An idea pops into my mind and now that it’s planted itself there, I know I won’t be able to shake it. “Oh, shoot. I was going to ask you to come home with me next weekend.”
She pauses, just the sound of her breathing through the phone as she considers it. “Really?”
“Yeah. I need to go home to check on my mom while my dad’s in China on business. I was going to see if you’d want to come with. My mom’s really cool and we could just hang out, watch movies, go in the hot tub. It’d be low key. If you’re interested…” I mentally high-five myself at the pure genius of this solution. It keeps her away from Mitch the Bitch and gets her closer to me all in one fluid motion.
“Ah, yeah, sure. That sounds fun.”
* * *
Call it evil genius or exceptional planning on my part, but the fact that Avery is in my car next to me on the three-hour journey to my mom’s just feels right. When we pull in to my neighborhood, Avery leans forward in her seat to look out the window. It’s a nice neighborhood, I know that. Each house is huge and immaculately maintained; even if they do all look strikingly similar. Too cookie-cutter.
I pull onto the circular brick driveway and park in front of the four-car garage.
“Wow. Nice place.”
The house is way too big for just my mom and dad, part of the reason my mom goes crazy sometimes. I would too, alone in a cold, quiet house. But looks can be deceiving because yes, it’s an amazing house. Red brick exterior, fountain out front, pool and hot tub in back, more bedrooms and bathrooms than we’ll ever use.
Avery climbs from the car and stretches. “This is where you grew up?”
“Yep.” I reach into the backseat and grab both of our overnight bags. My mom’s waiting for us on the wide front porch, looking at Avery curiously. I realize I’ve never really brought a girl home before. Stacia doesn’t count: she lives three houses down and was always here, invited or not.
I’m happy to see my mom looking put together. There’s color in her cheeks and her eyes are bright. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been coming home to see her so often to try and erase the memory of her looking so pale and tiny in that hospital bed. She bore no physical scars. Even her suicide attempt had been nice and neat. Able to be swept under the rug and forgotten. How polite of her. We never mentioned the word addiction, even as her use of pain pills for her back increased drastically over the years. And we never used the word suicide. Mom’s accident was the term my dad coined. Fucking prick. No wonder she didn’t know how to ask for help.
I turn and catch Avery nervously wringing her hands and push all that shit from my head. “Ready?”
Avery nods and I lead her forward.
Avery
Jase’s mom is gorgeous. She’s got long dark hair, neatly secured at the nape of her neck, and wide honey-colored eyes with the same thick, dark eyelashes as Jase. Her eyes are weary though, and are currently sizing me up. I wonder what Jase has told her about me. Does she think we’re dating?
When we reach the porch, she pulls Jase into a hug, and I wait nervously beside them.
“Avery?” she asks, releasing him.
I nod once. Her smile is wide and welcoming, and I see that I have nothing to worry about. “Hi, Mrs. Owens.”
“Call me Cathy.” She pulls me in for a hug too, and I hear her tell Jase over my shoulder “She’s gorgeous, Jase.”
He chuckles. “Trust me, Mom, I’m all too aware.”
I stand there stunned, trying to pretend they’re not talking about me like I’m not here, trying to pretend that Jase thinking I’m gorgeous doesn’t turn my insides to mush. We enter the house and the inside is even more immaculate than the outside. A large marble floored foyer with a round table holding a giant vase of fragrant peonies greets us. Wow. A staircase winds off one side of the foyer, and the other opens to a spacious living room with the highest ceiling I’ve ever seen.
Jase gives me a tour of the large, opulent first floor with Cathy trailing behind us, asking us each occasional questions about school. She leaves us after that, saying dinner will be at five, excusing herself to the sunroom where she perches in a lounge chair with a romance novel.
Jase leads me upstairs to his bedroom. The carpeting is so soft and plush beneath my feet as I trail after him down the long hallway. Their house really is beautiful.
His bedroom appears unchanged from high school – the walls are adorned with posters of supermodels and pro athletes, and a shelving unit holds various trophies and medals. When I get closer, I see they’re for swimming and tennis. Interesting. I didn’t take him for much of an athlete, though his lean physique begs to differ.
He crosses the room and tosses our bags onto a dark mahogany sleigh bed that sits under the window. He doesn’t expect me to sleep in here, does he? Surely his mom wouldn’t be okay with that. Surely I wouldn’t be okay with that.
“Jase?” I question, watching him walk toward me.
“I like having you in my space.”
Uncertain of how to answer, I remain still and silent as he approaches. His hand cups my jaw, his thumb skittering back and forth against my skin. My eyes flick to his mouth, lingering on his lips, that I know from experience are incredibly soft and full. His mouth curves up a fraction and I know I’ve been caught. His thumb continues its gentle caress on my cheek and his eyes are bright with desire.
“You know this isn’t going to work. Should we just get it out of the way?” he asks finally.
“Get what out of the way?”