"I'd expect nothing less." Blake is quick with his reply.
Holt strums his fingers along the table as if he were anxious to tighten the noose around Blake's neck. "Tell us about your past. Any skeletons in the closet? What was the longest relationship you've had?"
"Holt." My mother playfully scolds, but it sounds like something she herself would like to know.
"No, that's fine. I have nothing to hide. No skeletons. I'm still working through some tough stuff, but Annie has been a godsend. If it weren't for her-these past few months would have been sheer hell. Excuse my language."
I reach over and take up his hand at the table.
Eventually small talk ensues between my brothers. Mom casually mentions that she's set up an appointment for me at a clinic in Jepson. But I sort of let the conversation die out. I don't want the implant to become the crux of our visit. And knowing that Blake wants me to have it as much as my mother means they'd most likely double-team me. Once we finish our meals Mom and Baya start to clear the dishes. Izzy and Marley start a conversation about Marley's sister, Jemma, who happens to be Izzy's best friend. The rest of the visit flies by as we finish up dessert in the family room while my brothers root for their favorite football team, even though they lose in a record upset. I'm sure there's some dizzying metaphor in there regarding the stunning loss and my brothers' views on my relationship with Blake, but my head isn't up for deciphering it.
We exchange pleasant goodbyes with Mom and make our way to the front. A flood of relief fills me. I thought for sure this afternoon would end up in a pile of broken dishes, and perhaps broken ribs and legs, but not a bone was shattered, china or not.
"Hey"-Holt nods both Blake and me over-"it was real nice getting to spend some time with you away from the Black Bear." He drills his gaze into Blake, but it's cold and unfeeling. The words felt more like a threat than they did a kind sentiment. I know my brother too well. This is just a put on. "Oh!" He fakes an epiphany. "You never did answer the question. What was your longest relationship? It's just one of those stupid things that either says everything or nothing about a person. I sort of blew in and out of relationships myself until I met Izzy." He pumps a dry smile my way.
I'd be extremely pissed at Holt if he didn't just offer Blake an out. That little bit of self-effacing just may have saved our relationship. I'm not up for taking any more crap from my brothers.
Blake furrows his brows as he shakes his head. "I don't really know-a few months to a year? I guess there was a long one in there somewhere. They never meant much until now, so I guess we have that in common."
Holt manufactures a grin. "I guess we do. Say-what was the name of your last girlfriend?"
Blake's Adam's apple rises and falls. "I'm embarrassed to say this, but it was probably a one-night stand. I used to have a bit of a rock candy addiction." He looks to me with regret in his eyes. "Sorry."
"The long one"'-Holt isn't letting this go-"you know, the last one you do remember."
Blake and Holt enter into a silent standoff, just staring one another down as if they're about to go for the jugular.
This is ridiculous, I sign to my brother. I don't appreciate the way you're treating him one bit. Knock it off. Say something nice, or just go away.
Blake warms my back with his hand. "No, it's okay. Her name was Olivia."
Olivia. My heart thuds a few times abnormally. I think I like her referenced better as the long one. Giving her a name, that name, makes it sound serious. Olivia sounds sophisticated. A laceration of pain whips through me at who this Olivia girl might be. I scowl at my brother. I know his game. Get in my head with this girl's name, and I won't let their ghost of a relationship rest until I've extinguished mine. Well, it's not going to work.
"Olivia Noster?" Holt's brows rise, and he looks pleasantly surprised as if he knows her. But it's all an act, both Blake and I know it. Holt wants her real last name so he can probe into Blake's past looking for some rope to hang him with. I hate to break it to Holt, but he's the one who's going to find his neck cinched, his feet dangling off the ground.
Blake huffs a dry laugh. His eyes close a moment. "No, not that one." He clasps his arm over my shoulder.
"Did you love her?" Holt spears him with his gaze.
Blake stills. His chest rises and falls with his next breath, but he doesn't answer his question.
"You did." Holt shrugs. "That's what I wanted to hear. It's good. Now with Annie you have something to gauge your feelings with. First love can be tricky to navigate because you can't see the bigger picture." His jaw pops as if he's getting angry. "But, then again, you never forget your first love. It's just one of those things."
"We'll see you around." Blake pulls me in tighter.
"Later." Holt doesn't break eye contact with Blake.
Bryson tries to lure us into a conversation, but I hold up a hand as we make our way to the truck.
I'm done with my brothers.
We say goodbye to everyone and take off with Marley in the back seat.
It's a long drive back to campus. This time nature's sharp beauty isn't enough to distract me from my brothers' distrust.
Who am I kidding? I'm not thinking about my brothers.
All I can think about is this girl who Blake once loved.
Olivia.
* * *
Prescott Hall is taking part in a volunteer effort on behalf of Whitney Briggs University where students take turns serving at a homeless shelter for the entire month. It's a part of the Give Thanks-Give Back campaign running through November.
Blake and I have been hit or miss this week. We were together two more times, once on Sunday and again on Tuesday night when we ditched the movie we were going to see and hit the carriage house instead. I love being with Blake-physically being with Blake-our bodies merging as one, his laughter, his moans melting straight into my mouth with their vibratory approval. Blake and I are all smiles when we're together. He makes me insanely happy. Why can't that be enough for my brothers?
I catch a ride to the homeless shelter with Marley, and we discuss my evolving sex life all the way down-mostly at red lights when she can read my texts.
I hand her my phone as we park nearby the facility.
I'll admit, Holt shook me off my foundation a bit with all that talk of ex-girlfriends. It didn't help when Blake mentioned that he'd had his fair share of rock candy. I get it. He's hot. He sings. Girls want him in their beds. He's BEEN in their beds. Heck, I want him in mine. So the fact that he has a track record shouldn't throw me for a loop. It's just that I want to know that I'm doing okay in that department. I want to know that I don't suck and that he's not disappointed in my moves because, really, I don't have any.
Marley openly laughs at the idea. "Are you kidding? That boy is in love with you." She snatches the phone. Your moves are enough for him. More than enough. That boy is whipped.
My phone buzzes, and I take it back. It's a text from Blake. "It's him," I whisper.
I'm off a little early. Want to get together? I can pick you up.
A dizzying grin takes over. I can't believe I can get so giddy over a simple text. I love having a boyfriend far more than I ever thought I would. I love that my boyfriend just so happens to be the only one on the planet who has made my stomach squeeze tight. It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that he only wants me.
I'm doing volunteer work at the homeless shelter in Jepson. I should be done in a couple of hours, or, if you like, you can join me. I'm sure another pair of hands couldn't hurt.
Blake texts right back. Consider me there. Love you.
My heart melts when I see those last two words.
I love you, too.
The Jepson House, as it's called, is a large, boxy building with wide electronic doors that whoosh open onto a stamped concrete floor. It looks polished and modern with its light blue trim. There are even fashionably dressed mannequins in the display window that advertise the thrift shop in the back. If you didn't read the sign, you might mistake it for a department store. Inside the strong smell of stewed meat and potatoes take over my senses. I'm not a fan of stewed anything, so, at this point, I have two choices, decide it smells halfway decent or run all the way home, dry heaving.
Marley points to the back where there's an assembly line of food set up. We spot a bunch of girls from our dorm and head over.
Marley speaks to the woman in charge, and before we know it, we're slinging sweet potatoes and green beans respectively to the passerbys. It's mostly single men bundled for the frosty night ahead. I can't help but see the distance in their eyes. They all wear that same tired look, with those same vacant eyes. A few women come by with small children, and a young boy of about six signs to his mother that he doesn't like orange potatoes. I can't help but light up on the inside. As much as I hate to admit it, life after Quincy has been a bigger adjustment than I thought. Just seeing them speaking together in ASL makes my heart sing. Is it wrong that I secretly wish the whole world knew how to sign? After all we know their language.