Chapter One
Vivienne
Standing in front of my favorite mirror, the one my mother gave me when I was just eight years old, I smooth my hands down my plaid skirt. Today is the first day of my last year of high school. In less than one calendar year, I will officially be an adult. Okay, well, I’mtechnicallyan adult now since I’m already eighteen but no one looks at you like you’re an adult when you wear abackpackeveryday. Being an adult means independence, something I’ve… never really had.
I love my dad, butdear Goddoes that man hover. They say the helicopter parent phase ends in grade school but I think my dad traded his copter for two jets. The man doesn’t go a moment without knowing where I am and what I’m doing. It’s for my well being, this much I understand. After my mother’s untimely and tragic passing–that’s what the newspapers called it–he’s afraid to let me go too far. I get it.
But at the same time, I’m eighteen. I want to go out with my friends without having to call my dad at nine at night to check in. Actually, that’s not true. I mean, itistrue–Idowant to go out with my friends without having to call him or text him every hour. But the real truth?I need space so I can get laid.
That sounds crass.
Get fucked? Have sex? Pop my cherry?
There’s no good way to put it. I’m horny and I need to know what it’s like for a guy to touch my bare skin. I need to know how it feels for a guy to reach between my legs and feel me in the way that I’ve only ever felt myself. I want to feel soft lips drifting down my throat, skating across my collarbone only to seal to my nipple, hard and plucky from all the kissing and teasing we’ve been doing. I want him to suck my tits, make my back arch, make me moan. I amdyingto feel the hot splash of cum against my belly when he pulls out.
I want it all, damnit.
And I need it soon.
I’m the only one in my friends group that hasn’t even been fingered, much less done the deed. I don’t think it’s gonna happen this school year, but as soon as I’m away at college, all bets are off. My dad will have to ease up on contact simply because I’ll be away and so much busier. I thought when he got a long-distance girlfriend that he’d be holed up doing–not that I want to picture it but–dirty phone sex or naughty private texting. Turns out, my father can give half of himself to his girlfriend and still be a two-jet parent. The man’s energy is endless.
“Good morning darling,” my father greets, his butterysoft voice wrapping around me like a warm hug. He treads through my open bedroom door, a mug of coffee in his hand. “The way you take it,” he says, setting it down on my desk.
“Thank you,” I reply, smoothing my hands down my skirt one last time before adding my private school tie over my button up shirt. “First day of my last year at Dover.” I smile, finding his eyes in the mirror. He shares my smile.
“I’m so proud of you. You’ve really made a name for yourself as a top student, hard worker, and all around wonderful person. Dover administration and teachers are going to miss you.” He stuffs his hands into his suit pocket, smiling with pride twinkling in his grey eyes.
This is when he asks for his morning hug, then begins running down a list of things I can’t forget.My lunch, my water bottle, my assignments, my running shoes for track after school–I appreciate his help, and how actively he’s aware of what I need. I really do. But at the same time, I think after three years of packing the same thing every single day, I’ve got a handle on it.
I pull my hair back, quickly braiding it, adding my navy blue silk bow at the end. I turn, taking my coffee, sipping, waiting for it to come.Do you have a healthy lunch packed?I hear in my head as I blink up at my father, a smirk twitching my lips.
But today, he doesn’t launch into his list. He doesn’t even reach for a hug or meet my eyes. In fact, he’s staring at his shoes, analyzing the brogue stitching.
“Wow, is my last year finally the year you give the check list a break?” I ask teasingly, taking another sip of my coffee, savoring this quiet moment. As much as hegets on my nerves, I do realize that once I’ve been away at college for a year or two, I’ll probably miss some of these moments with my dad. Not right away because,hello, new found freedom. But I will miss them.
When his eyes come to mine, I realize, he’s not onlynotgoing to do the checklist but something else is going on. Something lingers in his eyes, and the lines that form along his forehead tell me he’s concerned or, I don’t know, holding something back? I set my mug down.
“Dad? What’s wrong?”
He lets out a sigh so heavy that it racks evenmychest. “I wanted to tell you after your first day, but I don’t know, I don’t like not telling you either.”
“Tell me what?” I ask, my pulse suddenly spiked. He’s my only living family member, so it can’t be a death. Besides, he doesn’t look sad as much as he looks…worried. “Dad,” I hedge, stepping toward him, hoping that proximity applies pressure and he spills the beans.
“Viv,” he whispers, breaking my name down to its shortest version, his voice thin and weary. My stomach twists with concern.
“Dad,” I say again, because now an itty bit of worry is niggling up my spine.
“Things with Maribel have gotten serious,” he says, mentioning his long distance girlfriend.
“In a bad way or good way because right now, it’s really hard to tell,” I say, a little bit of worry lifting from my shoulders. If this is about girl problems, I can help. He’s never asked me for advice before, but I think I could give it. After all, I am a woman.
His eyes flit between mine, and his lips part,but he struggles to speak for a moment. Briefly, I fear he’s going to tell me she’s pregnant, and that I’m going to be that college age girl with a baby sister. But then, dad and Maribel haven’t physically been together in a while. Not to mention, Maribel has a son close to my age. I’ve never met him, but still, with a son almost in college, surely she wouldn’t want to have another baby. I swallow, selfish concern coating my throat.
“We’re going to get married.” His eyes continue to study mine, and he reaches for one of my hands, cradling it between his. “We’re moving to Bipal.”
My ears are ringing, so I stick my finger in one, wiggling it around. Dad smirks, but I’m not being playful. “Excuse me, what was that?”
His lips lift in what feels like a sympathetic smile. Why do I need sympathy? I don’t.Right?“We’re moving to… where now?”
