But then we heard tires crunch on the gravel and remembered that we were in public in daylight. Anyone could catch us.
He quickly rearranged my shirt and bra and pulled me up. He tried to smooth my clothes out, but he couldn’t do that great of a job, so I took over. Still, we managed to get both of us put back together.
Although, to be fair, he looked like he’d been making out, and I was surely the same. Since his hair was usually tousled, it took very little for him to get back to normal, but kissing had plumped his lips. And he was still very, very hard. I glanced down at his jeans and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice strangled. “Well, no, I don’t think I’m ever going to be okay after today, but not every erection needs a release.”
I laughed and kissed him again, this time sweetly on the cheek. We both sighed, and he put his finger on the ignition. “Where to?”
“I told my parents I’d be home for dinner. You want to join us?”
“No, thanks,” he said, almost automatically. “But I’ll drive you home.”
And we drove home listening to his music and talking like we always did.
Only now, for the first time, we’d broken in the Mobile Living Room. I couldn’t wait to see what more we could do on this secret list I was creating in my mind.
When I arrived home, kiss-stung and rumpled, I beelined into my room and plopped on the bed. I let out a breath, and my thoughts scattered everywhere like debris from a derailed train.
Our relationship—this one I’d wanted for four years—was just starting, and now I feared it’d be over before it even began.
And I was scared to bring it up with Tate because talking about it wouldn’t fix anything.
I faced an impossible decision. If I chose my family and stayed home, I’d be doing what was right. What I should do. I’d honor my mom and help my dad. Given what I’d read on MS and the progress of her disease, soon enough she’d need help with basic things like eating, plus I’d need to take her to therapy when Dad was on shift. He could still continue working until he reached his full retirement age.
If I stayed home, I wasn’t necessarily giving up college. I could get an Associate’s degree from Merlot Community College or maybe see if I could get into Sonoma State. Later, perhaps I could go to the Fashion Institute of Technology. My goal of being a fashion designer would just be a dream deferred.
My other choice was to follow my dreams to become a fashion designer, travel around the world, eat all the candy, and somehow have Tate in my life—this really special, wonderful guy. But freedom and fun would have major consequences. In that circumstance, I abandoned my parents, letting them fend for themselves, and cut off supporting them emotionally and physically.
So my choices? Be with my family. Or go to the college I wanted and have Tate.
I couldn’t have both—not at once and not in the way I’d hoped for—because my parents needed me now and college could wait.
Problem was, I didn’t know if my heart could wait. Or rather, if Tate would wait for me.
I couldn’t be selfish and follow my dreams, and yet dammit, they were my dreams. There was a reason why I wanted to go to school to learn how to do the designs I loved, to travel and explore the world, and to be with the guy who I’d always … liked a whole lot.
But leaving felt wrong. How could I choose anything other than what was right for my family—people who’d given me everything and who asked for me to do one simple thing in return?
Not liking the direction my thoughts had gone, after checking the mirror and making sure I was presentable, I entered the living room where my parents were watching TV. My mom held up the remote and fumbled to press the mute button so we could talk, since as usual they had the volume up to some huge decibel level.
“Let me do that, Mom,” I said. I took the remote from her, muted the television, and sat down beside her on the couch. I took her hand in mine and stroked it.
“How are you?” I asked.
“The usual.” She sighed, giving me a wan smile. “I’m tired and frustrated. I want to have more energy, and I don’t. And I don’t want to be complaining about my ailments to my daughter. It’s much more interesting to find out how you’re doing.”
I looked her over. She seemed normal, other than the visible fatigue that had seemed to plague her for months—tired eyes and graying hair. She certainly didn’t seem any worse. “I’m excited to graduate,” I said, which was true. “I’ve decided I’m going to apply to work on the wine train for the summer.”
“That’s a good idea, kiddo,” Dad said approvingly. “Save up some money.”
“That’s my plan. Wren says they’re hiring.”
“How was it this afternoon with Tate?” she asked.
“Fun. We went to Black Bishop.” I told her about the art, but I didn’t mention the kissing. Or the fact that we were now boyfriend and girlfriend. I didn’t want Dad to hang around in the hallway any more than he already did, since he was practically on patrol the last time.
My mom got a wistful look in her eye. “I’d like to go there.”
“Dad and I should take you! It’s really bright and fun. You should go.”
Dad gave me a look. “I have to work the next few weekends.”
“Well, we could go during the week—”
“Not if you’re working on the wine train.”
“I don’t have that job yet. And I’m sure we’ll find a good time to go.”
But I couldn’t argue them into having more fun, and the pressure of having to stay and justify to my parents why the things I did were good things for them to do too felt too much for me right now. Needing a breather already, I got up and went to the kitchen.
How was I ever going to make it through next year when everyone went off to college without me?
I closed my eyes and opened them again, gathering my wits. “Want me to make you popcorn, Dad? Get you guys something to drink?”
“Sure,” he called. I felt relieved for something to do away from them, then guilty for that relief. If this was how it was going to be like after the summer, I didn’t know if I’d survive.
I took the air popper out of the dishwasher.
Yes, the dishwasher.
Tim Staunton had his quirks, and he took a desire to not waste—money, water, time, or space—to maniacal levels.
He stored appliances in the dishwasher because he decided we never had enough dishes to run it and it was just basically a cabinet, so why not? We probably used enough dishes to fill it up daily but questioning Dad logic never went far.
Dad didn’t only save weird things in the kitchen. He referred to his collection of plastic containers in the shower as the “bucket brigade.” He hated wasting the cold water that came out of the shower before it heated up, so he used it on the begonias.
He removed the light from the vacuum cleaner to reduce energy usage. I tried to get him to explain to me exactly how much energy he’d save removing that bulb, but he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.
I was pretty sure he still had the first dollar he ever earned locked away somewhere.
Is there any wonder his hobby was calculating what he needed to do to maximize his retirement?