Page 45 of The Way I Used to Be
She’s already got her jacket on—over her apron—and is slinging her purse over her shoulder.
“Caelin!” she yells. “Caelin?”
“Yeah?” I hear him answer, his voice muffled from the other side of the house.
“Can you come in here please?” she calls back, using all her restraint to not flip out and start screaming. “I am not going to yell across this house!” she says under her breath, as she wraps her scarf around her neck in a tight noose. He appears in the kitchen. “What are you two doing right now?” she asks as she pulls on her gloves.
“Nothing. We’re just playing a game. It’s paused. What do you need?”
“Where’s your father?”
“Snoring. On the couch,” he answers.
“Fine. Look, I need you to go into the garage and find a box—it’s labeled ‘Christmas Decor’—it has the nice tablecloth and place mats and centerpiece that we used last year. I’m going to the store. Can anybody think of anything else that we need?”
Caelin and I both shake our heads. And she’s gone.
“Wow,” he says. “She’s freakin’ out early this year. Is it some kind of a record, or what?” He laughs.
“I know, right?” I try to act like things are the way they used to be, but I think we both know they’re just not. “Can you please shut that off?” I ask him, pointing to the radio. He reaches over and flips the dial to off.
“So, what have you been up to?” he asks, leaning against the refrigerator. “Other than growing up too fast. I haven’t heard from you much at all this year.” He smiles at me, crossing his arms while he waits for me to respond. But I know him. And I know it’s a fake smile, an uncomfortable smile.
“Well, I haven’t heard from you much either.” It comes out sounding nastier than I meant.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He frowns.
I start filling the sink, squeezing in the dish soap like it’s an exact science that requires my undivided concentration.
“Sorry,” he continues, after I don’t say anything. He has to raise his voice over the sound of the water running. “I’ve been unbelievably swamped. This semester’s kicking my ass.”
I just nod. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. It’s okay? It’s not. And it’s not okay that he brought Kevin here—again.
“Okay, well, I guess I’d better go look for that stuff, then.”
“Yeah.”
After I hear the door to the garage close, I shut the faucet off and dip my hands in the hot water. It feels peaceful, somehow, quiet. The music off, the TV on low in the next room, the muffled clanging of the dishes underwater. Then, faintly, I hear footsteps creep up behind me. It’s Kevin—it’s like my body knows before my brain does, my senses heightened, my skin suddenly hot and itchy. Like I’m allergic to him. The proximity of his body to mine causing an actual physical repulsion, like a warning sign, flashing neon lights:DANGER DANGER DANGER. Get away from him, my body tells me. But it’s hard to get away from someone like him.
Before I can even turn my head to look, I feel his thick hands wind around my waist, feel his body pressing up against my back. And then his voice, his breath in my ear, whispers, “Lookin’ good, Edy.” Then he moves his hands down over the front of my jeans, then up over the front of my shirt, then all over all of me, his mouth open against my neck.
“Stop,” I breathe. “Stop it!” I pull my hot soapy hands out of the water, but I can’t stop him. He has me pinned against the sink. And his hands can do whatever they want. I consider pulling the paring knife I used to chop the garlic out of the water and plunging it into his heart. But he finally lets go, backing away while he looks me up and down. Smiling, he says, “Is this for my benefit?”
I should’ve killed him, I should’ve done a million things to him, but instead my shaking voice just asks, “Is what?” But he doesn’t answer, just keeps smirking and looking, up and down, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. Clearly, I had gotten too bold. Forgotten the extent of him. He was letting me know. Then he walks away silently, just as he came in, leaving me properly terrified.
At 1:17 in the morning, officially Christmas day, I wake up to the sound of metal rattling. My heart racing because he’s there to do it again, I’m convinced. It’s him clanging at the doorknob.
“Edy?” he whispers.
“Who’s there?” I choke out.
“Cae. Come on, Edy, let me in,” he whisper-shouts.
I walk up to the door and press my ear against the wood. “Are you alone?” I finally ask.
“Am I alone? Yeah.”
I unlock and open the door just enough to see that it is really my brother, and that he really is alone. “What?”
