Once the groceries are put away, an awkward aura surrounds Cyrus and me. We're adults. Mom could care less what I do with him or to him, as long as I don't get pregnant or arrested. Do I make him food? Do I take him to my room? I'd like a little more time with him.
Nervous, I rub the palm of my hand along the nape of my neck. Oh, yeah, he doesn't know about my past. Mom once told me that before pursuing anything serious relationship wise, each person needs to share their past sexual history.
"I need to show you something." I say, leading him to my room.
He looks at me hesitantly. "Ok."
We shuffle into my room, and I flip on my light switch. His eyes widen in awe, as if he's a little boy seeing a zoo for the first time.
"Whoa, this isn't quit what I expected." He says awkwardly, before he starts rearranging my room. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I have my own flaws. One being that if someone else has a messy room of any kind, my OCD bugs me so bad that I have to clean it. Ironically, my apartment is a mess."
"Leave my shit alone!" I demand sternly.
I don't have drawers, I have hampers. My big pink hamper is for clean clothes, and my big blue one for dirty clothes. One of my walls is covered in papers and information about several mythological creatures and myths. I've been studying them ever since I can remember. My other wall across the room is decorated with a TV and couple of bookshelves full of figurines and knickknacks, mostly Disney related. My bed is against the middle wall, its comforter has the most splendid cosmic pattern on it.
"I like knowing where my stuff is, so leave it alone, please. I brought you in here for a totally different reason. We need to have the talk." I say pulling him onto my bed.
"What, your mom didn't tell you about the birds and bees yet?" He jokes.
I cut my eyes at him. "Not that talk, smartass. I believe the teenagers call it body count now."
"Oh, three. I've had three sexual partners, but I swear I'm clean." He says, understanding where I'm going.
Emotions swirl in my stomach. If we're meant to be together, I would've wanted us to be each other's first. But just because I lag behind everyone else, doesn't mean I should expect everyone else to be a virgin like me.
I look into his eyes. "If it weren't for Macey, I might have been raped."
Black rage sweeps across his face, and his hands ball into fists. "Oh really?" He asks through gritted teeth. "By who?"
"His name's Ryan, he fled a long time ago because Macey technically threatened to kill him." I chuckle nervously. "That was before she publicly humiliated him in church. Then he disappeared."
"This gives me more reasons to like Macey." He chuckles.
I swipe my hair up to expose the nape of my neck. "Do you see the little silver crescent moon shapes on the nape of my neck?"
"Yeah?" He says questioningly.
"He did that." I explain. "I scar and bruise too easily." I chuckle darkly.
"Don't worry, I'll wrap you in bubble wrap." He jokes. His face takes on a curious expression. "Hmm? What's that?" He asks, touching my left shoulder.
I look down at my tattoo. "What? You mean my tattoo?" I ask, pulling up my T-shirt sleeve to show off the whole tattoo.
Not long after dad was killed, I went to Unique Ink, ran by one of dad's old friends, Marlin Grey. Marlin was conflicted. He knew dad wouldn't be happy about his little girl getting tattooed. But, he was impressed at my willingness to do this in honor of dad. Also, money's money. So, he did it. He drew a stencil of Disney's Stitch cuddling my dad's badge. I won't lie, I paid a good price for this tattoo, it goes from the top of my left shoulder to my lower bicep. Marlin poured his heart and soul into coloring every detail.
Nana and Granny don't like it because they think it's not feminine, so I try to keep it covered around them. So I'm always wearing baggy T-shirts, no wonder this is the first time Cyrus is noticing it. But of course, I can't have anything to myself. Mom saw it and had to copy me, except her Stitch hugs two different flowers, our birth flowers. My birth flower is a rose, and dad's is a daffodil.
"Mom has one similar to mine, except her Stitch is holding my and dad's birth flower, a rose and a daffodil." I say.
"Which one is your flower, the rose or the daffodil?" He asks curiously.
"The rose is the flower that represents June." I answer.
"Ah." He responds. "Well, sweetheart, we got work tomorrow, I better get going." He stands up and stretches.
"Let me walk you out." I stand up and lead him to the door.
There's nothing like a Kentucky night in spring. All types of flowers are blooming. A mighty Bradford pear tree stands in our yard, or as Macey calls it, "Fluffy White Bastard." She's allergic to just about everything. It's covered in beautiful, small, white petals. The sky is midnight blue and glowing with twinkling stars. I've always loved the nighttime.
"So how does it work?" I ask, referring to the rules of intimacy.
"How does what work?" Cy asks in confusion.
"We've been on three dates now, and I know that normally people sleep together. We've shared an awkward hug, held hands, and I kissed you on the cheek. At what point do we actually kiss? How does this work? Is there a plan or way this works?" I ramble on.
In some ways I'm messy, like my room. In some ways I'm organized like my grocery shopping. I can't risk going through another incident like I did with Ryan, but Cyrus doesn't act anything like him.
"How do you want this to go? I'll never pressure you into anything." He says, nervously sticking his hands into his pockets. "Whenever you're ready to take a new step in our relationship, all you have to do is tell me."
Cy lovingly pats me on the head as he takes a step towards the Durango. A pat on the head? Really? That's all I get? Earlier I told him such personal things.
Frustrated, I huff, "Is that all? You're not going to kiss me goodbye?"
He gives me a confused look; it takes a moment for my words to register in his brain. His eyes widen slightly, "You want me to kiss you?"
Heat flushes from my cheeks to my ears. "Kind of."
He does a complete turn around and slightly towers over me. The only light source comes from the porch light and the night stars, making his eyes and hair seem so much darker. Oh no. What if I don't feel the "sparks" or the "butterflies" that I'm supposed to feel with the one? What then? I found myself drawn to him so quickly. We get lost in conversation so easily. Cyrus makes me feel safe and accepted.
Using his hand he tilts my chin up, I stare into his dark eyes. My lips purse as he puts his to mine, he's being so gentle. Nothing about this feels forced. I feel free and happy.