Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit (16 page)

Mary Carlson clears her throat. “Maybe . . .” She pauses and glances at me with a worried look in her eyes, and my throat spasms shut. She's not going to say something, is she? She opens her mouth again, and I'm torn between slapping my hands over her mouth and sitting on them to see how this plays out. She finishes, “It's because I mentioned to Deirdre and Kiana I might try out for the winter musical this weekend.”

“What?” I say, only slightly relieved because I remember
the way Deirdre looked at her the night of the cast party.

“Yay! I've always wondered why you didn't want to do the school shows.” Betsy claps. “Though your voice is so pretty you might get my part.”

“Get over yourself, Betsy.” Gemma rolls her eyes. “It's about time our Mary Carlson recognizes she has thespian tendencies.”

I knock over my bottle of water but grab it before it spills. “Sorry.”

Mary Carlson looks at me. “Well, since Joanna can't play golf on Saturday because of
previous obligations
, I figured I'd try out for the play.”

The snappy comeback would be
Don't blame me for your thespian tendencies
, but there's no way in hell that's coming out of my mouth. “You'll do great” is what I say instead.

“What are you doing Saturday?” Gemma switches her focus to me.

“Going to Atlanta to see family friends.”

Gemma sighs. “I knew you had friends somewhere before in your lifetime. But I swear you're the truest internet ghost I've ever met. You make my stalker ways very difficult.”

Fuck. Gemma is a dog with a bone. I don't want to be that bone.

“I told you, my dad is weird about that stuff. What you find, if anything, will be hella boring. Preacher's kid.” I point at myself. “If you're so curious, you can come over and see my baby pictures.”

“About time you invite us to your house,” Jessica says. “We're all curious.”

At this I blush. Mary Carlson is coming over Sunday. Dad was invited to be a guest minister at a brick and mortar church in Asheville, and he and Three are definitely going to be gone.

“Yeah, sure. I'd love to have y'all over, just not this weekend.”

Mary Carlson's smirk tells me she's thinking the exact same thing.

SATURDAY I SHOW UP AT
Dana's house around ten in the morning. It feels both natural and completely weird to be back in Atlanta. Dana's mom was happy to see me. Gave me a big hug and thanked me profusely for Dad's help with the lawyer.

“So you're going to get away with no jail time?” We're hanging out in Dana's tiny room, listening to music, and alternating between creeping on people's pages looking at pictures and searching YouTube for stupid videos. She looks a little better. Resigned. Not as heartbroken. And rested.

“The lawyer seems to think if I give them information and pay back the cash amount of the items I got, then I'll
get off with a misdemeanor for possession of stolen goods and probation. I never stole any of the Social Security card numbers or did any of the work to create the credit cards. Plus, Holly had been at it for a long time before she picked me up at the club.”

“So you're going to turn Holly in?”

Dana grabs her tiger-striped fluffy pillow and clutches it to her stomach. “Yeah. Not much choice. Mom's over me. I'm pretty much grounded till graduation. She even changed her shift at the hospital to days.”

“Less money?”

Dana's mouth is grim. “Yeah, but I'm getting a part-time job to help. It's part of our deal.”

I crawl up her bed and lie back against more of her massive pillow collection. “I'm proud of you, D.”

She flops over and puts the back of her head on my thighs. “Hold your pride. This is going to be hard. Me being model student and my mother's joy? I've already had four girls text me about tonight's underground DJ party.” She tilts her head and grins. “If you told my mom we were going to Lenox Mall, or a late movie or something, she'd believe it. You said your dad's going out of town, right?”

“No.”

She rolls over and straddles me. “Aw, come on. Don't be a wimp.”

I hold a pillow up in defense. “No.”

She pummels me with the one she's holding. “Wimp. Wimp. Wimp.”

I howl as she finds my ticklish spot. “Dana, no. Stop. I can't stay,” I gasp. “I have to get the house ready.” Then I cover my mouth. I hadn't planned on telling her.

She hovers over me for a second too long and the moment gets weird. Dana keeps staring and the room fills with our breathing. Seconds count down.

Then, the clock stops and she flops off me onto her back and whatever it was passes. I mock my imagination. Dana would never. She knows I'm all about Mary Carlson now anyway.

“Is this what I think it is? You getting the house ready?” She nudges me. “Are you going to deflower your pretty church girl? Breaking
all
of Daddy's rules?”

I put the pillow in front of my face to hide my embarrassment. It shouldn't matter if Dana knows or what she thinks, but Mary Carlson is special. This is special. I don't want it to seem like it's only defiance against my dad.

“Huh.” She gets quiet. “I'm a little jealous.”

I lower the pillow. “Jealous?”

She rolls a tassel around her forefinger. “I don't know. Yeah. I guess I am. You've always been mine. I'm not sure how I feel about sharing. If you're in love, you're not going
to want to leave in the summer and this trip we've been planning for the last
year
will be some childish daydream to you.” She sits up cross-legged and looks out the tiny window.

I poke her with my foot. “Stop, Dana. My heart is big enough to have a best friend and a girlfriend.”

“Iz sadz.” She drops her chin onto the pillow and wraps her arms around herself.

I put my arm around her shoulder. “Come on. Don't be like that.”

She glances sideways, her smile shy. “It's just, you've gotten so pretty these past few months. The hair, the makeup . . .”

My mouth starts to drop, but then the sparkle in her eye glints and I push her over. “Don't be an asswipe.”

She busts out laughing. “Oh my God, the look on your face was priceless. I scared the shit out of you. You really thought I was going to kiss you.”

“Har, har. I only thought you'd lost your damn mind.”

But she's right. I did think she was going to kiss me. And it confused me, because a part of me, an old part, was inches away from going along with it. And that would have been the shittiest thing to do ever.

The next day, I'm a nervous wreck. I vacuum the house twice. Then nab scented candles from the bathroom and put them on my bedside table, then move them back. I shouldn't be presumptuous. I'm not sure I want to be presumptuous.

I call Dad at four thirty. “How was your sermon?”

“Good. I like this church. Very open. Very much my philosophy of moral responsibility based on kindness and caring and trust.”

Now there's a kick in the conscience.

He continues. “Did you go to youth group today? Elizabeth's parents said they enjoy seeing you there, and they're really looking forward to our big Thanksgiving dinner so we all get a chance to spend more quality time together.”

“No. I skipped today. But yeah, Thanksgiving should be cool.” And it will be. It also might be the last time I'm invited over if they're as close-minded as I think they are, because that's the deadline I gave to Mary Carlson. The more time we spend together, the less I can think about keeping this a secret.

“Thanks for calling, sweetheart. We're about to head out to a restaurant here with some of the congregation. Call me if you need anything. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

After I hang up, a text buzzes in. From Dana.

Get it, girl.
☺
But don't forget your BFF.

Ha.

Then the doorbell rings. And my mouth goes dry. I turn my phone off and slide it under a newspaper on the counter. It must take five hundred steps before I get to the front door. Then the dead bolt wants to stick.

When I get it open, chilly air rushes in and so does Mary Carlson, looking apple-pie girl-next-door in an argyle sweater and jeans, her hair swept into a casual ponytail.

“Hi.” She blows on her hands.

“Hi.” I take them.

“So this is your house?”

“Yep.” I'm sure I look like a grinning fool, but I can't believe she's here. And that we're alone. No prying eyes or nosey Gemma. No parents or disapproving citizens of Rome, Georgia. Just me, and the prettiest girl ever.

“You going to show me around? Or keep me standing in the foyer?”

“Right.” I shake myself into alertness, then kiss her on the lips. “Come on.”

The house is a standard suburban two-story. Dad might buy big diamonds but he doesn't believe in mini-mansions. Says it's only more to clean and gives the wrong impression. There's a living room, dining room, big den, and
granite-countertopped kitchen with stainless appliances. There's a small office and a massive deck looking out over the wood-fenced backyard. In comparison, Mary Carlson's mini-farm is way more interesting.

“Upstairs it's just a hall and the bedrooms. Um. I can show you those later?”

Mary Carlson colors slightly at my mention of upstairs. “Yeah, later.”

I lead her back to the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? We have all the usuals, milk, juice, sweet tea, there might be some ginger ale, or there's drink drinks, too.”

“Ginger ale's good.” She slides onto a kitchen island stool and I fumble with the ice maker on the front of the fridge.

“Tell me more about your audition.” We'd texted a little bit about it last night but she'd been on their family date night and couldn't really have her phone out without pissing off her parents.

“It was fun. All the regular drama kids sort of hang out together. But that girl Deirdre came over and talked to me. She's nice.”

My heart kick thuds. It shouldn't matter. Another two weeks and supposedly we're coming out together, but still. “Like nice, nice?”

Mary Carlson lifts up the corner of her mouth, then pulls me toward her, wrapping her legs around me so I'm face-to-face in her embrace. “Nice, like a maybe friend, for when I tell my parents I like to do this.” She reaches her hand into my hair and pulls me to her. She starts by pressing tiny kisses along my jaw, then works her way to my mouth. I part my lips to meet her tongue and press against her. Her taste is like molten fire trickling down into every part of me. Ten minutes pass before we break apart.

I rub my thumb against the side of her face. “Will you be so explicit when you tell your parents?” My voice is thick with intensity.

“Explicit like this?” She locks her eyes on mine but slides her hand under my shirt. Goose bumps rise on my skin. She works her way up toward my bra clasp.

I wriggle out of her grasp. “Hey now.”

Mary Carlson hops off the stool and grabs my hand, pulling me with her. In seconds we're lying on the couch, me stretched full length on top of her. “How are you feeling about all of this?” Her voice is gentle as she runs her fingers in my hair. It's starting to curl slightly on the ends where it's growing out.

“Good.” I run my fingertips over her cheekbones and down her nose. “This feels good.”

She grins. “Not this, but us. Telling people.”

Now would be a good time to spill my secrets, but she keeps talking. “It's going to be hard, you know. Jessica's convinced it's a sin. I think Betsy and Gemma are going to be cool, though.” Her face grows solemn. “My parents are going to be heartbroken. Especially since Barnum's already different.”

I slide so I'm wedged in next to her and we're face-to-face. “But they're awesome with him. Won't they be okay?” My dad was already preaching sermons about tolerance and acceptance and all of God's children long before I was even old enough to know what sexual attraction was, so coming out for me was a nonissue. It was pretty much “Dad, I like girls” over dinner and him asking if I was sure and when I said yes, him telling me he loved me no matter what. But I know, for other people, it can really suck.

She touches her nose against mine. “I don't know. But I'm not willing to lie to them. I'm better than that.”

I want to spill everything right this second. To tell her about me, about my friendship with Dana, my life in Atlanta, but I need to talk to Dad first. I'll get through the Thanksgiving feast, then when Three's parents leave, I'll tell them about me and Mary Carlson.

She rubs her nose back and forth. “They're not the kind of parents who would throw me out or disown me. More like they'll try and convince me it's a phase.”

I remember what Dana said at breakfast. “Is it?”

“Does this seem like a phase to you?” She silences me with an intense kiss and slides her hand down between my legs. I push her away, for now, even though I'd really like to lock her hand there to do things I've only ever done to myself.

“I like when you play hard to get. That is what you're doing, isn't it? This is okay?” She whispers in my ear and tiptoes the scorned hand under my shirt. I mumble a yes and this time I don't stop her when she deftly unclasps my bra. I take off my shirt and reach for hers. She lifts her arms and I throw her shirt to the floor. We push back together, feeling the warmth and silk of each other's skin, our breaths coming faster and harder. Mary Carlson's mouth circles the soft skin of my breasts and I cry, arching up into her as she pushes against me with equal force. I flip over again, straddling her, and kiss my way down her breastbone, taking each nipple lightly between my teeth, scraping ever so softly until she's moaning and bucking against me. She reaches for the button on my pants as I kiss my way down the front of her stomach, my own hands ready to pull her out of her jeans, when I hear something that sounds suspiciously like the engine of a car pulling into the garage.

“Stop.” I push her away. There's the thud of a car door. But this is crazy, there's no way. My dad and Elizabeth
aren't coming back till tomorrow. “Shirts.” I dive and grab them, throwing one to Mary Carlson, sliding my own over my head, and shoving my bra under a couch cushion, as there's a three-tap knock and the sound of a key in the door. Althea.

“Hey, baby,” Althea calls as she comes in. “It's just me.”

I leap to the far end of the couch away from Mary Carlson and open a home decorating magazine between us. My hands are shaking and my nipples are spotlights under my shirt without a bra to hide them. Mary Carlson's hair looks like a bouffant gone wrong.

“Oh.” Althea stops in the hallway, a covered cake plate in her hand, but she recovers smoothly. “I didn't realize you had company.” Her voice turns disapproving. “Your father said you were all alone.”

“I just stopped by to talk about a paper for school.” Mary Carlson is the picture of innocence. Well, except for the hair slipping out of her ponytail holder and the puffiness of her lips and the sweet smell of girl aroused.

Althea's bullshit meter is spot-on. She probably figured out exactly what I was up to the minute she stepped into the house.

“Mm hmm,” Althea mutters to her but looks at me under her perfectly penciled brows. Then to Mary Carlson, “Well, you might as well stay for a piece of cake, but after
that I'm sure Joanna has her own homework to be attending to.”

Fuck. I hope she doesn't tell my dad.

Mary Carlson glances at me for guidance.

I hop up and hug Althea. “Don't be snarly. Dad wouldn't mind that Mary Carlson was here.”

“Oh, he wouldn't?”

“No, he
wouldn't.
”

She sets the cake plate on the counter. “My son-in-law redid my hardwood floors on Friday and I had to get out of my house. I stayed with them the past two nights, but six grandchildren wear me out. So when your father suggested I come up and stay with my other granddaughter, I jumped at the chance. Even made a red velvet cake. Didn't know you'd be entertaining.”