Chapter 2
Chastity
The second my shift ends,I bolt to my car like there’s a gator on my tail. I spent the last hour acutely aware of Hank Young in his grandfather’s room. I could hear his laugh occasionally, but that wasn’t what had me so damn jumpy. It’s just an awareness of his existence whenever I’m in close proximity to him. It’s like when you have arthritis and your knees ache, alerting you that rain is coming.
My pussy aches when Hank is around. Orgasm storm a-brewing.
I don’t want it to. But it does. Without fail, every single time I see him.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, I can forget that I’m a woman with needs, sexual or otherwise. I focus on being the best mother and nurse that I can be, wanting to raise my son up right and do my best to help my patients. Being a woman in need of physical satisfaction, or even affection, is the lowest on my list of priorities ninety-nine percent of the time.
But then Hank Young comes around, and that neglected one percent clamors for attention. I feel every inch a woman. My skin feels tight, my nipples are hard. My inner thighs ache. I swear, even the roots of my hair feel tingly. It’s immediate and uncomfortable and very, very warm.
It’s also highly inappropriate and inconvenient to be feeling some kind of horny way when you’re at work.
My co-worker, Walter, asked me three times if I was okay. He’s convinced I’m getting a fever.
Not a fever. Just a sudden, maddening desire to get railed. Not that I remember what getting railed feels like because it’s been so damn long.
It’s a warm night in November, so I don’t even have any cold air to snap me out of my sudden sexual fever. Instead, I just climb in my car and yank the door shut, immediately locking the doors as if that will protect me from my own urges.
Because the urges are strong.
I haven’t had sex in five years—since the first night I was with Hank. I haven’t had an orgasm in two years—since the second night I was with Hank.
With the exception of the three minutes it took for my son, Josiah, to be conceived in a dumpy motel room in Pensacola on spring break after way too many vodka cranberries, the sum total of my sexual experience has been with Hank. Aside from self-service. But anything that has ever happened with a man in the room has been with him.
My body has clearly been trained to associate Hank with sexual gratification. That’s all it is. But that still makes it a problem because I can’t seem to say no to him. He just smiles at me, and I have no willpower.
Not that he knows any of that. I didn’t tell him about my lack of experience five years ago. I didn’t tell him two years ago either, or about Josiah, because seeing Hank again felt like a gift from the universe, a risk-free way to enjoy myself for some brief, stolen naked moments.
With shaky hands, I drive to my new rental house. I’ve only been back in town for a month, and I still have mixed feelings about it. A few people in town weren’t exactly kind to me when I turned up single and pregnant at eighteen, my parents included. They also haven’t welcomed me home with open arms.
But I loved growing up in Porte French, with its strong sense of community. For every judgy busybody giving me side eye at the grocery, there are ten people who have been willing to help me out, from my next-door neighbor who keeps cutting my grass to the lady who owns the bakery who slips Josiah a free cookie every Saturday. I want to give my son that kind of life.
Fortunately, my best friend Nevaeh made the move with me, though she’s been trying harder than me to have a social life. She grew up in Baton Rouge, not this small bayou town, and she wants to be young and have fun.
When I get to the house, Nevaeh is actually outside on the front porch, watching Josiah playing with a soccer ball. He loves all sports. It makes me feel guilty that he doesn’t have a father to kick a ball around with, and I’m always short on time. Besides, I haven’t done anything athletic since high school. I’m way out of shape for being twenty-three, and I have the ass to prove it.
“Hi, guys!” I say, and my cheerfulness isn’t forced. I can have the worst day in the history of life and when I see my little man, it all turns around. Josiah makes everything worth it.
“Mama!” Josiash runs over and hugs my leg briefly.
I barely get to touch his blond curls before he’s off in the opposite direction again. My heart squeezes. “He’s killing me,” I tell Nevaeh, dropping my bag on the cement pad of the porch and sinking into a plastic lawn chair. “He looks so grown up, I feel like I might die.”
“He’s four. Calm down.” She gives me an amused glance. “And no, he didn’t grow while you were at work.”
She knows me too well. I blow out all the air in my lungs in an upward motion that shifts my hair on my forehead. It’s a heartfelt sigh that seems to come from the depths of my beaten-down, sex-deprived soul. Life is hard, y’all.
“You sure?” I ask. Josiah tries to kick the ball but misses.
“Positive. Though he might have gained a pound. He ate all the chips when I was in the shower.”
“Lord. That was like half a bag of barbecue chips. What am I going to do when he’s fourteen?”
“Pray.”
That makes me laugh. “I already do. How is the job search going?”
“The job search is still a search. But I’ll find something, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Unless I don’t.” She shoots me a concerned glance. “Which means I’ll have to go back to Baton Rouge. I really don’t want to do that. I do like this quirky-ass town.”
The thought sends panic through me. “Just give it a little longer.” I’ve been living with Nevaeh as a roommate since I was nineteen. I rely on her in a way that probably isn’t fair to her, but we both need each other for various reasons.
“Why is life so damn expensive?” She draws her legs up and wraps her arms around her knees.
Nevaeh is the physical opposite of me. She’s tall, with long limbs and minimal curves. She eyes her fingernails, which she hasn’t been able to get done. Her acrylics need a fill.
I sigh. “That is an excellent question. If you want to go live with your mom, I understand.”
“What? No. Hell, no. You know what my mom is like.”
I do. She is about as easy to get along with as my own parents. Which means not at all. “I’m just throwing it out there. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay because of me. I’ll figure something out. I always do.”
It’s her turn to sigh. “I’m not leaving. You know I won’t leave you and Josiah until I know you’re good. I love y’all. You’re my family.”
I nod, throat tight. “I love you too. You and Miss Loretta became my family after my own family turned their backs on me. Listen, do you care if I go get a drink with an old friend after Josiah is in bed?”
Something about my tone obviously gives me away because she grins. “Does this old friend happen to be a sexy man? Get it, girl.”
“I’m not getting anything,” I protest. “I’m not getting dick, which means I’m not getting pregnant, which is the way it’s going to stay.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.” I will literally melt into a puddle and evaporate with the first beam of sunlight if I turn up pregnant again from a casual hookup.
“I know you are. But you do know birth control exists.”
“I do.” I watch Josiah pick up the soccer ball and throw it at the side of the house. “And Josiah exists anyway.”
“You don’t even know if that fool was using a condom. He just told you he was. Tell me the truth. Would you have known the difference?”
If I’m being honest…
“No. I wouldn’t have known the difference. It was my first time, and I was more than a little tipsy.”
“Exactly. Birth control works. You could get the shot, a diaphragm, an IUD…”
“I could, if I need any of them. Which I don’t.”
“Hmm. So who is the friend? Anyone I’ve heard about?”
“It’s Hank Young. His grandfather is one of my patients, and he came to visit him tonight. He asked me to meet him for a drink.”
“The Hank? The one who went down on you for like an hour? That one?”
My cheeks get hot, along with everything else. “Yes. That Hank.” The one and only Hank that has ever been in my life.
Or inside of me.
“I won’t wait up,” she says, gleefully. “And get on the pill as soon as possible.”
I shake my head. “I’m telling you, it’s not like that. I have to work tomorrow, for one thing. For another thing, both times I’ve hooked up with Hank, bad things have happened the next day.”
I know it’s irrational, but it doesn’t feel coincidental.
Nevaeh rolls her eyes. “My Meemaw did not have a stroke because Hank Young ate your pussy. You have got to stop thinking that. It’s the most messed up thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
“Then how do you explain it?” I insist. A lifetime of fire and brimstone rears its head whenever I talk about casual sex. “My grandmother said bad things happen to sluts.”
“Your grandmother was a jealous bitch, that’s what I think. Damn, I hate slut-shaming. I’m not even going to bother to explain to you what all is wrong with what she said to you, because you should know it’s all bullshit. She was just hateful.”
“I know that, intellectually. But then I think about how I got in Hank’s bed, and then all my friends stopped talking to me. Then I went to his apartment, and Miss Loretta had a stroke. Is that a coincidence?”
Nevaeh nods and drops her legs down on the ground. “Yes. I wouldn’t even call it a coincidence. They’re not even related to each other. Your friends stopped talking to you because they were jealous of you.”
That makes me reach out and pat her arm. “I love you. In your version of the truth, everyone is jealous of me, when in reality, there is literally no one who could possibly be jealous of my life for any reason. But thank you. You’re a loyal friend.”
“Then why else did they stop talking to you?”
“I broke the girl code by hooking up with my friend Faith’s brother. She thought I was using her to get to Hank.” It still pains me to think about that. I would have never done something that conniving, and while I’d understood Faith’s point of view, it had hurt that she would think I was that kind of person. But, I had hooked up with her brother, so was she entirely wrong?
No.
But beating up eighteen-year-old-me is a lot of work, and I’ve been doing it for so long it’s exhausting. I was young. I was stupid. Who hasn’t done something dumb at least once in their life? I moved back home because I wanted to leave all those feelings of self-recrimination behind and get on with my life. I’ve made peace with my youthful choices and forgiven myself.
I do, however, still believe in the power of three.
And bad things always come in threes.
“Whatever. Meemaw had a stroke because of a blocked artery in her brain. It had nothing to do with you getting some action down in New Orleans.”
“But we don’t know that for sure, do we? If I hook up with him again, someone might die. It’s clearly an escalation, and I can’t take a chance.” I’ve lost sleep turning this over in my head repeatedly over the years. It’s why I’ve never texted Hank, even when I had desperately, on one or two extremely horny occasions, wanted to.
Is it rational? Of course not. I know that. But what if I’m right?
It feels too risky.
I’ve become risk-averse in the last five years.
So risk-averse that I don’t even date or do anything fun. Moving back home was the biggest chance I’ve taken since Josiah was born.
I would love to date again. I just don’t know where to start, considering I’ve never actually dated in my life.
“You’ve lost your damn mind. But fine, don’t have sex with the man.” She waves her hand. “I can’t force you to have fun.”
I eye her. “This feels like a trap.”
She shrugs.
Still suspicious, I stand up and grab my purse. “Josiah! It’s time for your bath, sweetie. Bedtime.”
For once, he doesn’t protest or attempt to negotiate.
“Okay!” He just comes running over and right on past me into the house.
My heart squeezes again. I groan and put my hand on my chest. “He’s so grown up. When did this happen? Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight.”
“He’ll be asleep. And he’s going to grow, whether you like it or not. Go. We’ll be fine. And wear something other than your uniform or gray joggers. That’s all I ever see you in.”
That makes me laugh. She’s not wrong. That is all I ever wear. “Are you coming in?”
“No. I’m going to sit here and watch videos about how to clean car floor mats. They’re really relaxing.”
I wave and go off in search of my son. He’s already naked in the bathroom, ready for his shower. He knows he’s not allowed to turn the hot water on himself, so he’s bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, a plastic shark in his hand. This is one of my favorite parts of the day. I get to sit on the toilet seat and watch him play in the water. I squirt the shampoo into his hand and let him wash his hair. Sometimes he chatters away to me, sometimes to himself, but it’s relaxing for me to be still and just watch him and marvel at the amazing little human he is.
“Mama, look, the shark has my finger.” Josiah mimics being attacked by a shark.
“I’ll save you.” I pull the shower curtain back a little and pretend to wrestle his finger away from the shark.
“Thanks, Mama.” He gives me a goofy smile. “I love you. You’re the best mama.”
This kid is killing me tonight. “I love you, too, baby.”
At times like this, I actually feel sorry for Josiah’s biological father because he doesn’t know this perfect little boy even exists. I have no idea if his father is a good person or not, but I have to guess he can’t be totally rotten because there is no evidence of tainted DNA in my son. I was young and drunk, and so was he, and the sex was swift and terrible. That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.
But I don’t even know his last name, so I have no way to track him down.
Someday, maybe Josiah will go on a genealogy site and we’ll find his biological father that way. I uploaded his DNA about a year ago, when I suddenly realized it was an obvious avenue to explore. I did it because I feel like every father has the right to know and make his own choices, but also for my son. If he could have a father, I want to give him that. But no one has matched to Josiah through the site.
In the meantime, all the responsibility and joy and fear and laughter belong to me.
I shouldn’t be meeting up with Hank. But if I’m going to, which I am, because I can’t seem to stop myself, I need to make it very clear that I can’t hook up with him.
I have to focus on the future. Making a fantastic life for my son.
Grabbing a towel, I hold my arms out for Josiah, who steps out and lets me wrap him up in the cotton. As I rub his hair dry, I have an off-the-wall idea.
Hank told me if I ever needed anything, to just ask.
I need his advice on how to date like an adult.
Not like a teenager, which was the last time I dated.
But as a grown woman, with a child.
Because I would like to date, now that I’m trying so hard to move on from survival mode and actually enjoy my life. I finally feel like I’m entitled to my own personal happiness, even if it’s just going out to dinner or the movies or taking a walk in the park with a man when I have a few free minutes.
But dating apps terrify me. How do I explain I want to date without immediately having sex? Do people just say that out loud? I know there are hookup apps, and there are apps that result in serious relationships, but I don’t know the first thing about reading the clues as to what a man is saying. Or what he might be thinking I’m saying based on whatever I’m saying.
I could use Hank’s perspective as a man.
He can help me navigate the ropes of meeting men.
Josiah accidentally pokes me in the face with his plastic shark.
“Careful,” I tell him softly.
He giggles.
That’s how the thought of dating makes me feel—like I might get attacked by a shark.
But it’s time to jump into the water.