Page 74 of Genesis

“You’ve told her, though,” he tosses back.

I look over at him. “I’m going to marry her one day, Johnny. You know that, right?”

He darts his eyes over to me before looking back at the road. “Yeah, man. I know.”

And that’s the last time he said anything about it. Winter passes, and once again a new year falls. It’s 2006 now, the ground thaws, the trees fill with green, and Bexley turns eighteen. She started taking photography classes last year, and she’s grown so good at it. There are photos of us hung all over my house, and I even blew some of her landscapes up and had them framed.

So this birthday, I toss her a different box. The best Canon digital camera on the market. She cries and I get rewarded with an afternoon fuck.

It’s been a month since Bexley turned eighteen. She’ll graduate this year, and I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. Bexley has been looking at colleges, and some are not so close. I don’t discourage her, even though every time I see information about schools out of the state, my heart freezes.

I stand outside of the dressing room as women walk by, looking at me like I have horns or something because I’ve got a few tattoos now. Some show an interest they can’t hide; some look at me like I’m the Prince of Darkness ready to yank them into fiery pits of Hell. I smile at all of them. Fucking judgmental cunts.

And when my girl comes out in a white dress with black polka dots spread out on the bottom, they look from me to her and shake their head, like I’ve forced this girl to choose me.

I flick one of them off, and she gasps in shock.

“Danny,” Bexley says. “Don’t do that.”

“Can we go already?” I ask. “You look beautiful. Get that one.”

I’ve seen her try on at least fifteen of these things. I need a smoke and some fresh air.

“You really like it?” she asks, looking in the mirror.

She looked good in all of them—well, except for the one that seemed to cut off her circulation. The back is open with a string zigzagging across until it ties at the dip in her back. It’s spaghetti strapped and the skirt isn’t too puffy like some of the others she tried on.

“Yes,” I say.

“You’re not just saying that ’cause you’re ready to go, are you?” she asks with a lifted brow.

“No, love. I really like it. I’m fucking starving, though,” I say as sweetly as I can muster.

She smirks. “Fine. This is the winner. Now I need shoes.”

I groan inwardly, hoping this doesn’t take near as long.

After she tries on several pairs, she decided on some black ones with a thin strap going across her toes. She looks hot in them, and I wonder if I can fuck her later with them on.

“You need a tux,” she says.

“I’ll handle that. Let’s go eat.”

“Nope,” she replies. “I want to see you in a suit and tie.”

“You will,” I say as my stomach grumbles.

She hears it. “Wow, you really are hungry.”

I take the dress bag from her hand and let her hold the shoes. “I told you. Let’s ride. I’ll get the tux tomorrow.” My girl asked me to go to prom with her. Do I really want to get dressed up and go to some shit show with a bunch of high schoolers? No. But she skipped junior prom, so she’s been hell-bent on attending this one.

“Okay,” she says. “Hunger wins this round.”

After we climb into the car, we head to a restaurant. It’s crazy sometimes to think that we’ve been going out for a little over two years. There have been some rough times where we don’t see eye to eye, but fighting with her is almost as fun as making up. “I’m really glad you said yes to going,” she says as we slide into a booth and start looking over the menus.

“Well, who else would you go with?”

She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t be going, I guess.”

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