Affairs

1: Call Me Soph, It Makes Me Swoon

Call Me Soph, It Makes Me Swoon

My first kiss was with Robbie Schuster. I was six. He smelled like paste and afterward he told me that girls were icky. We went our separate ways and he played kickball and I played hopscotch and he spent the rest of elementary school ignoring me.

Seven years later, I had my second kiss with Alex Clark. As a desperate, last-minute attempt he’d asked me to the spring dance and after we’d awkwardly danced for an hour and a half, he’d pulled me behind the bleachers like the rest of his friends and attacked my face. His kisses were sloppy and wet. When he’d gotten his hormones under control, Alex left to hang out with his friends and I called my mom to pick me up. We never talked after that night.

And now here I was, pressed under a sweaty sex god. His hair tickled my forehead as he kissed me and his hands felt so comforting on my hips. I ran my hands up and down his back, taking in the warm muscle beneath my fingers. This was bliss. This was what I’d been waiting for. The temperature of the room was a million degrees but I didn’t care. I was more than happy to sweat a little for the intimate moment about to go down.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me rewind to the beginning.

“You always order the best food,” my cousin, Christina, commented, stealing yet another sweet potato fry from my plate. I gave her a glare but didn’t object. She leaned against her footballer boyfriend, Harry, and chewed her fry, a gloating smirk across her face. I turned back to my burger.

I’d been living with my aunt and uncle for almost four months now. Things had been getting a little hot with my parent’s separation in Connecticut, and I needed a break from my little sisters’ crying. So I’d moved to Oregon, home of rain. I enjoyed living here, and my cousin was great, but sometimes I missed my sisters tugging on my hand, or my friends. But I was the one who made this decision, and I wasn’t going back until my parents cooled down.

I’d quickly become really close with Christina. We’d always gotten along as children, but when we’d been reconnected last summer, I could tell there were some hurdles to jump over before we reached where we used to be. But after a few chick flick nights, and the bedroom we had to share, we’d become like sisters. And it felt nice to have a sister my age, instead of a decade younger.

“Can I get you anything else, or just the check?” Our waitress looked down at us, her lipstick smile too fake and her 50’s uniform too tight. We shook our heads and she produced our checks. I reached for my wallet to pay my $7.85, but before I could reach my purse, Harry had grabbed both my check and theirs and placed his card on top. Before I could object, the waitress had sauntered away.

“Harry, you didn’t have to pay for my lunch. Let me pay you back.” I reached for my wallet again.

His wavy hair wiggled as he shook his head. “It’s the least I could do for you letting this beast here,” he nudged Christina, “eat all your fries. Besides, you kept the conversation interesting as usual, Soph.”

He’d used that nickname again. About two weeks ago, when I’d been forced to join the happy couple for lunch for the first time, Christina had been complaining about how she hated being called Chrissy, which was my nickname for her. Although I knew she hated it, I’d been calling her that since we were little and couldn’t break the old habit. Harry had commented that it was a cute nickname, but she’d shot him down with a glare and a, “Harold, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My cousin, deciding that payback was in order, had asked me if I had any nicknames. She was trying to find one that she could use against me. But I’d shaken my head and revealed that I’d only ever been called Sophia. Occasionally my little sisters would call me Sissy, but no one had ever tried to give me a real nickname. Christina’s face had fallen and Harry had nodded in understanding. I’d never felt so awkward in my life.