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It’s been weird in the most normal way possible: after our Catskills camping trip, after finding out that Rafael actually wanted to kiss me all those years ago—that he in fact did not reject me because I’m fat—my brain chemistry changed. I believed a lie that I fabricated, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I took that hurt with me for many years. I let it seep into my self-esteem. It wasn’t until much later that I finally forgave him for what he unknowingly did to me. Forgave him in the sense that I never spoke a word about it to him, but I released that negative energy from my being and built my confidence from there.
Whatever possessed me that night next to the creek to demand he tell me what really happened, I’m grateful for. Because now I’m sitting next to my best friend, picking out car seats and onesies, and I know as soon as we get home, he’ll be on his knees with his face buried between my legs, relieving the ache that’s already formed from watching him do manual labor in tiny shorts.
That’s if I ask him. Since we got back from our camping trip, I haven’t been totally forthcoming about my needs. We’ve only been together two times since then because I’ve been afraid of wearing him out—of letting him see how much and how often I need the relief. It’s borderline embarrassing if I’m being honest. It’s shocking to see my sexual appetite increase so dramatically. He’s been nothing but willing and eager when I approach him at home, but there’s something holding me back from showing him the whole truth.
Even with this drastic shift in our friendship, it hasn’t seemed drastic at all. That’s the best fucking part. Sure, we’re experimenting with our kinks and that’s thrilling to say the least, but the fact that we added this whole new sexual layer to our relationship is simultaneously mind-blowing and right.
And maybe that’s what scares me.
“What’s impractical about a tiny rugby jersey, shorts and socks?” he asks, settling his head on my lap as he continues to scroll, one long leg splayed over the sofa’s edge and the other planted on the chipped tile floor.
“Considering my due date is December 28th, I don’t think we need to worry about a proper rugby kit until the summer.”
“Fine,” he mumbles. “But I’m adding this USA Valor onesie.”
Humming a small laugh, I look down at him. “Maybe Robyn can sign it next time we see her,” I say, referring to our friend who plays for the highest level of rugby one can in the United States and our Olympic team.
“I love watching her play on TV. She’s a beast,” he smiles, then looks up at me from his phone. “You know I brag all the time that I know her?”
“So do I! Have you seen her on social media?” I ask. “She’s all about body acceptance and giving the haters a solid middle finger.”
“I know. She’s a fucking badass.”
“Whatever happened with her and Isaiah? They were such good friends once upon a time.”
“I was hoping you knew,” he frowns.
When my phone starts buzzing with an incoming call from Dane, I say, “Maybe he knows,” before swiping to answer. “Hey, little brother.”
“Angie-Pangie, what’s going on?”
“Sitting here with Raf in his decrepit fixer-upper.” When he pokes me in the side, I smile, but slap his hand away. “You?”
“Driving to Dad’s house to help him with the sump pump.”
“He can’t fix it himself?”
“Of course he can,” Dane huffs smugly, before his tone turns sober. “I think he’s lonely now that everyone is out of the house.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “We should probably make sure to invite him to more stuff.”
“Yeah,” he drawls.
“So why’d you call?”
“Oh yeah,” Dane says. “Jonah is being a little brat. He’s always ten to fifteen minutes late to sevens practice if he shows up at all. And when he is there, he’s half-assing it. I’m the fucking captain of our team now, and he’s making me look like I can’t lead.” My eyes draw to Raf’s where his lips thin and he nods in confirmation. “He was never like this when Isaiah was captain.”
“I’m sorry, Dane. That sucks. Do you have a plan?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t involve me. But alas, a person can only change so much.
“Can you talk to him, Ang?”
Rafael shifts to get a better look at me, watching me silently sigh. He knows how hard I’ve been trying to set boundaries with my siblings. I’ve been their default mother for most of their lives, and I’ve been trying to back off. Trying to let them be more self-sufficient so I can stop being their emotional support—their fixer.
“Dane,” I say calmly. “If you think you’re capable of being captain, then you’re capable of handling this. You don’t need your big sister cleaning up for you.”
“But he’ll listen to you,” he whines.
“Figure out a way to make him listen to you. Or else he never will and you’re going to be going through this again and again with him.”
