I wouldn’t say I’m a Facebook addict or anything, but I have several hundred friends and I usually log on a few times a day. My profile photo is just my face, and it’s one from college, when I was quite a bit lighter. As I’ve said, I’m way better on the internet than I am in real life. Out of all the Facebook friends I’ve got, only a handful have ever been my friends in real life.
For days after my trip to the zoo
with Brody, I’m in a great mood. But then, a few days later, I’m sitting in my
room, singing Celine Dion to myself, when I log onto Facebook and see a
disturbing update on my friend feed. Apparently, “Nadia Patterson wrote on
Brody Nolan’s wall.”
Nadia Patterson is a girl I knew in
high school. She was in my class, but we weren’t friends—not even close. Nadia
wasn’t the most popular girl in the world, but she was sexy. She had long,
straight blond hair that was always streaked with several other colors, and you
could always see more of her legs than you could of her skirts. I heard she got
suspended once for refusing to change into something less revealing.
I wasn’t friendly with Nadia in high
school. I remember we worked on some project together for social studies class
during junior year. We went to the park to work, and most of the time, I was
working while Nadia was smoking a joint in plain view of everyone. But she was
nice—at least she offered to share with me. (I said no, good little girl that I
was.) Anyway, a few years ago, Nadia sent me a friend request and I accepted.
And then I became her.
Nadia takes a lot of photos of
herself. A lot. Getting a new shade
of lipstick is a cause for Nadia to post like twenty selfies. She’s an aspiring
actress, so she loves being photographed and I think she’s hoping if she takes
enough pictures of herself, she might be “discovered.” Anyway, when guys I met
online asked to see a photo of me, it was only too easy to go into the cache of
Nadia’s seductive photos. Needless to say, most of the guys enjoyed the photos.
But I couldn’t figure out why she’d
be writing on Brody’s wall. How would she even know Brody? As he pointed out to
me once, he was a junior when we were freshmen. Then again, Nadia seemed like
the kind of girl who hung out with hot upperclassmen guys.
I look at Brody’s wall and I can
almost hear Nadia’s sexy voice: “Brody Nolan!!!! Is that you? Where have you
been hiding yourself, Brody???? I hope you remember me! If you don’t, I’ll give
you a hint: NYE in Times Square! Now THAT was a night I’ll never forget!”
Okay, what the hell is that? What went on between Nadia and
Brody on some New Year’s Eve that was so memorable? I don’t even know what to
think about it. Christ. I skim to Brody’s reply:
“Hi, Nadia. Of course I remember
you. Who could forget that tattoo? Wow, it’s been a while. Married with kids
yet?”
I stare at the screen. Tattoo? Nadia
had a tattoo? When she was in high school?
And here’s the part that freaks me
out. I don’t remember any visible tattoos from any of the many, many photos of
Nadia. And in some of those, she was really scantily clad. So that means that
Brody got to see her body in a place that isn’t generally clothed.
Which means…
I try to push that next thought out
of my head as I read Nadia’s response: “Haha, nope. Still living the swinging
single life. And I see from your profile that you’re still single yourself, Mr.
Nolan!”
Of course, I immediately click on
Brody’s profile, and sure enough, Nadia’s right. Brody has not switched his
relationship status from “single.” And now he’s flirting with Nadia freaking
Patterson.
I switch back to their wall
conversation, but I don’t see any response from Brody. Of course, that doesn’t
mean he never responded. Maybe he just responded privately.
I get this horrible sick feeling in
my stomach. Camille has called me a few times since our last conversation about
Brody, but I haven’t been taking her calls. I’m just not in the mood to hear
her tell me what a horrible guy he is. Brody is a nice guy. I trust him.
Except I admit, there are some times
when I’m not entirely sure.
Why didn’t Brody change his
relationship status on Facebook? Why is he pretending to be single? And why is
he flirting with Nadia Patterson?
None of these things are good signs.
If he could have someone like her,
why would he want me?
Screw it, I’m calling Brody.
It takes half a dozen rings for him
to answer. I’ve nearly given up when I hear his voice: “Hello? Emily?”
“Hi,” I say, suddenly feeling shy.
“You never call me.” He doesn’t
sound suspicious, just pleased. “I got excited when I saw your name on the
screen.”
Aw, he’s so sweet. And cute.
No wait, I’m mad at him.
“Brody,” I say. “Can I ask you
something?”
“Sure. Anything.”
I take a deep breath. “How do you
know Nadia Patterson?”
“Who?” I have to say, maybe he’s a
great actor, but he genuinely sounds like he doesn’t know who she is.
“Nadia Patterson,” I repeat. When he
doesn’t say anything, I add, “She wrote on your Facebook wall.”
“Oh! Nadia, right.” He still doesn’t
sound upset or guilty. “She went to high school with us. Hey, wasn’t she in
your class or something? She was, like, really young.” He laughs. “Not legal.”
I can’t stand this another minute. “What
happened New Year’s Eve at Times Square?”
“Huh?”
It all comes out in a gush of words:
“She wrote… Nadia asked you if you remembered New Year’s Eve like it was
important. And then you said you did. And then Nadia said that your Facebook
status is still single. Which it is.”
There’s a long pause on the other
line, then finally Brody busts out laughing. “Holy shit, Emily. Are you jealous?”
I don’t know what’s so funny. I
mean, he was flirting with an attractive blond on Facebook. I have a right to
be jealous.
“No,” I say defensively.
“I think you are.” He sounds amused.
“Wow, that’s… adorable. And flattering.”
“Well, you were flirting with her,” I point out. Although I do feel a little dumb
right now.
“Come on, that wasn’t flirting,”
Brody says. “And even if it was, so what? You really think I’m going to cheat
on you with Nadia? First, I would never ever do that to you. Second, you think
Nadia would be overcome with lust when she laid eyes on me and she’d just have to be with me? You think that’s a
realistic thing that might happen?”
“I… I don’t know,” I mumble. “You’re
pretty cute.”
“Well, I’m glad you think so,” he
laughs. “But objectively, I mean, come on.”
I do feel reassured that he’s not
planning to cheat on me with Nadia. But what he’s saying is a little
unsettling. I had convinced myself that he asked me out because he found me
attractive, as crazy as that sounds. But now I wonder if he just asked me out
because he found me unattractive. So
unattractive that he thought I might say yes to a date with a quadriplegic guy.
Then again, he certainly acts like he thinks I’m attractive.
Maybe Brody realizes he said
something wrong, because he adds, “Emily, you’re so wonderful. I’d never cheat
on you in a million years. I’d have to be a complete idiot.”
He sounds like he means it. Maybe
I’m the idiot, but I believe him. “How come you don’t change your Facebook
status then?”
“I don’t know,” Brody says. “Because
I’m twenty-nine years old, and the first thing I do when I meet a great girl
isn’t rush to change my stupid Facebook status? Seriously, I’m not even sure I
know how.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, it’s not that
hard.”
I changed my Facebook status the day
after our zoo date. I debated for like an hour if I should do it, if I would be
jinxing myself, but ultimately, I couldn’t resist, even though I refrained from
saying who I was in a relationship with. I’ve never had a boyfriend before, and
I just wanted to scream it from the rooftops. You know what’s crazy? When I
changed my status, tons of people “liked” it and posted congratulations. It was
a little embarrassing.
“I’ll do it right after we get off
the phone,” Brody says. “I promise.”
We talk for another hour, then I go
get some dinner. When I get back home, I check on Facebook and see his status
has changed to “In a relationship with Emily Davison.” He didn’t just tell the
world he’s in a relationship—he told everyone that he’s in a relationship with me. Which is just about the sweetest
thing anyone has ever done for me.
***
It’s obvious Camille is determined
to get in touch with me. Tonight she calls me at six o’clock and I let it go to
voicemail. Then she calls back at seven o’clock. And then at eight o’clock. At
that point, I finally take pity on her and pick up.
“Hi, what’s up?” I say as casually
as I can.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” I can
hear the pout in her voice. “Don’t deny it.”
“Fine. I just don’t want to hear
about how horrible Brody is.”
“So you’re still dating him?”
“Yes. In fact…” I can’t suppress a
smile. “We’re… you know, in a relationship. He’s my boyfriend.”
Camille groans. “Seriously?”
“Yes!”
“I’m sorry, Emily,” she sighs. “Don’t
take it personally. It’s not you. It’s him. I’m telling you, he’s not a good guy. I went to school with
him for four years. And I just can’t imagine the two of you together.”
I chew on my lip. I have to tell her
what happened to Brody. Then she might understand why he’s changed. “Listen,” I
say, “he’s not… the same as he was in high school.”
“You keep saying that.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I shake my
head. “The thing is, he was in an accident. He uses a wheelchair now. He’s,
like, a quadriplegic.”
I hear Camille inhale sharply on the
other line. “Oh my God. Seriously?”
“Yeah…”
She’s silent for several seconds. “Wow.
That’s… terrible for him… It’s hard to imagine.”
My shoulders relax. Brody was right
that I needed to tell her. Maybe now she’ll lay off. “Right. So now you know.”
“He looked the same,” she murmurs. “I
mean, in the photos on Facebook. He still looked…”
Hot. I finished
the sentence in my own head. Camille’s reaction is a bit unsettling. She sounds
more rattled than I thought. It makes me wonder if they knew each other more
than they both let on.
“A quadriplegic,” she murmurs. “I
can’t even imagine it.”
“He’s doing okay,” I say. “It’s not
as bad as it sounds.”
She snorts. “It sounds pretty bad. So
is he on welfare now or something?”
“No! He’s a computer programmer.
That’s how I met him. We’re in the same night class.”
“I just…” She hesitates. “I’m sorry,
Emily, but I still don’t trust him. I don’t know. You should be very careful
around this guy.”
I grit my teeth. “Noted.”
“Don’t be mad,” she pleads with me. “You’re
my little sister and I’m just looking out for you.”
“Then you should want me to be
happy,” I say. “And Brody makes me happy.”
“Okay,” she says. “If you say so.”
But this is far from over.
***
I show up at Brody’s apartment at six
o’clock on Saturday night, feeling some combination of terrified and excited. Tonight,
Brody’s PCA Mike is going to be sticking around for the duration of the
evening, to help with whatever we need. It’s a little awkward that we need a
third party present for our date, but this will give us a chance to be
physically closer. Which is something I’m… well, like I said, excited and
terrified about.
The door opens much faster this
time, and I’m greeted by a pleasant-looking guy in his mid-thirties with a crew
cut. When he holds out his hand to me, there isn’t any judgment or surprise in
his eyes. I wonder if Brody warned him I’m a big girl. “Hi, I’m Mike. You must
be Emily.”
I shake his hand, which is strong
and warm. A far cry from Brody’s hands. “Hi.”
Brody enters the foyer in his
wheelchair, looking adorable as usual in a dress shirt paired with jeans. “Emily!
I see you’ve met Mike.”
I nod shyly.
“Anyway,” Mike says, rubbing his
hands together. “Dinner is all set up for you guys. I’m going to hang out in
the bedroom so give me a yell if you need anything.”
“Oh,” I say. This feels so
ridiculously awkward. He’s just going to be sitting in the bedroom, waiting
around? “You don’t want to stay and have a drink?”
Mike laughs. “Thanks, but the whole
reason I’m here is to help you two have a good time together. I don’t want to
intrude. Really.”
“When do you need to leave, Mike?”
Brody asks.
“I’ll stick around as long as you
need me, Brody,” Mike says. He cuts off Brody’s protests, “Really. Don’t even
worry about it.”
Mike dashes off to the bedroom. I
wonder what he’s going to do in there. Watch TV? Play with his phone? Jack off?
“Mike seems nice,” I say.
“He’s nice,” Brody assures me. “I’ve
had some PCAs that were shit. But he’s great. The best.”
“What makes a PCA shitty?” I ask
him.
“Lots of things,” Brody says. Spoken
like someone who’s needed help with basic activities of daily living for the
last decade. “Like not showing up on time. Or at all. I had one woman who had a son who was always getting sick. And
she’d wait till the last second to call me and let me know she couldn’t make
it. And I’d be stuck in my freaking bed, calling around for a back-up.”
“Yikes,” I say.
“That was the worst,” he says. “But
there were others who were bad in other ways. Like they were always acting like
it was some kind of race—everything was so rushed. Or just not treating me with
any kind of respect, like I’m not a human being, you know?”
“I can imagine,” I say. It’s exactly
the way people treat me sometimes.
“Anyway,” Brody says. “This is not the
sexiest topic of conversation. Sorry. Come here, Emily.”
I lean toward him and he kisses me
on the lips, then whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to be close to you.” His
breath makes my whole body tingle.
Sheesh, he is really sexy sometimes.
The dining table is set up in the
living room, although I get momentarily distracted by a book in Brody’s
bookcase. It’s been removed from the shelf and is lying on top of the other
books. “Hey,” I say. “Is that your high school yearbook?”
“Oh, yeah.” He grins crookedly. “I
took it out a while back so I could get ideas for conversation topics with you.
But it was too heavy and I couldn’t get it back on the shelf on my own.”
I pull the book out of the shelf and
lay it down on the dining table. The book is heavy, but not that heavy. It’s hard to imagine what it
must be like to not even be able to lift a yearbook—but he doesn’t seem upset
about it, just matter-of-fact. I flip through the pages of portraits until I
come to the N’s. And then I see him at the bottom of the page: Brody Nolan.
“Wow, you were cute!” I can’t help
but exclaim. He really was. He has this adorably goofy grin in the photo. He
looks pretty similar to the way he does now, although there’s something
different I can’t put my finger on. Well, his hair is shorter now. In the
photo, his brown hair wasn’t long, but it was pretty shaggy. It’s almost
hanging in his eyes.
“Were?”
Brody acts mock offended.
I look under his name, where honors
and clubs are listed. He has none. I read off the quote attributed to him: “Dude,
where’s my homework?” I look up. “What does that mean?”
“Oh Christ,” Brody says. “I was a
little… immature back then. Maybe you should just put that back.”
I flip through more of the pages,
looking for familiar faces. Some kids look vaguely familiar, but they were so
far ahead of me that I didn’t know any of them. Finally, I get to the unlabeled
photos, which were snapped in the hallways of school, at dances, or at other
special events. I pause over a photo that I’m almost positive is of Brody. Brody
leaning against the lockers, kissing a cute blond girl.
I stare at the photo for a few
seconds. He looked different in the portrait photo, but here he looks really different. For one thing, he’s
standing. He’s wearing a T-shirt and you can see his forearms and hands, and
they look totally normal. Brody looks totally normal. Not just normal—he looks
hot. Miles out of my league, if I’m being honest.
I point to the photo. “Is that you?”
Brody cranes his neck. “Oh, yeah. I
think so. Man, that was a long time ago.”
“Who is the girl?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Just a
girl.”
“You were kissing her,” I point out
to him. “You don’t remember who you were kissing?”
“It was twelve years ago.” Brody
crinkles his nose. “Do you remember everyone you kissed twelve years ago?”
I’m not going to tell him it’s
pretty easy to remember everyone I kissed twelve years ago when I didn’t have
my first real kiss until a few weeks ago. Of course, maybe if I looked as good
as Brody did in high school, I’d have kissed more guys than I’d be able to
remember.
“I guess not,” I finally mumble. I
can’t win this argument.
Brody reaches over and manages to
shut the yearbook. He reaches over and slides the book onto his lap, then he
tries to lift it to get it back on the shelf. He gets it about six inches off
his lap and then the book falls to the floor, bashing him in the knee. That
sets off a muscle spasm in his leg, which starts jumping like crazy. I’ve seen
his legs do that a few times before, and he explained it’s something he can’t
control.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. “Do you
need me to get Mike?”
“No. No way,” Brody says. He grabs
onto his leg and the spasm quiets. “Let’s eat, okay? Enough reminiscing. Please.”
The way he says “please” makes me
feel incredibly guilty. I guess if I were Brody, I wouldn’t want to look at
photos of myself before I got hurt either.
We finish our dinner quickly because
we’re both eager for what’s going to come next. For once, I don’t have much of
an appetite. All I can think about is being close to Brody. After about fifteen
minutes, Brody puts down his fork and his eyes meet mine.
“Do you want to sit on the couch
and… cuddle?” His cheeks turn pink as he asks the question. “I can go get Mike.”
I, on the other hand, feel my whole body turning pink. The thought of being
physically close to him makes me excited. And terrified. But mostly excited.
Also, pretty terrified.
“Sure,” I say casually.
I go to select a movie while Brody
gets Mike to help him onto the couch. I try to find a romantic movie, so we can
set the mood, but he literally has no romantic movies in his collection. I end
up picking Elf, because it’s
seriously the most romantic movie he’s got.
Brody returns with Mike by his side.
Brody wheels over beside the couch, and undoes the Velcro on his belts. Then he
leans forward and wraps his arms around Mike’s neck. Mike grabs him by the
waistband of his pants and heaves him onto the couch in one swift movement. Mike
helps Brody adjust his legs, and then it’s over. It was far less involved than
I thought it would be.
“All set,” Brody says. He smiles
shyly at me.
I settle gingerly on the couch next
to Brody while Mike works the controls on Brody’s wheelchair to get it out of
our way. “You good then?” Mike asks. “Need anything else?”
“No, we’re fine.” Brody clears his
throat. “You know, it’s going to be a two-hour movie. If you want to go out for
a while or something, and just come back later, that would be fine. I mean, I
don’t want you to feel trapped in the bedroom.”
Mike looks dubious. “But what if you
need to get back in your wheelchair?”
“I’ll be fine,” Brody says again.
I have to admit, I’m nervous about
the whole thing. As easy as it is for Mike to help Brody in and out of his
chair, I’m not sure I could do it if I had to. I mean, what if there’s a fire
and we have to get out of the building? Okay, that’s pretty unlikely. But what
if… “What if you need to use the bathroom?” I blurt out.
“He has a catheter,” Mike says.
Well, that finally explains the bathroom
thing that I’ve been wondering about since Brody and I have been dating. It
baffled me why he never needed the bathroom.
I look over at Brody, who is
blushing. “So we’ll be fine,” he says to Mike. “You can go out. Really.”
Mike finally agrees. As we hear the
door slam behind him, Brody and I exchange looks. Despite everything, he looks
nervous. “We’ll be fine,” he says for the millionth time. Although he looks at
his wheelchair like he wishes he were still in it.
“I know,” I say.
He nods toward the TV. “Do you want
to get the movie started?”
It’s a relief to get the television
on and break some of the awkwardness since Mike mentioned the catheter thing. I
settle down next to Brody on the sofa, about a foot away from him.
“Hey,” Brody says. “You’re way too
far away from me. Come closer.”
I scooch over about half a foot.
Brody raises his eyebrows. “That’s
the closest you can get?”
I finally scooch over so that I’m
practically right on top of him, which seems to satisfy him. He reaches over
and puts his arm around me, which is sweet. Bob Newhart comes on the television
screen, but I’m having a lot of trouble focusing on the movie. I keep wondering
what’s going to happen between Brody and me. I mean, he didn’t go to all this
trouble of having Mike stick around just so he could put his arm around me.
Sure enough, about ten minutes into
the movie, Brody kisses my forehead. I lift my face to look at him, and then he
kisses me on the lips. This is the closest our bodies have been since we’ve
been dating and that makes the kissing so much more intense. He’s a really good
kisser, although admittedly, I don’t have any basis for comparison. In any
case, what we’re doing feels really good.
Brody’s arm moves against my
breasts, although he stays respectfully on top of my shirt. At first. Then he
tries to get his arm under my blouse, but it’s a struggle for him. Finally, he
whispers in my ear: “Do you think you could take your shirt off?”
My first instinct is to panic. I’ve
never taken my shirt off in front of a man. I think about the rolls of fat in
my belly and my flabby arms, and my stomach clenches. There’s no way Brody will
like me if he sees all that. And I can’t help but think of that cute blond girl
he was kissing in that photo. She had a killer body—not an ounce of fat.
“Please,” he whispers, stroking the
side of my face with his forearm.
I swallow hard. I remind myself that
Brody hasn’t been with many women in the last decade, and his standards aren’t
all that high anymore. Maybe it’ll be okay…
Slowly, I undo the buttons on my
shirt, until it hangs open, and he has a clear look at my breasts under my bra
as well as my big fat stomach. Even though my breasts are pretty big, I’m wider
in the middle and ass than I am at the bust. My mother says I’m “pear-shaped.”
Brody inhales sharply when he sees
my breasts and his eyes widen. “Holy crap,” he says. “Your tits are so freaking
sexy.”
I undo the buttons on his shirt now.
Brody has a thin red-brown layer of hair over his chest. His abdomen bulges
slightly under his rib cage—he’s skinny, but he’s got a gut. He looks at me
almost apologetically. “I’m a quadriplegic, so obviously I have zero muscles in
my chest,” he explains.
I run my hand up from his belly
button to his nipples and he just watches me. “I can’t feel that,” he says.
Oh. I guess that makes sense. “So
what should I do for you?” I ask him.
He grins at me. “You know what I’d love to do?”
I’m afraid to hear. “What?”
He runs his curled hand across my
breasts. “I would love to get your nipples in my mouth.”
My heart speeds up. “You want me to
take off my bra?”
Brody nods. “If you’re all right
with that…”
How can I say no? All he wants me to
do is take off my bra. We’ve been on more than enough dates now for that to be
a reasonable request. Hell, most girls would have been naked five dates ago. Brody
and I are moving at a snail’s pace.
I need to get over this. I need to
take off my bra.
So I summon all my courage, pull off
my shirt entirely, and take off my bra.
I feel so exposed. Nobody’s seen me entirely topless in… I can’t remember
how long. But Brody gets this huge grin on his face and murmurs, “Christ,
Emily… you are so hot…”
He guides me closer to him with his
arm, and starts kissing my neck, then makes his way down to my chest. The
easiest thing at this point is to straddle him, which I do while being careful
not to put any weight on his legs. Brody’s lips are on my nipples, and damn,
that is nice! He’s really going at it—kissing, sucking, licking. He gets an A+
for enthusiasm. He gets an A+ for a lot of things.
While he does that, I run my hands
through his hair, over his neck, and over his upper chest. I’m trying to stick
to the parts of his body that he can feel. He seems to appreciate it. At one
point when he takes a break from my breasts, I suck on his earlobe and neck and
he goes nuts.
We fool around intermittently for a
few hours, abandoning any pretense of watching a movie. Finally, we end up the
way we started, with Brody’s arm around me as I cuddle against him as the movie
concludes.
“Hey,” he says, “you want to listen
to some music?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“I don’t care. But I know you’re
pretty into music.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “What do
you mean by that?”
He grins sheepishly. “Well, whenever
you go off by yourself, like to the kitchen, I hear you singing.”
My cheeks burn. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize! I would apologize
if I were singing, but you’re really
good. You could be a professional or something. Have you ever taken lessons?”
“A long time ago,” I mumble. I don’t
want to tell him the embarrassing story of why I quit singing.
“I think you’re great,” he says
earnestly. “You sound like… Kelly Clarkson.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on.”
“You do!”
I’m not going to argue with him
about whether or not I sound like Kelly Clarkson. If he wants to believe that,
then fine. And Kelly Clarkson is pretty awesome, so I don’t have a problem with
him believing that.
We don’t end up listening to music
though. Instead, we watch an old episode of The
Office. And the entire time, his shirt is open and mine is still off. I
still feel self-conscious, but I also feel comfortable in a way I’ve never felt
before while naked.
Around ten o’clock, Brody’s cell
phone rings on the end-table next to the couch. He answers it on speakerphone. “Hey.”
“Hey, it’s Mike,” comes the voice
from the phone.
“Hey, man.”
“Listen,” Mike says. “I don’t want
to rush you guys or anything…”
“No, that’s okay,” Brody says. “Come
on back.”
When they hang up, Brody apologizes
to me. “It takes him a little while to get me ready for bed, so I feel bad
making him wait around. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say. I don’t waste a
second grabbing my shirt and bra from where I abandoned them on the couch, then
putting them back on. Brody looks disappointed.
“Maybe soon you could…” He takes a
breath. “Stay the night? I don’t know. It’s tricky.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. I don’t know how
excited I am over that prospect either.
“I had a great time tonight though.
A really great time.” He looks up at
me as I hurriedly button up my shirt. I don’t mind Brody seeing me half-naked,
but I’ll be damned if Mike gets a show. “Did you?”
“Yes, definitely,” I say. I reach
out and touch the side of his face. He’s so impossibly cute.
“You’re going to fix my buttons,
right?” Brody asks.
“Isn’t Mike getting you ready for
bed anyway?” I point out.
“Yeah, I guess,” Brody says. “I
don’t know. I just feel stupid sitting here with my shirt open. Please?”
I bend down and do up the buttons on
his shirt. I can never resist the way Brody says “please.” As I do up the
buttons, I’m more observant than I was earlier and I notice several scars on
his chest. There’s a large dimpled scar just below his ribs, which I finger
just briefly. “I couldn’t eat for a while after my injury,” Brody says. “So
that was my feeding tube. The one on my neck is from my trach.”
I stare at the oval scar at the base
of his neck. “You had a trach?”
Brody nods. “For a few months. Not
fun—believe me. My first wheelchair in therapy had a portable vent hooked up to
the back. You have no idea how hard it is to talk around a vent. You have to,
like, time everything you say so it comes out at the same time as the air from
the vent. I hated it.”
Seeing that scar makes me realize
how much more impaired Brody could be. I know some quadriplegics use a vent.
What if he needed help to eat? What if we needed Mike here for everything? Would I still be willing to
date him under those circumstances? I probably would. But it would be hard.
I have to tug a bit to get the shirt
to button over Brody’s belly. He looks a little embarrassed as I’m doing the
buttons, but obviously, between the two of us, I have a much larger gut. His is
a joke compared with mine. It isn’t even fat—just a lack of muscles.
Once I have his shirt adjusted, I
run to the bathroom. My head is still spinning, and when I look in the mirror,
my cheeks appear flushed. My hair is disheveled, and the effect is a little
sexy. I feel sexy right now, maybe for the first time in my life.
But when I get out of the bathroom,
Brody isn’t smiling.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him.
He frowns. “Who’s Norm?”
I freeze. “What?”
He nods at my phone, which is lying
next to the couch, on the side table. “Some guy texted you. Hey, it’s Norm. I really want to see you,
Emily. Please talk to me.”
My stomach sinks. How am I going to
explain who Norm is to him? I met him on the internet, we talked for a year, and I ghosted him before he could find out what I really look like. “Norm was… sort of my… boyfriend.”
His eyes fill with hurt. “Are you
still seeing him?”
“No!” I rush over to sit beside him
on the couch. “We broke up a long time ago. He just… I don’t know, I guess he
wants to get back together.”
He glances down at the phone again
and back at me. “But you don’t want to get back together with him?”
“Of course not!” I snatch my phone
off the table before Norm can send me another unfortunate text. “That’s why I
deleted his number from my phone.”
“Okay.” Brody stares down at his
curled hands resting on his lap. “I believe you.”
“I’m going to tell him not to bother
me again,” I say.
I quickly type into my phone: It’s over. Please don’t contact me again. I
show Brody the screen, then I send the text. It’s only after I send the text
that his shoulders relax.
“Sorry I got jealous,” he says. “I
trust you. I really do. I just saw that text message and thought…”
He thought the same thing I thought
when he was messaging Nadia. But I’m not upset. I’m flattered. I’ve never
experienced a guy being jealous over me before.
I lean in to kiss him, but we get
interrupted by the sound of Mike’s key in the lock. Brody pulls away from me
and swears under his breath.
“I guess I should head out,” I say.
“Yeah…” Brody eyes his wheelchair. It’s
about five feet away, but it may as well be on the moon. “I wish I could escort
you out.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
Brody gets this crease between his
eyebrows. “Emily, you’re… I mean, you’re okay with all this, right? I know it’s
a pain in the neck having Mike help out, and I’m sorry. I’m just trying to
figure out the best way to be close to you. Maybe next time we can—”
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “I
promise.”
He offers me a small, nervous smile.
“Okay. I really like you, Emily. I just don’t want to mess things up.”
I love that he said that. Before
Mike can interrupt us, I kiss him deeply on the lips. I should tell him I like
him too, but it sounds like such a stupid thing to say. I mean, I’m kissing
him. Obviously, I like him. Although it doesn’t sound stupid when he says it.
Just love this so much💗
ReplyDeleteThanks!
DeleteThis chapter was soooo sweet and sexy. So glad they had more intimate time! Also, why do I get the feeling that Norm is still gonna be a pain in the ass in the near future, just like Brody's and Emily's siblings?
ReplyDeleteAmazing chapter, Annabelle!! Thank you so much for sharing. Your posts really make my week ��
Haha, because he definitely will :)
DeleteGreat chapter! I love Brody. I can't remember how the original story went, but it's fantastic! Love it.
ReplyDeleteThanks... it has similar scenes but more of a plot than the original.
DeleteYes! Sexy time for Brody and Emily!! Really wanna see how she's gonna take everything once they start getting more intimate. I like Emily, she's a very realistic character. Drfinitely no Alice in wonderland.
ReplyDeleteAnd Brody is a cutie, as always. I think he might be one of my favorite characters by you??? Haha Thank you for sharing.
Glad you think so!
DeleteA wonderful chapter! Thank you so much!
ReplyDeleteThanks for commenting!
DeleteAhhh thank you for posting this! I loved it and can’t wait to buy the book
ReplyDeleteThoroughly appreciate you continually posting here all these years :,)