Chapter Nine
Jason-Present
River-Leon Bridges
When I saw Mara in that dress my brain went on the fritz.
She wore tight skirts and sparkly shit in high school but nothing as homely as the dress she came down the stairs in this morning.
Feminine, simple, beautiful. I know it’s my mom’s dress and it shouldn’t have had that effect on me, but I couldn’t help it.
The way she looked with the braid over her shoulder and the top of the dress tight to her chest caused me to forget how to think for a moment.
I’m glad I got to spend the whole day cooking, it was a nice change from all the work I have in the shop for me.
I know I have all winter to finish the orders but I have a tendency to get as much done at the start of the season as I can, which gives me the rest of winter to work on projects I want to work on.
I don’t think I have a lazy bone in my body.
Cooking has always been something I enjoy, much like metal work and crafting firearms, it calms my mind and gives the anxious energy something to focus on. Gives my restless hands something to do.
My mother saw this side of me very early in my childhood, she said “idle hands are the devil’s handiwork” so she asked me to help her in the kitchen.
She was always baking or cooking something.
Muffins, scones, stew, pot roast. She taught me everything that she learned from her mother.
She’s also the one who taught me how to can and preserve food, even though we didn’t grow the food we preserved.
We didn’t have room for a garden at that house.
In turn, I taught Dylan when we moved up here.
It was kind of strange sharing the kitchen with Mara, today. She didn’t force conversation, but she didn’t seem repulsed by me as usual, so I hindered my resentment as well. For today, we can be civil, for the holiday, maybe we can be friendly.
If she’d been different in high school, if she’s been more like she is now, maybe this whole situation would be different. Maybe we would’ve even been friends in high school.
I know her boyfriend, Bryce, was the culprit behind most of my adolescent torment.
But she was a pawn he used to play the game and she willingly went along with it.
Besides, he never coached her on what to say.
Every jab at me or my brother was entirely her own creative, spiteful mind at work.
She can’t blame her own maliciousness on another person.
Hours of cooking between the three of us paid off because Thanksgiving dinner is excellent, if I do say so myself.
Even the rolls and the pie Mara made turned out well, though I would have done the pie crust a little differently.
Though, I’ll admit, watching her struggle with rolling it out was kind of entertaining. And cute.
In honor of the holiday, we break out a bottle of Merlot to go with the elk. I wouldn’t say I’m a wine snob, but I’m a quality food snob. So I wouldn’t have wasted the bottle on fucking chicken.
When I took a bite of the pumpkin pie Mara made, I held up the OK symbol to congratulate her on a pie well done. Like I said, I would have done the crust differently, but for her first attempt she did a damn good job. My mom would be proud.
“Ok, ok, I have a question for you,” Mara directs at Dylan. She’s only had a glass and a half of wine but it seems to be hitting her now. I guess her little body doesn’t need much alcohol to feel the effects. “Why stay in this town as the only openly gay person here?”
I have to restrain my eyebrows from shooting up to my hairline. That’s a pretty bold question.
And also a little silly. Dylan might be the only openly gay guy in town, but he’s not the only man who prefers male company in our neck of the woods.
“Oh Mara,” Dylan chides. “How’s that wine treating you?”
She blushes a little, probably realizing how brazen her words were after they skipped past her tongue.
“But to answer your question, I like it here. I like the life Jason and I have for the time being. Maybe one day I’ll move away, but not far. I like big cities for a weekend, not forever.
“That being said, I don’t want to live with my big brother forever. And I can still get my dick wet in this po-dunk town, so what’s the rush?”
“What?” Mara’s jaw drops, she’s back in high school feeding off the gossip. “Who else is gay?”
Dylan lifts his wine glass to his smile and takes a sip, keeping Mara on the edge of her seat.
“Well, you want to know the real reason I was kicked off the wrestling team?” I can feel Mara’s anticipation in a wave of heat. “Coach Garner was my first. And apparently I was his too, in a sense.”
I snort a small laugh, I knew that already but Mara’s slack-jawed expression is priceless.
No one would expect the burley wrestling coach to be into men, and especially not young men since it’s a bit of power play. But I know Dylan was the one that pursued him so I don’t give a fuck.
“You’re kidding,” she says on a disbelieving breath. “I don’t believe it.”
“There have been a couple others, a couple regulars I can call when the need strikes, but no one serious. No one willing to come out and make it official.”
“Oh, Dylan,” Mara extends her hand across the table but stops short before taking his hand, second guessing herself.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Dylan says with all seriousness. “I don’t want someone who only wants a secret. Feel sorry for them, they’re the ones living a lie.”
“Wise words. I wouldn’t be so ok with it in your situation.”
Dylan lifts his nose in the air like an aristocrat. “You just aren’t as evolved as me.” Mara holds her hand to her chest in mock offense. But when I chuckle behind my glass, she turns beady eyes toward me.
“What about you?” She redirects the conversation so I’m in the hot seat. “Any women you want to settle down and have twenty kids with?”
Twenty? That’s a stretch.
I roll my eyes because that’s a ridiculous notion.
First, that I’d want to settle down. And second, that any girl in our town would want to live away from civilization in our secluded cabin.
Not that I’d want any of them anyway. The girls in our town tend to be—how can I put this nicely—lacking in complexity.
They’re simple creatures with simple desires and simple minds.
There’s nothing intriguing about them and nothing remarkably interesting to discuss.
I shake my head no in case she didn’t get the meaning of the eye roll.
“So you’ve just hid on the mountain jerking off alone all this time?” Wow, she really is getting bold. Good thing the wine is gone.
“Who said he’s been alone,” Dylan remarks. “I mean, where do you think he got the clothes that weren’t our mom’s?”
Mara scrunches her nose and shuts her eyes at the reminder, as if she can make that fact untrue with sheer will power.
“Well, good to know you’re not a monk.”
Dylan laughs at her expense. “Now who’s being a prude.”
But I don’t laugh. I’m not happy she’s wearing past fling’s clothes either. I prefer not to have the same girl here more than once, but sometimes a girl will make her way back late at night and, because I’m a gentleman, I don’t turn them away.
I don’t want anyone getting the idea it’s more than it is. It’s just sex. No relationships. No feelings. No commitment. I like my sanctuary free of other people (aside from my brother) and I like my isolation. But because I’m a straight man, I crave the occasional warm body.
That’s why I don’t like having Mara here.
She’s a reminder that during the four months I’m locked up here, I can’t indulge from time to time.
I’m not going to lie, there have been a couple nights it’s tempting to think I could go to her and get rid of the need to fuck someone.
She’s beautiful. She’s got a great body, from what I can tell, if she didn’t spar with me the whole time, it would be a tempting thought.
But I know it would be a disaster and she’d probably tell me I’m doing it wrong.
But the more civil we get, the more I wonder if maybe she’d be open to a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Then I remember prom night and that goes out the window.
Not long after, Dylan heads to bed to sleep off his little buzz while Mara cuts another slice of pie to “soak up the alcohol.” I let her stick to that story.
After a minute of watching her eat pie in silence, which is actually awkward for me, and not much makes me feel awkward, I walk to the living room to grab the cribbage board and cards.
I set them in the middle of the cleared dining table and start shuffling.
Mara watches me while she slowly chews a bite at slug speed, eyes on a pendulum back and forth between the cards and me.
I set the deck in front of her to cut. She looks at it for a moment, considering my request, then takes half the deck and sets it beside the bottom half without taking her eyes off me.
And the game begins.
“River” by Leon Bridges plays softly from the speaker as we near the end of the game.
I’m in the lead with six points to go, but only four points separate us.
For this being only her second game, she’s picked up the tricks and patterns quite well.
Cribbage is a game of skill, not just luck.
You can’t predict what cards you’ll be dealt, but it’s about how you use those cards.
I’ll be honest, I thought this game would be a cakewalk but she’s kept me on my toes, even passed me at one point. But a lucky twenty point hand put me ahead of her again on a hand I dealt. This round I’ll have to focus on pegging, so I set up my hand for just that.
“Close game,” she comments. “I guess it will all be decided before we even reach counting our hands.” Clever girl. She’s a fast learner.
I dealt so she has to start the round.
She lays down a seven and announces her card.
I lay down a four. I’m supposed to announce my card like a gentleman, it is a respectful game, after all. But there’s no way I’m breaking my silence for that. It’s going to take a lot for me to ever consider speaking.
Mara sets a six of hearts on her pile.
I lay down a five nonchalantly and take my three points for the run without even a smile. I catch Mara’s nose twitch out of the corner of my eye, the only tell that she’s frustrated. The gears are turning in her head to figure out how to use her last two cards to win this.
She plays an eight, adding up to twenty-eight. I can see she thinks she’s gotten me, but I lay down an ace and take the two points for reaching thirty-one.
The realization she’s lost makes her facial features tighten, but at least she’s not a sore loser. She lays down her last card, a three, and I lay down mine, another eight. I get the Go and take my final point for the win.
“Good game,” she says politely, though I can tell losing bothers her. Or maybe it’s just losing to me. “Thought I’d pass you, for a minute. Oh well.”
I offer a half smile and dip my head to thank her for the game as I start to shuffle the cards for the next time we play and Mara stores the pegs in the little compartment beneath the board.
Using her hand flat against the tabletop, Mara presses herself up into a standing position then stretches her arms out. The top of her dress flattens tighter to her chest with the motion. With the gathered material I can’t tell if she’s wearing a bra or not.
She yawns. “I think I’m going to go to bed.” She turns and heads for the stairs. With one hand on the banister, she turns around to face me again with her eyes downcast to the floor boards.
In a soft voice I barely register, she speaks.
“In the spirit of Thanksgiving, thank you for saving me, Jason.” I stop at those words, at the emotion lacing her voice with sincerity.
“And…I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but I’m sorry for the way I treated you in high school.
I made mistakes, a lot of them. And I’m sorry for the way I acted. For what I took part in.”
Silence. I hope she wasn’t expecting me to forgive her or wash her of her sins.
But she apologized. She said what no one else has.
She dropped herself down a level and willingly offered her shame on a silver platter.
I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m not angry, I never forgave her, but I also forgot about it long before she came back into the picture.
Her spitefulness wasn’t worth any more consideration.
God, it would have been so much easier if she’d never driven headfirst back into my life.
After a long pause following her apology and gratitude, she drops her head and walks upstairs with a heavy weight in her posture. And I’m left to think about shit I don’t want to cross my mind.