Cut Both Ways Read online

  Though I can see how much is getting done, I can also see, from the looks on people’s faces (mostly Roy’s), and the barer and less functional the house gets, how much it will take to build it back up, and there are less than two months of summer to do it. Minnesota’s winter is too unpredictable to leave anything for fall. Roy goes back to college the last week in August. But the way the materials are piling up in the backyard—bathroom sinks and windows and cabinets and planks of new siding—you’d think my dad had all the time in the world.

  One Friday, we replace two windows and start digging around the front to put in cement footings for what will be our porch. It’s a long day, hot as hell. My dad has us knock off around six and so we start cleaning up the jobsite in our usual way: Roy having a smoke, my dad cracking open a beer, me cleaning my glasses for the billionth time.

  The girl that comes to pick up Roy that night looks especially nice, in this short black dress, and I feel so jealous of Roy for a minute, I can barely speak. I don’t know why, either. I like Roy a lot. He’s always helping us and being in a good mood. We’d be fucked without him. So I don’t know why I’m upset. Maybe it’s just because of how easy he is with things. How he tucks his cigarettes in his shirt. Dumps his Nalgene in the neighbor’s flower beds. And how, after a long day of working hard, he just gets that cute girl, that cool old Jeep-truck thing. Which is not old like my dad’s truck, with its awful topper and no power steering. But old in that it’s kind of vintage and cool: it’s a mint green and you can take the top off if you want. It probably cost a lot but Roy acts like it’s nothing. Lets any old girl drive it. Lets her roll up in it, pick him up too. Like it’d be nothing if she totaled it. I wonder if he’ll fuck the black-dress girl in that car. I know I’d fuck her in that car. Or I’d want to, at least. I don’t know how the version of me that could kiss a girl would ever act, but since Angus and all that, I’m kind of wishing I could find out. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Maybe Roy doesn’t wait for things to happen to him?

  I know Roy’s parents have a lot of money—my dad mentioned this to me once—and that makes me jump from jealous to angry. I’d rather just be mad at someone than sit there feeling shitty about what I’d rather have in life. I’m supposed to be here, helping my dad, fixing this house that he’s always wanted to fix, helping him get his dream and make everything the way he’s always wanted, for once. My dad has been working his ass off. Finding crap from Craigslist. Coordinating schedules with his friends. Making deals on cheap materials. Even finding a kid like Roy. I shouldn’t be wishing I was Roy.

  But I get like this. Always wanting so much. Feeling greedy. Desperate. I hate it.

  After Roy leaves, my dad and I go pick up some tacos. Though he’s as sweaty and grimy as me, my dad is really happy. Smiling. Talking about what’s happening tomorrow, and the week after. Saying it’ll be in prime shape soon and we’ll celebrate in spring, my graduation and a housewarming, all in one.

  “Party like we’ve never had,” he says. “I’m inviting the whole neighborhood, so they can’t complain about the noise.”

  He flips on the radio, eats half a taco while he drives. Then turns in to the liquor store and lets the truck run. “Just a sec,” he says, and I sit with the hot bag of tacos on my lap, the truck vibrating in idle around me.

  The liquor store is next to a Walgreens, a fake nails place, and the Little Caesars where DeKalb works. I consider going to see if DeKalb’s around, but I don’t want to miss my dad coming back—just a sec means maybe just a six-pack?

  I stare at the people going into the Walgreens. There’s a lot of people. Old people. Teenagers like me. Adults alone, adults in pairs, talking, holding hands. Two little kids come out eating ice-cream treats and they’re wearing swimsuits. One kid even has the floaty rings around his arms. Their dad is behind them, shoving his wallet into his back pocket and grabbing for their hands. The kids are so focused on their ice-cream treats, they aren’t looking for cars in the parking lot. The one little kid yells about hand-holding and the dad yells back and then the kid’s crying and dripping ice cream until they turn the corner and I can’t see them anymore.

  My dad comes out of the liquor store pushing a shopping cart. Fuck.

  He’s not looking at me. Just goes around, lifts the back hatch off the truck topper. Starts loading cases of beer and a thing of wine in a box.

  I twist around and before I can say anything he says, “Got a bigger crew coming tomorrow. A couple of guys we’re paying.”

  I nod. I hate how he’s got to explain himself. Easier if he just says nothing.

  All the way home, I eat tacos straight from the bag. The beer cases clunk around in the back and it annoys me. Not that he notices. He’s still in an excellent mood. Someone calls his cell once we’re back at the house, about something he’s interested in buying and he gets even more happy. He gulps the beer he’s opened, finishes his last taco, then he tells me he’ll be back in twenty minutes and takes off in his truck again.

  I shove all the taco garbage into the giant Rubbermaid bin that is now the trash for our kitchen. For the whole house, really. If you can call this a house.

  I don’t know what to do next. I’m bored. I’m feeling jittery. I fill an empty Gatorade bottle with a ton of water and hit the picnic table in the backyard. The night is lowering around the chain-link fence and I can smell grilling and burgers, and hear crickets. I think of the beer in the back of my dad’s truck. He didn’t even unload it. I wonder if any of it’ll even make it back home. I check my almost-dead phone; it’s 8:32.

  “BRANDY!” Same yelling-little-kid voice.

  “Yes?” Brandy, then. Part of me wants to go inside. Part of me wants to see her. Maybe even talk to her. Even though I probably reek. My shirt’s still kinda damp from sweat.

  “You have to say GOOD-BYE! BRANDY!” The little-kid voice again.

  Then Brandy: “Good-bye, Anna. Good-bye, Rory.”

  “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday, Rory,” Brandy says. “Your parents will be home then.”

  I hear steps on the little cement walkway. Hear the gate unhook. I try to stay still. I don’t know what to do. I feel sort of strange. Scared. But excited too.

  But the gate clanks shut and then she’s standing there in the alley and squinting toward me. I resist the urge to check my pits.

  “Hey?” Brandy calls.

  “Hey,” I say back.

  She walks to the chain link around our yard and I make myself move. Stand. Don’t know if it’s just my social idiocy or if I’m still trying to hide from her, but I have to consciously propel myself across the lawn. Making sure not to stumble over the wheelbarrow or the piles of equipment and materials covered in blue tarps in case of rain. I’m making myself go say hello to a girl at my back fence. I’m a sweaty dirty idiot. Who smells like tacos.

  “Will Caynes,” she says. “Thought I was seeing you all these days.”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” I say. Idiotic. “What’s up? You live here now?” Though I know damn well.

  “I babysit here. Rory and Anna. The Vances. I’m like their nanny. I hope there’s a bus this late. They’ve never kept me this late.”

  “Oh.” I should offer her a ride. Right? Or would that seem like I’m trying to get rid of her? I’m a million times sweatier all of a sudden.

  We stare at each other. She nods. She smiles. I nod. I smile. This was never this hard at the Laundromat.

  She’s so fuckin’ cute, though. She really is. Her little shirt’s this white thing with little green stripes and it buttons up the front. But the front’s low and the top two buttons aren’t buttoned. I can’t stare at it. I already stared at it. I’m looking at her face like my life depends on it.

  Finally she says something. “So. This is where you live?”

  “My dad lives here. I mean, I do too. But I also live out in Oak Prairie. My mom’s house is out there. They’re divorced.”

  She nods. I am s
tudying Brandy Corvallis like there’s going to be a quiz. She’s kind of narrow through the shoulders, and her hair is all dark and thick and long around her shoulders. Messy but nice. Her face is splotched with sunburned skin, and her eyes have all this makeup around them, which is sort of flaking off a little. All of this makes her really cute, though.

  I clear my throat and look away from her. At least with Angus, I didn’t get caught looking at his boobs. Dick. Whatever. I’m trying to relax myself on the inside because just now I’m so fucking excited that she’s here. But I don’t want her to see it or she might get weirded out and leave.

  I think for a minute. What can I tell her?

  “You want something to drink?”

  She looks at her watch, then looks up at me.

  “Sure,” she says. “Sure. Why not.”

  Brandy Corvallis likes white wine. I’m lucky in that, because it’s an hour later and we’re drinking white wine from this bottle my dad had on top of the refrigerator. It was all dusty, so I think he forgot about it. We’re sitting on the picnic table and we’re talking. Acting like this is normal, even though it’s obviously a step beyond bullshitting in my dad’s Laundromat.

  And she’s doing most of the talking. I’m just kind of answering. Laughing. Handing her the wine bottle. Brandy Corvallis doesn’t mind that I don’t have a lot to say, though I can’t tell if that’s because we don’t know each other or if she’s a little buzzed. I’m not buzzed, but I still feel all nervous and excited and I’m trying to hide it. She’s asked me about all the crap in the backyard and I’ve tried to explain what everything is, or at least what we’re doing inside. But mostly I’m just sitting here, feeling good again. Feeling that shot of happy. She smells like orange Popsicles. I wonder if she ate one or if I’m nuts. I’m smacking a mosquito on my arm when I get a text from my dad.

  stopping by laundromat need anything

  Brandy looks at my phone and I put it in my pocket.

  I smack another mosquito. She shivers.

  “Want more wine?”

  “No,” she says. “Who was that?”

  “My dad,” I say.

  “Oh.”

  Then I kiss her. I don’t plan it, either. I just do it because I can’t think of anything to say. Her mouth is so soft. And I’m lucky. So lucky.

  Because it’s perfect, perfect timing. We’re shoulder to shoulder so it’s not a big move. It’s just our faces close to each other and she doesn’t do anything at first. Well, she kisses back. She’s not just a mannequin or anything about it. Her mouth is nice, and it tastes like wine. And she isn’t doing anything nuts, and so I feel normal. Good. Like it wasn’t a bad idea.

  I want to take my glasses off but her tongue is in my mouth. And I’m like, this is really the best thing. Her tongue in my mouth. My tongue in her mouth. Both of them together.

  I put a hand on her shoulder and we get a little closer. I am still completely surging. Excited. My dick, hard. Instantly. I’m kind of impressed with myself, really. I pull back and smile. And she’s looking down at her hands but she’s smiling too.

  “Want to come inside?” I say. I’m prepared for her to say no and then I’ll just say it’s to see the remodel, not anything else, in case she’s worried. . . .

  But she just gets up. And we go. I don’t know if she likes me or there’s just too many mosquitoes, but I kind of lead her through the yard and toward the side door.

  I am glad the house is dark and none of the utility lights are on. And I’m glad that she doesn’t stop or ask about anything. She just takes my hand and we go upstairs to my room. I’m breathing like a motherfucker and I’m trying not to, but that doesn’t make it any better.

  She sits down on the blue chair and sets down the little bag she’s had across her body since I first saw her in the alley. I pull my keys and wallet out of my pocket and put them on my desk. I don’t know what to do at all now. I feel like maybe I fucked things up.

  “Will your dad get mad if I’m here?” she asks, very quiet. This makes my dick even harder; I know she’s not here just to talk or anything.

  While I reach over her and flip on the fan—it’s still hot up here—I tell her that he’ll be gone for a while. I don’t tell her that his code words—need anything?—is his way of asking me if I can be left alone so he can go get loaded. I’m guessing he’s at his friend’s. Or at the Laundromat. Stocking his office fridge with the beer. It doesn’t matter. I’ve gotten that same text before, though it’s been a while. Before this summer, he must have saved his benders for when I’m in Oak Prairie. But he can’t avoid me now so I guess he’s giving up hiding.

  I go to Brandy. She stands up. We kiss in front of the fan.

  Okay, Dad, I think, my hands going around her back. Avoid me all you want, really.

  Because of the fan, her hair gets into my mouth. Her mouth too. It’s kind of funny but also I feel dumb about it. I turn her and it’s not a problem. And then, I pull her toward the futon. We sit down, at the same time, slowly. She takes off her flip-flops. I take off my glasses, set them on the floor with a little click. It’s quiet except for the fan. I put my hand around her waist. She’s wearing a belt and these shorts. They’re not super-short shorts, but they are tight. I run my hand around her waist, my fingers catching along the belt. She shivers, laughs. Then we’re kissing again. It’s good. Every few seconds I feel something extra, something new. Happy. Then nervous. Then unsure. Then happy again.

  She lies back on the futon, her hair dark against the white and blue quilt.

  “Come here,” she says.

  Then I’m happy for real. We’re making out. It goes on so long. It’s all kind of the same, but all kind of not. I’m aware of everything. All of the stuff, even if it’s repetitive. All of her rolling under me and me rolling under her. Every part of her I touch. How her upper arms are so soft. How her boobs feel mashed against my chest. The way she spreads her legs across my hips. We keep all our clothes on for a while and I’m okay with that too. Everything’s blurry for me. I can’t quite see her face, the expression. I wonder what my face looks like. I hope it’s okay. Because I want to get to do this again. Because Brandy feels really good. Tastes good too.

  I reach up under her T-shirt, feel her skin, the stripe of her bra across her back. Then she does the same to me, minutes later. It’s like a game. Her, then me. Me, then her. Me. Her. It almost is kind of dorky, the back and forth.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says.

  “I know,” I say.

  “Is your dad never coming home?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  She sits up, then. “I have to call my aunt. I can’t believe I didn’t earlier.”

  I just lie there on the futon. I can’t move. My dick is crushed under my button fly and I breathe again. I wish I wore contacts.

  She stands up and starts talking. “Aunt Megan?” She goes into the hall, like she doesn’t want me to hear. I can hear, though. Most of it. The tone of it sounds okay. She’s making up some shit about the bus not running. Saying she’s at a girlfriend’s house. She’ll get a ride. I wonder if she thinks I’ll give her one. I look at my watch: 10:39.

  Then I hear her in the room again and she’s putting down her bag and she’s back on the futon and I’m all over her, pulling her closer to me. I like touching her. I didn’t touch Angus much. I don’t know why.

  Well. Maybe I know why.

  My hands stop. The littlest bit of guilty comes into the happy. A dent in it.

  “My aunt’s still out in Lakeville,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  “But my nana’s asleep already, so it’s okay.”

  “All right.” I know I should be asking her to fill in the blanks here, but I just flick hair off her face so I can kiss her. Smoothing out the dent.

  “I live with my nana and my aunt, in case that’s not obvious.”

  “I managed to put that together.”

  She laughs and the dent’s
gone. I don’t know who I am right now, but I like him. He knows what to say. His hands don’t shake. I keep kissing her.

  “My nana’s deaf. And super old. She just moved in with us. She was living on her own and it didn’t really work.”

  Her hands slip up under my T-shirt. I like how her nails scrape around my skin. Not in a hurting way but good. Like I’m being clenched. Like this is all on purpose, not a mistake. And I want her so much now. I want Angus too, retroactively. I want to fuck her. I’ve never felt like that, even in a dream, even while jerking off. Not in this same, specific way. This tears past the happy. All the way past. It’s how I know I’m an animal, all the way underneath.

  Her fingers skate underneath my arms, along my collarbone. All I can think is this kind of insane I WANT TO FUCK shouting-feeling.

  I realize I need to act like someone who cares about what she’s saying. Respond. I clear my throat a little.

  “Why’s your aunt in Lakeville?”

  “She’s got a guy friend out there. They’re canning peaches.”

  “What?”

  She laughs. “I’m serious. Her boyfriend is kind of into that. If he’s actually her boyfriend now. I’m not sure about that.” Her nails slip and scratch around my collarbone. I breathe. Control myself. I’m worried she can sense it, all of my I WANT TO FUCK feelings.

  “Take your shirt off,” she says, her mouth at my neck. I freeze.

  I do exactly what she says. She laughs.

  And I think I might die of it, the happy. Her here. This bed finally feeling comfortable. Her skin touching my skin. Even the shouting feeling is okay. All of it.

  At five in the morning, Brandy asks if I’ll drive her home.

  “My nana wakes up at, like, six a.m. every morning,” she says. “It’s kind of shitty.”

  We get our stuff back on. All business. I put my wallet in my pocket, my glasses on. She goes to the bathroom and does something in there, probably pees? All I hear is running water. I don’t say anything as we go through the house. I’m hoping it looks just like a remodel. I’m hoping she won’t ask any questions. I’m hoping my dick will deflate. My balls are killing me, because I’ve gotten hard and then soft like a hundred times, even though it was just kissing with our shirts off.