Are you gonna tease me first?
seventeen
. . .
are you gonna tease me first?
Dear Dad,
I’m in love. I have been for a while but whatever reassurances I needed to know it's real, I have them. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it just yet, but I wanted you to know.
I like to imagine that wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, you want me to be loved.
I don’t know if I am. But I want you to know, I’m trying.
I wish you could meet her. I know it’s not possible. I know I’m never welcome back and you’d never venture out to find your only son, and I’m realizing as I write this letter that I’m okay with that.
I’ve built a life with my bare hands. That’s something you can’t even say you’ve done. Born and raised in the commune, you never faced the challenges I have. I’m stronger than you, but your actions are why I discovered just how strong I am, so this is a letter to say thank you.
Thank you for neglecting my desires. Thank you for brushing me aside and showing me that if I stayed, I would never have a voice.
I needed that cold, unforgiving parenting to push me off that property.
I needed your words– “you will marry her and you will work her father’s land” –to help me onto the bus.
I needed to know that my begging and pleading, my desire to put off marriage and children until I felt ready, I needed to know they didn’t matter.
My needs never mattered. And that fact is what kept my head up, facing forward those first few years.
It was hard, you know. Very hard. Many times I considered crawling back, not because I wanted to go back, but because I was so scared and lost. But my apprenticeship at Kings saved me.
And now the idea of going back to you is laughable, the same way you laughed at me when I begged you not to make me marry a girl I didn’t love.
I have nothing more to say right now.
I hope you are well.
Your son,
Miller
Pushing the heel of my palm into the horn again, I duck to peer through the passenger window of my truck. Zeth is rarely late coming out to see me, and just as my stomach is starting to do it’s nervous roll, the front door opens.
He skips down the path toward my truck, popping open the door and hopping in quickly. “Sorry, I was going to the bathroom,” he says.
I extend a curled fist and we bump knuckles. “Hey, no worries,” I greet him with a smile. He peers down at the brown bags at his feet, completely covering the passenger floorboard.
“What’s all this?” he asks, hooking a finger through the handle of one to peer inside.
“It’s everything you need for a good Christmas dinner,” I tell him, nodding at the four overly full bags. “And if she’s working then it will be Christmas eve dinner, or whenever you two can celebrate.”
Zeth scrunches his face as he blows between his palms, rubbing them. “Christmas isn’t for four more weeks.”
I nod. “I know. This is your practice run. You’re going to cook your mom Christmas dinner this year. And I’m going to help you.”
Looking up at me with wide eyes, his voice is quiet when he asks, “are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. Because your mom works hard and she deserves it. And you deserve to show her what a responsible kid you’re becoming.”
He looks back down into the bags and takes a second before his gaze comes back to mine, warmth and emotion swirling in his eyes. “I want to be the man of the house for her once I turn thirteen.”
I drop a hand to his shoulder and give him a squeeze.
“You will be. I’ll teach you how to cook.
You’ve already got the yard work down,” I say, peering through the foggy window at the yard.
Weeds have been pulled and while snow still sheets the lawn, I can see that Zeth has been using the tools I got him.
The yard is looking better and what’s more, he’s taking pride in his home and helping his mom, and that’s really what it's about.
“I gotta get to work, but you take these in and tomorrow after work, I’ll come by and show you how to make stuffing and gravy, and we’ll do the turkey together.”
“How’d you learn to cook?” he asks, looking at me like I hold all the answers to the world. I wish I did, kid.
“I taught myself,” I admit. “And I’m not the best, but I can show you how to make a nice Christmas dinner, okay?”
He nods. “I believe you.”
Work is busy and I’m dying to ask Delane to come over tonight. After I wrote that letter to my dad, I realized that being in love is meaningless if you don’t share it. And whether she feels the same or not, I need to tell her. I need to share. I’m dying for more of her.
“Yo, Beau ordered tacos. Group lunch,” Atticus shouts through the open bay flooring to where I’m beneath, staring up at him.
“When?”
“Now,” he says, stomping away.
After washing my hands in the shop bathroom and grabbing my water, I meet Beau, Atticus, and Delane at the desk, finding them sitting around a sea of white bags, the smell of chicken and cilantro making my mouth water.
Spinning my hat backward, I take a seat across from Delane. Sitting next to her doesn’t feel right with Beau and Atti around, and this way I can admire her as I eat.
Our eyes catch as our gazes traverse the bags of food.
Her smile is small and her cheeks rosy as I grin back at her.
Then I focus on the plate of tacos Beau passes to me, because if I stare at her or try to pass her a sly, flirty expression and it gets intercepted by Atticus?
Not something I really want to risk with how I’m feeling today.
Beau starts talking about Beck and the kids, telling a cute story about Jett drawing a picture of them. Leaning back from the table to dust his lap of escaped bites of taco, he shakes his head.
“Not too long ago I was lost and now I’m married with kids and…
fuck if I’m not maximum happy,” he beams at his lap as he continues to make a mess on the floor, shaking his head.
“It’s strange, sometimes, reflecting on it.
She was so close all along,” he says, scooting back close to the table, reaching for his iced tea.
Atticus grunts a response. “It is. Life’s like that. One day you’re chopped liver, the next day you’re a King.”
Feeling heat climb the back of my neck, I grab my water and take a long, hard pull, letting the liquid cool me from the inside out.
Risking a glance, I look at Delane who is staring into her plate of tacos, refusing to look at anyone as she sips her drink.
Feeling brave but also desperate to touch her, I stretch my leg beneath the desk, catching her ankle with the top of my boot.
Slowly, I slide my foot up her calf then down again, over and over, as discreetly as possible.
Her eyes flutter closed for a split second and in that moment my heart shifts, my bones throb, and my brain goes into overdrive.
My body and all of its senses are alert.
Is Delane feeling something for me, too?
Still moving my foot up and down her leg, I watch her control her breathing and lick her lips.
Beau and Atticus, who are oblivious to our under table shenanigans, continue their love parade.
“Being with her is the final piece. I didn’t know a piece was missing but now I know I am complete,” he says, staring out the glass building into the parking lot. Atticus nods along in silent agreement.
“Love is really the human condition,” he says, and no sooner do the words leave him does Delane get up from her chair, and I’m left with my leg outstretched to nothing.
She crumples her plate and tosses it in the trash. “Thanks for lunch, Beau.”
He lifts two fingers in the air. “Yep.”
Did she get up right then because she wanted to or was it me rubbing her leg? Was it Beau? Was all the love and serious talk getting on her nerves? I scratch the side of my unkempt jaw, and try to fill myself with some of the confidence she’d given me.
Instead of letting my mind run away with itself, I get to my feet and do what she’d do or at least tell me to do: take action .
I clean up my spot and head to the stockroom, finding her there with her EarPods in, the iPad tilted away from her chest as she inventories wiper blades.
I tap her shoulder and she spins, looking annoyed and startled when she faces me.
Her expression shifts when I smile, and she returns the happiness for a second.
Then she frowns. “What’s up?” she pops out the EarPod and I take a deep breath.
“Can you come over tonight? Please? I need to talk to you.”
I hate that she looks unsure for a few seconds that last way too fucking long. “Okay,” she says finally and then she smiles but it’s all wrong. It’s a picture hung over a hole in the wall and I fucking hate it.
“Are you okay?” Why is my voice so weak? Why is my pulse hammering in my ears?
She nods, her fingers tangling with a stray curl at the nape of her neck. “I’m fine. See you tonight then.” She peers over each shoulder quickly before smiling up at me, still all wrong. “Seven?”
I nod. “Seven.”
Something’s off and the feeling it gives me is nothing short of a knife to my belly.
And yet I still want to make sure she’s clear about how I feel. Only now, I wonder if words are the answer. They say actions speak louder than words. Maybe that’s what she needs from life? A big action.
Maybe I can give her that.
Delane comes over right at seven, I mean, exactly. And I leaned against the front door with my head resting against the cold wood, waiting for her for the twenty minutes leading up to it.
I couldn’t sit on the couch and pretend like my whole life couldn’t potentially catch fire and blaze. I’d already grabbed groceries, worked out, and showered. I couldn’t even jerk off in said shower because I was so nervous about tonight.
About what I’d decided I’d tell her.
More so, what her reaction would be.