Page 22 of Lilies in Autumn

Damn. “For what it’s worth, I always thought it was weird that he was desperate for anal sex but refused to have actual sex. The purity ring he gave you was creepy and should be thrown into a fire pit.” It never sat well with me that he wanted Sera to be both the virgin and the whore, the Madonna and the Jezebel. His obsession with Sera’s body was uncomfortable, and though he swore to her that he wouldn’t have sex with her until their wedding night, he was constantly pressuring her to conform to his rules.

He couldn’t go down on her because he would risk “popping her cherry” with his stubby little tongue, but blow jobs for him were fair game. Fingering her was absolutely off the table, but he could fuck her boobs as often as he liked. He claimed he did this in the name of “religion,” but it became obvious early on that he wanted to control Sera as much as possible, especially since he wasn’t a virgin. Did I want to know this information about my sister’s weird sex life? No, but she frequently vented her frustrations to me, Bianca, and CeCe.

At seventeen, almost eighteen years old, Sera had experienced doing everything for a guy but had never experienced reciprocation. He’d used her, time and time again, as a vehicle for his pleasure, a vessel for his selfish use. I’m relieved that they’re done, and I don’t blame Bianca for embarrassing Sera. This rumor ensures that Mitchell will leave my baby sister alone, once and for fucking all.

“I gave him back that disgusting piece of jewelry. I hate jewelry to begin with, so wearing that diamond that was surrounded by the thorns of Jesus’s crown was just too much.” I forgot that he had that ring custom-made to resemble the crown of thorns Jesus wore to his crucifixion. I’m still not entirely sure which religion he is, but he’s aggressively pious for a seventeen-year-old guy that’s obsessed with fucking someone up the ass.

“I suggested that we throw all the shit he gave her over the steps of his parents’ mansion, but she vetoed that,” Bianca complains. “Pussy,” she adds helpfully.

“B, I told you to just drop it. I’m going to put everything in a box and give it to him after school. I just want to be done with this relationship and move on. I spent far too long being his little housewife-in-training.”

We spend the next fifteen minutes talking about their visit to West Helm for my nineteenth birthday and Sera and Rafe’s eighteenth birthday. My parents didn’t believe in contraception in the early years of their marriage so all of us were born one year apart. Though my parents won’t allow Bianca to stay unsupervised, probably because she’s the wildest of the Gregori children, Sera and Rafe are spending a weekend here after our family dinner to celebrate.

“It’s an injustice that I’m not allowed to stay up. First and foremost, I don’t look like I’m sixteen. Additionally, I will be seventeen in three months, and in summation, this is a load of ageist bullshit.” It’s no surprise that Bianca is planning on being a lawyer. She studied my parents’ behavior from the time she could distinguish between colors and emulated it from a young age. Her poor teachers must hate having her argumentative ass in their classes.

“God, I miss you guys. I can’t wait to see you in a couple of weeks.”

“We miss you, too. Mom’s calling us to set the table for dinner, so we need to go. Have an amazing first day of classes tomorrow. We love you, asshole Ava.” I laugh at their nickname for me, say goodbye, and leave them with instructions to hug and kiss Mom and Dad for me. A wave of homesickness envelops me; reminders of Sunday dinner, my little side garden, and the comforts of home make it hard to breathe for a moment. I’m excited about school, about finding myself and having the freedom of an adult, but at this moment, I yearn for the simplicity of home.

Caught up in my memories of home, I startle when my phone starts vibrating in my hand, signaling a text message. I glance down at the unknown number that pops up on my screen and quickly swipe to open the message.

Unknown: Hey, vixen, how are you?

Holy fucking shit. I nearly drop my phone in shock. The only person that has ever called me a vixen is the Viking god from three nights ago. Do I tell him that I know it’s him? Do I play it cool and pretend that I have no idea who is texting me? Also, how the hell did he get my number because I don’t remember giving it to him? Fucking of course when something this monumental happens, I’m by myself with no one to help me.

After writing and rewriting a message more than ten times, I settle on playing dumb.

Ava: Who is this?

Unknown: Come on, vixen, don’t tell me you don’t remember me.

Ava: Greyson?

Greyson: That’s right, beautiful. How are you?

I think I’m having a heart attack, judging by the rapid beat of my pulse. Sure, I’ve been called beautiful before, but there’s something about this man that makes me almost light-headed.

Ava: I’m well. How are you? How did you get my number?

Greyson: I have my ways, vixen. And I’m good, just thinking about you. How is your knee? You fell pretty hard on Thursday.

I’m not sure if I should be mortified that he wants to recap one of the most embarrassing nights of my life or pleased that he remembers me well enough to hunt for my number and ask about me post-fall.

Ava: I’m good, thanks for checking in on me. You can check off that you did your civic duty for the week now.

Greyson: Good. I won’t comment on your civic duty bullshit. When can I see you again?

My heart stills. He wants to see me again?

Ava: You want to see me again? I figured that you’d be running in the opposite direction after I called you Ted Bundy and fell on my ass.

Greyson: If I remember correctly, you compared me to Ted Bundy, you didn’t call me Ted Bundy. Are you free later? My roommates and I are having a barbecue with some of our friends tonight. Bring your pit bull.

I laugh out loud. I forgot to tell CeCe that he called her a pit bull. I bite my lip, contemplating a response. I’m in the middle of freaking out over what to respond when CeCe finally comes back to our dorm, sweaty and red-faced from her run.

“Aves, do you want to try that Thai place off Main Street for dinner tonight? I ran by it and it looked good—”

“C, he fucking texted me,” I interrupt. She stares back at me in confusion.

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