CHAPTER SEVEN #4
“These kids are all so chill. Nobody is going to judge her or be mean, even if she does say a few things that make us pause. And Austin guessed that she was autistic. Said she’s a bit like his friend Luca in class who is also on the spectrum.”
I huffed a laugh, then filled up the glass a third time. “She’s a stickler for the rules and justice. The girl has always been about doing what’s right and what’s fair.”
“Funny that she’s an only child. She’s never really had to share or have a piece of cake cut into two equal slices.”
That made me chuckle. “You’re right. I’m sure if she did have a sibling, she’d get out a ruler and a scale to make sure that each piece weighed the same amount and had the same frosting to crumb ratio.”
This woman was just so easy to talk to. Funny, smart, relaxed, not to mention beautiful.
Even in denim overalls with an olive-green long-sleeve shirt underneath, and those adorable braids hanging over her shoulders, she was downright stunning.
I’d never felt a pull or an urge to just reach out and cup someone by the back of the neck and haul their lips against mine the way I did with Naomi at this very second.
“How old are you?” I blurted out.
She blinked a couple of times, caught off guard by my question.
To be fair, I wasn’t expecting to say it either.
“Um, I’m thirty-seven. Why? How old are you?”
Thirty-seven. That made her eleven years older than me.
Eleven was a lot.
She was already going through puberty when I was taking my first breath.
And when I was going through puberty, she was a grown woman.
Now a new kind of heat was infiltrating my body, one accompanied by a spinning in my stomach, sweaty palms, and tingles racing down my arms. A ringing formed in my ears, and my vision grew narrow and tunnel-like.
I swallowed by it felt like a gob of peanut butter had lodged itself at the back of my throat. “Mabel,” I called out, leaving the kitchen and heading back to the living room. “We need to go, honey.”
Everyone spun around to face me. Even my kid looked confused.
“But the game isn’t over yet,” she argued. “We have to finish the game. We need to have a clear winner.”
“Everything okay?” Gabrielle asked, standing up and inching her way past people on the couch.
“Everything is … fine,” I said, heading to the table to grab our pizza boxes. “Mabel, we have to go.”
“But the game isn’t over,” she protested louder. “I want to stay to finish the game. It’s not fair.”
“Mabel Dawn, in the truck. Now.”
I was seconds away from a full-on panic attack at this point. I could feel it on the fringes of my mind: the fuzzy blackness slowly creeping in, the racing thoughts, the overstimulated nervous system. My limbs were struggling to stay still. Even my hands shook as I closed the pizza box lids.
“We can drop Mabel off on our way back to Tom’s,” Danica offered.
Tom nodded. “I’ve only had one glass of wine. If she wants to stay, she’s more than welcome to catch a ride with us.”
“I want to stay, Dad. The teams won’t be even, but … I want to stay.”
“Mabel. Truck. Now.” I headed to the foyer and slid into my shoes, unable to see anything clearly besides the dining room table loaded with open pizza boxes.
“I’m not coming.” She hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor.
“I don’t know what is going on with you, but you made me come here.
You made me play the game, and now I’m enjoying myself and I’m not ready to leave.
You can head home with your panic attack or whatever you’re having, but I’m getting a ride home with Danica and Tom.
” She crossed her arms over her chest, but didn’t get up from the floor.
Gabrielle and Naomi were now in the entryway with me.
“It’s okay, Lennox,” Naomi said, resting her hand on my shoulder gently. “We’ll take care of Mabel and get her home safely when the game is over.”
I jerked my shoulder out from under her arm and shot a glare at her, causing her to back up. “Fine,” I said, louder and more aggressively than I should have. “Fine.” Then I flung open the door and bounded down the stairs.
“Do you want a ride?” Naomi called after me from the stoop. “Should you be driving if you’re having a panic attack?”
All I did was flick my hand in the air to wave her off before climbing into my truck.
I don’t even remember the drive home.
Because the next thing I knew, I was pulling into my driveway, the porch light blaring into my eyes, and my brain pounding.
Eleven years was too much of a gap.
Kyla was seventeen years older than me, but eleven still felt like too many.
Did I have a penchant for older women now? Was that all I would ever find myself attracted to because of my fucked-up stepmother and the fact that she groomed, abused, molested, and raped me since I was eight?
I thought this island was going to be our fresh start. Our clean slate. Our do-over.
But now I had to wonder if I was just falling back into old, destructive patterns I didn’t even think were there.
I was attracted to an older woman, and the older woman who’d molested me for seven years was just granted parole. Maybe I wasn’t meant to lead a normal life or fall in love.
Maybe, fucked up was my normal.