time. Always ready to go.”
“Always ready to go where?” Patrick reenters the room. “What are you guys talking about?”
“For a beer.” Kent’s quick to come up with a lie to cover, while I freeze. “We were just talking about how after we’re done moving Holly’s stuff, we should all go for a cold beer.”
“Sounds good. I could use a night out.” Patrick stretches his neck to the side. “Ash mentioned something about a new book idea, and I think it’s best if I’m not around for that. I usually seem to get in the way when her creative juices start flowing.” He glances at Kent in a knowing way, not knowing that I’m now in on the secret as well. A wave of jealousy grips me at the relationship the two of them have. The one I’m usually left out of. They are Mary and Laura. And I’m just little speech-impaired Carrie Ingalls, who stays home with Ma all day missing out on all the schoolhouse fun. Fuck. I know way too much about that damn show.
But hopefully now that I’ve adjusted to the long hours at the hospital and I’m in a great place with my relationship, I’ll be able to spend some more time with them.
I think I’d like that. More time with my family.