The Force of Gravity(29)

“Okay,” he says, giving up and switching topics. “I’m going to a poker game tonight at Bob’s house. What time will you be home?”

I let out a humorless laugh. I don’t understand how he can just separate from his wife and then go play poker, but that’s just me.

“I won’t be,” I say. “I’m staying the night at Emily’s. I’ll be home sometime tomorrow.”

“All right. Well, have fun. Here’s some cash for tonight.” He drops a wad on the counter.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“You’re welcome. Don’t let this put a damper on your night, Kay,” he says, patting my shoulder. The small gesture makes my next breath rattle from my chest. “Please, have fun.”

I swallow down the urge to cry. “I will,” I assure him as he leaves the room.

I can’t believe she walked out on us—on me. My own mother. Just like that. Without warning. She didn’t even have the decency to write me a damn note. And of all days. Was she really that unhappy? Is my dad really that bad? Today, most parents will annoy their kids by taking too many photos and gushing over them, while mine are too wrapped up in their own issues to even remember my prom. I wash down my dejection with a sip of coffee, determined not to break. I’ll be damned if I let my parents ruin my night.

It’s time to take action.

I send Emily a text, making up a story about my mom having the flu and that we’re on our own in the hair department. She’s disappointed, but understands. I’m not trying to hide another facet of my life from her; I just can’t tell her the truth today—she’ll want to talk about it, and I refuse to ruin our special day. She says she’ll pick me up in a couple of hours, and I use the time to get ready. Nothing is going to stop me. My problems will still be here when I get back, so why not enjoy tonight?

The stereo blares on full volume as I take a lengthy shower, the steam calming my lungs, the hot water relaxing my muscles. The fast beat of the music echoes against the bathroom walls, quickly pushing out the negativity in my head. I take extra care in prepping myself—lathering myself with my favorite body wash and shaving three times, even using an expensive hair conditioner on my legs to make them extra soft.

By the time I’m packing my bag, energy courses through my veins. Okay, and a little anxiety. But the good kind . . . I think. I sift through my drawers and fish out a pair of bright pink shorts—that are super short—and a thin white tank top. Cute and comfy. I don’t want to sport my raggedy pajamas the first time I stay the night with a guy, but I’m not exactly up for sleeping in pasties and a G-string either—a girl’s got to be comfortable. I pack up my cutest undergarments, the essential toiletries, and a pack of condoms. Emily was brave enough to buy them for me last week, although she assured me Tommy would be well-prepared. My pulse quickens as the intimidating box stares back at me, and I’m reminded to take my birth control pill.

When I turned eighteen, I was able to get a prescription without my parents’ consent. After Tommy and I became exclusive, I wanted to be prepared. Much to my humiliation, I didn’t think about it showing up on my parents’ insurance statement. Thankfully, it was my mom who saw it and promised not to tell my dad; however, that didn’t stop her from giving me “the talk.” A little late at my age, but she meant well.

A pang swells in my heart as I recall her uneasy face while she gave me that awkward, yet important, talk. She’s always been able to find the perfect balance between mother and friend—which is why it’s such a blow that she forgot about my prom. It makes me realize just how miserable she’s been. The realization weighs heavily on my chest, but I force it aside and zip up my bags. Emily’s horn sounds from the driveway, erupting a thrill in my belly. Can’t think about my parents now. Nothing but the present moment from here on out. I swing my overnight bag over one shoulder, then my other bag filled with hair supplies over my other shoulder, and grab my garment bag. I yell good-bye to my dad and shuffle out the door, trying not to topple over.

This is it.



HIDDEN AWAY IN Emily’s bedroom, I set up a mock hair salon and take charge. My mom may be the talented professional in the family, but I’m not so bad myself. Taking my time, I give both of us my best rendition of what I like to call “catwalk locks.” I despise prom updos and vehemently talk Emily out of one.

“Trust me,” I say. “There’s a reason you never see models on the runway like that. Guy’s love long, flowing hair. It’s a fact.”

After about three hours, we’re admiring ourselves in the mirror.

“We’re knock-outs,” says Emily, her eyes sparkling.

And she’s right. Our hair turned out amazing, if I do say so myself, with long wavy curls and volume to die for. Emily played up her lips in a vixen-red, while I gave myself an intense smoky eye and natural, kissable lip—my signature look. It always baffles me when girls feel the need to change their appearance to the point of making themselves unrecognizable for prom. I’m a firm believer in going as your sexy self, just intensified. It’s way hotter. And in these dresses? Please. We know we look incredible.

Emily’s reflection stares back at me through the glass. “Ready to go?”

Her simple question almost knocks the air out of my lungs. Suddenly, I’m petrified.

“I need a shot,” I blurt out.

Her eyes widen in the mirror, then she turns to me. “A shot? Like a shot shot?”

“I think so. I mean, I’m not asking for immunizations,” I say with a nervous giggle.

She purses her lips together. “Well, I still have to drive. We’ll take shots at Derek’s.”

Pushing down my parents’ separation feels like a rock in the pit of my stomach, and now I’m facing sex for the first time in a matter of hours. I need a shot of alcohol.

“Can I have one now?” I plead. “I need to take the edge off, Ems.”

She’s contemplative as she regards me. “Okay,” she says finally, “but promise me we can take one together at Derek’s, too. I never get to drink with you!”

“I promise,” I say, laughing at her poutiness. And I mean it. Suddenly, I’m ready to drink the night away.

A giant grin blooms on her face. “Yay!” she says, squealing and jumping up and down. “Okay, let’s go,” she says, hustling me down the hallway. “Mom! Go get the camera, we’re ready,” she hollers as we pass the living room.

Mrs. Kirkwood gasps. “Oh! You girls are breathtaking! Okay, I’ll be right back,” she says scurrying down the hall.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Emily whispers “Quick!” and leads me into the kitchen. She jumps up on the counter, resembling some kind of stork in heels, and snatches a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet. She’s all business as she pours me a drink. “Hurry and take it; we have no time.”

I down the shot and scrunch my face. She has the liquor bottle and shot glass back in the cabinet before I even open my eyes. Just then, Mrs. Kirkwood rounds the corner, and I do my best to straighten my face. After a few fun poses in front of the camera, and reassuring her we’ll get copies of the photos we take at Derek’s, we grab our bags and rush out the door.

My body loosens as the alcohol makes its way down my limbs. Emily cranks up the stereo in her car, and we sing along, constantly checking out our stunning reflections in the mirrors. When Derek’s house comes into view, my adrenaline accelerates to the point of nausea.

“I’m ready for another shot,” I announce as we come to a stop.

She giggles. “You got it.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN



A BEAMING MRS. LARSON OPENS the front door as we step up the walkway. “Oh my goodness! You ladies are drop-dead gorgeous!”

Tommy and Derek are descending the stairs when we enter the foyer, looking exceptionally handsome in their tuxes, and I laugh at the backwardness of it all—aren’t the girls supposed to walk down the stairs with the boys admiring them? In the boys’ defense, they wanted to pick us up, but Emily insisted. There’s nothing like the breezy atmosphere of the Larson house. And tonight, I’m extra appreciative.

“Damn!” Derek howls, swooping up Emily and spinning her around.

Tommy approaches me, his eyes wide, and he fumbles for words. “Wow, Kay . . . wow.”

I can’t help but grin. “Do you like my dress?”

After a long pause, he drags his gaze from my dress and settles on my eyes. “You have no idea. You’re a goddess, babe.” He kisses me on the cheek, and I flush.

Derek’s parents never hover, so we’re left alone in the great room with a plethora of hors d’oeuvres. I scan the table of gourmet cheeses, sandwiches, sushi, and delicate little chocolates, and realize I haven’t eaten today. My nerves have diminished any sort of appetite, but I grab a fancy-looking cheese on the end of a toothpick and pop it into my mouth, knowing I need something more than just coffee and booze in my stomach. After a short while, Derek whips out a small squatty bottle of alcohol and pours three shots. His parents often turn a blind eye, but they would never condone us drinking in front of them, so we need to be discrete.