I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

30

PLAY MUSIC

I notice Chris relax as we travel through his homeland. Huston, Texas. The pressure on the gas and brakes are smoother now, less nerve-wrecking. His eyes search the mirror like a hawk...checking for any uninvited guess I assume, but they are calm, mellow. He hasn't been home in years due to working holiday peak hours to afford his place. We all get too busy for visiting, I just hope he doesn't take this too personally.

But he misses home, every building we past, wakes up a nostalgic glint in the windows to his soul.

I, for one, am not sure how I should feel.

I slept with someone else on the Fourth of July months ago. I ruined six years of friendship. I'm aware that Chris told his parents everything about my fuck up. That's what family is for, to help you cope and give support. I'm still wondering if his father hates me more...or his mother?

The car rides the streets of Huston, where many skyscrapers reach tall. The lands aren't covered in sand; when most people think of Texas, they think of a desert. All of the luscious lands and trees shined as if the city is a step into paradise. Shorter and more spaced out buildings surround the town, causing the appearance of rural to mix in with modernization.

Many people walk the sidewalks, some in ordinary clothes, some in cowboy get up. Trucks rumble the roads, the pickup, and transportation types. Many fancy cars sprinkle in with farm vehicles of straw and even livestock. All of the motor vehicles drive as if it isn't bizarre to be seen side by side in a city setting.

Everything feels so friendly, calm, and loving...as if the atmosphere is happy and free. Hmm, this is different. There's so much variation here; it's so strange and yet comforting.

"You like it, don't you?" Chris surveys me with a look of appreciation.

"Yeah, this is nothing like New York...it's way cleaner."

"Fresher air too." He agrees. "Welcome to The Lone Star State." Chris lets a country accent poke out. Something he had lost while living in New York.

The rental car rolls a street that moves away from the city portion. The scenery changes from urban-modern to close-knit houses, gradually become more separated in land size. Low hanging trees drop leaves over the car, letting in a smell of fresh-cut grass and maple. The smells seek through the vents of the rental.

I let the window down, taking in the complimentary scents, sensing a strange familiarity.

Deja Vu...but that doesn't make sense.

Hot wind muffles the outside of the car, breezing over my face. "Okay...I'm sold," I admit, my face set in a serene mode, my eyes closed. My nose nostalgic.

"Good." Chris drives a pleasant neighborhood now. "I climbed that tree so many times..." he nods to the tallest tree on the block. "It has the most cinematic view of the city at night." The car passes an open field. "Dance battles took place there at midnight with my friend Nelly; we snuck out a lot." His voice is heavy with sentimentality, sounding old...and distant, as if that life...those memories, were no longer his.

"You can do these things while you're here." I encourage.

"I guess..." Chris says, still a bit glum. "I don't even know if Nelly still lives here. Ha, she probably won't even recognize me. I was way skinnier and awkward before I put on weight after high school. I would say she'd remember my voice, but I lost my accent...so."

"Things change, but friends don't, she'll remember you. Don't worry too much about it." I take his free hand in mine, kissing it sweetly, and keeping it close to my lips afterwards.

"I can't help it...I'm nervous. What am I gonna tell my parents, "hey this is Sam, yeah, the one who cheated on me, we're back together?" If I say nothing, they'll pillow talk then arrange an intervention." I give a short laugh to his speculation. "No, they will actually do that, no joke. It's their secret sauce to parenthood." Stress cooks his voice.

I thought his family was decent and cool, mostly due to the Face-time calls Chris roped me into when we dated. His mother had an openness, a very nurturing and genuine manner. His dad was a handyman who offered me an impressive job reference, since he was a busy owner. They were very accepting of their son's sexuality. I can't say the same for my folks.

It seemed that they were accepting of me...but that was a year ago. A lot has can changed. Maybe Chris isn't overwhelming himself with angst...he knows his parents. "It'll work itself out." I finally add, telling a white lie to ease my baby.

"Hopefully," Chris mumbles.

The car turns left onto another neighborhood block and slows before rolling up a driveway of a pale brick house, a tree-house visible in its backyard. A yellow Pontiac is parked close to an attached garage. So this is where Chris grew up? It looks so picturesque, as if out of one of those home magazines. The house is medium-sized, red shutters are on the windows. A garden of white roses line the front of the house, and a boot shaped mailbox mounts the end of the driveway.

Chris stops the car, shifts the gear to park, and takes the keys from the ignition. He focuses on the house, thinking deeply. "I don't know how to reintroduce you."

"If you're not ready, we can get a hotel...whatever you feel is best."

Chris stares on at the house, taking a deep breath, shaking his head. "I can't hide from it."

"That's not hiding; taking more time to work things over is normal."

Chris unlocks the car doors and gets out, ignoring what I just said, going back to his usual, bullheadedness. I get out and follow him. The rental car beeps, locking. The sun bakes us as we near the front door, where a yellow welcome mat with swirling designs greets us.

"Okay, let's do this." He rings the doorbell. A dog barks loudly, drawing closer to the door. "Ugh, Cheeto, chill." Chris chuckles, his eyes glowing. The sound of footsteps, accompanied by a clinging sound, nears the other side of the door now. A lock twists on the knob.

A shaggy-haired, dark blonde woman squints for a bit, adjusting her eyes to the bright sunlight by using her hand as a shield. Her eyes are the same shade as Chris's, her skin sun kissed, a bohemian, brown and white maxi dress hovers above her knees, where mini brown cowgirl boots show. She yelps and hops, before hugging her son. Squealing.

"Baby, what are you doing here?!" God, her accent is so thick and raspy.

"Mama..." Chris rocks her side to side within a hug.

"You look like you need a drink of lemonade and some raisin bread." His mom breaks from the hug, pinching his cheeks. "Oh, I missed you!!" The smell of lavender radiates from her skin.

I prepare to compliment her on this but she beats me to our first, real-life impression. Her eyes zero in on me like a snake, recalling my face, and instantly deeming disapproval. I've seen someone's eyes hold a hellish resentment of me before, but not like this. Not as pure and true. The mood changes fast. Chris gives a pleading gaze to his mother, no longer happy, but she doesn't budge. She releases a ridiculing spirit onto my presence.

Maybe I should go.