Becoming His by Mariah Dietz

The weekend arrives and our parents are out of town at a seminar in LA. Saturday goes by in a lazy haze of pajamas and pool time with Kendall. Sunday we have Sister Sunday: a tradition consisting of the five of us spending time together the first Sunday of each month.

When we first began making this a ritual three years ago, Savannah insisted that the occasions be called Sassy Sisters Sunday. The fact that she teaches kindergarten seems to compel her to rhyme or make catchy phrases to describe nearly everything. We all threatened to boycott the Sundays if we were going to refer to ourselves as the Sassy Sisters, but after a few months, Sister Sunday sort of stuck.

“Can you sit still?” Kendall growls, placing a hand on my bobbing knee.

“Why did you want to try this place?” I ask, looking around at the dingy looking restaurant. “I swear we’re going to see a cockroach.” My eyes rake across the floor, truly expecting to see one.

“Oh please.” Kendall groans.

“This place is kind of … interesting,” Jenny says quietly as she looks at the collection of mismatched silverware that the waiter had dropped off for us.

“It’s disgusting,” Mindi adds with a scowl.

“It’s not that bad.” Savannah attempts to soothe us all as her eyes skate over the table, searching for a redeeming quality.

“You hang out with five-year-olds that smell like urine and eat crayons all day. Your standards of clean and sanitary have been grossly skewed.” Mindi’s tone is calm and factual, because it is indeed true. I’ve been in Savannah’s classroom before. I’ve seen and heard what twenty-four five-year-olds are capable of, and what they think is acceptable.

“You and Ace need to relax and stop being so afraid of germs. Roxy works here. She wouldn’t have told us to come by if it was dirty.” Kendall’s eyes focus on each of us in warning.

“You’re right, it’s not …” I glance to a table receiving food that smells pretty good. “Okay, but I want to know what he ordered.” Mindi looks at me alarmed, knowing I’ve just swayed the vote to stay.

“Come on, it’ll be okay. If it sucks we’ll go through a drive-thru,” I assure her.

“Roxy?” Jenny asks.

“Yeah, Lamar,” Kendall says, reaching for her water.

Jenny grabs Kendall’s glass midair. “We should probably go.” Kendall’s face creases with confusion, and Jenny’s eyes dart to the side. “Do you remember when you were a sophomore and made out with Jack Webber?”

“Yeah …”

“Did you know he was dating Roxy at the time?”

“That was like six years ago, Jen!”

“Yeah, well I just learned about it a couple of weeks ago when I heard her telling a friend how much she hates you.”

Kendall looks around to each of us, and then her gaze travels to the restaurant as though she’s finally seeing this place really is a pit with its ripped and moldy carpet, smoke-tinted wallpaper, and chipped Formica tabletops that I don’t want my purse to touch, let alone my silverware.

“What are you waiting for, let’s go,” Kendall says, shoving me out of the booth.

We end up at our usual Mexican restaurant after a semi-awkward departure from the roach buffet. We sit down and laugh about the brief experience as Kendall fills the rest of us in on her kiss with Jack Webber.

 

“Let’s go!” Kendall cries as she jumps up and tugs on my arm.

The entire yard spins as I stand up. Our Sister Sunday ended here at the house, where Mindi ordered Chinese takeout and we sat around the backyard discussing Kendall’s relationship with Jameson, which drifted to Jenny’s relationship with Paul, and later transformed into my relationship with Eric. I decided that the conversation required alcohol because although I was ready to end things with Eric a couple of weeks ago, I stopped telling my sisters that I am and have even been defending him again lately. I just didn’t want to deal with it, and it gave me an additional reason to avoid Max and his judgment.

Savannah decided that each time I used the phrase, “I don’t know,” I had to take a shot. Trying to explain my relationship with Eric and why I was staying in it while trying to be vague included three shots, which only made it more difficult to avoid those three cursed words. They were relentless and asked several questions knowing I’d respond with the key phrase, leading me to drinking too much.

Mindi, Savannah, and Jenny left Kendall and me to the lounge chairs in the backyard after ensuring we weren’t too drunk to pass out and drown, but apparently not to question that we’d be just drunk enough to do something stupid.

“Go where?” I ask.

“TP Marshall’s!”

I instantly laugh at the thought as I shake my head.

“Come on!” She wraps her fingers around mine and tugs once again, and I willingly follow her through the house. I’ve definitely drank too much, because I can hear a teeny tiny voice in the back of my head telling me that this is a bad idea, but a much louder voice in the forefront of my mind giggles and discusses strategy. That louder voice is my voice, as I help load Kendall’s arms.

“You look ridiculous.” I laugh at the sight of my sister in her neon green bikini bottom with toilet paper rolls bulging from her arms.

“We have to stay down so no one can see us,” Kendall whispers conspiratorially. I try to keep a straight face, but all I want to do right now is laugh. Everything seems funny, from the fact that we’re about to TP a house to Kendall wearing my bikini top because she thought it would make her boobs look bigger—it doesn’t, but by the time we finished swapping tops she was ready to go.

“You dropped one!” I stop in front of the fallen roll.

“Leave it!”

“I can’t. We need all of them!” I slowly bend to retrieve it and drop three more in the process.

Kendall’s giggles fill the air. “Stop, stop.”

I laugh as I work to pick up the four rolls of toilet paper. As I get the last one in my arms, it squeezes too tightly against one another and two more fall out of my arms. My laugh follows them rolling down the street.

“Oh my god, I think I just peed!” Kendall cries between squeals of laughter as she presses her forehead to my shoulder.

We decide to abandon the two rolls, and Kendall starts humming the Batman theme as she straightens and bolts down the middle of the road, surprisingly fast for how drunk she is and being in a pair of flip flops I know from experience are stiff and uncomfortable to walk, much less run in.

I chase after her feeling but not really caring about the sharpness of the road against my bare, pool-pruned feet.

We duck behind a large azalea bush that lines Mr. Tucker’s walkway, which is only three houses down from Marshall’s, as a pair of headlights turn toward us.

“Shhh!” I whisper as Kendall leans heavily against me, still giggling. The small voice in the back of my head instructs me to look back and ensure it isn’t our parents. They’re supposed to be gone overnight, but catching us would definitely invoke a “Harper Jo.”

I stand to watch where the vehicle’s going, and Kendall levels me as she attempts to run forward. The rolls of toilet paper fall from our grasps as our arms fly out to catch ourselves. We lie on the cool grass, bursting into shrieks of laughter.

After a few minutes we slowly stand up. A stitch burns in my side from giggling as I dust dried grass off my exposed skin and begin picking up the fallen rolls.

When we get to Marshall’s we dump our collection under the large weeping willow that sits on the corner of his property and each grab a roll. We race around, throwing them to drape trails of toilet paper as quickly as possible.

“What are you doing?” The words are hissed from behind us making me jump and Kendall scream.

My head whips around, terrified that we haven’t been paying enough attention to the house and that Marshall’s caught us, or worse—our dad.

“You scared the shit out of me!” Kendall screeches, reaching out to slap Jameson’s chest as I take a deep breath of relief.

“What are you guys doing?” he repeats.

“He was being a creeper!” Kendall wails.

“Shhh!” Jameson and I both hiss.

“What was he doing?” This time I’m the one that squeals as I hurl my roll behind me toward the voice I recognize as soon as the toilet paper hits his chest.

Max stands behind me, looking satisfied at my reaction. I glare at him, feeling my heart thrumming in my neck and my hands shaking from nerves.

“Where are your clothes?” Jameson asks, ignoring my reaction and Max’s question.

I look down at my pink bikini bottoms and neon green top that belongs with Kendall’s bottoms and over to Kendall. She’s looking down at her own bathing suit.

“We’re wearing clothes.” One hand goes to her hip.

“According to a nudist colony maybe,” Jameson retorts.

Kendall ignores him and picks up the roll she’d dropped and tosses it toward the front flower bed, leaving a trail of white. A new eruption of giggles pierces the air as she trips, her hands finding my arm for support.

There’s something about Kendall’s giggle that has always been infectious to me, even when I don’t know what’s funny. When we were little and dangerously close to being in trouble, the sound of her giggling always had me laughing almost instantly, and it’s having the same effect now.

“Oh my god, you guys are hammered!” Jameson cries, and his genuine shock makes me laugh even harder. He shoots a death glare at me, but unfortunately it just makes me laugh harder and soon I’m doubled over with laughter, not able to breathe.

As our laughter subsides I notice that Max is holding two rolls of toilet paper in his hands. He tosses one to Jameson who catches it and drops his shoulders as his eyebrows rise. We all watch as Max drops the first couple of squares that inevitably always seem to tear at the beginning of each roll and chucks it high into the weeping willow, much higher than Kendall or I could have hoped to have achieved. Jameson quietly mutters something under his breath and shakes his head before his shoulders roll and he follows suit.

When the yard is sufficiently covered in white and our arsenal of toilet paper has expired we stand admiring our handiwork for a moment. It’s the first time that I’ve ever TP’d someone’s house, and although I feel a slight spasm of guilt, I’m quite liberated with this small act of rebellion.

“Shit!” I hear Jameson cry, and before I can turn to see what has him panicking, I’m mid air.

In one fell swoop Max has me over his shoulder and he’s running as though I’m nothing more than a beach towel.

I should be angry and demand to be put down, especially since I’m only wearing my bikini and his hands are clasped around my bare hips, but then I hear yelling and recognize Marshall’s voice ordering to know what’s going on, followed by empty threats, and decide to remain quiet because Max is fast, really fast. My observation is likely skewed a bit, being that I’m upside down, backwards, and have had too much to drink; all the same, he seems crazy fast.

“Did he see us?” Kendall asks as Max stops and slides me back to my feet. I look around the unfamiliar yard and realize when I see the cement birdbath that we’re standing in Max’s backyard.

“I don’t think so,” Jameson says, taking a deep breath as his chest heaves. “That was close! Why in the hell did we just help TP that house?”

“That’s Marshall.” Kendall’s voice is a statement, like this explains everything.

“Who’s Marshall?”

“A dirty creeper. He asked Ace to model for him and then handed her the Victoria’s Secret catalog and told her she could pick.” Jameson raises his eyebrows, and Kendall nods knowingly. “Told you. Creeper.”

“I was a little worried you girls were just bored and picked a house at random.”

“I’m sure he was joking. He’s socially awkward and kind of strange, but Jose and Kendall made it sound like it was a good idea,” I admit.

“Jose?” Max asks.

I turn to look at him from where he’s standing behind me and notice he looks more annoyed than usual.

“Cuervo!” Kendall throws an arm into the air with a whoop, making me laugh again.

I turn my attention to Max and Jameson and see them shaking their heads. “How’d you guys find us?”

“We drove by and saw you two run into the bushes and then watched you guys sprawl out on the grass with a gazillion rolls of toilet paper, so we parked and followed the noise.” Max shrugs. “Late night TP’ing in bikinis, only the two of you would do that.” He looks at me and his eyes fall to my feet. “And barefoot. What if he’d caught you?”

“Technically, he did catch us.”

Max rolls his eyes at my response, and I can’t help but roll mine in return.

“Let’s go take another shot and go skinny dipping!” Kendall’s eyes gleam with the challenge that she’s posed to Jameson.

“I don’t think you need another shot, but I’m all in for skinny dipping!”

Kendall breaks into a run, and Jameson follows close behind catching her before she reaches the fence. He throws her over his shoulder making her squeal in delight.

“I take it you’re not interested in joining them?”

I feel the skin between my eyebrows cinch as I look at him. “That may have sounded like an open invitation, but it wasn’t. I think I’ll be avoiding the backyard for a while.”

“Come on, my mom’s at the same event your parents are.” The prospect of hanging out with Max alone zaps whatever’s left of my buzz. We don’t seem capable of fluent communication with each other.

He takes a few steps toward the back door before looking back at me and raising a single eyebrow as his bright blue eyes focus on me. Looking over his shoulder, the gesture pronounces the curve of his jaw in what is quite possibly the most beautiful expression I’ve ever seen. My joints slowly move, and I follow behind him.

I take a seat at the kitchen table and watch as he opens the fridge door and scrounges around.

“Do you want ice?” He looks over his shoulder at me and I simply nod, not certain what he’s planning to fix.

After placing a plate in the microwave, he grabs two glasses from a cupboard, fills them both with ice water and deposits them on the table, sliding one to me. He then travels to the microwave as it beeps and takes out a plate of pizza.

Rather than sit down, Max disappears down the hall and returns with a docking station and his phone.

“Sorry, I don’t have your type of music on here.”

“My type?”

He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Country.”

“Country isn’t my type.”

Max’s eyebrows draw together. “All I ever hear from your backyard is country music.”

“My mom.”

“Not you?”

I shake my head. “No, country music is always about either love, or love ending, and I like music that talks about life.”

“A lot of people would argue that love is life.”

“Maybe.” I watch my finger draw a star in the condensation on my glass.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” I confirm.

“You’ve never been in love?”

I look up feeling Max’s eyes on me and shake my head. “I’m only nineteen.”

“Love has age requirements now? I’m pretty sure I was like eight when I fell in love with Pamela Anderson.”

My head tips back as I laugh. “I’ve been in like plenty of times; I’ve even been in love with the idea of being in love. But big gesture, life-sacrificing, stalking, jealous, craving, crazy kind of love … no.”

“That’s a lot of adjectives. Sounds like you’ve put some thought into it.”

I shrug nonchalantly and take another drink of water.

“You’re definitely dating the wrong type if you’ve never felt jealousy.”

“Do you feel jealousy?” I’m not sure if Max is aware my question is laced with the question of whether he’s dating the right type or not.

“I have before,” he admits, glancing at me. “Each time Pamela had to go save another idiot I felt a little jealous.” I laugh again and watch as Max smiles in response. He clears his throat and looks over to his phone. “Do you know this band?”

“Sure, they’re one of my favorites.”

“Why do you like them?”

“Good music is like poetry. The lyrics are more than just words, they’re a story of emotions.”

“Do you think love does that?”

He’s looking at me with uncertainty making me wonder if it’s the subject at hand, or my answer that he isn’t sure he wants to hear. “I hope so.”

There’s a long pause as I try to recall how exactly we got to discussing love in the first place when Max breaks the silence, a cocky grin across his face. “You really plan to stalk the person that you’re in love with?”

I softly chuckle, thinking of the many hours of stalking experience I’ve gained recruited by my sisters or friends. Just the time devoted to Max alone is fairly substantial, but if guys are anything like us, he already knows.

“I hope that I’ll want to. Not like creepy, installing an app on his phone so I can track his whereabouts or anything, but healthy stalking … like wanting to know what he’s doing and where he’s going.”

Max lets out an easy laugh and leans back in his chair before sliding the plate closer to me. “Eat. It will make you feel better tomorrow.”After we finish the pizza that went cold from talking, I stand to leave. Max walks to the door with me, and I expect him to stop as I make my way across the porch, but he continues with me up to my front door.

“Do me a favor.”

I turn and look at Max, my mind racing with possible requests.

“Stay the hell away from Marshall.”

A small grin spreads across my face as I reach forward to pull the door open. “See you around, Max.”

He nods in reply and then turns and disappears back to his house.