Chapter 23
twenty-three
Nessa
“Learn anything interesting in there?” Liam asks with a smirk as he and I stand. Together, we head toward the pair of golf carts parked behind the house.
“Yeah, Bill-I-am. I learned that you are ‘woefully’ single.” I lower my voice. “Hasn’t Gran met Christian? Like, many times?”
Liam rolls his eyes. “My ‘roommate’ who shares a bedroom with me? Of course she’s met him. She loves him. She seems to think being bisexual means it should be easy to move on from this phase and ‘find a nice girl and settle down like a good Catholic.’ After going to Confession, of course.”
I exhale and keep my expression open, holding space for him.
He grunts. “Don’t be a therapist right now, Nessa.”
I shake my head and say, “Shit, sorry. That sucks.”
Because I work in human sexuality, people assume I’ll always know what to say in moments like this.
But I typically steer clear of inserting myself into queer issues.
When the victim assistance intake work at the hospital indicates a patient may need support in that area, I pass the forms along to therapists with specialties that will be more helpful.
I end up with a caseload full of women in their teens and twenties, generally from the colleges in the area, before they transition to private practices.
Liam makes his way into the driver’s seat.
Before I can climb in next to him, Mateo grabs my hand, and in one move, he slides into the passenger seat and pulls me onto his lap.
Wrapping his arm around my middle, he whisper-begs, “You have to say something nice about me in public or act like you like me. Your rules, gorgeous.”
I slide off his lap, squeezing between him and the safety bar. Mateo and I are so close I can feel the heat from his thigh against my own. I lace my fingers with his and turn to take in his face. Our eyes lock and hold long enough for a flicker of warmth to take hold.
“Maybe,” I say.
His focus drifts to my mouth, and on instinct, my tongue slides over my bottom lip. I think he’s thinking of kissing me?—
“Time to go, lovebirds,” Liam calls from behind the wheel.
Then he does just that, jostling me to the side toward the safety bar. Mateo recovers quickly, pulling me back into his arms. The thick, corded muscles beneath the soft cotton of his waffle-knit shirt press into my side, causing goosebumps to erupt on my skin.
“Easy does it, Ness. Let’s not toss you from the cart just yet,” Liam says.
With a huff, I steady myself. Then, determined to ignore the heat emanating from Mateo, I force my attention fully to the scenery.
Liam provides us a tour so polished it must be part of his routine here. While holding the steering wheel with one hand, he waves toward a tiny cluster of trees mixed with beautiful yellow and blue-violet bell flowers that seem out of place.
“What’s the tiny grove with flowers?”
Mateo relaxes, holding my waist and brushing his lips to my temple. This is just for us. Like so much of the actual intimacy we’ve shared, it’s blurring the lines I’m trying to draw for myself.
Rich with emotion, Liam says, “Those are the original apple trees. When Grandpa took over the property, they didn’t even bear enough fruit to sell at the market.
He reached out to other local farms and started a seed-swap network.
That’s how we became connected to the Morgan and Hendrix families. ” Liam beams a megawatt smile.
“What did they add?” Mateo pulls me closer, one arm banded around my midsection. He’s like my own personal seat belt, but warmer.
“Was it the flowers?” I wonder audibly.
That brings an appreciative laugh from Liam’s lips. “Dude, she’s good,” he says to his friend.
“That’s my Ivy Monster,” Mateo says, watching me with a sparkle in his eye.
Liam laughs. “They wanted to use plants that would serve as additional food sources. They tried mint, basil, chamomile, and chives that first year. No new trees—those cost a ton. Still do.”
“Smart business sense,” Mateo chirps.
“Would have been if it worked.” Liam shakes his head. “To answer your question, Nessa, those flowers are nonedible. Some are even poisonous to humans. It’s tansy and Comfrey. They’re pretty, but you have to know how to handle them properly.”
Mateo tickles my side, though he keeps his face neutral as he says, “Ironic that poison fixed the problem.”
I give him a side-long glance. Poison ivy—professional fixer .
“The goal was to fight off apple scab and pests, and they succeeded. Even if it wasn’t how they originally imagined doing it.” I swear if a voice could wink, that’s what Liam’s did. Like the guys are in on this together.
As I lean into Matty and listen, really, truly , listen even if the metaphor is frustratingly pronounced, something starts to shake loose in my chest.
“All that hard work by more than a few generations, and your brother is willing to sell your family history to the highest bidder? Even if it means destroying your legacy?” His lip curls in disgust, though his tone more questioning than declarative.
I let the words sit. I want to say so much.
I want to scream about the injustice. I want to call his brother a massive douche canoe.
I want to let my anger at the Calebs and the Jims of the world lead this moment.
But I’m grounded in the present by the man beside me.
The one who shows a deep love and respect for his family and their sacrifice—and surrounds himself with like-minded men.
A tingling sensation erupts throughout me as the hairs along my arms and the base of my neck rise.
That voice that has been trying to warn me to run even jumps in, taking me in a new direction.
She says, Nessa, these men are more like Aba than your ex or your clients’ partners.
A few rows of bushes and trees farther, the cart slows to a stop.
“All right, this is your stop,” Liam says, giving Mateo a look I can’t quite read.
The silent conversation that passes between them is ended by the golf cart’s engine turning over noisily.
“I’ve got one more item to grab while I’m out this way. Be back in a bit.” Liam winks, then he speeds away.
Silently, I stare down at where my hand is engulfed in Matteo’s and decide not to pull away.
We amble down the row of trees until we find a large empty basket waiting at the aisle cap.
“While we’re alone, can you please tell me why you’ve been playing hot and cold with me?” Mateo exhales, then pulls his shoulders back, resolute.
As we walk, I focus on my breathing, fidgeting with the ring on my free hand.
“Nessa.” It comes out like a whisper. Concern and confusion lace the soft tones. “What happened between us?”
My heartbeat ticks up a notch, and I can feel his scrutiny as he takes in every slight twitch I try to suppress.
I’m too warm, so I tug on my sweater, desperate to feel the early fall breeze. I kick at a fallen apple, then finally force myself to look at him.
“Well,” I start, nerves skittering through me. What do I want him to know? Heart pounding a little too hard, I say, “Do you remember the joke you made the summer before we started high school?”
“I made a lot of jokes,” he says, brows furrowed.
With a groan, I say, “The joke was ‘do you know why Jewish girls give the best head?’ but it has a bunch of different punchlines. I can’t tell you which one you used, but I can tell you about the summer leading up to it and what happened after you said it.”
I drop my shoulders, detangling our hands, and step to the side so I can take him in fully as I unload this story.
“You probably don’t remember, but that year, when I went to camp, I left without…” I look down and wave a hand in front of my chest. “These.”
His dark eyes are intense and full of curiosity and confusion.
I try to push forward verbally and physically by strolling down the next row of trees, kicking apples on the ground as I go.
“So…” he says, leading me to continue.
“So… that summer, I kind of… ballooned? I wasn’t prepared to jump up two cup sizes in, like, a month.
All those new, cute bathing suits Ema bought for me?
They couldn’t contain me. In a blink, I jumped from girlhood to womanhood.
And …” I breathe out, reminding myself that the man I’ve spent time with over the last few weeks is no longer the teenage boy who said those things. I know that. Rationally.
That doesn’t quell the anger I’ve held on to for so long, though.
“I suddenly became the butt of every joke everywhere I went. Everything about me was suddenly sexualized, and I wasn’t anywhere close to being ready for that kind of maturity.
It went on the whole time, so I just, I just wanted to come home. I wanted it all to stop.”
He swallows audibly, his expression full of apprehension.
“It wasn’t just you. I mean… fuck. The ‘adults’ at camp were just as bad as the kids.
Most of them were young. College age. This was the era of paparazzi up-skirt shots and tearing down Jessica Simpson’s body.
The world didn’t care about ‘body positivity’ or slut-shaming, or the hyper-sexualization of teens.
I think I kind of knew that, but I was fourteen.
I didn’t fully understand.” I stomp on an apple and am rewarded with a satisfying crunch.
Not realizing I’ve walked ahead until the echo of a loud snap echoes behind me, I spin to see Mateo kicking apples into tree trunks.
We move this way for another moment. Thwack. Stomp. Crunch. I’m getting mad, but I’m taking it out on the rotting fruit, so it’s fine. “Feelings are all good, Nessa, even the negative ones,” my own therapist’s voice repeats in my brain.
With shaking legs, I pause to inhale deeply and force the words out.
“All summer, I was teased. Called a slut because my shirts were too tight. I’ve reflected on this a lot, and I think it was also because I was still a loud and silly little girl in many ways, but my body had decided it was time to grow up. ”