Page 51 of Please, Sir

This is my life, and what has happened to me, and they have become people I don’t even recognize. And for what? For social standing? Appearances?

Whenever I think too much about my parents and everything that’s gone down, I become physically restless. I can’t stay in one spot because the wrongness of it all wracks my joints, pulses through my muscles, streams through my veins.

Rolling onto my side, I pull my eyes closed and exhale, willing sleep to find me and take me, because staying awake only to think about all of this stuff is worse than that dream where you walk into your college final late, and naked.

From behind me, a soft vibration is partially absorbed by my comforter. Reaching back, I grab my phone and bring it to my face, blinking a few times to see the name on the screen.

Jake.

I forgot we planned a call tonight. He pre-planned the call, actually. Hours ago I was so excited for this call. I hate that my parents, whom I moved away from intentionally, are invading my new life so much.

“Hey,” I answer, my voice soft as I roll onto my back, blinking up at my popcorn ceiling.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice low and deep, igniting a tightness in my core. “How are you?”

I consider my options before answering. Do I tell Jake that I feel like absolute shit and tell him why? Or do I preserve this hot little bubble of carnal passion he and I seem to exist in when we’re around one another? Bringing real Riley into the bubble will surely pop it, and if Jake Turner is my only source of happiness and pleasure, I don’t want to ruin that.

I let out a sigh. “I’m okay. Long day. How are you?”

The line is quiet for a few beats, then a few more. “Jake?” I question softly after I don’t hear him breathing. Did he hang up? Is he on mute accidentally? I glance at my phone to make sure I didn’t hang up, but the call is still active.

“You’re upset,” he says finally, decidedly. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes burn with new, unshed tears. “How can you know that?” I ask, my voice a shaky whisper.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know, but… you are upset. Something’s wrong. I feel it,” he comments, gravely and deep.

I turn onto my side and focus on the orange tree in the yard, putting my phone on the bed next to me with Jake on speakerphone. He knows something is wrong, and while it should feel presumptuous and strange to have him assert it, it doesn’t. In the way I want to feel like his to use inexplicably and totally, it seems he equally understands me in return. It’s certainly uncommon for two people who’ve only met a few months ago, but it’s real.

“Just… had a bad phone call with my parents,” I tell him, feeling very much my age afterward. “Sounds pretty dumb to you, right? I mean, I’m a grown adult with my own job and home.”

“So what?” he says. “Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings.” Bumps lift on my arms from the delicacy with which he delivers such simple words. “Talk to me about it.”

A small wind makes the orange tree rustle in the darkness, and I keep my eyes on it to prevent tears from slipping. “You really wanna talk about my parents?” I feel so embarrassed that our first phone call is helping me through a semi-meltdown.

“I want to talk to you, Riley. And tonight you’re upsetbecause of your parents, so it seems right that we talk about that. But if you aren’t comfortable, I understand.”

I have no right to be comfortable with him, but I am. Comfortable enough to let him touch me, see me naked, beg him to enter my body—talking comes just as easily as giving myself over to him, so I embrace it.

“I just feel bad, like we should be talking about... I don’t know,” I say, sitting up in bed, still looking out the window.

“Our favorite colors and favorite foods?” he laughs.

I laugh a little too. “I mean, yeah, I guess so. Not… major trauma.”

Our laughter fades into silence. “Talk to me,” he finally says, those three words wrapping me like a hug I’ve been dying to feel for months.

He already knows about Michael. He already knows Michael wants me back, and that it’s complicated. What’s a little more Riley Rivers drama at this point?

“I had a bad phone call with my parents tonight,” I start, quickly adding, “regarding my ex-boyfriend, Michael.”

“Roses douche,” he states.

“Yes, roses douche.”

“What did he do to lose you?” he asks, and the way he worded that question causes my heart to thump heavily, making me woozy for a moment. He didn’t ask what happened between us, or why we broke up. He asked what Michael did to lose me, as if I’m a prized possession that no man would want to lose. I know I’m not, but I adore the way he speaks to me.

“He… Honestly, tonight wasn’taboutMichael. And it’s never really even been about him. It’s more about choosing appearances over me.” I take a breath, and launch into it as Jake waits silently on the line. “I’ve been a good daughter, Jake. I’ve done all the things that parents want from theirchildren, year after year. The only time I’ve ever asked for them to truly stand up for me and have my back, they asked me to reconsider my feelings, they asked me to rethink things that I was upset about and even challenged the validity of them.” I let out a heavy sigh that has been wrapped around my heart way too long. “Believing and supporting me throws a wrench in the way their life looks to all their country club friends, and appearances, I have just learned, are more important to them than reality.”

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