Page 11 of Conception
My mother is a mad genius. She knew that the best way to get me out of the house for the summer would be to dangle not only an investment but also a challenge in front of my face.
Arguing was futile. So here I am, sitting on the deck of my summer purgatory with my brother in tow, even though Mom claimed I’d be alone.
A clap of thunder brings me back to the present, and I glance over and see Clay’s still waiting for me to respond to him.
“Look, I’m fine. I’m over it. Ready to move the hell on with whatever summer honeys Crystal Cove has to offer this year.”
I’m not lying, though everyone in my family thinks I am. Just the thought of tasting brand-new pussy has me half-cocked already. Not that I didn’t appreciate everything Gwen had to offer. It’s just…allI’ve ever had.
Gwen Mattingly and I grew up next door to each other for our entire lives. Hers were the first pigtails I pulled, the first lips I kissed, and the first breasts I saw. The first girl I gave everything to. Everyone, including our parents, assumed we’d grow up, join our families, have little Wellington-Mattingly babies, and live happily ever after.
Hell, I’d thought the same thing. We were inseparable through childhood and high school until she went off to Bryn Mawr College in northern Pennsylvania and I chose my father’s alma mater, Vanderbilt, right in the heart of Nashville. We saw each other every other month or so in the beginning, but the more we both got into our schooling, the harder it was to make the trip for either of us. Letters and phone calls became fewer and farther between. Even when we were both back home for the summer, our time together was limited since I spent most of my time at Wellington and she spent her time at her parents’ country club.
Which was where she fell in love with John Thomas Crossley IV over endless summer days playing tennis and apparently endless summer nights playing tonsil hockey. She had the decency to be tearful when she admitted to me that she’d cheated.
I shocked even myself when I realized I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t…anything. Any love I’d had for Gwen had evolved with distance. The truth was I loved her enough, in some kind of way, that made me happy for her. Another fact I couldn’t deny was that I’d played a role in our breakup by neglecting her.
The biggest truth? I was awash with relief when she told me she wanted to be with J.T. instead of me. There’d been a Gwen-named noose around my neck practically since I’d hit puberty and finally,finally, I was a bachelor for what felt like the first time in my life.
No one bought my indifference.
No one believed me that I was a-okay with the breakup.
Not when I broke the news to my family with a smile on my face.
Not when I took a pretty receptionist to the company Christmas party.
Hell, Dad went to scold me but stopped himself because he knew I was “just trying to save face from Gwen’s betrayal” as he called it.
Don’t even get me started on when, less than four months later, my mother received a wedding invitation for the future Mr. and Mrs. Crossley, which she promptly burned in an indignant huff.
Then the wedding announcement for the same couple was in the Belle Meade paper. Hell, I even commented that Gwen made a fetching bride—but then I said J.T. was a lucky man and Mom’s pitying glance had me wanting to bite my fist.
Through all of it? I felt nothing.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
I felt liberation. I felt happy for her and J.T, who would treat her well. And I still do.
Because Gwen was my first—all of my firsts. They were good firsts, remarkable experiences. Now, with nothing to focus on but having a good time? I’m so damn ready to experience more. So much more.
And even though my very presence seemed to irritate her, I know exactly who I want to experience more with.
“Hey, what’dya say we take this party over to that bar? The one Dad used to give us dimes to put into the jukebox. After the drive, I feel like a burger, brews, and maybe to scope out the lady situation.”
Clay gives me a skeptical look.
“Dude, I feel like I’m beating a dead horse at this point. I was serious when I said I was over Gwen. Sure, she’s been a huge part of my life, but that’s behind me. It’s time for me to…sample the other goods I’ve been missin’ out on.”
My brother lifts his beer to me. “Right on. To you finally sowing your wild oats. Still can’t believe you’re twenty-two and you’ve only been with one girl.”
I set my beer down and turn to him. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-one and already plan on being with one girl for the rest of your life.” I expect the words to rattle Clay.
But he surprises me with a shrug as he takes a sip of his beer. “You know what Mom says. When a Wellington man knows, he knows.”
I groan at the reminder of Mom, the romantic—which is probably why it’s still so hard for her to believe I’m coping at the loss of my relationship.
There’s some silly family superstition that she claims goes all the way back to my great-great-great grandfather who escaped the law in Great Britain and made a name for himself in America in the early 19thcentury. I’ve heard the story so many times I can practically recite it. Supposedly, after a string of bad luck, he found himself on a ship, bound for the newly independent country, at the young age of twenty-two. According to Mom, he met the love of his life shortly after his ship docked and spent the next sixty or so years devoted to her. His son had the same romantic fate, as has every Wellington male in the line of succession after, including my own father. And, apparently, now Clay.
