Love Found in California (The Washington Triplets) (11 page)

Before he can continue, I interject, “But they’re your family and you love them. It kills me that it’s causing a riff between you all. It reminds me of the riff in my own family and, and … it’s not a good thing.”

“Listen to me.” The pads of his thumbs stroke across my cheeks, wiping away the moisture as much as he can, while his eyes stay focused on mine. “Anyone who treats you poorly is not going to be tolerated by me. So this includes whatever is eating you from your past. If anyone was cruel or hurtful to you, I don’t have any room for them. This includes my family and yours.”

My vision blurs as more tears form because his words have touched me. No one has made me feel like this or at least not in a very long time. All the time Ryan is proving to me how much I mean to him. Even with these new struggles we face daily in our still-new relationship, he constantly verifies our love. He is here to face it all with me.

I twist and squirm to snake my arms through his and latch my hands around his neck. Our lips meet and the taste of my salty tears cover our taste buds. Our tongues slide languidly with each other and we caress each other through our clothes. I remind myself of the trust we have in each other and push out the feeling of defeat over the client lost, the fight with his parents, but linger on the idea of telling Ryan about my past. As the thought continues to fill up the empty space in my head, the more and more I feel that a peace will come between us.

As the kiss lessens, I knew it is the right time. Ryan’s fingers smooth my hair from my face and I inhale a big, deep breath and then speak calmly. “I want to tell you, Ry.”

He stops his finger from moving and searches my face for clarification. I nod my head in confirmation as he acknowledges, “Okay, Mik.”

THE SERIOUSNESS OF THIS MOMENT
is turning corners in our relationship … breaking down a wall in both of us. Pieces of emotions crumble down each time we reveal or open up more. Reminding me of layers of an onion being peeled with tears that sting our eyes just the same.

The wind picks up significantly and once a big gust blows the loose strands of my hair across both of our faces, Ryan leads us inside. Questions begin to fill my head as I think about if I’m really ready to tell Ryan everything. Do I need more therapy first? Should I wait to do this in the therapist’s office? And then there is the worry of how Ryan will respond.

Now we are both upstairs in our bedroom, sitting next to each other on our bed and leaning against the headboard. Neither of us with more than a couple bites of the cauliflower dip and alcohol in our bodies. My stomach growls, but not from lack of food. I stretch my legs, pointing my toes out and fight the urge to curl them up into my chest. The light from the bathroom shines in at an angle that only catches both of our feet at the end of the bed. Moonlight filters in through our large windows that look out onto the ocean. We sit there like two shadows ready to be exposed to daylight.

Reminding myself that I want to tell Ryan because I don’t want there to be anything at risk to pull us apart again pushes me forward. Yet I hate the unknowns of what my dirty secret may raise in us as a couple. This is something like I’ve never experienced before. Telling my therapist does not even compare to what it will feel like to pour my heart out to someone who actually holds my heart in the palm of their hand. A slow shaky breath releases from me as I prep myself to reveal the truth.

Then catching myself off guard, I speak first. “I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Ryan replies simply.

For a brief second I consider turning myself to face him, but then I realize I can’t. I can’t look into the shadows and see his sweet, caring and loving eyes. What I’m about to tell him will most likely change them, darken and sadden them. I just hope that they quickly fill again with all the things I love about Ryan.

I begin, in the quiet, comforting space of our bedroom to tell him my past from a summer I’ll never forget … a story of broken dreams for a young girl I remember all too well …

It was the annual block party for our neighborhood, just after we graduated from high school. Every year, the Saturday before the fourth of July, our block would shut down for the day and night. There were a handful of us kids that were grown now though. The neighborhood consisted mostly of the same families that had lived here for years. We grew up running in and out of each other’s houses, running to the park at the end of the street and going to the same schools together.

A giant blow-up slip and slide sat in the middle of the street with the younger kids still taking turns going through. Then Mr. Langley, who orchestrated the event every year, blew his whistle and called all of the younger kids off the slide. “It’s adult-only time for the next thirty minutes on the slip and slide,” he yelled into his mega phone. All the little ones booed and a bunch of the parents, who had clearly been drinking all day, jumped up from their lawn chairs.

Mya broke from our group first, pulling her sundress off over her head and racing over to the line. Marisa stayed seated with me on our front stoop while all the other older teenagers surrounded my front yard.

“We should go, too,” Marisa hinted. Both of us had our suits on under our clothes. Of course, Marisa and Mya always had bikinis and I always had a one-piece. My insecurity had slowly been dissipating during my senior year, but I still was the most conservative. I think having that senior rank did that to almost everyone in my class.

“Um … sure, let’s do it!” Marisa’s head snapped up in shock to my response and before I knew it we were following Mya to the line.

Eventually it turned into all the older kids zipping through the slide and the parents standing on the sidelines laughing. I was standing in line for my third time and behind me stood Eric Black, Brad Duncan and Eli Ramirez. Eric and Eli were a couple years older than us and Brad was the same age. Eric was the most attractive of the group and had often flirted with us. In typical Mya fashion, she would dish it right back and Marisa found ways to brush it off. I on the other hand clammed up, but almost didn’t mind it, not that I flirted back ever.

Marisa stood in front of me talking to a couple other girls that were the same age as us, and Mya was just about to go down the water slide again. My parents stood off to the side laughing at how boisterous Mya was and sipping a beer. The feeling of warmth covered me as I looked at my sisters and my parents. Everyone seemed to be happy.

Standing to the side, I caught a better glimpse of Eric. He had always been a bit of a bully when we were kids, but now he seemed more egotistical and possibly confident. Girls had always drooled after him, but I don’t remember ever hearing about him in a serious relationship. Now his eyes captured mine; they were dark, almost black, except for a hint of yellow mixed in them. I didn’t turn my head to meet his gaze straight on, but nor did I move my eyes downward.

I felt a little awkward and unsure of myself standing there in my swimsuit. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my mid-section. Eric’s eyes flashed down to my chest and then he winked at me. He did this all while continuing to talk to the other guys. My neck and cheeks heated, but I stayed, viewing him from my peripheral vision.

Jealousy struck me at how easy it looked for him to strike up conversations. Everyone had labeled me the shy one, but it was more than that. I had a deep-rooted anxiety about social situations. So even starting conversations became a fear. This senior year I had my first couple of boyfriends, but they had both broken up with me for the same reason
―
they felt I was too quiet. I was, I knew that, but still it hurt none-the-less.

Eric stalked forward toward me and my heart stalled on its next beat. Fear gripped me from the inside out. It’s not that we hadn’t talked over our years growing up houses away from each other or when our families got together, but this felt different to me. It hit me right then that I had a crush on him. I liked him noticing me.

“Hey, you’re up, Marisa,” he cockily whispered, while arching his eyebrows.

Swallowing first and then breathing in deep, I turned to see that there was a huge gap in the line now and everyone was waiting for me to take my turn. My cheeks flushed again even though my body was cool from being wet. I mumbled, “Mikaela.”

“What?” he asked, looking confused.

“It’s Mikaela,” I corrected him again.

Laughing, he nudged me forward and as I climbed up the slide he said, “Well, I had a one-in-three shot of getting it right.” This is something we had heard for years from him.

I slid down that slide as fast as I could, afraid he’d seen my embarrassment … Afraid he’d sensed my crush. When I got to the end of the slide, I hopped off and raced to the house. I ran past the front porch where everyone had congregated again and crept along the side of my house to the back door.

Once inside, I raced up to my bedroom. The wooden stairs creaked with each step, the one at the top making the most noise. Luckily, my parents had made sure to give each of us our own room. They were small, but we were each allowed our own private space. I was probably the most thankful for this.

My skin had cooled even more since the sun was completely down now. The first thing I did once in my bedroom was turn off my fan. I shivered as I reached for my towel hanging on the back of my bedroom door. Quickly, I dried myself off and then began the torturous process of taking off my wet swimsuit. My clothes stuck to my skin just like when I got dressed too fast after a shower.

Just as I pulled my t-shirt down, I scolded myself internally for having a ridiculous crush on Eric. It’s not like he was nice to me, or my sisters for that matter. Then I pulled on my white cotton underwear, flattening them straight out over my belly. He was popular though, in that bad boy kind of way. He had no problem making fun of someone just so the others would laugh and flock to him. I left my shorts on my bed to let my legs dry a bit more.

Then why did I feel like I craved his glance or enjoyed his wink when he looked down at my cleavage? The thing was that over this summer he had been nice to me a couple of times. No one else saw and it was nothing crazy, but just little niceties. I’m sure he didn’t want anyone to know he had this side.

I grabbed my brush off my dresser and started to untangle my wet hair. The sound of that top stair creaking echoed in my room and I wondered if maybe one of my sisters had come in to change too. Once I was finished getting dressed I’d go back down to the party and stick with my sisters. My brush was halfway down my long dark chestnut hair when my door opened. My heart jumped and when I looked through my mirror to the doorway, I saw Eric walking into my room and then shutting my door.

Standing there, shell shocked and stunned, I froze. I didn’t turn around at first and my arm stayed raised with the brush in my hair. I blinked a couple of times and watched Eric stand just beside the closed door and lean against my bare peach painted wall.

“Did I embarrass you?” he asked in a shallow deep voice.

I turned around and faced him with my eyes staring at my wooden floor. He crossed his legs, one over the other, as if he was getting comfortable for a long stay. My eyes veered to the right and focused on the small dolphin stuffed animal my dad had gotten me on a trip years ago.

“Mikaela, I asked you something,” he pressed.

My eyes flicked up and he looked like a shadow standing along my wall with only my low-lit desk lamp on. I begged my voice to sound strong, or at least stronger than I felt. “I, I don’t know.” I knew that I had failed. I was torn with mixed emotions, a bit of fear and wanting to leave my room and the excitement of him possibly liking me, kissing me.

“Have you even kissed a boy yet? God, sometimes I don’t even notice you and then other times you seem to be the sexiest one.” The comment came like a slap to my face, but again I felt torn between mixed emotions. I questioned if he was paying me a compliment or being mean.

Being in the small space of my room, I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t have Marisa or Mya to respond for me. “Yes, of course,” I replied sharply, hoping that I hinted that I had more experience than he gave me credit for.

“Good,” he returned with equal bite. Then he moved his arm slowly and locked my bedroom door. My heart dropped and all the air seemed to have left my lungs. My head felt like it was spinning, but I didn’t feel fear, only nervousness. Eric was going to kiss me. My sisters would be appalled, and yet here I stood light-headed.

Eric came to me and I dropped my brush to the floor. His lips were the only thing that touched me at first; my still cool lips smashed against his and then began to warm upon the entry of his tongue. The taste of what seemed like stale beer covered my taste buds. I figured he had been drinking; his dad had been letting him drink for years now.

All I could think was Eric Black was kissing me, in my bedroom with the door locked. No one would believe this. Then my next thought was that I wanted to make sure I was kissing him back in a way that told him I had experience and knew what I was doing.