Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) (20 page)

Her voice quavering, Kathryn says, “Being away at school for the past several years, I couldn’t come back for the picture. Now that my parents only live three hours away in Charlotte, I promised them that I’d make the drive to be in the family portrait with them this year.”

“What time’s the picture?” I ask, still bathing her hands and fingers with my tongue.

“Three-thirty,” she says, breathlessly.

“Plenty of time,” I reply, kissing the inside of her wrist.

“Yes, plenty of time. I’d told them earlier in the week that I’d come this afternoon for brunch, but we didn’t get up and moving in time for me to be there by brunch. That’s why my mom was yelling,” she said, nibbling on my ear. “Now can we focus on other things now that everyone’s all caught up?”

“Well how about this? How about we spend another hour having some fun in this bed, and then I go with you to Charlotte?” I offer, praying that she doesn’t think I’m being too pushy.

I continue kissing my way down her stomach, so I don’t appear too eager or hopeful. I figure I can tell her everything I need to tell her on the way home in the car, give her time to process it and think before we get back here, and she ditches me for good.

“You’re offering to drive three hours with me to see my parents while I get my picture taken?” Kathryn asks, staring at me, shocked. It’s so amazing to me still that she questions my feelings for her.

“Sure, it’ll be fun. We’ll load up on snacks, drinks, a little road head, what could be more fun?” I joke, winking at her. “Seriously though, let’s do this.”

I can’t stop looking at him; I might drive right off the road. Last night was intense. Actually, everything has been intense since I met him, but yesterday was insane. I’ve learned more about Dre in the past 48 hours than I thought he’d ever let me in on. And another thing, I still can’t believe that Theodore thought he could come to my apartment, get down on one knee, and propose, especially since he dumped me two years ago. Lately, it seems like everything I think I know; I’m wrong about. And the things that I think could never happen are happening. Too bad, I’m driving. I could totally use a drink right about now.

“Dre?” I take a deep breath, waiting for him to look over at me.

“Yeah Pebbles,” he glances my way.

“Do you have a car?” I ask, feeling guilty, but it has been driving me crazy. Every time I see him; he’s either walking or in Rory’s car.

“Nope, not really,” Dre admits.

“Not really? What does that even mean?”

“It means that I don’t have a car, but if I ever need one, then I use Rory’s.”

“I mean doesn’t everyone need a car?” I question.

“I don’t. I either walk everywhere I go or borrow Rory’s, but mostly I just walk,” he confesses.

“What if you want to go somewhere far or travel or do
something
that involves a car?” I ask.

“Well, everything I need and want is right here—in Charleston. I can walk everywhere,” Dre explains. “It’s nice to not be tied down to all that.”

“Tied down? To a car? Are you telling me you can’t commit to a car?” I ask, incredulously.

“No Pebbles, I can commit to a car; what I can’t commit to is the lifestyle that having a car entails,” Dre answers, turning up the radio.

Turning it back down, I ask, “Do you have a phone?”

“Nope, don’t need one. If I want to talk to someone, then I go talk to them,” he says. “I’m not going to be tied down to gadgets that keep me from real conversations and real relationships,” he states, turning to face me.

“I have no desire to tell the entire world what I ate for dinner or to text someone that ‘I’m here’ when they’re sitting just inside the apartment,” Dre argues. Feeling guilty, I can sense I’ve hit a nerve.

Dre continues, “I’ll walk to the door, knock on it like a human being, and wait for whomever to open the damn door. Cell phones and this gadget-obsessive lifestyle everyone has is just ludicrous.”

Now this is the stuff that I’m talking about. I don’t get him. Dre comes across as a strong-willed, alpha male, going after and getting whatever he wants. The next second, he’s running away, pouting, like a scolded puppy, because he didn’t get his way. But saying crap like that makes me think he’s some weird hippie or brainwashed cult member.

I cannot figure him out. Dre’s like one of those people who’s trapped in the wrong time period—like if Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson were stuck in modern society. They’d freak if they saw what was going on nowadays.

“I know it must sound crazy to you,” Dre says, looking worried. “But remember when I told you that I’m not happy with who I used to be? This is just a bit of what I’m trying to change.”

“Is this a forever thing?” I ask, trying to understand him a little better.

“Are you asking if I’ll ever have a phone or a car?” he says, staring at me quizzically. I nod. “I’m not sure. I guess it depends on if I ever end up needing them.”

“Well, I think you should get them,” I announce, positively.

“Oh, you do?”

“Yep, I like backseat sex, phone sex, and even sexting. And if you can’t rise to the occasion with … with … the right equipment for my satisfaction, then maybe I’ll have to look elsewhere,” I tease, watching the visible tension lines on his forehead disappear.

Scooting closer to me, he whispers, “You have a car,” as he begins nibbling on my ear and kissing my neck. “And a backseat.”

“Dre, not while I’m driving!” I squeal.

“You keep your eyes on the road, I’ll keep my eyes and hands on you,” he announces, his hand rubbing my thigh. Man, I shouldn’t have worn a skirt.

“I love that you’re in an ‘easy access’ skirt,” Dre groans in my ear, as his hands go under my skirt and trace the lace on the edge of my panties.

“I’m not gonna be able to drive if you keep that up,” I warn.

“Trust me, Pebbles. I’m never gonna let anything happen to you, just relax and enjoy the drive,” he commands, sucking my earlobe into his mouth while his fingers dip into my underwear.

“I can’t believe that you agreed to spend the night here,” I groan under my breath, leading Dre out onto my front porch. We walk the length of the white, wrap-around front porch to sit on the swing on the east side of the house.

“The thought of getting it on with you in your old high school bedroom got me all turned on,” Dre admits. “I had no idea I was gonna get thrown into the spare bedroom-turned-sewing-room.”

“They’re my parents! That’s what parents do—take the fun and excitement out of everything—no matter how old you are,” I exclaim.

“I’m sneaking in that bedroom, Pebbles,” Dre confirms, kissing my neck. I grip his hair, enjoying every second of this stolen, parent-free moment.

Ever since we arrived at the church, my parents have taken up residency in Dre’s butt, grilling him with question after question. Not surprisingly, his answers have been vague, but that has not stopped my mother from eyeing me with pride as if I caught the biggest fish at the County Fair’s fishing rodeo. I have one of those mothers who just wants to get her daughter married off, so she can brag to her church ladies about her ten grandkids and wonderful son-in-law.

My dad always wanted a son, so any boy who stepped over our property line immediately became the son my dad never had. My dad had Dre in the garage, showing him his prize-winning birdhouse. (I was in sixth grade when my dad won that contest, by the way.) Then, they went down to the creek, because my father insisted on showing Dre the clubhouse that he’d built for Sydney and me when I was in junior high. (The same fort that Sydney lost her virginity in three years later.)

Dre has been a trooper the entire time, going with the flow, and charming the pants off of my parents. He has a way of doing that with all the Howells, I guess. When my mom suggested we stay for dinner, Dre eagerly agreed and offered to set the table. When my father hinted around that we should stay the night and drive back in the morning for work, again, Dre was all over it.

“You better sneak in my room, because I need something to relieve me from all the stress of being here,” I say, running my fingers through his hair.

“There you two are,” my mom says. “The meatloaf’s almost ready.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Howell. We’ll go wash up,” Dre says, pulling me to my feet.

“Wash up? Seriously Dre? Do you think we’re in Walnut Grove?” I joke, rolling my eyes.

“Nonsense Katie, leave him alone. Nothing wrong with a little manners, right young man?” my mom says, looping her arm through his.

“Absolutely, Mrs. Howell,” Dre says, looking back at me with a wink and a grin.

“Call me ‘Ruby,’ I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around here,” my mom says, patting Dre’s arm with her other hand.

“I’m sure you will, Ruby. I’m sure you will.”

I need to freeze time and summon Sydney here. I can’t believe what’s going down here. So much has happened since Syd left the beach with Rory, and I’ve told her none of it. There is so much story piling up; we’re going to need a two-hour lunch to get through it all. Before I sit down to dinner, I text Syd to tell her that we need to meet for lunch tomorrow. Immediately, she returns the text, stating that she has a ton to tell me. It’s going to be a long lunch.

Dinner is meatloaf. Meatloaf is repulsive. Therefore, dinner is repulsive. It’s logic 101. My mom had to have known that she and my father would convince me to stay for dinner. Couldn’t she have drummed up a better idea for dinner than meatloaf? For God’s sake, I want to bolt out the front door and hit a local drive-through. My father and Dre are eating it like it’s the last meal on the planet before the apocalypse. In all actuality this could be our last meal, because I might die if I eat one more bite.

“You’re picking at that food like you don’t eat,” my mom points out, scowling at me. “By the looks of your hips and butt in that skirt, you’re getting plenty of food, Katie Dee.”

“Oh, you noticed her butt and hips too?” Dre says, looking at my mom. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?” Dre leans over, kisses my cheek, and feeds me a bite of his potatoes. “Kathryn’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, isn’t she Mr. Howell?”

“Darn tootin!’ They don’t come prettier than my little Katie-kitten,” my dad says, through a mouthful of meatloaf, spraying remnants of meat and sauce across the table.

I’d never seen my mother speechless, but Dre rendered her speechless. He is definitely sneaking in my room tonight; there is compensation to be paid for this little funfest.

“So Katie, did Theodore come see you?” my dad asks, with an all-knowing look in his eye, “because he came here to see me on his way down to Georgia.”

“Yep, he sure did,” I reply, curtly. Wow. Theodore talked to my father before proposing to me. I didn’t see that coming at all. Theodore has always had the utmost respect and fondness for my parents. I’m impressed. I didn’t make the wrong decision, did I?

“I take it he’s back in Virginia now?” my dad questions, obviously knowing the answer.

“I guess; I haven’t talked to him since he left,” I respond, giving him the real answer to his question.

“Thomas, you never did tell me why Theodore stopped here,” my mother pouts. “I was happy to give him a packed lunch for his long drive. Such a nice boy that Theodore.”

“Dad didn’t tell you?” I question, impressed with my dad’s resolve.

“No, he wouldn’t budge. Said it was a ‘need to know’ basis, and I would know when it was time,” my mom whines.

“And apparently, you’ll never need to know,” my dad says, shoving green beans in his mouth.

Leaning over, Dre whispers in my ear, “Theodore’s got class, impressive.” I nod, agreeing with him. “Too bad he ain’t got game.” Laughing, I spit my iced tea out on the table, sending my mom in a frenzy to clean my mess.

Dre stands and says, “Ruby, you sit down. You made this delicious meal; you rest. Kathryn and I will do the dishes and clear this table.” Dre grabs a handful of dishes and silverware, and says, “Let’s go Pebbles, you wash; I’ll dry.”

“I told you; this isn’t Walnut Grove. We’ve got a dishwasher,” I argue as I grab more platters and bowls from the table.

While cleaning the kitchen, Dre and I get into a pretty wicked water fight with the sink sprayer, drenching the counters, floor, and each other. My mom and dad just laugh and head out onto the porch. It’s been their after-dinner ritual for as long as I can remember.