What the hell am I doing? I chide, quickly closing the door and leaning against it. Once upon a time this door led to Jake’s bedroom, but when I flick on the light switch I see I’m standing in what looks like a room full of crafting stuff. There’s a bed pushed up beneath the window, but positioned against every wall are cupboards and cabinets overflowing with quilting fabric and spools of thread. A sewing machine occupies a little station in the corner and looks as though it’s seen better days, with a pile of what looks like baby clothes resting precariously next to it. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I move over to take a better look. There are boys and girls clothes in different sizes, all apparently used and a little faded. Some have been cut into squares and are stacked by the machine in a small pile. I thumb through them, wondering who they belong to because some look really dated. There’s a small, framed picture above the machine of Harlow, Jarod and Jake. It’s candid, none of them are even looking at the camera, too busy playing all pile on. Harlow’s perched on top of her brothers looking smug and I don’t think I’d fully realized until this moment how much I’ve missed the twins. They were like my older brothers too.
The pipes begin to moan and rattle in the walls and I drop the fabric, realizing Harlow must be about to take a shower. I don’t intentionally try and think about her naked in the next room but the moment the thought enters my head I can’t seem to push it away. Being here was a stupid mistake. I can’t stay knowing she’s right next door and I can’t go to her. It was a reckless decision; I should have just walked back into town to collect my car. The instant I hear her shower door slide open I let out an involuntary groan, picturing her stepping in under the water. Now I know I’ve royally screwed myself over. Thoughts of her undressed dance behind my eyelids when I shut them tight, and I unwillingly remember the sensation of wanting her so badly that first time. The ache spreads across my torso quickly and begins pooling, hot and heavy, deep in my gut. Red flags go up and now I’m sure it’s definitely not safe to stay.
1996
It was almost a whole year before Harlow showed signs of fully recovering from mono. I, like everyone else around her, had expected her to bounce back within a couple of weeks, but it didn’t happen. She went back to see her doctor numerous times with little in the way of an explanation. I never did catch it, even though we were practically glued at the hip. Sure, the main effects of the disease had subsided, but she never really seemed to recover her energy. She was always tired and lethargic—a complete contrast to the Harlow I’d first met.
Sixteen-year-old Harlow may have had less vigor when it came to taking our boards out to the skate park or swimming in the pond out back, but when it came to making out, my girl had stamina. From that first hurried kiss on my lawn two years ago, we’d perfected our technique. Each and every time we kissed I was astounded at how much more I wanted to do it again. At some point she’d gotten me hooked, and I became addicted to her. Harlow was my drug of choice and one I couldn’t imagine I’d ever want, or even be able, to give up.
My parents weren’t surprised when we told them we were dating. My dad felt the need to give me a man-to-man discussion on how to treat a girl, along with a watered-down, panicked attempt at the birds and the bees. My dad’s always been as cool as a cucumber—you couldn’t rattle him no matter how hard you tried. Except, of course, unless you asked him to talk about sex and relationships with his then fourteen-year-old son. It was like one of those ridiculously old Sex-Ed videos they used to make kids watch at school, only far less informative.
Being the model child that I was, I decided to have a little fun with him. He’d managed to babble on long enough to ask me if I’d ever used a condom. To say he looked uncomfortable at that point in the conversation was a massive understatement. He was clutching his glass of Jack like his life depended on it.
“Sure, I’ve used them a couple of times,” I told him, trying to keep a check on the laughter I was struggling to not blurt out.
His face crumpled. “Right, ah, hmm. Was it on your own? Or, you know…with a girl?” he spluttered.
“Don’t worry, Dad, it was a solo mission. Got to say, though, I don’t like them much.”
“No guy does,” he retorted instinctively, before deciding it was the wrong thing to say. “But it’s important to use them,” he added. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he pinched the bridge of his nose shaking his head. A few seconds passed as he regained his composure and then gave me a questioning stare, his eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Why don’t you like them?” It was evident he didn’t want the answer, but feeling duty-bound to have this talk, he’d asked anyway.
“They’re too small, they kind of hurt,” I replied nonchalantly. I watched as the side of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek.
“Too small?”
“Yeah, do you not think so?”
“Well son, it’s a problem I bet every man wishes he had,” he laughed. “But, they’re pretty stretchy. I can’t say that I’ve ever had a problem with them,” he admitted looking somewhat embarrassed. “Are you sure you’re putting them on right?”
I wanted to laugh so badly, but winding him up was too much fun, so I kept going.
“Sure,” I shrugged. “Rolling it on is fine, it’s a snug fit. It’s tucking my balls in that’s uncomfortable.”
Looking back, I could have timed it better. Dad had just taken a sip of his whiskey and promptly spat it out straight into my face. Whiskey burns like a bitch on your eyeballs. I’m not sure if it was his reaction that had my eyes watering as I broke out in laughter or the sour mash melting my irises, but damn it was worth it.
“Are you messing with me?” he asked looking alarmed.
“Of course!” I replied, wiping my eyes.
“Jesus, kid!” He pushed my shoulder and shook his head before breaking down and laughing with me.
Dating Harlow didn’t really feel like dating at all. We still hung out as much as we ever had, and laughed and played stupid pranks on one another. The only notable difference was being able to kiss her anytime I wanted, and at sixteen years old, that was a lot. I felt like I was living my life with a perpetual hard-on. I’d spent a lot of time getting acquainted with my hand, just to be able to function. Aside from the odd not-so-accidental boob graze, we kept everything pretty much PG. I wanted to take things further, what guy wouldn’t? I wasn’t an asshole, though, and just because I couldn’t look at her for more than fifteen seconds without picturing us naked didn’t mean that she couldn’t. There was an invisible boundary we pressed against every time we made out. Call me a romantic, or a goddamn wimp, but I needed her to be the one to push through it. I wanted her to need me as much as I needed her. If it meant that I had to wait, it was a small price to pay.
Harlow was insanely pretty, and the best part was she didn’t even know it. Other girls at our school seemed hyper-aware of the guys around them checking them out, but not Harlow. She was completely oblivious. She stood out for all the right reasons: her face was always fresh and make-up free, or at least it looked that way. Her hair was always wild and unkempt. She practically lived in shorts, and I thanked the Lord every day for it because her legs were amazing. She was literally the beautiful girl next door, and my raging hormones couldn’t take her proximity. I couldn’t get enough.
“How do I tell Harlow I want to take things to the next level?” I asked Logan, cupping my hand over the receiver and whispering like it was some deadly top-secret, sensitive information that nobody was allowed to hear.
“Define next level,” he asked through a yawn.
I’d decided to call him for advice, given that my other three options weren’t really options at all. I could have asked my dad, but asking your father for tips on how to put the moves on your girl just seemed plain wrong and creepy. I could have asked Elliott, but in doing so, I’d negate the need for his advice because that boy has a loud mouth. The whole town would know my intentions within seconds of me asking him for his opinion. He had an uncanny knack for distributing gossip faster than a bullet can leave a gun. Harlow would kill me if she ever thought I’d talked to him about us, which left me with my final option.
The twins.
They were the closest things to brothers I had, and we had a great relationship, but not so great that I could ask them for advice on how to initiate a build up to sex with their little sister. After all, I didn’t have a death wish, and I’d grown quite fond of both my kneecaps. That only left Logan—my oldest friend, confidante, and the one person I could guarantee would never let me live the question down.
“Don’t be a dick. You know what I’m asking. Don’t make me spell it out, Lo.”
“Well, how far have you been with her? I can’t help you if I don’t even have a starting point.”
“Jesus, I’m beginning to regret this already. It feels awkward telling you what I do with my girlfriend.”
“Stop being such a damn girl. Has your mom been buying that creepy bread with the extra estrogen in it or something?”
“What?” I asked, utterly perplexed at his question.
“You, my friend, are turning into a pussy. I figured you must have been eating the same shit that my mom does. She’s going through menopause, or at least I think she is, that’s what my dad keeps saying. She found some weird store that sells food packed with female hormones. I’m not even joking, I don’t dare eat at home anymore. I’m probably gonna start growing boobs.”
“What the hell, Logan?” I said through my laughter. “I have no clue what you’re even talking about anymore.”
“Look, you’re the one calling for my expert knowledge,” he uttered. “What base are you at?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m rounding third?”
“Nice! I’m virtually high-fiving you right now, bro. If she’s already blowing you, why do you need to know how to take things further?
“She’s not blowing me yet, Christ.”
“You just said you were rounding third. Ellis, do you even know your bases? Or has she just not returned the favor yet?”
I considered his question and promptly decided that l was an asshole. I could practically see him raising a brow and grinning like a moron.
The only person I needed to speak to about Harlow and me was Harlow; I just didn’t want her to feel any pressure.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out,” I answered, looking out of the window toward her house.
“Dude, it’s midnight, and you woke me up to have some internal battle with yourself that I really didn’t need to be part of. You’ve been together forever; if you wanna have sex with her, just wine ‘n dine her and pull out the big guns. Drop the L word, and you’re golden—now, can I go back to bed? I was in the middle of a pretty awesome dream about the new guidance counselor at school. Man, she’s smoking hot,” he said before letting out a low whistle. “I need to come up with some issues that I can get her to help me with.”
I couldn’t help but laugh; Logan talks the talk, but that’s pretty much it.
“That fact that you’re having wet dreams about your school guidance counselor is probably issue enough.”
“Fuck off, Ellis.”
“Miss you too, Lo.”
“Night.”
I dropped the receiver down and went to bed wondering how in the hell I’d broach the subject of going further with Harlow. What we had was solid and good. The last thing I wanted was to push for something that she might not be ready for and ruin everything in the process.
I didn’t get much sleep that night, or any other night for the next two weeks while I built up the courage to talk to her.
“Am I missing something here, Ellis?” she asked as I led her through the garden, past the pond and out onto the jetty at the back of my house. The sky was just turning from a warm orange dusk to a blanket of darkness. The sound of the cicadas and crickets was more pronounced out here by the long grass flanking the water’s edge.
“Nope, I just wanted to talk with you,” I answered, leading her out across the creaky wooden walkway.
“So what’s all this?” She gestured to the mason jars I’d stolen from my mom’s pantry and filled with tea lights. I was almost sure they’d have all blown out, given the time it had taken me to get Harlow down here. They were nearly all still alight, though, casting flecks of gold that danced across the ripples in the creek. It had worked out better than I’d imagined.
“It looks so beautiful,” she smiled, twirling around and soaking up the sight.
“Not as pretty as you,” I laughed.
“That was lame.”
“I know. I don’t even have a good comeback from that,” I told her. I captured her waist and pulled her close to me, flattening her back to my chest and resting my head on one shoulder so that our checks were grazing.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” I began.
“Wow, you should maybe sit down,” she teased so I squeezed her a little and pinched at her side, making her giggle.
“I’m serious. I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately, and I wanted to talk some things through with you.”
Her eyes instantly lost the humor that shone in them seconds before, and her smile flattened.
“It’s nothing bad.” I was quick to reassure her.
“Okay then…what is it?”
I took a deep breath and steeled myself, ready to admit to her that I wanted her—in every possible way you could ever want another person. It’s funny how you build a moment up so big in your head that it becomes damn scary. Suddenly standing with her pressed against me, I couldn’t quite figure why I’d ever been nervous as all.