And it’s not like Charlotte and I are dating or even a couple. We’re connected though.
For so long I’ve just taken for granted that she’ll be around when I’m ready for her. And right now she’s too young, and I’m trying hard to push away those physical feelings. Emotional ones are okay, but I feel two inches high whenever I get hard around her.
But going off to another girl?
That seems just as wrong now. Before, yeah, it was easy. The idea of not having sex for some interminable amount of time in the future is bleak. I wonder if I can die from a build up of sperm or if my dick really will fall off if I jerk it too much in the shower. Maybe it would be better if she left. If she was gone, wouldn’t it be easier for me to go without? No temptation around.
I hold myself immobile so I don’t disturb her sleep, but she finally lets go right before dawn. It’s about the time I usually get up and lift weights, so I tell myself it’s okay to leave her. She mumbles something, but I don’t catch it. Leaning over, I tuck the blankets around her and kiss her forehead.
“Naaaate.” She sighs out my name, the word sounding like one long breathy syllable, and it sends shivers down my spine. And I’m hard. Just like that. Adjusting myself, I creep out, glad that the hallway is quiet. All doors are shut, and I can escape into my own home unnoticed. The kitchen is dark except for the range light over the hood.
“You can spend as much time as you like with her before she leaves, but she is leaving.”
My hand is on the doorknob, but my heart is somewhere around my knees. If I had poor bladder control, I would have pissed myself. At least my boner died.
“Jesus Christ, Aunt AnnMarie,” I swear, forgetting myself. In the shadows across the room sits Charlotte’s mother, a mug in her hand and her tablet in front of her on the breakfast table. I hope she didn’t see me tenting my pants earlier. I won’t die from sperm build up. One of Charlotte’s parents will kill me instead. “I d-didn’t see you,” I stammer out.
“No kidding.” I can hear the smirk in her voice. “The fog comes on little cat feet.”
“Huh?”
“Carl Sandberg.” When I show no understanding, she shakes her head. “Schools these days. It’s about the Chicago Harbor! ‘The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.’ You’ve never heard that?”
It rings a faint bell so I nod, but she isn’t buying it. “Come,” she orders. “Sit down.”
I trudge over, my feet slapping heavily against the tiles. She kicks out a chair, and I drop into it.
“Why?” I ask sullenly, feeling like I’m a toddler again and Aunt AM is taking away my favorite toy.
I can feel her looking at me, but the light from the range hood doesn’t extend over here. The only light is from her tablet, which has flickered off. Gone to sleep I guess.
“If Charlotte wanted to go to the Navy Pier, would you take her?”
I know that there is a trap here. I hesitate, and it’s my first mistake. “No,” I say.
“How do you stop her? Physically restrain her? And if she tells you that it is fine and that her doctor has okayed it, do you call her a liar?” The questions come rapid fire, and I can’t process them all at once. “You eventually give in because you love her and you think she must know, after this most recent episode put her in the hospital, that she can’t keep hiding her weakness.”
I nod slowly at this assessment, but I’m uncertain. Would I keep Charlotte from doing something she said she was safe to do? Charlotte can talk me into anything, and if she said that it was safe I’d believe her. My tongue is still frozen by doubt. Aunt AM continues on, using my silence against me.
“And if she had an episode, a seizure or passed out, would you blame yourself?” I nod again because anything else would be an obvious lie. “We want to prevent that from happening. Where you’re blaming yourself and Charlotte avoids placing all of you in a bad situation.”
“How long?” I ask.
“Six, maybe nine months. We hope to be back before her junior year starts.”
I’m glad now that we can’t see each other because what I’m feeling right now is something like relief. I shouldn’t feel that way, but it’s like Charlotte’s absence will give me time to sort out everything.
“Before May 21st?”
As she raises one eyebrow, I fight hard not to flush under her knowing gaze. Yes, I am counting down the days until Charlotte turns sixteen.