Jackson“When did it get bad?” Kennedy asks.I inwardly cringe. I introduced John to Taylor. I did nothing when I first witnessed him controlling her, changing her. This will be an excruciating conversation for Taylor and me. Kennedy looks cool and calm in her corner of the sofa. I realize we rehearsed this conversation and brainstormed Taylor’s reactions, but I am a nervous wreck while Kennedy seems fine.“Where to begin...” Taylor repositions herself on the sofa, leaning on the arm. She clutches a blue throw pillow to her chest. I want to be the pillow. I want to be the comfort she needs. I will be. We will be. Kennedy and I are back in her life to stay. I will never let some guy come between the three of us again.“Last March, I chaperoned the eighth-grade trip to Washington D.C.” She swallows hard. “I do it every spring. I was gone for seven days. When I opened the door to my apartment, I nearly fainted. My words can never express the disaster I found.” She closes her eyes. “The mi
JacksonI shrug at Taylor. “Need more of the hard stuff?”Taylor shakes her head. A veil of sadness slides over her features. “I told him to get his ass in the shower before I could speak to him. I let him think it was to wash their scent from his skin.” Taylor’s blue eyes briefly connect with mine before looking away. “I really needed time to calm down and think.” She giggles to herself. “I made a list.”“You and your lists.” Kennedy laughs. Although I thought Taylor would brandish a knife and threaten to castrate him, making a list is not a surprise. Taylor continues, “I told him he had to clean up everything before I returned to talk to him at eight a.m. I couldn’t sit in the stink and filth. If I threw him out, I’d be stuck cleaning, and that was not going to happen.” Taylor shrugs. “I drove to a hotel for the night, and I visited the hotel bar.”Kennedy prompts, “Was it clean?”“Yes. He claims he did it all himself. I still don’t believe him. The jackass had picked up breakfast
TaylorI clutch my pillow to my face and scream. I don’t hold back. I let a scream start in my lower abdomen and creep up my chest. I can’t control it. This scream hid inside the pit of my stomach for years. As it tapers off, I worry I will be hoarse. My throat is dry.Lying on the bed, the room spins. My day replays as I close my eyes. A hug from Kennedy, a group hug with Jackson, his arm around my shoulders and her holding my hands. Jackson’s hand on my lower back. Everything felt natural. I forgot how easy they are to be around. I survived high school with their help. I couldn’t imagine college without them. Why did I let them slip away? How did I become so careless? Everything good in my life involves the two of them. TaylorI feel the bed depress beside me. I cover my eyes with my right forearm and groan. The sunlight filtering through the curtains is too bright. “Morning,” Kennedy’s chipper voice greets. “It’s almost noon. Time for you to hydrate and eat.”“Ugh,” I moan. I vow
TaylorMy iPhone vibrates in my pocket. It's a text from Jackson.Jackson: Song of the Day time.Me: Not fair on phone. U can look up lyrics to cheat.My phone immediately rings. “Hi, Jackson,” I greet.“Song of the Day time,” he states.“Not all of the males grab a gorgeous female...” I start.“Keep going,” he prompts.“And conceal female from everyone on earth,” I continue.“A little more,” he prompts. “It's on the tip of my tongue.”I know that, when I continue, he will guess correctly. “I desire to be the one to stroll in the daylight...” I pause. When he doesn’t respond, I finish, “Oh females, want to have entertainment.”“Madonna, ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun,’” Jackson professes.“Well,” I start, “you are only half right. It's not Madonna.”“Then who?” he challenges.“Cyndi Lauper,” I state proudly. “Have fun grocery shopping,” I tease. Jackson hangs up while Kennedy holds open Dillard's door to let me in.“I was thinking shorts, capris, and shirts first,” she starts, “then san
Taylor“Turn on some music,” Kennedy prompts.I link my iPhone to the Bluetooth speaker in the living room. I scroll through my playlists: Running, Reading, Driving, School, Lite, Heavy, 80s, and Random. I select the Random playlist. “Stitches” by Shawn Mendes fills the room. I adjust the volume, so it won’t interfere with conversations this evening. Back at the kitchen island, I grab a tumbler and pour two fingers of Jim Beam to calm my nerves. As I finish my drink, I hear Jackson greet guests on the deck. “Showtime,” Kennedy sings as she opens the doors for the guests. Jackson enters, followed by a slender red-head and a tall, tan, blonde man. He motions to the couple. “This is Red and Isaac.” Jackson extends his arm toward me. “And this is Taylor.”The redhead extends her right hand. Her grip is firm and succinct. “I'm Madison. Jackson likes to push my buttons by calling me Red.” Her eyes move from Jackson back to mine. “Nice to finally meet you.”“I thought she’d be taller and...
Jackson“Don’t,” I warn James.“You will not believe what I saw in there.” James points toward Taylor’s room. “James,” I plead. “Dude, let’s get you home. You’ve had way too much to drink.” I escort him to his wife, trying to change the subject. “Remember last year when you fell off the porch and broke your leg? We don’t need a repeat of that.”Martha says goodbye to everyone and joins us on our walk to their home as fireworks light the sky in all directions. I help James into bed, strip him to his boxers, and place water nearby. Martha checks on the kids and pays the babysitter. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Martha?” I inquire.“You’ve done enough. More than he deserves,” Martha states. “He will be up vomiting all night and have a killer hangover tomorrow.” She sighs. “I will be up at dawn with the kids while he attempts to sleep it off.”I hug her. “Goodnight then.” I open the back door to leave but turn to her. “Call or bring the kids over in the morning. We could a
TaylorOn the Fourth of July, sunlight warms my face, awakening me from my dreams. I roll to my left, noticing a note on my nightstand. Sitting up, I unfold the note. Had to run to the YMCA until noon. Be ready. We are going out for lunch and shopping all afternoon. Love,KennedyI glance at my phone on the charger. It’s already ten. Slipping from bed, I shuffle to the kitchen. I grab a Diet Coke and a protein bar for breakfast. Mentally calculate the time I need to shower and be ready by noon for Kennedy, and I climb back into bed while I eat my bar. I scroll through social media and a few emails. My phone vibrates as a new text alert sounds.Jorge: r u up?Me: am nowJorge: sorry go back 2 sleep Me: JK Jorge: so u were up. Nice. Can I call?I type Y-e-s, then decide to delete it. I scroll through my contacts and FaceTime his phone.Jorge’s face lights up my screen. He is lying on a pillow, his hair a disheveled disaster. “Good morning,” he greets with a raspy voice.“What’s up?”
Jackson“There are my girls,” Jackson greets, turning from the stovetop, as we enter from the garage weighed down with our purchases. His eyebrows raise at the sight of our large shopping bags. “What is all that?” He motions towards the bags.“Taylor made all the purchases,” Kennedy informs him.We flop the bags on my bed. I pull out the shirt and hat I bought for Jackson, before I hand the bag with the other Royals gear to Kennedy. He’s happy with his loot and assures me it is the correct size.“What do the other bags contain?” he asks.I explain my Cardinals purchases, and he shakes his head. “How can you still be a Cardinals fan?” He teases. “You grew up in Royals land and now live in Cubs territory.” At my shrug, he continues, “Stubbornness, that's how.”I set the table while Kennedy makes a salad, and Jackson opens a bottle of wine, bringing me a glass. As I savor my first sip, I witness Kennedy with wine, too.“The pasta will be ready in ten minutes,” Jackson informs, as he chec