If I Was Your Girl(34)

“No…” Avery said, looking down at her plate. I stared and thought of Dad and all the times he had yelled at me as a kid. For a moment I wished someone had spoken to me like Ruby.

“This all looks so delicious,” I said, picking up my fork again.

“It ain’t nothin’,” Ruby said, waving a hand at me and smiling.

“No, really!” I said. “I haven’t had a meal like this since I moved here. Dad’s not much of a cook.”

“You ain’t from here?” Harper said with a mouth full of cornbread, spraying crumbs across the tablecloth.

“I’m from Tennessee originally,” I said between bites. “But out west near Memphis. Little town about an hour north called Jackson. Then my parents split up and me and Mom settled down just outside Atlanta and Dad moved here.”

“Well, then why’d you come to this shithole if you could’ve stayed someplace like that?” Harper asked.

“Don’t swear at the damn table!” Grant said, rubbing his temple.

“You just swore!” Harper said, banging the table for emphasis.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Avery said, giggling and bouncing. Ruby apologized to me, but I could tell she was fading quickly.

“My dad lives here, and I hadn’t seen him in a while,” I said. They talked over me. “Atlanta’s not all that great,” I added, hoping to cut through the conversation. Harper and Grant both gave me a confused look, while Avery’s attention drifted from swearing to poking her food into interesting shapes. “I don’t know. Maybe it is for some people. It wasn’t for me.” I glanced at Grant and squeezed his hand.

“It’s nice that you live with your daddy,” Avery said suddenly, looking at me wistfully. “I miss my daddy.”

Ruby, Harper, and Grant all froze, giving one another a strange look. Grant cleared his throat and silently began clearing plates.

“Avery, shug,” Ruby said, slurring just a little. “Why don’t you go play?”

“Okay, Mama,” Avery said, hopping down from her chair and flopping down near a pile of naked, half-bald Barbie dolls.

“You gonna help or just sit there?” Grant said, poking his head out of the kitchen to glare at Harper. She stuck her tongue out at him and stalked off toward her bedroom.

“Don’t mind her,” Ruby said softly. Her eyes were half-lidded and unfocused. “She always gets upset when people talk about her daddy.”

“Oh,” I said, as I stood and gathered the few remaining plates to help Grant. We hand-washed dishes in silence, him staring off into the distance and me afraid to ask what was going on.

“You ready to go?” he said as he placed the last of the plates in the drying rack.

“Yeah,” I said, and Grant gave me a quick grin.

He kissed his mom on the cheek and headed outside.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said as I picked up my purse. Her eyes fluttered like she was just waking up and she pulled me into a hug. I stiffened at first but quickly hugged her back. She smelled like cigarettes and mint and lemons.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What for?”

“For making my boy smile.”





16

I held Grant’s hand as we pulled out onto the main road. He squeezed mine in return, though his grip seemed weaker than usual. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t want to press him, but eventually the rattling of the engine started to get to me.

“Grant.” I put a hand over his and leaned over, lightly kissing his cheek. “We’re near the lake. Pull over.”

I used the light on my phone to find a small path and, taking his hand, led him into the woods toward the tree house where we had gone after that first party. I remembered every step of the path; I had thought of that night so many times that I could have made my way to the lake in my sleep. Grant was distracted, or nervous, or both, so he followed my lead. We reached the old tree house and climbed up wordlessly. The lake was as beautiful as last time, though a cold wind whipped across its surface, sending my hair swirling. Grant touched the back of my arm, and suddenly I felt very warm.

“You’re the first person I ever brought home,” he said, pulling me closer. I breathed in sharply and felt a pressure building near the bottom of my stomach. I realized I was shaking. “I’ve been too embarrassed to bring anybody over since we moved into the trailer.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” I said. The silence swelled between us. “When I was fifteen,” I began, feeling like I should tell him about my suicide attempt, like I should trade one of my secrets for his, but he kissed me before I could go any further. Our kiss started innocently enough, just lips pressed together like a dozen times in the past, but then his lips parted and mine parted, and our lips moved like we were whispering silent secrets into each other’s mouths. I felt the tip of his tongue brush my teeth, and then our tongues were touching, and I heard myself whimper without meaning to do it. My knees failed and we lowered ourselves to a kneel, our fingers laced and our mouths never parting.

His fingers brushed the bottom of my stomach. I wanted them there, but years of terror made me brush his hand away. After a moment, I gently took his wrist and put his fingers back where they had been. His hand moved up farther, and then he had the hem of my shirt in both hands, and he was lifting it. I broke our kiss and scuttled backward, breathing heavily and trying to pick just one out of the swirl of feelings fighting to break the surface. I closed my eyes and tossed my shirt aside with trembling hands. We came together again and his hands were everywhere, on my back and sides and stomach and tracing my ribs. He reached behind me and, without breaking the kiss, started to unclasp my bra. Instinctively I backed away again, leaving my bra clasped.