Glass (17 page)

But I can’t worry about that now.

I go upstairs, clean up, dress hot.

I’ve got to be hot for Trey.

I’m in love with him.

That scares the hell out of me.

Love is the first step toward

breaking up. [Come on. Love

makes making love better.]

Trey calls to tell me he’s almost

here. I leave without saying

good-bye, wait for him outside,

feeling guilty. Anxious.

One thing’s for certain. I may

be in love with Trey. But I’m

not going to tell him so. He

just might make a U-turn and run.

Headlights. He’s here, and

I’m leaving, no turning back.

The Mustang purrs up the drive,

and the passenger door opens.

Trey leans toward me, smiles,

and there is no baby behind

me, no Mom, stepfather,

little brother. No leftovers.

There is only soft black leather,

classic rock on the radio (he

remembered!), the scent of crank-

tainted Brut, the taste of Trey.

Everyone still at their tables,

or catching a football game.

Trey drives over the limit

to Red Rock today, chancing

the odd cop, who doesn’t

materialize. Brad and the girls

are still at the family shindig.

We have the place all to ourselves.

We’re barely through the front

door and already kissing like

there won’t be a tomorrow, and

if there isn’t, this time together

will be worth every irate word

at home. Finally, Trey pulls away.

Do you know how much I want

you? Let’s go upstairs, okay?

And it’s more than okay. It’s

necessary. We indulge in a taste

of the monster, losing our clothes

before we’re finished. Then I’m

back in his arms and he’s doing

those things to me again, those

things I’ve only read about before

making love with Trey. They’re real.

He takes his time, shows me new

ways to make him feel good too.

Fueled by ice, it all takes a very

long while, but finally we both

ascend about as high as two people

can. Despite the glass, we float

in a sea of exhaustion. Trey whispers,

Please stay with me tonight.

Cushioned by his arms, it occurs

to me that I’ve never actually slept

with a guy before—never had

the chance. But I love being knotted

together with him. “I’ll stay. Wait.

I have to work in the morning.”

He stirs, disappointed. [Call in

sick.] “Never mind. I’ll call in sick.”

Never quite get all the way there,

but tangled in the warmth of Trey,

I’m glad I’m semiconscious.

At some point I hear noise downstairs,

so I know Brad and his daughters

have returned safely home.

Safe. That’s how I feel. Safely home,

in Trey’s arms. And some stupid

part of me mumbles, “I love you.”

He moves and I wonder if he’ll

get out of bed, make that wide U-ey.

Instead, a rain of soft kisses falls

over me. And suddenly, we’re making

love again. Sweaty, wonderful, don’t-

want-to-sleep-anyway love. When we

finish, Trey props himself on one elbow,

looks into my eyes, kisses my forehead

and says,
I love you, too, Kristina.

I’ve only ever said that to one girl

before. Maryann Murphy. We were

twelve and I had this major crush on her.

Still dazed by his declaration,

I smile at this confession. “And

what did Maryann say to you?”

He laughs.
She said, “Eyew! Gross!”

Damaged me for a long time.
He pulls

me back into his arms.
Fix me.

Because I wake to an assault

of midmorning sun and,

somewhere close (outside?),

children’s laughter. It takes

several long seconds to

remember where I am, all

that happened last night.

I was with Trey, slept here

with Trey, confessed to Trey

that I love him. And Trey told

me he loves me, too. Me and

Maryann Murphy. Trey loves

me. Trey! Where is he, anyway?

Beside me, the bed is empty.

I’d say it must have all

been a dream, but this

is most definitely not

my bedroom. Suddenly

I notice, in the adjacent

room, the sound of a shower.

I could definitely use one too.

I rouse myself, climb naked

from bed, and am already

through the bathroom door

when it occurs to me it might

not be Trey in the shower.

I take a quick peek. It’s Trey,

all right, in all his soapy glory.

“Morning. Mind if I join

you? I’ll wash your back.”

Trey invites me to share

the hot water and after

I wash his back, he says,

Turnaround’s fair play.
He

washes more than my back.

We’re scrubbed and dressed,

the clock says 11:16

and I’m glad I called work

last night, even if I did have

to talk to Grade E.

Sick, huh?
Grady’s voice

dripped skepticism.

Okay, I’ll let Midge know.

Thinking about it now,

however, I realize I didn’t

call home. Mom was already

pissed. Now, most likely,

she’s worried, too.

Before I can remedy that,

Trey says,
Come here.

Look out the window.

I can’t believe it! While

Trey and I were all wrapped

up in each other, it snowed.

And snowed. Inches of white

cover everything in sight.

Including Trey’s car.
Hmm.

I don’t have chains. Wonder how

the Mustang handles in snow.

I slide my hand into his.

“I don’t have to work today.

Might be a good excuse to

stay inside. If you can think

of something to do, that is.”

Doing nothing—with you—

might be nice. I don’t have

anywhere I need to go.

First things first. “I have

to call home. My mom

probably thinks we slid off

into a snowbank. Give me

a kiss for courage.”

But she chooses an entirely

different tack than I expected.

You think I don’t know what’s up

with you? Why you don’t eat?

Why we catch you awake all

hours of the day? Why you stutter

your way through simple sentences?

How dense do you think we are?

You’re using. I can smell

the speed, the tobacco, too.

Cigarettes aren’t illegal, but

crystal meth is, and I won’t have

that stuff in my house. Why would

you bring it around your baby?

You’re right. You’re eighteen now.

It’s your life, so maybe I shouldn’t

worry about how you live it. But

you’re still my daughter and I love you.

We’ll get you help if you need it.

But you have to stop, and stop now.

You’re a danger to your baby.

You’re a danger to yourself.

So okay. Stay with this new guy.

Get him out of your system.

But don’t ever bring him home.

And do not come back here stoned.

Oh. By the way. A Kevin from work

called you. He wants you to come

in Sunday to make up for today.

He left a number for you to call….

Click. She’s gone. That was way

too easy. That was way too hard.

Want me to stop, and I know

I should. But I don’t want to.

Don’t even know if I could.

I want to use right now, in fact.

And guess what. I’m not home,

am I? “Can we catch a buzz?”

Uh, sure. Hey, are you okay?

What did your mom say?

I’m not going to tell him,

don’t want him to know.

“She said work called.”

He looks into my eyes.

Nothing about snowbanks?

Nothing about snow,

plenty about ice. I smile.

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

He senses something.

So…what’s wrong?

What can I tell him? That

everything has changed,

everything is changing still?

That even though I wanted

that change, initiated it, fueled

it, part of me wants to go back

to last summer, before Bree

reawakened, before I went

looking for the monster.

Before I met Trey. Should I

say that, even though he has assuaged

certain hungers, brought me

to a level of love I didn’t believe

I would ever experience, fear

of losing him later makes me

think it might be better to lose

him now? [Don’t even think it. You

don’t want to lose him
ever
.]

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect.”

Before Trey takes me home.

Two whole days, and two

whole nights, together.

We played in the snow

with the girls, watched

movies on Pay Per View.

Got high, talked with Brad.

Talked with each other. Kissed.

Talked. Kissed some more.

Last night was magical,

filled with monster-fed sensations,

sleepless hours in each other’s

arms and declarations of love.

Night spilled well into morning.

I wanted it never to end.

But all great things must

end sooner or later. The plows

have been busy, the roads

cleared. Trey has to go

back to Stockton. And I

have to go home.

Before we leave, Trey and Brad

wander off for a private

conversation. Nosy me

eavesdrops as best I can.

I don’t hear all the details, but

do understand that Brad is fronting

Trey a quantity above and beyond

his personal stash. What I learn

isn’t surprising, but does make me

worry a little. Trey, it seems, buys

books and food by dealing at UOP.

I ask Trey to make a stop

on the way. I run into Target

for a lockbox, large enough

for a stash and some money,

small enough to fit under

the seat of my car. No way

will I bring anything in the

house. From now on, it will

reside in the LTD.

Trey pulls to a stop at the bottom

of our driveway. I told him it’s

steep and icy, both true. Didn’t

mention my mom’s orders

never to bring him around.

I’ll be back at the semester

break,
he says.
We’ll have lots

of time together then. You gonna

miss me, little girl?

I’m going to go totally crazy

without him. “Of course

I’ll miss you. More than

I can possibly tell you. Please

be careful, and promise you’ll

call me!” At least I’ll know he’s

safe and thinking about me.

I promise. But the phone

works both directions. You

can always call me. If I don’t

pick up, leave a message.

I’ll call you back.
He watches

me lock up my valuables,

then kisses a soft, sad good-bye.

What’s waiting for me inside.

I’m strung. Tired. Scared

I’ll never see Trey again,

despite his vows of love.

Mom is going to yell.

Scott is going to yell.

Jake will watch, with some

sort of bent satisfaction.

Hunter will cry, and I’ll bloat

with guilt for not loving him better.

By the time I reach the front

door, I’ve built a barrier against

all that. Don’t want to hear

it. Refuse to hear it. All I want

to do is lie on my bed, listen

to music through headphones,

think about being with Trey,

dream about the semester break.

Suddenly I feel angry. Out

of-control pissed off at the world.

I yank open the door, slam

it shut behind me. Scott stomps

in from the kitchen.
What the hell

was that about? Did you have

a fight with your boyfriend?

The last word drips vitriol.

If you think you can disrespect

my
house in this way, you’d

better think about living

somewhere else. Understand?

Obviously, they’ve been

discussing options. Like

kicking me out of here. Mom

comes up behind Scott, carrying

a smiling Hunter, and it comes

to me that I have the means

to hurt her more than she can

hurt me. “Go ahead. Kick me

out. Hunter and I will go live

with Dad in Albuquerque.”

Okay, that was semivicious.

The look on Mom’s face

is indescribable—a mixture

of disbelief, panic, and rage.

She tries to sputter an answer,

but Scott interrupts her.
Over

my dead body will you take

this baby out of here. Have

you gone completely insane?

He would be dead in a week.

What is he talking about?

The anger, hot and red inside

me, boils over completely.

“Do you really think I’d kill

my fucking baby? What kind

of a person do you think I am?”

I notice Jake, standing in the

archway, staring. “What the fuck

are you looking at, you

freaking little monster?”

Now Hunter
does
start to cry.

I reach toward him, but Mom

shakes her head.
No. Jake,

please take Hunter upstairs.

I expect a heated spew, but

she stays completely calm.

Look at yourself, Kristina.

You’re incapable of caring

for a baby. You’re off the deep

end. Do you want to drown him, too?

Her words bring back a dream

I had when I was pregnant.

A dream about Hunter drowning.

Suddenly it’s Bree I want to drown.

Bree and the fucking monster.

Tears well up, unbidden, and I

have no chance at stopping

them from falling. I want to die.

But all I can say at this moment

is, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”