Hitched (Hitched #1)(35)

"Why do you never ask Tate these questions? He's the same age as me and just as capable of making babies."

My mom collects our dirty dishes and begins washing them and putting them away. "Don't start, Kacie. We don't need your feminist nonsense this weekend. I just want to see you settled down and happy before it's my funeral you're all attending."

Dad looks away, clearly uncomfortable with all this “female emotion” as he always called it. Finally, he clears his throat. "Well, I'd best be getting back to work. Need to mow the lawn and clean up the yard a bit before the funeral tomorrow. Good seeing you kids."

That's my dad. Man of few words.

My mom's not done with us yet, though. "It's different for women, and you know it. Men have time. They don't dry up as fast as us. They don't lose what makes them attractive to the opposite sex. Women have to strike young, while the iron's hot, as they say. Before all the good men are taken, and you lose your looks and ability to get a man."

This is just too much. I can't believe this bullshit. "Because a guy is only going to be interested in me for my looks? Is that really the kind of man you want me to end up with?"

"Women need security in this world, honey. It's how we survive in a man's world."

I stand, ready to be done with this. "Or, we could change the game. Make it a world for both men and women. How about that?"

I don't even wait for her response; instead I head for the car to unload my bag and settle into my old room for two nights. I wanted to get a hotel, but Mom insisted we stay here. "Why waste the money when your old rooms are all set up and ready?"

I conceded only because Tate insisted it would be okay. That we were adults now, on our own, and so things would be different.

But life doesn't change in the Michaels house. That's becoming painfully clear.

***

I'm sitting in my old room, posters of outdated bands lining the walls, my dresser mirror covered in pictures from my senior year in high school. Nothing has changed.

I feel like I'm in a shrine to myself.

I sit at my old oak vanity and pull a picture from the glass. It sticks for a moment before giving way under my fingers. It wasn't so terribly long ago that I was this girl dressed in pink taffeta, smiling big for the camera with my prom date at my side.

He seemed so important to me at the time. That night seemed so important to me. I remember we all snuck liquor into our punch and danced until they turned out the lights and kicked us out. It was a themed dance—as they all were back then—Under the Sea, and being held in the gym. It smelled like a combination of old gym socks and Elmer’s glue. Everything sparkled.

We'd all chipped in and rented a hotel room for the after party, but somehow Lance and I got there first. I didn't lose my virginity that night—that would have been too cliché—but I'd come close. We ended up crossing that milestone a week later in the back of his old station wagon. I had bruises on my back the next day from the metal digging into me. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but it was done.

Sex has gotten a lot better since then. I have a theory that if your first time is in high school, or at least with a high schooler, it's bound to suck. Teenagers don't know what they're doing about much of anything, and sex is no exception.

I put the picture back in place, hiding the dust framed around it and explore the drawers and closets, marveling at what I considered cool to wear back then.

Tate walks in on me trying on the hideous taffeta gown from the picture.

"Nice look, sis. You heading to a blast-from-the-past party?" He closes the door and sits on the edge of my bed while I admire myself in the mirror.

"At least it still fits. The freshman fifteen didn't get me."

"And you look as glorious now as you did that night with, what was his name? Pants?"

I pick a stuffed animal from my corner dresser and throw it at him. "Lance. And I don't know why you were always such an ass to him."

"Because he was a tool. He probably still is. We could look him up while we're here, and you can see how he compares to Dr. Love. Who knows? Maybe you'll discover you've made a big mistake, and you really belong here, married to the new manager at Grease Monkey."

I try to imagine a universe in which that is my life, and the thought makes me shudder. "Turn around. I need to get out of this monstrosity."

He closes his eyes, and I peel the dress off and slip back into my own clothes before sitting on the bed next to him, both of us now leaning against the wall, our feet hanging off the side of the twin mattress covered in a lilac bedspread.

"So, how bad is it with Mom?"

He shrugs. "No worse than normal. Look, I know she's a pain in the ass, but give her a break, Kacie, she just lost her own mother. That can't be easy."

"Great, now I feel like an * for refusing to succumb to sexist bullshit." And I kind of do, except I'm not really sure what a proper response would have been. My mother and I are never going to agree on anything. Maybe I shouldn't have come.

I say as much to Tate, and he throws an arm over my shoulder. "I know she's glad you're here. Besides, we all need closure."

I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh. "You're right. You're a pain, but you're right."