Fuck, ‘Our Song’

After Locke and I finish our chicken legs and wash our hands, he takes mine and heads straight to his room. There’s no should we or shouldn’t we conversation; the decision was made. I mean, he still hasn’t put Mama June’s ring on my finger, but I know it’s coming because Leland tends to do what he says he’s going to do.

The first time he told me he was going to “Locke me down real soon” was right after graduation, and I told him not to ask yet. We both had to focus on our dreams—his being the majors and mine being graduating from college.

“After that, then,” he agreed. But then he was pulled up to pitch for the Mets within weeks of being in the minors.

The second time he told me he just wanted to “Locke us down” was on the phone after I broke up with him. His voice was filled with the pain and hurt I’d caused him, and I caused even more when I told him that I didn’t see us getting married—ever.

My eyes are burning, and I avoid looking at his reflection in the mirror, knowing that we will inevitably end and that it’s most certainly my turn to be the one who wants to ask him why, like he had me, and him being the one who can’t give me the truth. And even Leland won’t, and he’ll convince himself—his lie is so he doesn’t hurt me.

He changes into ball shorts right in front of me and walks back over, leaning against the vanity, shirtless arms crossed. “I’m not sure how much cleaner you’re going to get them.”

I turn the water on, rinse the brush, spit the mouthful of paste into the sink, rinse it out, and turn off the water. “I broke and took half of one of the pills before you got here. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why just half?” He takes my hand as he passes and walks us to the bed.

“I just don’t want …” I pause, not wanting to finish the statement, which is: I don’t want to cause a miscarriage.

“No one else you can talk to about all the things going on inside of you but me right now”—he pulls back the covers on the side of the bed closest to the windows—“so utilize me. I’d surely like to be able to discuss it without worrying you’re going to tell me no talking.”

I shake my head, afraid if I speak, I’ll cry, and if I cry to him, it won’t stop, like ever.

“Gwendolyn York, the man standing before you is not angry you didn’t tell me. You had your reasons. My hope is that you can share every-fucking-thing with me someday.” He covers me up, walks around to the other side of the bed, ducks down, and pops up, holding …

“Oh my God, is that?—”

“Gwenie Bear? Sure is.” He laughs at himself. “She doesn’t say shit to me anymore when I squeeze her paw, but she’s a hell of a listener.” He hands the brown Teddy bear he’d taken me to the mall to make on our three-month anniversary. We made each other one.

“We must have gone there a?—”

“Five times,” he answers.

“I have no idea where any of mine are.”

He lies back and links his hands behind his head. “I know where all mine are.”

“No way. I don’t believe you,” I lie back, looking it over.

“One under every bed in each home I own.”

I laugh as I let her drop on my chest. “To think, I was pretty sure I couldn’t feel any shittier than I?—”

“Not my point at all,” he sighs. “I was young, never been hurt a day in my life by anyone?—”

“Locke, you’re killing me.” I crush the bear over my face.

He curls up and sits, turning his whole body to face me. “Baseball was a gift. I had natural talent, size, build?—”

“The ass?” I pull the bear from my face and smile.

He pushes it back into my face. “I’m doing a thing here, and you’re just drugged-up enough to let me, so I’m fucking going for it.”

“I feel like there are laws against this type of torture.”

“No talking, Gwendolyn York,” he says, and I smile bigger into the bear. “My point, when I stepped up to the majors, I realized talent, luck, both?—”

“A nice ass and a big bat.” I giggle.

He keeps going with a smile I can hear but refuse to look at. “It didn’t matter anymore. I had, and still have to, work for the privilege of still having it in my life. You were a gift, too. You landed right there in front of me that day and, Jesus, Gwendolyn, I knew. But you made it too easy for me.”

I whack him with the bear. “Did you just call me easy?”

“I mean, no, but also, let’s be honest …” He laughs so hard he clenches his abs and falls back onto the bed. “That day? Fuck, I almost busted a nut when you said?—”

“In my defense, I didn’t know you were a virgin until …” I stop and pull the bear back over my face.

“After you broke my heart?”

“Yeah, and then you fucked half a dozen supermodels while I was trying to get revenge on the Longhorn Elite for the shit they said about me, and about you and me, and how our baby died so you wouldn’t get stuck with me. Bitches—no, fuck that, they were cunts.” I sit up. “Every one of them thinks I fucked their boyfriends, and I barely kissed them, but damn did I let them choke on that shit?—”

Locke reaches over to wipe away stupid fucking tears, and I smack his hand away.

“No. No, don’t, because I was having an abortion so I didn’t ruin our lives.”

“I would have done?—”

“I know!” I yell.

He pulls his knees to his chest and bends, burying his face in his knees. And I continue.

“I know you would have, but eventually, you would have resented me.” I place my hands over my belly. “The child would have shit self-esteem, and to protect her, I would have to make sure she never felt like she was nothing. I needed to protect myself from murdering the supermodel you had supermodel babies with and ended up in prison being Ruth’s bitch, while the only person, other than Mom, who I ever loved, hated me. Then you’d marry another one, and I couldn’t even kill her because I would be locked up. Not to mention all the times I’d miss trying to show Mom how lucky I am to have had such a strong role model and doing everything I can to help her enjoy life because she would totally fucking fight you and your barrage of bonebags so my child would know he or she was loved. And now I get to live through all of this again.”

He starts to glance up.

“Oh, I’m not finished. Fuck ‘Our Song.’ I hope that slamming swinging door smacked you and that starving-ass supermodel who couldn’t find underwear small enough to fit her, so her snatch shot from your date at that fundraiser for starving kids was all over the internet. Jesus, did anyone not think maybe she needed a goddammed sandwich, too! No? After the date, did she ask how many calories were in a pro-ballers cum before deciding if she wanted to suck you off? Did you lie and say as many as a Big Mac to stop her from going down, afraid she’d get going and end up eating your dick because she was fucking hungry? You may as well have fucked an actual skeleton. Maybe jerk off with a fistful of rocks next time—it’d probably feel the same. I hate that song. The thought of you jamming out to ‘Our Song’ while I was mentally terrorizing myself with Blue October’s ‘Hate Me’ will never stop pissing me off.” Needing to catch my breath, I lie back down. “And I know not one of those things is your fault. Goodnight.”

I feel the bed move as he lies back down.

“Sorry I interrupted you doing your thing.”

“Don’t be. You doing your thing was the point. I didn’t know shit about your dad or your stepmom, or anything that hurt you. All I knew was I loved you and wanted you to be my girl forever.”

Loved.

***

“Gwen? Are you awake?”

I open my eyes to the sound of Mom’s voice, seeing that I’m alone, remembering everything I said last night, and thinking, Serves you right for unveiling your crazy.

I stretch as best I can and sit up. “Everything okay?”

She nods. “I want you to see something.”

“Okay.” I throw my legs over the side of his massive bed and slide down so that my feet touch the ground. “I have to use the bathroom first.”

“Of course.” She smiles. “I’ll be right out here.”

Should I be worried that Mom wants to have a talk at five in the morning? Absolutely. Am I? Nope. I’m ready to roll with the punches. If a miracle happens and this baby is meant to be, I have skills. I can disappear so I don’t go to prison for murdering some women who may become an insufferable twat to my child.

After peeing, washing my hands, brushing my teeth, rinsing my scrapped-up face with water, brushing my hair, and tying it up, I apply a thin layer of antibiotic cream before grabbing a cardigan. I have to find Mom.

It’s not hard. The place is wide open and gets no less beautiful every time I walk from one room to the other.

She holds a flashlight in her hands and holds the other out for me. “You and I have never watched the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean.”

I look to the wall of windows. “We haven’t.”

“You feeling up to walking down with me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Slides and sling,” she insists.

***

Walking out the front door, we find our way to the wood-slated walkway that leads over the dunes to the beach.

“It’s a bit colder than I thought it would be. Sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s a new adventure and gets me moving. Don’t be sorry. It’s good for me.”

“Hurting worse today?”

“I feel much better than last night,” I admit but quickly add, “Which was better than I thought I’d be.”

“That’s”—she pauses and clears her throat—“good. Very good.”

“Your daughter’s a detective, Deborah York. Spill the beans.”

When she pauses, it hits me right in the tits.

“Oh God, did you hear?—”

“Not unless you wanted me to.”

“Mom, I hope you know I was?—”

“On drugs and venting?”

I nod.

“I hope that some of those parts were true. Like the part about me being a strong role model.”

“I mean, of course that was.”

“And so was the part of me fighting the bonebags. I would do that, but please, don’t ever put yourself in a place where you could be locked up.”

“Promise me that you won’t talk about me being …” I hold my hand over my belly because there is a highly likely chance that what happened in college has made it impossible to stay?—

She gasps and holds her hand over her mouth. “Are you? Right now, are you?” She leans in and whispers, “With child?”

“No.” I fire off a lie so quickly that I know.

“Gwendolyn?” she says as quickly. “College?”

“Holy motherfuuuu … shit.” I throw my hands in the air. “Please tell me what you actually heard so that I can just?—”

She stands in front of me, shaking her head, hands over her mouth.

“Mom, breathe.” I give her hand a gentle squeeze.

“‘Our Song,’ pro-baller cum, and calorie? Big Mac. The wonderful things about me, and”—she pauses—“fucking rocks?”

“Okay, well, until an actual baby comes out of me, you heard nothing. I’m having a hell of a time thinking about going through that again, physically and emotionally, and I can’t, Mom. I can’t handle it if people know. It would make it so much harder. You and Leland, that’s it. Promise?”

When her lips form a tight line, telling me that she’s literally holding something back, I ask, “Mom?”

“Well, Annie and Theresa were also in the kitchen.”

I palm my face.

“Oh honey, I’m sure they didn’t hear any more than I did.”

“How are you sure?” I ask, trying not to act annoyed, but the truth is I am fucking annoyed … at myself for losing my shit.

This is why drugs are bad, kids.

“Well, because it didn’t come up in the, um?—”

“Um what, Mom?”

“The discussion following.”

“The discussion following?”

“Oh, Gwen, we are all so thrilled you two are getting married.”

“Oh my God, we haven’t even really discussed it.”

“Well, we have.” She laughs—yes, laughs—as she runs up the stairs ahead of me. “Come on; we’ll miss the sunset!”

“You mean sunrise?” I call after her.

When I catch up, she’s standing on the platform, which leads to another set of stairs that leads down to the beach.

“Oh my God, is that …?”

“It is.” Mom hugs me, steps back, and smiles. “You deserve to be loved by that boy, and he deserves all that love you have to give. Go.”

As if he couldn’t look more gorgeous, he’s standing in the center of several candles in the shape of a baseball diamond. He’s wearing track pants and a long-sleeved tee that clings to his incredible body, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a baseball cap on his head. He cocks his head to the side, probably wondering if I’m going to run when the reality is that I’m shocked he didn’t after last night, after my not-so-mini meltdown. When he exhales slowly, I know he’s probably anxious about all this, too.

I point to the top of my head and make a circle.

He bites his lower lip and turns it backward.

So hot.

I head down the stairs toward him, and I fight to keep the pace going because … I loved the way he loved me back when we were kids, and the man he is has done nothing but grow into a bigger, hotter, stronger, funnier, and more confident man.

“Gwendolyn York?—”

“Hold up. First, you’ve got to promise to break things off with your boyfriend because I’m not going to be the other woman, and I’m not ever going to be a thi?—”

He presses a finger to my lips. “I get to do this my way.”

I nod.

“I have known you were a life-changer since the moment I saw you objectifying me in tenth grade, and I popped wood over Danny Aiken’s head, spotting him on the weight bench.”

“Oh my God.” I laugh.

“Ten minutes later, when you walked out of that locker room, I knew I needed to kiss those pretty lips, and when I finally did, I knew I didn’t wanna kiss anyone besides you ever again. The first time your hand visited little Texas, my fucking eyes went liquid heat, my lids got heavy, and the first breath following that first touch, even to this day, I have to force myself to take my next breath because I could die a happy man knowing your hands, Gwendolyn York, are touching me.”

He sets the flowers on the ground then takes my hand. “I love you, and I want you to be my wife. I wanna Locke it down with you. I want to wake up and go to bed with you, watch reels and chill with you, cry with you, laugh with you, get naked and fuck with only you, and I wanna fight with you, for you, for us. I wanna raise a family with you, regardless of what that looks like, human or fur babies. His or mine, Gwen, it matters fuck not?—”

“Stop right there. If you think what may or may not be inside of me is not the product of you and I, let me clear it up.”

His lips quip up. “No need. I got it. But you need to get I don’t give a fuck. I love you.”

My eyes are now burning.

“You gonna let me love you?”

I nod.

“You gonna love me back?”

I continue nodding because I don’t think I can speak.

He pulls Mama June’s box from his pocket, and then Leland Locke drops down on one knee. “Gwendolyn York, you and I are gonna Locke this down, deal?”’

“Deal.”

“Can’t believe I’m putting this ring on my fucking dream girl.” He laughs as he slides it on my finger.

I wiggle my finger. “Perfect fit.”

“Seriously?” he asks as he looks it over.

“It is,” I say, taking his face in my hands and rubbing my thumb over his thick lower lip, and then he slowly stands.

“Gonna kiss you.”

“Deal.”

As he cups my face and lifts my chin with his thumb, leans down, and presses his lips to my forehead, he says, “I love you so much.”

“Love you,” I whisper, closing my eyes as he tips my head back further and outlines my lips with his tongue, wetting them.

He groans as he slides his lips across mine, and the feel of his hot breath on my skin makes my body hum as he glides his tongue back across before sucking my lower lip into his mouth, causing my nipples to tighten and pucker beneath my sleep tee and cardigan.

I grip his hips, wanting him closer, needing him closer as his hand moves from my cheek to the back of my head, gripping it as he dips his tongue inside my mouth, the place where his groan is met with my moan and our hungry tongues meet each other once again.

Behind us, I hear cheering, clapping, and whistling.

We smile against each other’s lips, and he growls when he breaks our kiss.

“They’re all on the deck, watching.” Then he points up. “Marks has a drone flying around up there.”

“What?” I laugh, thinking he’s joking, until I look up and see the damn thing.

“Getting pictures.”

“Why would he do that?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Might have asked him to.” He moves me in front of him and pulls me against him. “Hold that hand up.”

“Are you really going to take selfies?”

“Damn right I am. The gram needs to know I finally got the girl.”

“You don’t post shit like?—”

“We’re not shit.”

“Fine, and only because my nails look good, but if you post my jacked-up face next to your perfect one, I’m going to start withholding sex before I even say I do.”

“Sugar …” he begins.

“Let’s not bring that back.”

“Never went away. Your lips and pussy still taste sweet like sugar to me.” He turns his hat around and grabs his phone, holding it up. “Turn the other way?”

“Are you for real?” I laugh, knowing he is, but damn.

“You know I am.” He winks, presses his lips to my cheek, and holds my hand up. Then he dips down and kisses me. He brings the phone around in front of us so I can see it. “You wanna hate it.”

He’s not wrong—I do—but it’s actually perfect.

“I guess it’s okay.”

“I can’t wait to see the shit I get for giving you a ring like that.”

“You better defend Mama June’s ring.”

“You know I will.”