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My mother attempts to shoo me from the room with platitudes and assurances, but I ignore her.
“Quit your worrying, Lilah- I’m old, not incompetent.”
He returns her look and then straightens. Focusing on me, he scrutinizes my appearance, no doubt disapproving of my casual workout attire. My thin, sleeveless hoodie and basketball shorts are obviously not up to his standards. To be fair, I was intending on going for a run to work off some nervous energy.
My thoughts stray to the voicemail again, aggravating me with the attention I keep giving it. I need to delete it before it becomes a distraction.
My father clears his throat and I tense, walking over to sit across from him like I know he expects. In his study, I always thought of him like a king on his throne. Probably because his office chair looks like a throne, tufted and ornate and the back comes up higher than my father’s head. As a child he always made me feel small when he sat there, and if I’m being honest, I feel pretty small even now.
“How are your studies progressing?” My father asks me, as if he summoned me here in the first place.
“My classes are going well. I have all of my transcripts if you’d like to review my grades and notes from my professors.” I don’t mind the extra effort of showing him my transcripts and had been expecting him to ask. I’ve managed to secure all A’s despite my concussion last year, not that it will gain me any favors with him. “Biochemistry is proving to be tough, I’m keeping up. I joined a prep course to prepare for the MCAT at the end of next term.”
“And your extracurriculars?”
“I’ve been starting center for every game this year, and we’re likely going to take it to the State Championships next season.”
“Girls?”
I blanch. “No, sir, no time for it.” My heart skips a beat as I add, “A lot of cute girls come to the games though.”
It’s not a lie. If I wanted to, I could have a different girl every night, or multiple girls every night. Getting them to leave me alone is the problem.
He grunts. “Still boxing?”
“Yes, sir. Whenever it doesn’t conflict.”
“What’s your fight record?”
“Undefeated this year, sir. One loss last year during my second semester.”
“Yes, I remember.”
I try not to react to his tone of disappointment, nodding respectfully instead. Last year I got sucker-punched after the bell and ended up having to forfeit in the third round. I was in the hospital with a concussion for almost two days.
At my acknowledgment of my failure, the interrogation stops - thank God, and after a few minutes of tense silence, I ask about how he is doing with his time off. He looks momentarily confused, almost as if he’d forgotten he’s taken time off for the first time in nearly 40 years. He scoffs dismissively, so my mother fills the silence with the usual mundane gossip of running the hospital volunteers, charity galas, and chatting about her garden.
When I finally make my escape and head out the door for my jog, I take off so fast I don’t even have time to catch my breath. I just had to get out. That house, my parents… they make me feel incredibly claustrophobic. The only way to shake off the stifling pressure is to run or fight it out. I don’t feel like talking to anyone at the gym, so I push myself to run faster and harder, until the tension releases and all I can hear is my sneakers beating against the pavement and the sound of my breaths.
Every moment of my day is classes, athletics, or studying. My straight A’s don’t come naturally and I have to work hard constantly to keep up with everything. I didn’t tell my father this, but I’ve been taking several extra tutoring lessons and attending study groups. I’m not sure how I fit it all in, but I live by a strict schedule. It doesn’t give me time to fail, and it doesn’t give me time to think.
As I approach the town center square, I slow my pace to a walk and take deep breaths, refilling my lungs and slowing my heart rate. Not able to distract myself anymore, I remember the voicemail on my phone. There have been two others since I arrived home, but I’d deleted them, too afraid to hear his voice - afraid of how I crave it.
I stare at my phone, at the little notification of a 26 second voicemail. 26 seconds. Surely 26 seconds wouldn’t be enough to tear away everything I’ve built. I’m stronger than that.
“Um, hey Micah, it’s me again... I don’t know if you’re listening to these or just deleting them.” He swears under his breath. “Look, I know you’re in town. I’d like to talk. As a friend. Call me, please?”
Shaking off the familiar feeling that creeps into the pit of my stomach, I quickly hit “delete” and follow the path to our New England small-town version of Central Park. Not paying attention to where my feet are taking me, I walk down a less popular solitary path, remembering walking these same steps almost four years ago.
The sun had set, and the paths were lined with paper luminaries for the town’s autumn festival. Comforted by the shadows around us, Lukas and I walked along, talking and laughing. When we came across a less traveled path that was either forgotten or deemed unworthy of the lights, our conversation faded off and we followed the unlit path. Whether we were exploring or escaping, I don’t know. Neither of us led, following the thin path that jaggedly snaked around unkempt bushes and trees, finding ourselves in a tiny clearing lit only by the moon overhead. It smelled like fresh dirt and the crisp bite of autumn moving in, the light breeze just chilly enough to require a jacket. The sounds of the town festival were a distant backdrop as we found ourselves truly alone for the first time.
I stopped and closed my eyes, soaking in a moment that felt heavy with promise. I’m not sure what I wanted, or if I truly understood what I was feeling. Scared, definitely. Nervous, absolutely. But something else, something akin to excitement or intoxication, buzzed under my skin as I opened my eyes and saw him standing only a few short steps away, staring at me with a look I can’t describe. He looked like I felt. Standing there with his hands in his pockets, stooped at the shoulders slightly, he looked up at me through hooded eyes.
For the first time, I gave myself permission to really look at him, lit by the bright moonlight, and I marveled at how beautiful he was - his pale skin soaking in the pearlescent light. His full lips were pulled up into a slight, awkward smirk. My eyes were drawn to the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. He removed his dark-framed glasses and moved to clean them with the bottom of his shirt, a nervous habit of his, never taking his eyes off mine. The realization that he was nervous too did something to my heart, making it skip a few beats.
I opened my mouth to say something - but found myself completely without words. Instead, I took a deep breath, realizing with the rush of air that I had momentarily stopped breathing. The action pulled his searching eyes away from mine, his gaze locked on my mouth. In two long strides, he swooped towards me, taking my face in his hands, pressing his mouth to mine. Despite all of the expectations, the feelings and want inside me, I froze for a fraction of a second before I closed my eyes and melted into his kiss.
My mouth opened slightly, and sparks tingled over me, my entire body electrified as Lukas’ tongue swept against mine. A deep moan reverberated between us, both grasping for more, no longer able to hold back. The kiss became less sweet and searching, our lips and tongues growing needier. I found myself pushed against a tree, my arms pulling him closer to my body as my growing erection strained painfully in my jeans. Keeping one hand on the side of my face, he trailed his other hand down my body to grasp my ass, pulling me into his own hardened length.
