“You went from being a kid whose parents did everything for him to being an adult. Welcome to the real world, Sam. Life is the shits, but the alternative is worse. Get over it.”
“Why do you always do that?” I said, exasperated.
“Do what?”
“Minimize everything. Make it like it’s no big deal. Say things like what you said about Alicia.”
“Because this is the real world, and life isn’t for pussies.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired of it, and what do you know about the real world?”
“A lot more than you. I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t remember you running a business, cleaning the toilets, paying the bills, shopping.”
“That’s because you weren’t there,” she fired back. “And I didn’t complain about it. My mother was sauced so often she couldn’t get off the couch. Who do you think did all those things, the fairies? My lazy, good-for-nothing older brothers? I’ve been doing the laundry since I was twelve, shopping and making the school lunches while my mother slept off her hangovers. When I got my driver’s license, Joanna cried because we wouldn’t have to get in the car with my mother drunk anymore. Then my father moves out, gets himself a bimbo, and thinks he’s a father because he sees us two nights a week. Or did you forget all of that? Don’t give me your sob story. You talk about your mother not knowing you’re alive for a couple of months? Big deal, Hill. My mother has never known I was alive.”
We stared each other down, silently brooding, unwilling to concede. I had my arms crossed over my chest and my back against the kitchen counter. The urge came over me, and I couldn’t resist. I picked up one of the peas from a plate on the counter and flicked it at Mickie. Under normal circumstances I would have missed by a wide margin, but these were not normal circumstances, and I did not miss. In a game of darts, I threw a bull’s-eye. The pea hit Mickie between the eyes and, because I had overcooked them, stuck for an instant before falling.
Her jaw dropped. “Did you just really hit me in the face with a pea?”
“Yeah, well, life isn’t fair, Michaela.”
She squinted. “What have I told you about calling me Michaela?”
“I don’t remember, Michaela.”
Mickie sprang like a cat. She had her hand in the pea bowl, and the next thing I knew pea juice dribbled down my face. The war had begun. The peas flew. After we emptied the bowl, we found those squished on the counter and cabinets and continued flinging and mashing. I spun, felt my foot slip, and reached out and grabbed the first thing my hand touched—Mickie’s pea-stained blouse. It nearly tore off as I pulled her to the ground on top of me. The rip revealed a black lace bra. I started to laugh, and after a moment, she did, too. We continued until my stomach began to hurt.
“Okay, get up,” I said as our laughter subsided.
But Mickie did not roll off. She looked down at me as if she were seeing a thousand different things in my red eyes. Then she said, “Screw it,” and pressed her lips to mine.
Unlike the night of my prom, Mickie did not pull back, and she did not stop at the first kiss. A part of me screamed to apply the brakes, knowing that what was about to transpire could not be a good thing, that it could ruin the best friendship I’d ever had, but that part of me quickly lost the battle to the part that longed to feel loved again, and to act on the deep, burning desire I’d always had to touch Mickie. I also knew that debate raged only in my mind. Mickie wasn’t about to stop. Discretion and self-control were not hallmarks of her personality. She smothered me with kisses, her hands rubbing my hair and finding their way beneath my shirt to the buckle of my belt. I emptied my head of all doubt and allowed my body the freedom to become lost in the warmth and beauty of Michaela Kennedy.