Now, it's my turn to glare hard at Aaron, stomach churning in anger.
“What are you talking about? Are you crazy? I was still a child back then!”
“You are my baby sister!" He is spitting mad, but so am I.
"You forget that I am no longer fifteen. I am an adult who can very well handle the repercussions of making decisions, no matter how conventional or bizarre. But you forget that every time. Every. Single. Time." I enunciate the final words, poking his chest with each one.
Some of that anger seems to seep from Aaron's body. His shoulder slumps and the ice in his eyes breaks.
“Mitch is wrong for you. Did he force you? Pressure you?” he questions, his mind running a mile a minute. “Because, if he did, I swear to God—"
I balk. “Stop it, Aaron. Mitch wouldn’t do that. You know that and I know that. Donottry to paint him in a bad light.”
Shaking my head slightly, I can’t help but realize how it can appear to someone on the outside looking in. Aaron is simply thinking Mitch used his position to coerce me, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
“You know your friend better than that.” I scowl. “How can you just stand there and say that?” I bark.
“You're my sister, goddammit. I'm trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection!” I yell. Shaking my head, I take a deep breath. “I don't need protection,” I repeat, voice calmer. “At least not from Mitch.”
Aaron's gaze, still on mine, widens slightly, and his eyes turn knowingly.
“Is there something you're not telling me?”
I shake my head and look away, hoping the truth is well and truly masked.
“Tell me… You have feelings for him, don't you? You've never done this, defend some guy like you are him.”
I shake my head at myself because I know I cannot continue to lie to Aaron.
“It's more than just sex,” I reveal because it's something I've known for the past couple of weeks. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want more than sex, that what I'd felt when he took me right into my bedroom was pure lust.
When I turn to Aaron again, he looks more resigned than angry as he gestures toward his car, handing over his key.
“Please wait in the car,” he instructs as he begins to move back into the building.
Grabbing the key, I make my way toward the parking lot. I do trust Aaron enough to know that he's not going back inside to cause a scene. I move to the backseat and make myself comfortable, refusing to think about the nosedive this evening has taken.
I breathe out a sigh of relief when Aaron steps back out with Emily in tow. Emily does manage to flash a strained smile in my direction as she buckles in. I offer one in return, and everyone spends the car ride home in absolute silence, which is something I appreciate because I am left alone with my thoughts.
* * *
I do not wait for the party to die down before striding to my car, key in hand. I try not to think about what just happened with the Potters. As I peel out of the parking lot, I realize that I do not feel guilty about the day’s events. Maybe I'm a bit peeved that I could have handled the situation better, but I do not have any regrets whatsoever about being with Beth. She's a phenomenal woman.
I allow my mind to drift back to the party. It was a huge success and went exactly as I had planned. I try not to think about the next couple of days, knowing that the app can either be a major success or an utter failure. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I continue to drive. The strain between Aaron and me had been one of my fears, one of the reasons I had tried to keep away from Beth, an effort that I had well and truly not conquered.
When I pull into the driveway, I look over at the Potters to find that Aaron's car is not there.
Had he only dropped Beth off and left?
Stepping into my home, the tension I had not realized still gripped me dissipates the moment I flip my switch. The whole interior has come out as I expected, and the calming tones I chose cooled my nerves. And when I begin to move toward the master bedroom, my phone blares out, causing me to pause. As I slip it out of my pocket, an automatic frown masks my features.
“Mother?” I say the moment I put the phone back in my ear.
“Hello, dear,” she says, her voice syrupy, something that causes me to wince.
“How are you?” I ask, realizing how formal the conversation sounds. This doesn't feel like the kind of conversation I'd have with the woman that constantly took me to the park and attended my shows at school. I wonder if it is too much to ask to go back to how things were; when her irregular phone calls didn't sound like fake niceties, the type she saves for the people she air-kisses.