APRIL
When I wake up, it's already light out. I lie in bed and realize it's too late to have a few extra moments with Jackson, so I might as well take my time getting up.
I sit on the edge of the bed with my spine curved forward, elbows on my knees, and think about everything that happened last night. At the beginning of the summer, I'd never before been touched by a boy. Barely even been hugged - only the stiff ones that came from Matthew now and again.
And now, some weeks later, I've been much more than touched. I can still picture Jackson's head between my thighs with his mouth wide open over a place I never knew could be tasted. I can still feel the buzzing in my body as my orgasm rippled through it, and the way he turned me to mush once it was over.
I want the day to hurry by so we can get back to the pond tonight. Maybe he can show me how to put my mouth on him, if that's something he'd want. I don't want to ask too much. It seems like he's always the one giving and I'm always receiving. I don't want our relationship to become imbalanced. I want it to be healthy.
I shake my head to try and sift the unsavory thoughts from behind my eyes. I hear my mother talking in the kitchen, presumably to one of my sisters, and I don't want her to read my mind. It feels like Jackson's fingerprints are plastered over every surface of my skin, lit up like neon signs. If she looks at me too long, it won't take much time at all for her to figure out what I'm hiding.
I've never hidden something from my mother before. My guess is that I wouldn't be very good at it if I tried - at least, not to her face. Lies of omission and skirting the truth are much easier.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a raggedy t-shirt, then head downstairs to get my boots. I stop walking once I get to the kitchen entryway though, because I realize that I don't hear one of my sister's voices joining my mother's. It's a voice I don't recognize, and when I peer around the corner I see Jackson's mother sitting at the dining room table while Mom busies herself at the sink.
Instantly, I know I shouldn't be standing here, but I can't seem to move.
"You're doing her a disservice by keeping her so sheltered, Karen," Catherine says.
It doesn't take me long to realize she's talking about me. I can tell by the way my mother's spine stiffens and her hands stop moving on a dish she's washing. I wonder why Jackson's mother is here so early, and I wonder if he knew she was coming. My best guess is that he didn't. He would've told me.
"If it continues, she'll rebel in a way you won't like later. Please, believe me on that. If you keep a child away from the world, all they'll want to do is seek it out. And without the proper tools, she'll get herself into a great deal of trouble that she won't know how to get out of. She could very well find herself in a bad situation."
"My April would never," Mom says, without turning around.
"She has so much potential," Catherine argues, unwavering. "She's special. You don't want to snuff out that flame, do you? You don't, really. She's very smart. I see it in her eyes. You don't want her to experience the world, meet new people, get to know different places?"
"She's not ready."
"Of course she isn't, not on her own," Catherine says. "I would never assume that. That's why I offered what I did."
There's a crackling, tense pause to follow. I hold the side of the wall as I watch the interaction, wondering how it will transpire, and shrink back when my mother speaks again.
"She's never been away," she says. "She won't know how to handle it. She won't want to go."
"Why don't we leave that up to her?"
"No," my mother says firmly. "She's not capable of making a decision like that."
"Why wouldn't you think so?" Catherine asks. "She's eighteen years old. Some young women her age are already living on their own, taking care of themselves."
"I know that," my mother snaps. "I'm perfectly aware, but that's not April. I made sure April wouldn't have to live like that."
"I know you did."
"So, I'll make the decision," Mom says, taking only a moment to breathe before continuing with, "She'll go. But only for tonight and tomorrow. You'll bring her back home on Sunday. I want her here in time for evening service. She shouldn't miss it."
"Of course."
"And she-"
Interrupting herself, my mother looks up and notices me eavesdropping. Her facial expression morphs from concentration to surprise to anger in a split second.
"April Olivia," she says, taking purposeful steps towards me. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long," I say, backing up. I fold my hands behind my back and try to make myself as small and meek as I can. Nothing that would make it seem like I'm challenging her. "I just came down to-to get my boots to start my chores."
"No chores this morning," she barks, then points in the direction of which I came. "Back upstairs. Go. Now. And don't come out until I tell you."
"Yes, mom," I say, and turn my back - but not without casting a wayward glance at Jackson's mother, whose eyes were trained on me for the entire interaction.
I shut the door to my room quietly and stand just inside it, staring with knitted eyebrows out the window. Where am I being sent? Where am I going? I've never left this area of Michigan. I've never seen outside the city limits. My stomach drops with the thought of leaving my house and everything I know to go to some strange, foreign place.
I'm too nervous to sit, so I pace. I pace until there's a knock at my door, and when I open it, my mother stands there with a stern expression on her face.
"Pack a bag," she says.
"Mom," I say, a bit desperately. My eyes are wide, fingers bent to keep myself from reaching out to her. She won't take me, not right now. "Where am I going?"
She presses her lips together tightly and makes a brash sound in her throat. "To the Averys' house on Lake Michigan. Catherine invited you to stay for a weekend."
"Why?" I ask.
She gives me a cold look. "Did I teach you to question me?" she asks.
"No, mom."
"That's what I thought. Now, don't waste any more time. You're keeping her waiting. Pack a bag with clothes and necessities, and come downstairs when you've finished."
"Yes, mom."
"Don't be long."
She leaves the room and I'm left standing in her wake, stunned. Will it be Catherine and me, alone? I don't know how I feel about spending one-on-one time with her. I don't know her. I don't know how to be cordial for that long without turning awkward. I want Jackson to come, too, but I know better than to ask. I'll just have to wait and see.
I don't have much to pack, which makes me embarrassed. I'm wearing the only good pair of jeans I own, and the rest of the clothes inside my dresser are fit for the farm only. Judging by the way Catherine dresses and how I've seen people look at the store, I wouldn't very well fit in with the clothes I own. But I pack them anyway, being that I don't have another choice. I pack my loungewear, my long skirt and button-up blouse, and a few t-shirts. It's not much, but it's what I have to work with.
I sling the ratty backpack over my shoulder and go downstairs, where the front door is open and mine and Jackson's mother are standing on the porch.
I set the bag down and follow them. I zone out their conversation as I stand beside my mother and light up inside when I see Jackson sauntering up the walk, looking as confused as I still feel. I want to call out, or even better - run to him - but that's out of the question. All I can do is watch him and try to communicate with my eyes.
"Jackson, so nice of you to finally join us," Catherine says. It's a sarcastic statement, but there is warmth in her tone at the sight of her son. "I see the farm life hasn't turned you into an early riser yet."
He's only an early riser when I wake him , I think.
Jackson doesn't respond, he just frowns. I can't say a thing.
"I have wonderful news for you, son," his mother continues. "I'm taking you and April to the lake house for a few days for a little getaway. I heard you've been doing well here, and you deserve a break. But even more than you, April deserves one, too."
I blush at the mention of my name. I'm not used to being singled out so blatantly. It's a shock, and I can't meet her eyes when she looks at me.
"Did you hear me, son?" Catherine asks, given Jackson's lack of response. "We're taking April home."
Relief floods my body as I realize he's coming, too. But along with relief, comes excitement and nerves, too. I get to spend time with Jackson away from the farm, away from my family's rules and constraints. I'm not sure how to handle these feelings. On top of everything, I'm terrified.
"April, inside," my mother orders, and takes my upper arm to lead me as if I wouldn't follow. She shuts the front door and stands very close. I know better than to pull away. "I expect you to be on your best behavior," she says. "I'm trusting you to act like an upstanding young lady of God on this trip. If I hear otherwise, you'll be spending two weeks in your room when you come back. Am I understood?"
"Yes, mom."
"There will be no sharing bedrooms, no sharing bathrooms, and you will allot private time at night to spend praying. God will know if you abandon him during this trip away. I expect you to act as you always have, and remember that you have a husband waiting for you back home. Don't get any ideas in that head of yours."
Matthew isn't my husband yet , I think - vehemently and loud. Nor will he ever be .
I scold myself for thinking such an obstinate thought while my mother stands right in front of me. It seems like she can read my mind, because she takes my wrist and holds tight.
"God is always watching," she says. "No bathing suits. No swimming. No shorts, no tank tops. I want you to act just as you'd act here. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, mom."
"Good," she says, then releases my wrist. "Get your bag."
I pick up my meager backpack and open the front door, then hear footsteps hurrying behind me. I turn around as I'm halfway outside and see Alice hurtling towards us wearing a distraught expression.
"Sissy, where are you going?" she cries, clinging to my waist once she reaches me. She wraps her arms tight and buries her face in my chest, and I hold the back of her head. "Where are you going?"
"Just away for the weekend," I say.
"I wanna come," she says, fingers digging in. "Please, can I come?"
"Alice," Mom says, yanking her off. My youngest sister sputters and cries when we're separated, but she doesn't fight our mother's grip. She knows better.
"I'll be back Sunday, in time for church," I say, kneeling a bit to cup her face. She's been especially needy these past few days, but I push the annoyance away. I'm all she has. I hold her face and give her a firm kiss on the forehead, and she ghosts her fingers over my wrists when I pull away. "I love you."
"I love you," she whimpers, watching me with dripping eyes, Mom's arms draped over her shoulders.
"Ready?" Catherine asks. Jackson is already standing by the car - his face is a bit more placid. Catherine must have done some explaining.
"Yeah," I say, quietly. "Bye, mom. Bye, Allie."
Mom gives me a nod and Allie a sad wave. I turn around to face Catherine and she puts her hands on my backpack, but I self-consciously keep a good grip and shoot her a wary look.
"It… it's fine," I say. "I got it."
I don't want her to notice how empty it is, what little I had to pack, but she does anyway. Instead of shooting me a sorry expression, though, she whispers in my ear, "We'll have to do some shopping."
We meet eyes when she pulls away and she gives me a soft smirk before tossing my bag in the trunk.
"Thank you, Karen," she says, opening the driver's side door. "I'll have her back on Sunday."
Mom says nothing. She just looks on with a stony expression, arms tight around her youngest daughter - the one still in her clutches, literally and figuratively. I don't know how to feel about the fact that right now, I'm breaking out. Not for good, but for a little while.
As we back out of the driveway, I watch my house fade into the distance. I turn around and keep an eye on it through the back window, and Jackson touches my shoulder after it's completely out of sight.
"You okay?" he asks, quietly.
I sit back down and wonder if I truly am. I guess I don't know the answer. Part of me wants to ask Catherine to turn around and bring me back, but the other wants to close my eyes and forget the road out of here so I'll never be able to find my way home.
I nod and close my eyes, then feel the side of his pinky finger touch mine in the middle of our seats. I open my eyes to see he's watching me with a warm expression.
"I want you to know," Catherine pipes up, glancing in the rearview mirror. "You two can let out that breath you've been holding."
I look at Jackson with confusion, not sure what she means. He doesn't respond, either - we wait for her to finish.
"I know there's something going on," she says. "I figured there would be from the beginning."
My cheeks get hot and I look at my lap - at my wrinkly jeans, faded with wear and sun. Jackson's hand sneaks closer and he intertwines our fingers, now given the freedom to do so.
"You can be however you want," Catherine says. "You're free for a couple days."
I look up and meet her eyes, mine glistening, in the mirror. She gives me a reassuring little smile, with thoughts swimming behind her eyes that I can't come close to reading. There is a lot not being said, though.
"I just need to know that you're being safe," she says.
" Mom ," Jackson says, gritting his teeth.
"I need to know these things," she says. "Do you need me to stop somewhere and get condoms? Just let me know."
"Mom, holy shit," Jackson says, shaking his head. "No… I- fuck. I have some. And we're not… we haven't… seriously. Stop."
"Fine, fine," she concedes, and I stay quiet while looking out the window at things I've never seen. Long stretches of highway, small businesses, gas stations. This is a part of town I've never been to.
Jackson keeps my hand, and I try to stop worrying. Catherine knows about us, and she supports our relationship. The paranoia is persistent, though, no matter how fervently I try and convince myself to relax.
"You… you won't tell my mother, will you, Ms. Avery?" I ask, voice trembling.
"Honey," she says. "I would never."
"Okay," I whisper, eyes downcast once again. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," she says, eyes back on the road. "If anything, I should be thanking you ."
I don't ask why. I've been taught not to. And she doesn't offer an explanation - not yet.
…
We stop at a store called Target after we've been driving for a while. Compared to everyone in the parking lot and inside, I'm horribly underdressed and have never felt more out of place. My shoulders cave in as I try to make myself smaller; I'd make myself disappear if I could. I've never been so uncomfortable.
"Child, relax," Catherine says, guiding me with a hand in the middle of my shoulder blades. "We'll find you a nice new wardrobe."
"My mother will never let me," I say.
"After the weekend's over, I'll hold onto it," she says. "You don't need to worry. You let me do the fretting, okay? Take the weight off your shoulders for a little bit. I know your mother, and I know how to handle her. There's no reason to be afraid."
The look I give her says all that needs to be said: I have plenty of reasons.
"I wouldn't know where to start," I murmur, sticking close to Catherine's side.
"How about this," Jackson says, holding up a see-through shirt with thin straps.
I frown in his direction. "That won't cover a thing."
He wiggles his eyebrows and waves the shirt in my direction, but Catherine rolls her eyes and holds a flat palm in the air. "Don't pay attention to that fool," she says. "I'll show you some style."
By the time we leave, I'm the owner of three new pairs of shorts, five short-sleeved shirts, three tank tops, two dresses, pajamas, a skirt and a bathing suit. Jackson insisted I try on bikinis, but I wouldn't. Catherine bought me a pretty, patterned one-piece that ties around the back of my neck. I've never worn any type of bathing suit, so the concept is exciting in itself.
The last leg of the drive is long, and I fall asleep resting against Jackson's shoulder. He winds an arm around me to keep me close, and I feel safe enough to drift off, lulled by his closeness and the motion of the car.
When I open my eyes, we've come to a stop in front of a sizable house on the lakefront. I can't see much because it's so dark, but I can tell it's beautiful.
"We're here," Jackson says, rubbing my upper arm and planting a kiss on my hair. "Wake up, kitty."
Catherine shuts the car off and I slip out Jackson's side. I grab my backpack, he takes the Target bags, and we make our way inside.
"I had the housekeepers come last week and make sure everything was fit for us to stay," Catherine says. "Jackson's room should be all set for you both."
I stand in the entryway, clutching my bag with my shoes still on, fearful again. I know it's not plausible or possible, but it feels like somehow, my mother is watching me.
"We're… we'll both be in his room?" I ask, twisting the handle of my backpack.
"Oh, yes," Catherine says, looking over her shoulder as she's in the process of setting down her purse. "Is that alright? I just assumed. I should've thought it through. I'm sorry, dear. If you're uncomfortable, I'll set up the couch for Jackson and we can figure it out."
"N-no," I say, shaking my head. "I was just… I was just making sure that you're okay with it?"
Her face softens. "Of course I am, honey," she says. "I wouldn't offer if I weren't. I trust you both, and either way, you're eighteen. You should be trusted within an inch or so."
"Oh," I say, then feel Jackson's arm snake around the small of my back as he leans to kiss my cheek.
"She can be cool sometimes," he says, and I can't help but smile from how close he is.
We get set up in the room that belongs to him. It isn't too personalized because he tells me they haven't come to this place in a while - maybe since he was 13 or 14. It's a nice room, though - the walls are painted blue and the bedspread is a clean, fluffy white. It looks much more comfortable than anything I've ever slept on at home. I can't believe I get to be under it with him all night tonight.
I change into my new pajamas - a pair of soft, cotton shorts and a matching camisole - and try not to feel as bare as I do. I'm not undressed, it's extremely hot out, but the goosebumps don't fade as Jackson looks at me.
"I love that on you," he says, smirking when he comes out of the bathroom. "It's hot."
"I'm not," I say, crossing my arms. "I'm fine. The window… there's a nice breeze coming in from the window."
"Not like that," he says, crossing the room without a shirt on. "The other kinda hot. Like, sexy. You're sexy."
"Oh," I say, and smile when he takes my hand.
"I wanna show you something," he says. "Come outside with me?"
"You're always showing me something," I say, but comply anyway.
He takes me by the hand and leads me outside, past Catherine where she sits at the kitchen table going over something I can't see. I get nervous as we walk by, my obedient instinct kicking in, but all she does is look up and cast us a soft glance.
"Be safe," she says, then looks back at the paper in front of her.
"Why is she like that?" I ask, once we're out of the house and immersed in the balmy air.
"Like what?" Jackson says, entwining our fingers.
"So lenient," I say. "She lets you do whatever you want."
"She trusts me," he says. "I've done some bad shit in the past, but it's in the past. We're in a safe place now, here by the lake. I don't got enemies in St. Joe, only in Chicago. We can be free here, all of us. It's nice, right?"
"Really nice," I say, looking around as we get closer to the water.
"Here. Put your feet in," he says.
We've arrived at the shore, where the waves are hitting the dark sand - rhythmic and soothing. I look at the lake and can't see where it ends, only where the sky meets the water at the horizon. I've never seen something so huge. It makes me feel incredibly small.
The water isn't too cold, but it isn't warm, either. I wiggle my toes in the sand as the waves circle my ankles, and look at Jackson with glee on my face.
"It tickles," I say.
He nods, watching me. "Mm-hmm," he says.
I wade in a bit further, letting go of his hand and walking until the water reaches my knees. I draw my arms into my chest and double over, unable to believe all the sensations I'm feeling. I lower my hands and drag them across the surface of the water, watching the ripples that follow, and cup some before bringing it to my face to take a sip.
"Babe, don't drink that," Jackson laughs. "It's lakewater."
"So?" I say, and take another gulp. "It's nature. God made all this. Look at this. Look at it!"
I stretch my arms out and spin around, my face tipped towards the midnight blue sky. The air is calm and clear, but my heart is beating wild enough to set it on fire. When I open my eyes to the stars, I take a big breath and hold it - hoping to capture this feeling forever so I can resurface it when I go back to the farm.
"It's beautiful," I say, and watch Jackson as he comes to meet me.
His arms wrap around my waist and he gives me a long kiss, so long that I smile against his mouth with the absurdity of its length. When he pulls away, he stares into my face and I see the stars reflected in his expression - right now, my heart is bursting for him, the earth, and what he's turned my life into.
"I love you," I say, holding the sides of his face. I'm not nervous when I say it, because it's true. I do love him. He's shown me more in a month than I've known my entire life. All this warmth has to mean something, and I assume it's love.
He smiles so wide I can practically see all of his teeth. He kisses me again, strong and sure, then picks me up and twirls me around with my feet still in the water.
"I love you, kitty," he says, our noses touching. "I love you so damn much."
…
When he crawls in bed with me that night, I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I should be thinking about my mother, the bible, God, and what rules have been bestowed upon me. The guidelines that I've been instilled with my entire life. But I'm not thinking about any of those things - all I'm thinking about is the warmth coming from Jackson's body and how it's radiating onto me, and how I'll be able to keep it all night.
"C'mere," he whispers, once he gets situated.
I giggle and reach for him. "Cuddle me," I say, shoving a foot between both of his.
"I got you," he says, and we get so close that there's not a single inch of our bodies that don't touch. We lie there in silence for a few minutes, getting used to the sound of the other's breathing and heartbeat, before he speaks. "How are you doing, being away from it all?" he asks.
I frown a bit, considering the question. "I'm okay," I say, then pause to think. "It's weird, though."
"Yeah."
"It feels wrong," I say. "Like I'm doing something wrong."
"You aren't, though," he says.
"But I… I am," I say. "I'm disobeying my mother. I'm doing what she specifically told me not to do. I'm laying with you, I'm about to fall asleep with you in your bed. She would… I don't even want to think about what she'd…"
"But you're happy," he says. "Aren't you?"
I look up and smile softly, blinking into his eyes. "Yes," I answer. "Very happy."
"So, who is she to take happiness away from you?" he asks. "It's cruel. She's so cruel to you sometimes."
"I know…" I say. "But she's my mom. She's spent my whole life trying to teach me and build me up. She just doesn't want me to hurt myself or go down the wrong path."
"Like she did?"
"I don't know," I say. "I don't know anything about that."
He gets quiet, then kisses my forehead. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to get so deep, I guess. It just makes me mad, what she thinks she can do to you. It makes me mad how she doesn't even really know you, like what an amazing, funny, interesting person you are."
I don't have much of a response for that. I don't know how to fill the silence that follows.
"Sorry," he says again.
"But no one does," I say, gathering my words. "No one really knows. Because… I don't know, it's just not something I show. You're the only person who's ever seen me like this. Except for maybe Alice. She thinks I'm funny sometimes. But my mom doesn't know. A personality isn't something we value. Devotion to God is."
"That's fucked up," Jackson says.
I sigh softly. "You don't understand."
"No, I don't," he says.
"There's a lot about my life you can't wrap your head around," I say. "And there's a lot of things about your life I can't come close to understanding."
"My life isn't that complicated," he says.
"But it's scary, though," I say. "We couldn't go to Chicago because you might get killed if you go back. That's scary, Jackson. I don't know that lifestyle where I come from."
"They can't touch me now," he says, stroking my cheek. "I'm right here with you."
"But what about when it all ends?" I say. "What about in September, when you-"
"I don't wanna talk about that," he says. "Kitty. I'm just happy to be here with you right now."
He might be able to compartmentalize and see things for what they are in the moment, but it's not that easy for me. I told him I loved him, and now our numbered days have become increasingly intrusive. I can't stop thinking about the fact that we don't exist in a vacuum - his life will have to resume at one point. Resume, presumably, without me there.
"I love you," he says, kissing me. "Remember? I love you?"
"I know," I say, trying to lift the weight off my chest. "Because I said it first. I love you."
…
In the morning, I'm not sure where I am when I first open my eyes. The walls are blue, not beige like my room at home, and there's a beachy-smelling breeze coming through the window. There's also a bare chest right next to me, which reminds me that I'm with Jackson at the lake house in St. Joe, Michigan, and last night, I told him I loved him.
My mind is blissfully blank as I lie there, basking in his presence and holding him close. One of his arms is under my head and the other is slung heavy around my hips, keeping me right where I am. Not like I want to move.
He's a sound sleeper; he must have been tired last night. His lips are slack and his cheeks are squishy, unmoving as he's deep in the recesses of his mind. I don't even think he's dreaming.
I turn on my side and flatten a hand over his stomach, which is rising and falling slowly. My thumb finds the trail of hair that leads to his bellybutton, and I gently stroke it for a moment before leaning forward to kiss his chest.
I'm not sure what time it is, but I'm sure it's not late. My internal clock doesn't let me sleep for long, since I'm so used to getting up early. I know I should let him rest, but I don't want to spend time without him any longer. A few minutes is a few too many.
"Jackson," I whisper, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "Wake up."
He doesn't stir, doesn't so much as adjust. He stays dead to the world, unperturbed.
"Wake up…" I say, jostling him slightly. I sigh when he still doesn't respond.
I prop myself up on an elbow and hover over his face, then press my lips to his slack ones.
"Baby," I say, testing out the word and discovering I like the way it sounds and tastes. He responds instantly, eyelashes twitching and fluttering while he makes his way to consciousness. Then finally, his eyelids inch open and I'm met with the cloudy blue of his irises.
"Mmm…" he groans, shifting on the mattress. He pulls me closer, eliciting a soft giggle, and wraps his arms around my back to keep me near.
"Morning," I say, head on his chest.
"It's too early," he says. "Go back to bed."
"I can't," I say, skimming a hand over his bare skin. I love the soft warmth of it. "Plus, I have a question."
"It's too early for questions," he grumbles lightheartedly, lazily kissing the same spot on my hairline over and over again.
I lift up and smirk. "I want a kiss," I say, edging closer so our noses touch and we breathe the same air. He presses his lips to mine and lets them linger, holding the back of my head so I'll stay.
"G'morning," he says, kissing the corner of my mouth after I pull back.
"Hmm…" I hum, smiling with my chin resting on my folded hands.
"What's the question?" he asks, tucking a piece of hair behind my ears.
"What's Chicago like?" I ask, blinking lightly.
"Chicago?" he says.
I nod. "This place is so pretty. I've never seen so much water, so many buildings and houses. I wanna know what the city's like, too."
"The city…" he says, bringing me back to his side to wrap an arm around my shoulder and stroke my arm. "For starters," he says. "It's loud. I think it would take you a sec to get used to how loud it is. It's never quiet, not even at night. That's why the silence of the farm freaked me the fuck out the first couple days. It's creepy."
"It's not creepy," I say, smiling.
"Downtown is cool, but overrated," he says. "A bunch of tourist shit. And they walk slow as fuck, so I mostly avoid that area. I'd take you there, though. So you could see Cloud Gate and Buckingham Fountain and Navy Pier and all that. Yeah, you'd love it. We'll go sometime."
I grin to myself and trace shapes on his chest with the nail of my pointer finger.
"What's really cool is finding these hole-in-the-wall places that not many people know about. I like those. Then, it feels like the city is really yours. I mean, I grew up there. So, it basically is mine. But that feeling is just cool. It's like… you can just be yourself, you don't have to impress anyone, and the people there are cool with you. It's a good feeling, it's like coming home." He sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know if that makes any sense, or if I answered the question that good. It's hard to explain without showing you."
"No, I liked it," I say. "You made me want to see it for myself."
"Someday, right?" he says, tracing the curve of my waist.
"Yeah," I say, although I don't fully believe my words. "Someday."
…
That day, we go downtown by the water. I wear a brand new pair of white denim shorts and a pink shirt, showing more skin in public than I ever have in my life.
We don't waste time eating real food. Instead, we eat sweets for every meal, sweets I've never had. For breakfast, we eat decadent chocolate from Kilwin's - a chocolate shop along the strip. For lunch, we have two huge cones of ice cream. For dinner, I think Catherine is grilling out for us. So, we'll have real food then. But for now, I'm enjoying my Mackinac Island fudge ice cream that's dripping down a waffle cone and onto my hand.
"Missed a spot," Jackson says, thumbing the side of the cone to collect a droplet. Instead of eating it himself, though, he holds his hand out and I lick it from his finger.
My new flip-flops make loud, amusing sounds against my feet as we walk along the sandy boardwalk. I lick my ice cream and enjoy the feeling of Jackson's hand in my back pocket, cupped over my butt, as we stroll. I look up at him every now again with light in my eyes, unable to believe that this is my life.
"See that?" he says, pointing in the distance once we reach the pier. He hops up and reaches for me, helping me climb to join him. I chew the last of my ice cream cone and hoist myself onto the cement, following his eyes once I get there. "The lighthouse?"
"Yeah."
"Look," he says, then points to his bicep which is made bare by the cutoff t-shirt he's wearing. On his skin is a perfectly replicated version of that lighthouse, in tattoo form.
"Wow," I say, glancing at his face before trailing my eyes back down to the blue ink. "It looks exactly like it."
"She did a good job," he says. "It's my favorite lighthouse."
"Why?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I've known it my whole life."
I trace the shape, so much alike to the real thing. "I want one," I say, only half-joking.
"Yeah?" he says. "What are you gonna get?"
"A lighthouse, just like you," I say.
"'Cause you're a copycat?" he asks, winding his arms around my waist and laughing.
"No!" I say, turning my face to the side as I bust up giggling. The sun warms my open skin with his hands on me, and I've never felt happier than I do right now. "No, that's not why."
"Why, then?" he asks, pulling me closer so he can tuck his face into my neck.
"Because…" I say, tracing his shoulder blades gently. "Because lighthouses show you the way home. And being around you… that's home to me."
He stands up straight to look in my eyes and kisses my cheek before moving to my lips. "Way to show me up," he whispers, forehead against mine.
"I know," I mutter back.
"But I love you, so it's alright," he says. "This once."
"Probably won't be the last time," I say.
"Watch yourself," he says, then kisses me again.
Interrupting our moment, a voice I don't recognize sounds near us, saying, "Damn, PDA much?"
Jackson pulls away to look towards the source, and his face changes as he must recognize the person. "Holy shit," he says. "Uh… hey, Burke. What's up, man?"
"Haven't seen you in a minute," this Burke person says. He clasps Jackson's hand then claps him on the back roughly, and Jackson reciprocates. "Where've you been?"
"Around," Jackson says. "Chicago. Don't come here much anymore."
"I see that," Burke says, eyebrows raised. "Got yourself a girl?"
Jackson looks at me and smiles, then rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah," he says. "This is April. April, this is Preston Burke. He's one of my buddies from when we used to come here every summer. Haven't seen him for a while."
Burke nods at me, then glides up and down my body with his eyes. It makes my skin crawl, and I don't know why. No one's ever looked at me like that.
"I gotta run," Burke says. "But I just saw you over here and couldn't believe it was you."
"Sure," Jackson says. "Take care of yourself, man."
"I will," Burke says. "And uh, there's that salon in town, you know. Looks like your girl needs a little trim in all the right places, if you know what I mean."
With that, he walks away and leaves me feeling confused and embarrassed for reasons I'm not even sure of. I cross my arms over my chest and watch Jackson - he's stunned, staring at the other man's back as he leaves.
"Rat bastard," he mutters.
"Why did he say that?" I ask. "What did he mean?"
"It's nothing," he says, holding my shoulders. "Ignore him."
"No, I wanna know," I say.
"It was nothing, kitty," Jackson insists.
"Tell me," I say.
He sighs and rubs his temples with one hand. "It doesn't fuckin' matter."
"Yes, it does," I say, getting frustrated. "He said something about me. I want to know what he meant."
"He was being a douche!" Jackson says, finally. "I don't wanna tell you, 'cause it's gonna make you upset. And it's not even worth it. He's a fucking idiot."
I set my jaw and shift my weight to one side, lifting my chin in the air.
"What, so now you're not gonna talk to me," he says.
"No, because I have the right to know," I say. "Just tell me, Jackson. I don't like being kept in the dark. It makes me feel stupid. I already know I'm sheltered, you're only making it worse."
"Fine!" he says. "He was talking about your legs. Most all girls shave their legs, and you don't. Which is fucking fine, I don't care. If you don't want to, you shouldn't. But he was being a fuckin' dick about it. And I think he meant something about your hair being long. Most girls have it cut into a style, or whatever."
I get quiet as my gut sinks. I've never felt more conscious of my looks. Until now, I haven't had much of a reason to. I didn't know I was supposed to do any of that.
"See, kitty. Fuck," Jackson says. "You can't listen to that shit. You're perfect the way you are. You shouldn't change."
He sets a hand on my shoulder, but I nudge it off. I don't want him touching me, not if I'm as gross and ugly as everyone thinks I am.
"I want it off, then," I say. "The hair. I wanna be like other girls."
"Kitty…" he says.
"No," I say, eyebrows low. "I wanna go to whatever place he said. I don't want to be the gross farm girl. I wanna be normal, Jackson." I look into his eyes while fighting tears. "Please."