House.
“Where’ve you been?” he says, a little pissed.
“Out and about.”
Upstairs, I take off my clothes, leave them in a heap, and head for the shower. “Wanna join me?”
“No,” he says. But a few minutes later he pulls back the shower curtain and watches me soap up, his eyes never leaving me. It’s juicy, him holding back. Finally he peels off his T-shirt, unzips and drops his pants, and joins me under the steamy water. We do it sitting in the tub with a drizzle of water falling over us. After, I plug the drain and let it fill, and we lounge for a while, Cork’s long legs climbing the tile.
“Do you think God’s sexy?” I ask.
“Hell no.”
“Explain.”
“What kind of a Catholic are you, Cassonetti?”
“I’m not really. I went to church a few times with mygrandma when I was little. I liked the smells. What is it? Wax and incense and something else? I liked the stained glass and the candles. I liked the general mood when no one was talking.”
“Well, if you spent any real time in a church you wouldn’t think God is sexy, and especially not if you went to catechism.”
“That’s a shame.”
“But I’ll tell you what is sexy. This ass.” He slides his hands under my butt and squeezes. “This is one delicious ass and this is one fine tit,” he says, cupping my boob.
“God made this ass and boob,” I say, and laugh.
“Yeah, good one.”
I’d like to ask him about sex in the old art room. On the table. But I never talk with him about the private stuff Inggy tells me. It wouldn’t be right.
I wake around two as Cork is putting on his clothes. “Bye,” he says.
“Bye.”
I toss and turn for a while. Mom’s party must have wound down, ’cause I don’t hear music anymore. I feel kind of restless, both tired and antsy. Not a good combination. I wouldn’t mind some cheese or something, so I throw on jeans and a sweatshirt and dash over to the House in my slippers. When I open the back door, in the dimly litkitchen Cork is kissing my mom against the refrigerator. They pull apart and look at me, and I look at them.
“Ew,” I say.
On the table is a half-eaten cheese tray, the slices nicely arranged in a semicircle. I grab a couple and leave.
The back door opens, and I hear her slowly climb the stairs. She kicks off her wedges and leans on the doorframe. She puts one bare foot on top of the other and leans there like a girl. My mother is a girl. She tosses me a napkin full of cheese slices and some jump out and land on the sheets.
“Say something!”
She shrugs, sighs, and then she laughs. She actually laughs, covering her mouth and shaking her head. “Oh, Angel, I’m sorry.”
“You kissed a seventeen-year-old! What is wrong with you?” I throw a pillow at her and it clips her in the face before she catches it.
“I am such an ass,” she says.
“You really are!”
“I can’t even explain.”
I try to get my brain around this. My mom. Ew. My mom! I grab a cheese slice and chew it slowly, filling my mouth with sharpness. Cork cheated on me. On me and Inggy both. There must be others too, I now know as surelyas I know I am sitting on this bed. Cork is suddenly and absolutely a stranger to me, and so is my mother.
“Look,” she says. “What can I say …?”
“I don’t know! But you better say something.”
She sits on the bed and gathers up the scattered slices and stacks them on the napkin.
“Get off.” I slap the bed. But she sinks down on the pillow and rubs her face like she’s really tired. She’s wearing a lot of rings, and I’ve never noticed before, but her hands, decked with all those rings, are old-looking, dry with a million tiny lines.
“Did he start it up? Did he?” I move to the window ledge and lean against it.
“He’s a flirt, that one,” she says. “Look, it was nothing. It didn’t look like nothing but it was nothing. One too many mojitos and a horny boy aren’t a good recipe. Let’s forget it, all right?” Then
“Where’ve you been?” he says, a little pissed.
“Out and about.”
Upstairs, I take off my clothes, leave them in a heap, and head for the shower. “Wanna join me?”
“No,” he says. But a few minutes later he pulls back the shower curtain and watches me soap up, his eyes never leaving me. It’s juicy, him holding back. Finally he peels off his T-shirt, unzips and drops his pants, and joins me under the steamy water. We do it sitting in the tub with a drizzle of water falling over us. After, I plug the drain and let it fill, and we lounge for a while, Cork’s long legs climbing the tile.
“Do you think God’s sexy?” I ask.
“Hell no.”
“Explain.”
“What kind of a Catholic are you, Cassonetti?”
“I’m not really. I went to church a few times with mygrandma when I was little. I liked the smells. What is it? Wax and incense and something else? I liked the stained glass and the candles. I liked the general mood when no one was talking.”
“Well, if you spent any real time in a church you wouldn’t think God is sexy, and especially not if you went to catechism.”
“That’s a shame.”
“But I’ll tell you what is sexy. This ass.” He slides his hands under my butt and squeezes. “This is one delicious ass and this is one fine tit,” he says, cupping my boob.
“God made this ass and boob,” I say, and laugh.
“Yeah, good one.”
I’d like to ask him about sex in the old art room. On the table. But I never talk with him about the private stuff Inggy tells me. It wouldn’t be right.
I wake around two as Cork is putting on his clothes. “Bye,” he says.
“Bye.”
I toss and turn for a while. Mom’s party must have wound down, ’cause I don’t hear music anymore. I feel kind of restless, both tired and antsy. Not a good combination. I wouldn’t mind some cheese or something, so I throw on jeans and a sweatshirt and dash over to the House in my slippers. When I open the back door, in the dimly litkitchen Cork is kissing my mom against the refrigerator. They pull apart and look at me, and I look at them.
“Ew,” I say.
On the table is a half-eaten cheese tray, the slices nicely arranged in a semicircle. I grab a couple and leave.
The back door opens, and I hear her slowly climb the stairs. She kicks off her wedges and leans on the doorframe. She puts one bare foot on top of the other and leans there like a girl. My mother is a girl. She tosses me a napkin full of cheese slices and some jump out and land on the sheets.
“Say something!”
She shrugs, sighs, and then she laughs. She actually laughs, covering her mouth and shaking her head. “Oh, Angel, I’m sorry.”
“You kissed a seventeen-year-old! What is wrong with you?” I throw a pillow at her and it clips her in the face before she catches it.
“I am such an ass,” she says.
“You really are!”
“I can’t even explain.”
I try to get my brain around this. My mom. Ew. My mom! I grab a cheese slice and chew it slowly, filling my mouth with sharpness. Cork cheated on me. On me and Inggy both. There must be others too, I now know as surelyas I know I am sitting on this bed. Cork is suddenly and absolutely a stranger to me, and so is my mother.
“Look,” she says. “What can I say …?”
“I don’t know! But you better say something.”
She sits on the bed and gathers up the scattered slices and stacks them on the napkin.
“Get off.” I slap the bed. But she sinks down on the pillow and rubs her face like she’s really tired. She’s wearing a lot of rings, and I’ve never noticed before, but her hands, decked with all those rings, are old-looking, dry with a million tiny lines.
“Did he start it up? Did he?” I move to the window ledge and lean against it.
“He’s a flirt, that one,” she says. “Look, it was nothing. It didn’t look like nothing but it was nothing. One too many mojitos and a horny boy aren’t a good recipe. Let’s forget it, all right?” Then
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