CHAPTER NINETEEN

Faith.

I climb into Sinjin’s car. My stomach hurts from laughing. I’m nervous, but as soon as he sits in the driver’s seat, I reach for him before boldness deserts me. Our mouths meet, soft at first, then it’s like one of us punched the gas pedal and we’re off.

I’m halfway into his seat. The gear shift digs into my side, and I couldn’t care less. I want to touch him. If I’m entertaining thoughts about having sex with Sinjin, I have to know how it feels to have his hands on me first.

No one ever has.

His hands explore my back as we kiss. It feels good.

I run my hands over his chest, tracing the contours of his pecs through his shirt. Our mouths fuse.

“You can unbutton my shirt if you want.”

My heart punches my ribs. I undo the first three buttons and touch his bare skin. His nipple hardens under my index finger as I move my hands over his chest, and my stomach flips.

Sinjin gradually shifts his hands from my back to my neck and moves them lower. He drags his mouth to my ear and sucks the lobe into his mouth as his hands caress my breasts over the fabric of my dress. Whisper soft. One finger ghosts over my nipple. I shudder at the unexpected stab deep in my core, but alarm bells sound in my head. I pull my hands back into my own lap.

His hands move to my waist, and he kisses my neck. His teeth scrape along my skin and goose bumps break out all over my body. I shiver.

“My offer stands,” Sinjin says as he places one last kiss on my collarbone.

I want to say yes. “I’m not ready for that step, Sinjin. Drop me off at my dorm, please.”

He sighs. “Somehow I thought you’d say that.”

I’m exhausted. Ever since the party I’ve dissected Sinjin’s conversation with his ex-girlfriend, overanalyzing his comment to her about going down on his dad: ‘French kissing a dick.’

He’d nearly screamed it.

Is it what she did or the fact his dad was the recipient? I tuned out after his comment, shocked by his fury. Worried about what he might think of what happened between Dimitri and myself. Now I wish I hadn’t. If I paid attention, maybe there was more context to his accusation and emotion behind his words.

He’s always so laid back with me, but it makes me wonder if that’s just a mask hiding his true self?

The party was last Sunday. Today is Wednesday. We’ve swapped texts over the past few days, but he hasn’t asked me out again.

Calculus starts in five minutes and there’s still no sign of Sinjin. I glance down at Gabe in the middle row. He’s not even pretending to be covert about watching the door for our tardy tight end.

Gabe grabs his laptop and backpack and climbs the steps toward me. He chooses the seat to my left.

“Have you heard from CW?”

“Not today.”

“I thought you two were a couple.”

My nerves stretch tight. The door to the classroom opens. Gabe and I both glance in that direction. Sinjin heads toward us, and I let out a breath when he smiles at me full wattage.

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine as soon as he sits in the vacant seat next to me. He nods at Gabe. “I had to run to my car for my phone charger. I forgot to plug it in last night. Took longer than I thought.”

His kiss was casual and normal. Something any couple would do. Despite my concerns, it warms my heart that maybe that’s what we are, a couple. I mean, how would I feel if I found Mom and Sinjin together? Ick. Yeah, I’d lose it, too. I need to give him the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t need to know about Dimitri. That’s in the past and has nothing to do with me now. And one day I might convince myself it’s true.

Sinjin says, “I kept meaning to ask you. Want to hang out Sunday?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

I’m studying in the calm quiet in the section of our campus library where four ancient microfiche readers command space along the back wall. Dust particles swirl in the air while the unit’s fan hums. The white noise settles around me creating a peaceful nook in this deserted area. The sun slants through the windows bathing the space in soft light. A better choice than my dorm room, which contains Charlene, who doesn’t bring out relaxation vibes in me. Obsessing over Caleb and the direction whatever this thing between us might take us makes me lose focus. The text I’m supposed to study fades into gray blobs of nonsense.

A girl sits at the opposite end of my table. Emotions swirl around her like steam from an espresso machine. She seems vaguely familiar, though I don’t want to get caught staring, so I direct my gaze to the textbook in front of me, but the calculus problem might as well be drawn in hieroglyphics. Comprehension eludes me. I hear a sniffle. Out of the corner of my eye I notice the girl wipe her face on her jacket sleeve.

I shift in my seat, at war with myself because she’s obviously crying. I want to ask her if she’s okay, but I stifle the instinct. Not everyone appreciates attention when they’re hurting. In the past, getting caught crying in public felt like ultimate failure to me.

Her hushed misery envelops me. A shaky indrawn breath, another swipe at her face. Should I pack my stuff and go in order to give her space and privacy? I glance at her and happen to make awkward eye contact. She immediately turns her face away.

My throat itches in sympathy. That’s got to be my cue to leave. I close the textbook and slip it into my backpack, swing the strap over my shoulder and stand, ready to leave. She glances my way again and I can’t leave her without checking in. I’d hate myself later if I walk away from her without asking a simple question.

I whisper, “Do you need help?”

She shakes her head. Tears swimming in her eyes spill to track down her cheeks.

I move to her side and sit next to her. “I’m a good listener.”

A guy shuffles into our section. He stops when he sees us, and telegraphs his annoyance with an impatient sigh. The girl then grabs her backpack off the floor. She pleads, “Can we get out of here?”

“Of course.” I follow her outside into the waning daylight.

When the doors close behind us, I join her at a walkway bench.

She sighs. “I don’t know what to say. And to be honest, I’m not sure I should say it to you.”

I feel a memory tickle, but the picture won’t form. “Well, the advantage of unburdening yourself to a stranger means that you might not ever see me again. I promise you I never break a confidence.”

“That’s the thing. You’re not a complete stranger.”

What? “You look familiar, but I can’t place you.”

“I’m Dana. I used to date Caleb.”

My lungs spasm, restricting my capacity to breathe properly. I draw in air through my nose and hold my breath. Well, that answers my question. I take a moment to get myself under control again. “So, you happened to choose my table in the library at random?”

She nods, and rings my bullshit bell. I stand. “You’re right. I’m not the person you can unload on.”

“Wait. You think I trolled you in the library? I didn’t recognize you until you spoke to me.”

The tendons in my neck tighten. Awkward doesn’t begin to explain this situation. “Understood. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.” Those tears fall again and she swipes at them with her hands. “Go enjoy your nice, friend-filled life.”

Indecision freezes me in place. I know what it’s like to feel quarantined by your peers. “You don’t know me well enough to make that statement like it’s fact. You don’t know me. Period.”

“Fact. You’re poised to walk away.”

I plop on the bench beside her to disprove her point. Alarm bells toll through my brain, and I ask myself, What the actual fuck are you doing right now? “What can I do for you?”

“Look. I made a huge mistake. And I’ve been paying for it ever since. I lost the one person who mattered most to me. I was weak when I should have been strong. I didn’t say no, when I had the opportunity. I’m so fucked up emotionally, I didn’t recognize what was going on before it was too late.” She laughs without humor. “Daddy issues. Mommy isn’t any better. A parental morass of issues. You’re better off staying away. It might rub off.”

A place deep inside me pings. I’d probably lose my humanity if my relationship with both my parents sucked. “Look, it sounds like you might benefit from this counselor I’ve met. She’s super cool. Nonjudgmental. I can take you to her. And wait while you two talk. Be there for you when you’re done. If you need me to stay?”

She inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “She’s your therapist?”

Now I squirm, because for all my counseling promo I have yet to spend time on the couch unpacking almost a decade worth of baggage from Mom and the bullying crap at school. “Not yet. But we’re talking about you.”

Dana snorts. The sound she makes doesn’t fit the prom queen image I’ve boxed her into. I’m surprised by the contrast and find myself liking her for it. She stares at me for a beat of time. At a guess, she’s assessing whether or not I’m legit or playing her. That simple act draws me in even more since I’m doing the same with her right now giving her side-eye and wondering if she has an angle.

“You’d take me there and wait for me? Caleb’s ex?”

“Yeah.” I shrug, embarrassed by her intensity while remaining worried she’s playing me. “Tears are my kryptonite.”

Dad’s condo has two master bedrooms. I walk into the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom. I’ve covered the mirrored wall with chevron-patterned removable wallpaper in a dull silver tone. I don’t look into full-length mirrors, if avoidable. Over the sink, I reduced the view space on that one as well. Decorating the inside of the framed oval with plum-colored removable butterflies in varying sizes, placed close together. It looks artistic, while leaving me with enough space to make sure my face and teeth are clean and I’m presentable.

My appearance isn’t a priority. What’s the point? While I don’t think I’m a bridge troll or capable of scaring small children, I try not to focus on things I cannot change. I do care about the shape of my eyebrows but that’s just basic grooming. I wear my curly hair in a ponytail because it’s simple.

I promised Dana I wouldn’t tell Sinjin about our trip to Teen Space and Celine Boyd. We’d exchanged contact info, but she’s only sent me a text saying thanks. It probably won’t be necessary to tell him if we don’t have any further contact with each other. Otherwise, I’ll have to renegotiate with Dana. Spending more time with her would mean morphing from a girl who helped someone else toward counseling into someone capable of withholding vital details from her first boyfriend. That’s not me.

After Charlene’s confession about having sex with Everest, she reverted to ignoring me. Sinjin brought it up, too. Not about Everest and Charlene. About us. Having sex. Anytime I try to think about taking off my clothes next to his perfection, my mind veers off into the land of no. Until I answer that question with a yes, sex is not in our immediate future.

I lean against the vanity and brood over what Beau said while he helped me with my costume. Maybe it is time for me to stop hiding behind my extra-large hoodies and shapeless joggers? The thought of leaving my comfort zone brings on the worst case of hiccups yet and has me considering a move to Antarctica where I can wear the most voluminous clothing and no one would stare sideways.

I hold my breath and consider the fact I’ve worn the same basic thing for half of my life. The single deviation was for high school graduation. I don’t count my Halloween costume. While it showed off my neck, arms and waist, the style was flattering, and it didn’t make me feel like I was on display. Plus, costume.

But for graduation I wore a dress. For Dad. Granted, I wore the dress underneath my graduation gown, which I kept on until I strode off the field after the ceremony and into my dad’s car.

For my celebration dinner, I had asked Dad to take me to the Union Oyster House in Boston for two reasons. The food is amazing, and I doubted anyone from my graduating class would make the drive to the city on grad night. Dad and I dined on perfectly prepared seafood. And it’s also why I caved and wore a dress. For him.

While my breasts have grown since they first showed up to make my life hell in third grade, they have remained the same size for the past two years now. They’ve reached maximum growth capacity. Please God. Underneath an oversized hoodie, with a minimizer bra, my breasts no longer pose a problem.

While the water heats in the shower, I undress. Lounge pants and cami tops with built-in shelf bras are my first choice for sleep attire, but I don’t feel comfortable wearing camis around Charlene. I need to call Kirsty. She’s dealt with my neurosis about clothing for years. She’s been my friend through all the name-calling ugliness and all the crap with Mom. It might be time to decide whether hiding behind shapeless clothes remains a valid coping mechanism.

This new environment provides me with a clean slate. No one here has ever made fun of my body. No one has ever singled me out for being different. No one else cares. I am one female among thousands at this school. When my dad took me to dinner in Boston for grad night, no one pointed and laughed at me in my dress.

Everest picked me to win the beauty category at his Halloween party. I boggle at the thought but then realize that I’ve got to stop using my third-grade self as a touchstone.

What if I wear clothing that reveals instead of conceals, like my graduation dress? Something to consider. I step under the spray and glance down at my body. I’m trying to view myself objectively. Do what Beau suggested and think of myself as a random stranger who’s asked for my opinion on their body. Beau told me I had to find three nice things about this stranger’s body to compliment.

My body is now age appropriate and has been for years. Check. My calves are shapely, a compliment. I have large thighs, but they are firm. I’m counting that as another tick mark in the nice column. I look over my shoulder at my butt. Well, the best I can say is that it’s prominent. It may even have its own zip code. Years ago, a fashionable reality TV personality made the bubble butt famous, desirable even. Okay, I’m stopping at three things.

I might be ready to have sex with Sinjin, after all. My need for him grows each time we’re together. My brain wants to have him inside me while I remain fully clothed and he’s delightfully naked. I trust him. It’s just such a big step for me. Not losing my virginity, but taking my clothes off in front of someone else. If I make this choice, I need to deal with Prince Charming and his perfect bod.

My breath hitches.

I squirt shower gel in my hand and try to imagine Sinjin touching my thighs, belly and breasts. I recall the feel of his back under my hands during the beach massage. He’s hard. Ripped. My heart rate ratchets higher, and my eyes close. I touch my breast, my mind rejects the scene, and I move my hand. Cascading water washes the suds down the drain.

Out of the shower, I towel off and get dressed, choosing my Wonder Woman hoodie. I want the she-power the iconic Amazon lends me. A clean pair of track pants and thick socks complete my outfit. These are my home clothes, which look suspiciously like casual everyday wear—and let’s face it—for the most part, it’s my go-to for dressy casual stuff, too. Hmm. I have allowed myself to become far too predictable. Damn it.

I’m no longer a child trapped in a woman’s body. Not an oddity or some circus freak child with boobs. Me. Someone Sinjin wants to make love to.

I should shop. Splurge on a total makeover, go wild, and buy a zip-front hoodie.

I’ll drag Beau with me to the mall across the street. He’ll gripe about being the quintessential gay man every girl wants to take shopping. But that’s what he gets for being my Left Coast bestie. I briefly consider reaching out to Dana, or Kelly from the Halloween party, but that seems forward to me.

Why am I freaking out? They’re clothes. They keep you from being naked in public. Naked in private is a whole different thing. I take a breath to calm down. Sinjin won’t force the issue. I don’t need to decide right this minute. He’ll be here at three. Shit.

I’ve been overanalyzing Sinjin’s breakup with Dana. Did Dana reach for Caleb’s dad the way I did with Dimitri—for the connection or from the sense of not wanting to be alone? That doesn’t feel right because she was still dating Caleb at the time. And the age difference and the fact that he was married feel wrong to me. Does that make me judge of Dana or un supportive of Caleb? I’m so conflicted over this whole situation. Curiosity and guilt war with my compulsion to help people. Even people who used to date my boyfriend, apparently. Ugh!

In my case, Dimitri was a by-product of an epic fail decision-wise, but I’m going to stop shaming myself over my choice. I wonder whether Sinjin will find parallels between Dana and me? Whether someday he’ll be pissed at me for French kissing a dick? If my past bothers him, best to find out now.

If I’m seriously considering having sex with Sinjin, telling him about my past shouldn’t be an issue. Maybe that’s the deciding factor for whether I’m ready to be intimate with him? Share these pieces of myself with him, and gauge his reaction, before taking steps toward clothing removal.

It scares me shitless just thinking about it. I drop to my bed and bury my face in my hands. I picture myself gazing into his beautiful blue eyes and telling him what the guys call me back home. Bile rises in my throat. Get a grip. I cross into the kitchen and take a glass out of the cabinet. My hand shakes. I turn on the faucet, let the glass fill, and drink the entire glass slowly.

I want to be like other girls, so I march to my bedroom where I left my phone and text Beau. He won’t be pleased to receive a text at seven thirty in the morning, but I need him. He’ll understand.

Beau texts me back. He’ll meet me here at ten.

I sit on my bed and grab my iPad. I open the Books app and immerse myself in the fifth Outlander book. I lose all track of time until the doorbell rings.

Beau must be early. I set the iPad on my nightstand. The bell sounds off again. Grumpy much? He’s usually not so impatient. “Coming.”

I reach the door and open it wide. My mother darkens the threshold. My heart stops, and my vision tunnels. Before everything goes black, I inhale and my blood pressure spikes to stroke level. Mom, the human defibrillator.

Her brown check skirt hits right above her knees. Dark brown leather boots with four-inch heels stop below her skirt, showing off her trim legs. A cream-colored cashmere sweater with a fitted leather jacket in a soft caramel color that reaches her hips completes the outfit. Her chestnut hair flows to her elbows. She has a Burberry tote hanging from her arm, and jewelry that’s both understated and elegant. Exquisite.

I’m not ready for this. No forewarning or preparation time. Just ding-dong and the wicked mean witch shows up at my door. She inspects me. Her eyebrows rise as she takes in my Wonder Woman hoodie and sweats. My shoulders draw toward my neck, and my body curls inward to protect myself. She’s capable of making me feel pain without touching me. That’s her superpower.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Daddy taught me never to talk to strangers.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t flatter you, Faith.” She steps through the doorway.

I can either hip-bump her out the door, which might give me instant gratification, or allow her ten minutes to divulge her purpose here today. “I learned that particular language from you.”

“I prefer we remain civil. We haven’t spent any time with each other in the past four years. I imagine we might manage a conversation without verbal attacks.”

Seriously? Acting as though I’m the vicious one in our relationship? “That’s ironic. I can’t imagine our interacting without them.”

She walks into the living room and gestures toward the sofa. “May I sit?”

I am so volatile right now. I’m angry with this woman—who happens to be my mother—who keeps barging into my life on her terms. “Of course. I have manners. Dad’s a stickler about courtesy. I’d offer you breakfast, but you don’t eat.”

She ignores the dig. “Coffee would be lovely, thank you.”

Perfect excuse to step away and grab composure. I head into the kitchen, and she calls out, “Just black.”

I remember. She won’t touch dairy because of the high fat content. I’m surprised she doesn’t suffer from osteoporosis. I imagine her as the crone from Snow White to entertain myself while I wait for the coffee to finish brewing. I grab the cup once it’s full and head back toward the woman who gave birth to me.

I set the mug before her on the coffee table. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?”

As she reaches for her cup, a Maltese dog pops its head out of her purse and starts barking. She reaches in and pulls out an adorable, tiny white pup. “Shh, Zoe, calm down. Faith is being rude, but we won’t mimic her behavior.”

The dog stops barking at the sound of my mother’s voice.

“You arrive unannounced, but I’m rude? Zoe and Chloe? Poetic.”

She brings Zoe to her chest and kisses the top of her head. “Would you mind filling a small bowl with water? Zoe’s thirsty.”

I shake my head and go back to the kitchen. She’s stalling. In the past she was much more direct. I fill a low glass bowl with fresh water. I hope Zoe drinks it all and pees in her purse. I smile at the thought. I’d fix that pup a steak as a reward.

Back to the living room to place the water near Chloe. I position myself on the ottoman facing her. She waits for me to say something. We’ve played these games before. I’m not fourteen, and I don’t need to fill the silence. She forced my hand by coming here so she can tell me why.

“You look good,” she comments platonically.

I don’t know how to interpret her words. I threw away my decoder ring long ago. I dismiss her half-assed compliment as a conversational gambit to force me to say thank you. Which will leave me open for her to circle back and point out my flaws. She takes a sip of her coffee and places the mug down on the table.

“Your father stopped sending me your photos years ago. But I searched for you on Google.”

The color drains from my face and then floods back in a rush. She knows. The Dimitri debacle. She could confront Dad armed with the Fellating Faith fuckup. “Were you able to satisfy your curiosity?”

“That depends. Are you still a fan of M&Ms?”

She must have found Dimitri’s pic of me but wants confirmation. My face isn’t shown. She can kiss my overly round ass. “Like E.T., I’m partial to Reese’s Pieces.”

She smiles at me. “Would you call yourself a faithful fan?”

Ah. Now we’ve hit the crux of the matter. The comment I made on her column. I had signed it Faithful in Cal. “I wouldn’t call myself a fan.”

“Have you posted to my articles before?”

“I haven’t cared enough to offer an opinion before.”

“Your reply garnered eight hundred and sixty-six comments and over two thousand likes. A Teen Beauty record.”

My skin grows hot. I never checked back. I brought her to my doorstep by stepping onto her yellow brick road. “Someone had to call you on your shit.”

“Management happened to agree with you. I’m currently unemployed. Teen Beauty will move forward with a new, younger face to offer advice to teens. I have you to thank for my newfound freedom to explore other employment opportunities.”

I’m responsible! I don’t know whether to pump my fist or apologize for killing her career.

She makes eye contact with me. “I found my personal assistant’s secret hoard of acknowledgments from charities I’ve unknowingly donated to while going through my work files. I’m curious. How did you convert my gifts to cash?”

The dull thud of my heart against my ribs reminds me I had the thank you notes sent on purpose. I yearned for her to know. Now that she’s here, it doesn’t matter at all. How childish of me to think it would. “BlueStar.”

“Clever of you, Faith. Short-sighted and passive-aggressive, but nonetheless clever.”

We could be talking about the weather. Her accusation lacks emotion. This is what I fought for all these years. I wanted her to give a damn about me.

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask.

“No. It was time for a change and I always welcome fresh opportunities. I’m here because I’d like to get to know you. You’re an adult now. We should be able to connect.”

She reaches for her coffee. There’s a slight tremor in her hand. Mom’s not as composed around me as in the past. Silence is no longer an option.

“Do you really think we can build a relationship with each other after all these years?”

She takes a sip of coffee, sets the mug down, makes eye contact. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Why? You just said I’m the reason you lost your job. You once used an imposter to pose for your daughter because you found your real one lacking. The daughter you gave birth to, whom you found ‘wholly unattractive, who lacks a single appealing feature on her face.’”

She flinches at my words, reaches down to pick up the pup busy pawing at her boots. “I didn’t know you overheard that conversation. Let me explain.”

The doorbell dings again. “No need, self-explanatory. Excuse me.”

I know Beau will be on the other side, and I need him right now. I don’t want to hear about how Mom expected to have an attractive child. It fucking hurts to hear shit like that from one of the people who should be guaranteed to love you without condition. I open the door. Beau takes one look at my face and steps toward me.

“What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, wrap my arms around his back, hug him hard, and step away. “Come inside, I have unexpected company.”

“Want to give me a clue?”

I shake my head again. I’m pretty sure he reads the panic in my expression.

He gestures toward the living room. “Lead the way.”

We walk into the living room together. Beau inclines his head toward me, a silent request for an introduction. I find my voice. “Beau Waverly, this is Chloe Morgan, my mother.”

She stands, nearly purrs her reply. “Beau, a pleasure to meet you. Are you two close?”

My eyes narrow. Our friendship is none of her business. Beau wraps his arm around my waist and presses his lips just under my ear, making me shiver.

“I keep professing my love for her, but she remains frustratingly noncommittal. Beauties like Faith like to keep men like me in the dark, don’t you?”

I turn to him, ready to blast him for making it worse, but he presses his lips against my cheek a whisper away from my lips. Thank God that contact didn’t make me want more. Having a thing for my gay best friend would be the cherry on this proverbial shitstorm-sundae.

He pulls back and smirks at me, which makes me want to laugh instead. Even with my mother in the room. I cross my eyes at him since she can’t see, and I smile back. “Guys like you are far too certain of your charm.”

Chloe clears her throat. “I’ve picked a bad time. Perhaps we’ll get together later, Faith?”

I turn toward her. “I’m sorry, I have plans tonight.” And will for the duration of your trip. “How long are you in town?” Hic.

She makes eye contact, probably gauging whether or not I’m a liar. I want her nowhere near Sinjin. Her smile spreads across her face. It’s the smile she uses when she knows she’s going to get her way.

“My trip is open-ended now that I have unlimited time at my disposal. I’m staying at the Hotel Valencia here on this property. We’re neighbors now, Faith.”

When the door clicks shut I turn to Beau. “I’m sorry, I can’t clothes shop now—even the thought of standing in front of a three-way mirror pretending I have the courage to dress differently nauseates me.”

“Don’t give your mother the power to erode your self-confidence.”

All the shitty things she used to say to me roar inside my head. ‘Faith, you’d look pretty if you lost weight.’ She withheld her love and support because I never met her expectations. I squeeze my eyes shut, and my breath hitches. “Her absolute perfection diminishes me.”