Summer Smokescreens
I smile up into the sky, the southern Californian sun beaming down on me, warming my honey bronze skin and shining so brightly I have to squint my eyes as the vibrant clouds of colorful powder fill the cool breeze whiffing around me. As the Holi festival grounds buzz with the kind of pure joy that will make anyone believe in magic, I begin to remember how much I used to adore my experiences at this holiday celebration. The Holi Festival has been my favorite holiday ever since I was a little girl. It was a day I always felt the most love and happiness from my traditional Indian parents, who instilled in me through their actions the importance of education and hard work by never taking a break from their professional endeavors, except for when it involved embracing our Indian heritage to celebrate our Hindu roots. This made the Holi Festival feel like my version of Christmas Day because it was the day my parents let loose and showered me with endless attention and affection.
Everyone deserves to experience this festival at least once in their lifetime because it’s always filled with laughter and boundless color that seems to seep into the essence of your soul, painting it with endless bliss. It had become a holy grail to me, filled with the sound of laughter, the rhythmic beating of drums, and the air wafting the delicious, sweet aromas of gujiya and jalebi. It became a paradise on earth with the contagious laughter and playful shouts resounding through the air, not to mention how everyone around me seemed to shed their worries like a snake shedding old skin and emerge new with the revitalization of Spring, welcoming the new possibilities that reawake with the seasonal change. It was the one day of the year to me when nothing seemed impossible, where the good always triumphed, and even a shy, awkward girl like me who periodically fell short in greatness when it came to her mother’s expectations could feel bold, beautiful, and exceptional.
But today, I didn’t feel the same cheerfulness as I tossed a handful of bright bubblegum pink powder into the air, letting it catch the sunlight in a shimmering cloud. I felt a sharp, stabbing, heavy pain in my chest because it was this very festival where I learned that a dark, miserable, murky shade of drab black could overshadow every bright color. Even though it had been a few years since the most tragic day of my life, the excitement of today’s celebration of the arrival of Spring and the victory of good over evil did nothing to free me of the shackles of the heavy weight of the depressing memory that bared down on my soul. Everyone and everything blurs around me; all the joyful noise around me sounds static, and time seems to stand still as I’m transported back to this very spot where I stand, and it’s like I’m fifteen again. My mother answers a phone call that shatters the enjoyment of the day with the news from my uncle that my father had collapsed. I knew it was bad news when my strong, stoic mother went pale, her eyes glazing over, causing the excitement to drain from the festival. The bright hues of blues, pinks, and yellows became muted until they turned ashen as we rushed to the hospital, only to hear heartbreaking words that I could barely comprehend, like “cerebral aneurysm” and “too late.”
Since then, my favorite holiday has been shrouded in the devastation of my father’s death, tinged with colorless sorrow, the present colors floating around me feeling a little dimmer as I feel the pain of his once boisterous laughter, now lost in silence, and the familiar sound becoming a distant memory. I look to my left, blinking back tears, remembering I needed to be strong for my mother standing beside me, her face covered in a mix of blues and yellows, swirling into a green pattern, an expression of joy painted on her beautiful features. I owed her the same attempt to recapture the magic of my favorite holiday because she was trying to bask in the happiness of Holi for my sake. Plus, it had been my idea to return after skipping the past three years, propelled by a desire to reconnect with this day fueled by an eternal hope that reconnecting with the excitement and being in the presence of our community happy and in celebration that we could keep dad’s memory alive. Hopefully, I’ll fall back in love with my favorite time of the year. My mother turned her gaze on me, and we both began to giggle, filling me with the possibility that we were finally moving forward and were on the mend from my father’s abrupt departure from our lives.
Not wanting to allow my grief to win out and wanting to stay present in the little moments to hold onto the little glimmer of happiness I’d been trying to keep from slipping out of my grasp, I reach for more color when I see my mother’s phone’s blue screen light up in the pocket of her white cotton saree. The festive Bollywood Holi music playing drowns out her ringtone, but the haunting look on her face as she reads the caller ID and steps away from the festival speaks volumes and is enough to drain the color from the day. She looks in my direction, holding up one finger to signal me to give her a second. Her forced smile falters as she listens to the person on the other end of the line.
My mother’s brow furrows in distress, her eyes become watery, and she clasps a hand over her mouth. I watch in a daze, a tight, fiery knot forming in my stomach as her expression crumbles, her knuckles turning white in a crushing grip as she presses the phone tightly to her ear. I feel the woes of my past and anxiety of my present collide in the cruelest way because I didn’t need to hear the phone conversation to know that some disastrous life-changing event was going to disrupt our lives in possibly the worst kind of ways.
“P-P-Pryia, that was your Auntie Miako,” Mom says, her voice trembling as she staggers back to me. Tears now mar the vibrant colors on her face. I grab her shaking hand with mine for support, wrapping my arms around her willowy frame to comfort her. “The news this morning spoke about beginning evacuations of Palm Springs due to the growing wildfires. Well, Miako and the boys barely got out in time. Unfortunately, their house, it… it’s gone. Engulfed by the wildfire.”
My mom’s thin frame suddenly feels heavy and alien. I can’t catch my breath, feeling as if I’m suffocating. Around us, Holi continues to roar. The laughter and music around us warp into a distant, mocking echo. Yet again, everyone is oblivious to the enormous tragedy at its edges of enjoyment. My heart hammers a mile a minute in my chest as I struggle to articulate any of my thoughts or words of comfort to my mother.
Today should have brought us back to our place of peace to reset and rebirth a life filled with new, happier beginnings. But the news of my godmother and her sons' misfortunes made me feel defeated and consider hope a mythical concept like fairies and leprechauns. Had the Holi Festival become a bad omen for me? For us? I mean, how else could I rationalize that today, of all days, would be the day we faced another blow? Another stark reminder that joy was as fleeting as the colors we threw in the air.
“Priya, I know today meant a lot to you, but we’ll have to cut today’s celebration short. I need to meet Auntie Miako and help her sort everything out. With everything that’s happened with her divorce, now this… I need to be there for my best friend like she and her boys were there for us when… your dad died,” my mother states, her voice wobbly, stroking my hair, streaking my face with blue and pink powder as it turns into paint from mingling with the tears she tries to brush from my face. “I’m going to tell her that she, Jei, and Kenzo can stay with us for as long as they need. I know it might not be ideal for you, but we sometimes have to experience a little discomfort for those we love.”
My steps falter as we approach the car when she speaks Kenzo’s name. My heartbeat quickens, and butterflies take flight in my stomach. Guilt and complexity begin to create internal turmoil about the excitement I am starting to feel about having Kenzo come live with my mom and me.
Was it wrong that I took some enjoyment from today’s horrendous news because the boy I’d loved for as long as I could remember would be taking up residence in my home?
Maybe the Holi Festival wasn’t just a bad omen but perhaps about finding the little joys in life to celebrate when devastation loomed in the shadows like the boogeyman waiting to pounce.
And my little joy, I’d be savoring, was having Kenzo Whitlock back in my life in a way that he’d have no choice but to pay attention to me and stop ignoring my existence.
My mother’s prejudiced predictions of my feelings of discomfort once Auntie Miako and her boys moved in with us couldn’t have been more wrong than the idea that pineapple isn’t a delicious topping that belongs on pizza. What she expected me, her only child, her hormonal teenage daughter, to see as an invasion of my personal space and an intrusion of my life, which kept her bracing for an awkward, chaotic disaster, turned out to be unexpectedly harmonious. Having grown up with siblings, my parents could never understand that I often felt lonely, as if I were dying of boredom and thirsting for attention that they couldn’t provide me as two entrepreneurs running a successful pediatric clinic and winery in Temecula, California. So, Auntie Miako’s family brought with them a liveliness, laughter, and a burst of new energy I’d been craving that made our family feel more complete, and our house felt more like a home than it had since my dad’s death.
However, the best part of Auntie Miako moving into our home is that she makes Mom more at ease and less of a killjoy. To my relief, this fills the void of the much-needed buffer and referee, the role my father played that held together the fragile mother-daughter bond. Our relationship is as tumultuous as Taylor Swift’s love life, which is viable to crack and implode due to any slight missteps. Auntie Miako’s calm demeanor and outside perspective mend our misunderstandings and add lightness to our harsh disagreements. My godmother is my spirit animal. Just as much as Kenzo and my mother are kindred spirits, it seems like all the time they spent together while pregnant with the two of us allowed for their differing energies to free-flow into their children's hearts and souls, carrying around a piece of their best friends in mini human forms.
Kenzo's absence is the only thing keeping our new living arrangement falling short of extraordinary. It was pretty devastating news when I found out that Auntie Miako and Jei, her youngest son, would be moving in with us instantaneously after losing everything in the wildfire. But, being a totally cool mom, Auntie Miako had agreed to allow Kenzo to stay with his best friend so as not to disrupt the last two months of his senior year, so he could finish up the baseball season and enjoy the final senior activities of the year before graduation. But after high school graduation, Kenzo would move in with the rest of us. The anticipation was killing me, so quite naturally, as any normal teen girl would do with the love of their life—I took to stalking his social media more than usual to keep me sane while I waited impatiently for the end of our last semester of high school. The only drawback from obsessively keeping up with Kenzo’s shenanigans through social media is that it unleashed an envious green-eyed monster that I didn’t know was waiting inside of me for any excuse to hulk the fuck out.
Unsurprisingly, I’m not the only girl who sees Kenzo as their Mr. Prince Charming. Every swipe on my phone feels like a bullet of betrayal to my own heart as I scroll through Kenzo’s Instagram. I hated how every one of his latest posts caused my heart to do that annoying drop thing. As if it were breaking in half and sinking and burning into the acid in the pit of my stomach. There he was in all his glory and effortless charisma at prom, king crown and all, looking like a teen heartthrob who could easily play James Beaumont in Maxton Hall, Amazon’s latest show that has every girl around the world in an absolute fucking chokehold. My heart sinks deeper with every tagged photo of him hugged up with gorgeous girls. Each comment left by his gaggle of groupies ready to toss him their panties if he’d just say the word seemed to gravitate to him like fierce fans to a new Drake track, each comment pulsing with vibes of loyalty and fierce devotion, singing him praise hoping for some acknowledgment. And based on his responses in the comment section, with every heart-eyed and winky-face emoji reply he left, Kenzo ate that shit up from girls who were everything I wasn’t.
Beautiful, outgoing, confident, and even worse, someone he probably viewed as an equal.
His social media presence and interactions stung like salt in an open wound because it was a reminder from the universe that I was so far out of his league I might as well be playing a different sport. Subconsciously, I knew I was nothing more than the shy, awkward girl he’d known forever and never wanted to be around because I wasn’t someone who turned heads or ever would easily win anyone’s heart. I’d probably only be able to continue loving him from a distance, especially from the persona he projected on social media, all smiles and arrogance, winning All-American High School sports titles, and snagging a Stanford football scholarship, piles of proof that in reality, he’s out of my reach and fair game for any Sydney Sweeney look-alike that caught his eye. Bitter-filled tears slide down my face, blurring my vision. A little part of me withers inside. The countdown until his move-in day has started to feel like I’m waiting for my own heartbreak to walk through the door because can I really win an audition for his love, or will I end up just looking like a thirsty pick-me bachelor contestant who didn’t receive a rose?
The answer comes to me quicker than anticipated. Due to her Japanese upbringing, Auntie Miako's parenting style is a complete one-eighty from my mother’s strict, authoritative parenting; however, I knew there would be hell to pay for Kenzo when he did not return any of her calls or texts after choosing to skip our joint family graduation dinner, which our mothers had spent weeks planning for us. Yet, as I tiptoed into the kitchen to grab a midnight snack that night, I wasn’t prepared for the angry storm of voices that erupted from the living room. I heard Auntie Miako scold Kenzo for being embarrassing and disrespectful for waltzing into my mother’s home at half past midnight, reeking of booze after failing to attend our graduation dinner. She calls him “self-centered” and “ungrateful” for choosing a party over his family. He snarls at her use of the word family, tossing out a cruel low blow about if she could better please his father, maybe he wouldn’t have left her. Kenzo's voice's sharp, bitter cadence pricks at my ears as I open the cabinet, my hand pausing mid-air for a cup as his malicious words cut through the stillness of the night.
Ignoring his unjustified outburst and disregarding him putting all the blame on her for her failed marriage and the cause of her husband’s wandering dick, she informs him of the news that she and my mother shared with Jei and me at tonight’s dinner about their summer-long girls trip to escape from all the bull shit they’ve endured over the past few years. Where I thought this was a well-deserved and much-needed trip for our mothers’, Kenzo doesn’t share the same sentiment.
“Fuck your plans! I’m a grown-ass man; I don’t give a damn if I just graduated high school. I’m eighteen, and legally, you don’t get to fucking decide my life for me, Mom! There’s no way in hell you can force me to go to Florida. I’m not spending my summer with my deadbeat fucking dad and his new whore, who gives me fuck me eyes anytime I’m around. I guess Dad’s Viagra isn’t really doing much for his young plaything,” Kenzo’s voice booms, thick with anger and something more vulnerable and gut-wrenching that he’d never let show in his sober state, not even to his mother.
I listen to Auntie Miako’s loud audible huff of frustration before responding to Kenzo’s tantrum with a mix of weariness and firmness, a tone she rarely used and only reserved for moments when everything else failed. “Kenzo, baby, I know this year has been really hard for you, with the divorce, your shit with your father, and everything we lost in the fire, but you need to act like this fucking grown man; you keep talking about because that means more than a fucking birthday. Maybe, time with your father will fix whatever shit you’re harboring against him; my shit relationship with him has nothing to do with you and Jei. So, if you have a problem with your dad, then be a man and talk about it with him. Whatever is bothering you, you need to face it and deal with it and not drown it in weed and booze. Get over yourself; not everything is just about you. We all need some space to heal; I deserve to figure my shit out so I can be there for you and Jei, and you need to respect and support that as I would for you.”
The quiet hum of the refrigerator is a soft, comforting backdrop to my thudding heart as I continue to eavesdrop. Quietly opening the fridge door, the cold air whooshes around me as I stand frozen with the door ajar, not wanting to bring unwanted attention to my presence.
“Whatever, I’m making my own decisions for the summer, and that’ll be me just staying here,” Kenzo retorts after a simmering silence, his defiance echoing against the walls, my heart aching from the quiver in his voice from his deep-seated pain.
Auntie Miako heavily sighs, defeated, sounding as if she’s carrying all the weight of the world on her petite shoulders. “Fine, Kenzo, continue being an asshole. I can’t keep you from morphing into the self-centered bastard you claim to hate so much. But, I will protect the two Singh women I love from feeling disrespected when they kindly open their home to us, even though they’re still grieving the loss of your Uncle Manish. Therefore, if you’re staying in Temecula at your Auntie Meena’s home, then you’ll earn your fucking keep by working at your Uncle Manish’s winery with Priya and his brother,” she demands as he groans.
The sound of my own breathing feels loud to my ears as I discreetly pour myself a glass of lemonade, my hands trembling. The soft thud of the lemonade splattering on the counter resonates through the kitchen like a crackle of a thunderstorm in the quiet that follows her orders.
“And keep your hands to yourself while staying here with Priya. Remember you’re here to work, not to fool around and send your Auntie Meena to an early grave by knocking up her daughter,” she adds to her request, laying down the law with Kenzo, causing me to silently die from embarrassment as I feel my cheeks heat.
Kenzo’s laugh is harsh, devoid of any real humor, grating on my nerves. “Real funny, Mom. Goodbye, Ali Wong, because you’re a hilarious comedian who deserves her own Netflix comedy special. I only tolerate her for the sake of you and Auntie Meena being like a second mom. The way she stares at me and lurks around like my shadow, hoping to be noticed. It’s pathetic and creepy, if I’m being honest. It’s easier to avoid her rather than engage with her; I don’t want to end up like the dude in Baby Reindeer because I swear she has the stalker mannerisms of Martha. That’s why I trashed her eighteenth birthday invitation. I didn’t want to get her hopes up, Mom. Also, I know she got into none of the Ivy Leagues she applied to, based on Auntie Meena’s disappointment from when I last talked to her, but is Priya really that big of an idiot to think she’s being subtle with this lifelong crush? It’s painfully obvious and sad. You should be more fearful about me surviving the summer with her and not me knocking up someone no one would exactly look twice at—too plain, too timid, easily forgettable. The thought of banging Priya deflates my dick and would probably cause my balls to shrivel up and die.”
I couldn’t even hear Auntie Miako’s response to the insults Kenzo spat because they left me in complete shock. The venom in his voice starkly contrasts with the vulnerable, sweet guy I’ve often imagined he had hidden behind his aloof, cold demeanor. Never in a million years did I think he’d be a total douche canoe. Auntie Miako’s footsteps thunder down the hallway, ending the confrontation as she retreats; the soft thud of her distant footsteps is all I hear as she ascends the stairs to bed. I hear the faint noise of Kenzo throwing himself on the couch. His words replay in my mind like a broken record, every syllable a confirmation of my deepest insecurities about not being good enough in my mother’s eyes, my plain appearance, my apparent lack of intelligence, and my painfully shy nature. Tears prick the corner of my eyes, but I fight tooth and nail to will them not to fall. I can’t break—not here, not now. Not with him, just a few feet away from me. But, as I try to keep my composure, it is hard not to feel like his cruel jabs didn’t sting worse than a slap to the face ever could.
I should feel angry, maybe scream at him or try to humiliate him with my arsenal of embarrassing childhood dirt I had on him the next time we were in public around his friends. I needed to move, go back to my room, and pretend like I never heard his conversation with Auntie Miako. Instead, I find myself rooted to the spot, listening for anything else he might say while alone in his drunken state, a murmur to himself, any sign that he didn’t mean what he said. But all I can hear is his distant, soft snores. Along with the soft sigh of the house settling, as if it too were weary of the anger and the sharp words. I lean against the kitchen counter, the marble cold under my touch. The air feels heavy with words unsaid and wounds left ripped open, even as the initial sting fades. Yet, my resolve begins to form, brittle but bold. If I have to spend my summer in his company, I’ll no longer be the Priya Singh he uses as an easy target for his frustration and bitterness. I will show him, and hell, perhaps prove to myself that I can be a girl that most will consider out of his league, a girl he'll beg to be with him, and when I reject him, he’ll be left feeling invisible, lesser than, humiliated, and broken like I did at this moment.
My plan to get Kenzo to fall for me wasn’t going exactly as I envisioned. We’d been living together for over two weeks alone and had settled into a routine of peacefully coexisting in each other’s orbits. Shit, maybe what I overheard Kenzo telling his mother did hold some truth because sometimes, when I watched him move around our home, I’d find myself thinking I’ll eventually have to move on because this infatuation and ideal I harbored of him was becoming embarrassing, hell, even to myself. I didn’t need to pay a shriek an exuberant amount of cash to know that my all-consuming obsession with Kenzo Whitlock’s existence--wasn’t healthy.
What even makes me seem more certifiable is that Kenzo’s nasty attitude toward me isn’t anything new, and at this point, I didn’t know how I truly felt about his unwarranted animosity toward me; whether I’d just become comfortable with his level of disrespect as our normal. Perhaps, over the years, I’ve fooled myself into believing that every asshole remark about my appearance, every insult of me being a dumb fuck up, and every dismissive glance were just his fucked up way of showing me affection and letting me know that he cared about me to a certain degree. When his cruel jibes cut me to the bone, I replay my mom’s words in my head, the ones she used to comfort me after my fifth birthday when Kenzo broke my doll’s head off and chunked her body into a creek: “Sometimes, boys are mean because they like you and just can’t regulate their emotions like us girls, to show us their affection kindly.” Deep down, I know this is a silly childhood notion, yet I find myself clinging to it for dear life as if her problematic advice is a single thread from a fraying rope tethering Kenzo and me together in a game of emotional tug-of-war.
But anytime I feel like throwing in the towel, Kenzo reels me back in with these sweet, sincere moments—fleeting and as rare as finding a four-leaf clover in a vast bluebonnet field—when his guard lowers, and I catch him smiling at my enjoyment of a TV show or laughs at a joke I make, his hand brushing my lower back lingering for a second too long when he passes behind me, and my heart dares to hope all over again. These moments are as confusing as they are breath-stealing and painfully addictive. Maybe all those fairy tales my dad used to read to me turned me into a foolish, hopeless romantic, and I’m reading too much into nothing at all, or I’m being naïve to allow myself to believe that there’s a little spark between us fighting to ignite that he’s refusing to allow to catch fire between us. So yeah, I stupidly stick around, riding this roller coaster of hope and heartache, because maybe just maybe, Kenzo really could be the one.
With my heart already winning over logic in a battle of love, I will probably lose. I decided to double down my efforts to gain his attention after working every day alongside Kenzo at Sundara’s Vineyard, which seems to test my resolve. Even though I’m supposed to be spending time at the vineyard to learn the ropes of the business, I’ll take over after graduating from USC. I can’t help but fall into an enchanted trance while watching Kenzo weave his spell of charm around our guests as the highly requested handsome winery tour guide to our growing groups of adoring female visitors. Like any other woman, I hang onto his every word as he explains the delicate art of winemaking like a vineyard virtuoso, my stupid heart falling even more in love with this man, listening to his deep, sexy, passion-filled voice as he discusses tannins and terroir, his beautiful jade green eyes lighting up like the California sun. However, that trance is always quickly broken by the spikes of jealousy that surge through me whenever he flashes a flirty smile at some pretty girl who openly admires him. It’s ridiculous how hard it’s becoming for me to keep my jealousy in check by telling myself it’s bad for business for me to claw out customers’ eyes over a man who treats me more often than not with nothing but brotherly annoyance or fucking worse, indifference. His treatment of me at work, like I’m just another background fixture, stings, leaving me with a gnawing feeling in my stomach and imaginary voices whispering in my ear that I’m not good enough for him.
That’s why I had to call in the big guns, Andrea Gonzalez, my hot as fuck best friend, as my secret weapon to win over Kenzo. Honestly, tackling his heart felt like trying to climb Everest in a pair of sky-high Jimmy Choos, and there was no way I could do this solo. I mean, seducing a guy? I didn’t even know where to start. But Andrea, with her endless arsenal of sex tips and dating confidence, was like having a human version of Cosmopolitan archives when it comes to how to make a man obsessed with you. I was ready to borrow every trick she had up her sleeve because if anything could make Kenzo notice me, it was Andrea’s magic touch.
How did I end up here?
My heart beats a thousand miles per minute while sprawled on my back in Kenzo’s bed, completely and utterly naked, lying in the dim light of his room, camouflaging the unflattering parts of my body, feeling both exhilarated and foolish. This entire night was supposed to be my way of shedding all the parts of me that displeased Kenzo. A way of showing him a different, better side of me, one that made him believe I am that beautiful, sexy, confident girl that he could desire. After Andrea practically spent the entire day transforming me into a sex pot and slaving over a hot stove to help me cook a delicious meal, it actually felt like our efforts weren’t wasted at dinner that night. When Kenzo sat down at the table, his gaze landing on me, for a second, it actually felt like he saw me—not as his ugly duckling annoying god-sister that he tolerated but as someone…maybe kind of hot and worthy of his attention?
His piercing jade-green stare lingered on me, him swallowing hard as he admired me in the sultry, revealing minidress that clung to my every curve. And the food at tonight’s dinner? He fucking loved it, he raved about how great it was, even going back for seconds. Everything was going better than I ever imagined until I opened my big mouth and half-jokingly, half-wistfully suggested that our living arrangement felt like we were a real married couple, to which he just laughed. His laughter stung, sharp, and clear, shattering the charm of tonight.
“Delusional,” he had snorted between bites, and that one word caused an internal dam that had been holding back my hatred toward Kenzo to break. That one word hurt like hell as if he’d tossed his glass of water into my face, a cold splash of reality on my romanticized thoughts of my happily ever after with Kenzo Whitlock. But it was his following words that shook me to my core and really pissed me the fuck off. When he described his ideal woman, he ensured to emphasize it was someone completely opposite of his perception of me, someone I’d never be able to live up to in his eyes. A woman who was not only beautiful, intelligent, athletic, and charismatic but would fulfill his every need in the bedroom without hesitation. A woman who could fuck him so good he’d never fantasize about any other woman again.
Taking Andrea’s advice to heart to be bold, defiant, and a brazen badass mixed with exhilaration and foolishness, I decided to call him on his bullshit excuses as to why we’d never work out. “How do you know I’m not that girl?” His answer was a humiliating dare, one that sent chills up my spine while causing a pool of desire to drip between my thighs: to wait for him to return from hanging out with his friends in his bed, butt-ass naked and willing to do whatever the fuck he wanted, and that this would settle all debates about what place I deserved to have in his life.
I feel a gnawing doubt chip away at me, the bile rising in my throat as the coolness of his bed sheets attempts to soothe my heated flesh, failing to calm me and make me feel less like a bundle of nerves. I mean, what the fuck am I thinking? This could backfire, blow up in my face, and go wrong in a million different ways. I should’ve backed down. I didn’t really even know why I was so determined to call him on this ridiculous bluff.
Maybe it was out of spite, or maybe because deep down, a stupid part of me wanted to believe, although I was an inexperienced virgin who practically broke out in hives when a boy tried to flirt with me, what if I could actually be that girl Kenzo wanted? As the time ticks slowly by, the adrenaline from earlier tonight begins to wane. I’m a fucking dumbass; what if this is just a way to humiliate me, and he doesn’t even return home tonight?
The sound of Kenzo’s footsteps approaching the door pulls me from my thoughts, making the decision that I was too indecisive to make. My heart hammers in my chest because the creak of the door opening signifies that I have waited too late to abort this mission. Goosebumps cover my skin from a wild mix of fear and desire that courses through my veins. Even though I was bold enough to lay sprawled out on Kenzo’s bed, I was still too chicken shit to make eye contact with him when I felt his looming presence enter the room. But, here it was, the moment of truth I’ve obsessed over, dreaded, and most importantly, dreamed about. Before turning my gaze on Kenzo, I send a silent prayer to Kamadeva that this bold move would work in my favor and Kenzo would want me back as fiercely as I’ve yearned for him for what feels like a lifetime—even if only for one night. The finality of the resounding click of the door closing seems to suck all the air out of the room when my fearful gaze lands on Kenzo, standing a few feet away from the foot of his bed, his beautiful jade green expression shifting from shock to something deeper, causing his eyes to darken to a forest green, that keeps him from masking the filthy thoughts running rampant through his mind as his eyes drink in my naked body.
Even as his eyes roam my body for a second time, he doesn’t move or speak. My entire body tenses under his scrutinizing gaze, bracing myself for his cruelty as he looks his fill, probably keeping score of every flaw on my body, about to let me know about every roll, dimple, or trace of cellulite he sees and feels offended and disgusted over making a mental checklist to let me know why I’ll never be a woman to give a man a hard on. The fear of his rejection in my most vulnerable state makes me want to run, duck, and cover up. Yet, I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me wanting him to close the distance between us since I’ve chosen to go for broke at this moment and lay my heart bare for him because I’m willing to surrender to Kenzo and fulfill his every wish by giving him all my firsts.
As he takes a tentative step towards me, his nostrils flaring, heated genuine interest turning his eyes a coal black, I can’t help but tremble, feeling more terrified than victorious at this moment because what the fuck am I doing?
“Are you on birth control? Should I be worried about any STIs?” His rational, gruff words cut through the senseless chatter of self-loathing and insecurities racing through my mind. His responsible questions concerning our health put me at ease that maybe he was the perfect guy to take my virginity.
“No to both. You,” I breathily answer in response to his question. My nipples pebble under his gaze, my mouth going dry as he chucks off his shirt, revealing his mouth-watering muscular physique.
“I get regular STI tests, and I have condoms,” he responds, stripping off his jeans before stepping closer to the edge of the bed in only his black Calvin Klein boxers. I bite my lip nervously as my gaze drops to his bulge, causing my clitoris to tingle as my pussy grows wetter in anticipation of what’s to come.
“Priya, are you a virgin,” Kenzo questions, eyeing me warily, absentmindedly stroking his growing dick through his underwear. I nervously laugh, lying through my teeth as I murmur the word no. Kenzo rubs his hands anxiously through his faux hawk, eyeing me nervously.
“Is this what you want? Are you soaking wet for my dick? Do you want me to fuck you,” Kenzo asks, his blunt words sending a shiver down my spine, causing me to rub my thighs together for some much-needed relief because, with every passing second, I become hornier and hornier, my pussy throbbing to be stuff full of his dick. I eagerly nod my head as Kenzo continues, “I need to hear the words that you want my dick inside your pussy, down your throat, my cum dripping from your ass.”
“Yes, to whatever you want. Fuck me, Kenzo,” I boldly answer, shocked by the unbashful tone of my voice. A confident voice of a vixen that sounds unbelievably desperately needy even to my own ears. Kenzo nods with a slight smirk on his beautiful lips as he yanks off his boxers, his erection springing free, causing my eyes to widen as I practically swallow my tongue.
Oh, shit, this is really happening. I feel giddy. My thighs become coated with arousal, my breathing becomes quicker and erratic, and my nipples grow painfully erect.
“Come suck my dick, Priya. Get it sloppy wet and primed for that pussy of yours,” Kenzo demands, quirking his eyebrow at my hesitation. I crawl across the bed, bringing myself to eye level with his dick. My heart beats a mile a minute in my chest as I slide my small hand to grip the velvety thickness of Kenzo’s dick. I gently stroke my hand up and down his shaft, his dick twitching in the palm of my hand as he bellows out a throaty moan. I smile to myself, gaining confidence as a simple touch from me pulls a pleasurable reaction from him. I hold the first dick I’ve ever seen in real life in my hand, taking my time to explore every ridge, vein, and inch of him as I try to bring myself to put his dick in my mouth and channel my inner Stormy Daniels, in hopes of not looking like a blundering idiot as I attempt to give a blow job so damn impressive that it’ll be worthy of an AVN award. Kenzo wraps my long, loose curls in his fist as I line his erection up with my mouth. I look at the red engorged head of his dick with a mix of curiosity and apprehension as I work up the nerve to suck dick.
Concentrating intensely, I take a cautious breath before darting my tongue out from between my lips and swirling it around the underside of his head before wrapping my lips around his manhood and sucking the tip into my mouth to sample a taste of him. I shudder from the salty taste of the precum that dribbles from his tip, loving the taste of him as I push him further into my mouth. I drag my tongue up and down the protruding veins and ridges of his dick as I inhale his cock to the back of my throat. I bob my head up and down, forming a gentle seal around his dick with my lips as I suck gently, allowing my tongue to lightly flick across the surface of him. As I pick up the speed at which I swallow his dick, I hollow my cheeks, closing my eyes to savor the flavor and the delicious experience of having Kenzo’s dick in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I let my spit slide down the side of my lips, feeling myself become more turned on by the sloppy noises echoing around the room as he moves in and out of my mouth, lubricating his dick as I grip the base of his shaft in my hand, pumping him tightly as I lick my way to his balls, sucking first one deep into my mouth and then the next one until he roars out a deep guttural groan of ecstasy.
I take my time working my way back up his dick, licking him from base to tip. As I slowly close my mouth around the head of his manhood, I savor each suck, licking him languidly, enjoying the musky taste spreading over my tongue as I gag on his dick. I peer up at his beautiful face from beneath my lashes, feeling pleased by his expression. His eyes closed, a divot forming between his furrowed brows, his beautiful full lips making an O shape, while he tightened his fist in my hair, his body language praising and begging me not to stop better than any words he could speak. I switch up the firm grip I have on his dick to position him at a more comfortable angle as I find an enjoyable cadence eliciting a muffled throaty moan from myself as I suckle his dick in a steady, rhythmic, pace that causes his dick to pulse in my mouth.
Just as I quickly get the hang of sucking dick, the second I go to pause to drag my tongue up and down his shaft, Kenzo uses this opportunity to jerk out of my grasp, mumbling that he wants to cum while he’s balls deep inside of my pussy the first time we fuck and he’ll have other opportunities to cum down my throat, this summer. His words make my aching, swollen clitoris throb as I watch him quickly walk over to his end table, grab a condom, and roll it on his rock-hard dick in a few swift, practiced motions. Eagerly, Kenzo effortlessly snatches me from my knees as he sits on the edge of the bed. He holds me above his body for a split second before slamming me down on his erection and robbing my body of breath. I go rigid, letting out a loud audible gasp as the sharp pain tears through me and his dick rips through my virginity.
Kenzo sucks on the sensitive pulse point of my neck, making me tremble as my pussy stretches to accommodate his dick, and my body grows accustomed to the feel of him inside of me. He lifts my legs into a wide V-shape, tossing my thighs over his, spreading me wide, as he moves his hands to palm and massage my breasts, rolling my overly sensitive and hard nipples between his thumbs and index fingers as I feel a rush of pleasure, causing me to moan aloud.
I yelp when Kenzo slaps my tits together before demanding through labored breaths, “Come on, Priya, bounce on my dick, ride me hard until I cum, girl.” He moves his hands down my body, firmly gripping my waist as he moves his hips, bucking into me as he pushes me down, topping from the bottom and making me keep up with his rhythm. As the pleasure replaces the pain, I tune out everything around me, focusing on how fucking good it feels to ride Kenzo’s cock. I don’t even care about looking sexy as I chase the pleasure, bouncing up and down, kegeling his dick, and rolling my hips from side to side to make sure his dick keeps hitting that sweet spot that makes me grunt in ecstasy every time his dick rubs against those sensitive nerves.
Kenzo makes my eyes roll to the back of my head when his fingers slide over my swollen clitoris, stroking it in a circular motion and pinching it until I’m bouncing on his dick harder, faster, and in a circle until my legs are shaking. I feel my entire body begin to tighten, my stomach hollows, and my pussy clamps down on Kenzo’s dick like a vice grip until I shatter into a million pieces around him, the orgasm ripping from my body in a high pitch screech that I’m shocked doesn’t break the windows.
He places one hand on the back of my neck and one on my hip, folding me in half on his lap, making him feel bigger and deeper inside of me. It’s like I can feel him in my stomach at this angle as I place one hand on the floor for support as he fucks into me hard and rough, pounding into my pussy until I’m speaking gibberish and pleading with him not to stop.
He slows his pace, yanking me back against his body, tweaking my nipple, and causing me to shiver when his tongue traces the shell of my ear. Even though I feel like I’ve run a marathon, Kenzo doesn’t even sound winded when he asks, “Who does this tight wet pussy belong to, Priya?”
He pinches my nipple tighter in a pleasurable pain that has me crying out, “You, Kenzo!” Satisfied with my response, he slaps my ass and begins rubbing my clitoris as he pounds into my pussy until I feel a second orgasm start to build at the base of my spine as he fucks me hard. My vision goes blurry, I feel light-headed, and a second heartbeat grows between the apex of my thighs as I close my eyes tightly, succumbing to my orgasm and freefalling off the precipice of pleasure into satiated bliss. I feel loose and blissed out as he slams into me erratically and hard until I feel his dick twitch as he lets out his own grunts, releasing inside of me before collapsing on his back and taking me with him as his dick slips free from my pussy. We lie in a sweaty, panting heap of limbs as we try to catch our breaths and come down from the incredible high from fucking each other’s brains out.
I turn over in Kenzo’s embrace, drinking in the beauty of his face and feeling closer and more connected to him than ever before. I’d known him my entire life, but after experiencing sex with him, it was like I was seeing him for the very first time, a more intimate and vulnerable side of him. I wrap my arms around his neck, placing my forehead against his, and as I lower my mouth to kiss him, I end up lying on my back a few feet away from him, where he pushes me off of his body and out of his embrace. I guess Kenzo isn’t much of a post-coital cuddler, or at least not with me. He quickly sits up, grabbing his discarded boxers from the ground and pulling them on before standing up to place more distance between us.
I blink back the tears, ignoring the familiar pang in my chest of Kenzo’s constant dismissal of me. I only look at him when I hear the clearing of his throat to garner my attention. He rubs the back of his neck before asking, “That was shockingly enjoyable. Your head can use a little work, but I can fix that. I’d love to continue this with you, Priya. It’s the perfect arrangement. We fuck whenever; however, we feel like it. I think this is a great way to keep us from driving each other crazy this summer. Are you cool with that?”
I give Kenzo a big smile, feeling a swarm of butterflies take flight inside me. Their delicate wings brush against my heart and send ripples of warmth through my body as excitement for things changing for the better between us takes root in my spirit. I try to downplay the hope and thrill I feel from hearing those words from Kenzo, and I say, “Yeah, whenever, however, I’m game. I told you I’m that girl for you.”
Kenzo smiles back, tenderly caressing my cheek, and says, “Well, I guess I’ll say good night to you; I’m pretty tired. I’ll see you in the morning.” His casual, fake, flirty smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which were now guarded and unreadable. I feel myself becoming furious as each brick I had spent time dismantling only moments ago, forging our connection, begins to rebuild as those familiar walls of detachment begin to go up. Every chilly word of dismissal filled with disingenuous pleasantries pierces deeper than ever before, like he carefully chose kindness as a way to emotionally distance himself from me, to prevent any unwanted feelings from arising after fucking me.
As I leave his room, I give him a small, pained, fake smile. The excitement and nerves I had felt before now have twisted into a knot of confusion and regret in the pit of my stomach, making me feel physically ill. Am I just that naive, or isn’t sex supposed to bring people closer together? If that were true, why did I feel the chasm between Kenzo and me had only grown wider and more insurmountable? Walking down the hall to my room, I feel like I am a character in the movie Inception, kicked out of a dream world that involved post-sex cuddling and talking into a limbo harsher and colder than reality, a completely different, sadder, and pathetic alternate version of how I envisioned what came after losing my virginity.
And now I can't stop asking myself, was calling his bluff the biggest mistake of my life? A mistake that wasn’t going to be a step toward something real happening between us but just a deeper descent into heartache for me.
After allowing Kenzo to fuck me senseless, sleep doesn’t come easy for me that night. I spend most of the night tossing and turning, tangled in my sheets, my mind racing with restless thoughts that the sandman and not even an Ambien can sedate as I attempt to decode every mixed signal and confusing what-if scenario with Kenzo that plays out like some dramatic movie scene in my head. Finally, when dawn approaches, my mind begins to quiet as I spy a glimmer of sunlight seeping through the crack of my curtains. I drift in and out of sleep, and a warm, tingling, intoxicating sensation washes over me, leaving me almost sure that I’m still lost in a dream because everything feels so damn vivid.
Falling deeper into slumber, I fade in and out of consciousness. Fingers gently skim across the hem of the oversized nightshirt that slips easily from my body. The heat of warm breath tickles the fine hairs at the nape of my neck, and soft, gentle kisses trail from my neck to the base of my spine, sending shivers through me. I softly gasp, the dream blurring the line between what’s real and what’s fantasy, when I feel the trickle of a cool, slippery substance sliding between the crevice of my ass cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth of the earlier phantom kisses. A sharp, searing pain shoots through my body, stealing my breath away, followed by a jolt of discomfort that makes every single one of my muscles tense instinctively. I scream loudly, my eyes opening wide as the reality of the shocking moment dawns on me with a mixture of conflicting emotions—this is no fucking dream.
Kenzo is here with me, in my bed. The heavy weight of his body presses me into the firmness of my mattress, his erection buried balls deep in my asshole, sending every nerve ending between my butt cheeks on high alert. The pressure of a dick in my ass for the first time without any warning, I might add, is overwhelming, a burning stretch that makes my heart race and my mind reel. I try to focus on deep diaphragmatic breathing to relax, but the intensity of the pain is all-consuming, leaving me trembling and desperate for it to subside. Kenzo kisses my neck, unmoving, his forearms keeping some of his weight off my back.
When I finally find my voice, I ground out, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Fucking this tiny tight sweet asshole of yours while you sleep. Do you want me to stop? If so, I will. You’ll just be proving to me that you’re not capable of being the woman of my dreams, and I’ll go back to ignoring your existence and pretend we never even fucked,” his deep voice rasps against my ear as he slowly withdraws his dick from my ass only leaving in the tip as he awaits for my response.
I’m caught in a whirlwind of desperation and dread. I want Kenzo to continue to fuck me; I actually ache with need at this moment as my pussy throbs, drenching with arousal from Kenzo’s closeness as he lays on top of me, his dick teasing the tight rosebud of my asshole. Yet, I had to stop to ask myself, after only just losing my virginity last night, could I handle a dick up my ass? After the initial shock to my system of having his dick in such a taboo place of my body, I did feel a tingle of pleasure in my clitoris from the delicious fullness of his dick inside me different, but not an unenjoyable comparison to how it felt pounding my pussy. Even though I didn’t want to be invisible to him anymore, I also knew a wild part of me craved the forbidden, and I found myself whispering, almost breathlessly, “Don’t stop.”
“Don’t stop, what? Tell me what you want me to do to you, Priya,” Kenzo whispers, dragging a moan from my throat as he nibbles on the lobe of my ear. He slowly pushes a few inches back into my asshole, making my back arch as he sets me ablaze from the sexy feeling of every ridge of his dick dragging across one of the most sensitive parts of me.
“Fuck me in the ass, Kenz. I don’t want you to stop until you fill my ass full of your cum,” I plead, my breath catching in my throat as he surges back into me until his pelvis hits my ass cheeks. He stays positioned as if he were about to perform a pushup, softly rolling his hips into my ass, his thrust slow and gentle, his breathing heavy. Initially, with every stroke of his dick in my ass, there’s an uncomfortable pressure and intense stretching sensation. As I become adjusted to the foreign feeling, the sharp discomfort ebbs, giving way to an erotic feeling that transforms into a deep, pulsating pleasure that spreads through me in waves, that makes my nipples harden and my clitoris quiver. Unexpectedly, with every buck of his hips, I feel my arousal heighten; I begin bouncing my ass back, craving, no, needing more, meeting him thrust for thrust as he fucks me up the ass.
Kenzo gradually picks up his pace, and the rhythm in which he fucks me grows harder and faster, causing me to grunt and thrash my head from side to side as I’m overcome with intense euphoria. He’s fucking me so good, even better than last night. I twist my hands into the top sheet, biting my pillow, feeling absolutely feral, as he slaps my ass, his sharp teeth biting down into my shoulder. Just when I think the sex couldn’t get any better, he flips me from my stomach to my side, hiking up my leg, changing the angle at which he fucks me, taking shallower and quicker thrusts as he drags his dick in and out of my ass.
“Play with that pretty pussy of yours, baby. Rub your clit for me,” Kenzo instructs. ‘Baby’. My heart melts at the word baby. I’d follow this man to the end of the earth to hear him call me that sweet endearment again and again. Obeying Kenzo’s wishes, I trail my fingers down my stomach, shivering from the featherlight touch against my mound, until my fingers connect with my swollen, overly sensitive clitoris, and begin to touch myself in slow, deliberate circles, swirling my wetness around it, pinching and stroking myself, until I’m gasping for breath. The combination of Kenzo’s dick rhythmically sliding in and out of my ass coupled with the delicate pressure of my fingers between my thighs, a jolt of pleasure spreads through me.
With every touch, every slap of his hips against my ass, a blissful intensity builds inside of me. I teeter on the peak of pleasure as I pick up the speed at which I stroke my clit to match the tempo of Kenzo’s hips. My orgasm builds inside of me like a slow, steady climb up a rollercoaster, each sensation more intense than the last. My breath becomes erratic, breathy huffs, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat: my body tenses, every muscle coiling tighter and tighter until I can't hold back any longer. My ecstasy crashes over me like a powerful wave, a powerful surge of pleasure that sweeps me away in its embrace. Fireworks explode behind my eyelids, a kaleidoscope of colors as I scream out the words, “Oh God” and “Fuck me.”
I clench my ass cheeks, causing Kenzo’s breaths to become ragged, mingling with his soft moans and gasps of bliss, his dick pulsating as he quickens his movements. With each and every final thrust, Kenzo’s voice grows louder, the sounds of his pleasure echoing through the room. Once Kenzo hits his climax, a raw, primal, guttural cry escapes him as I feel a sudden rush of warmth spill inside my ass after a deep throbbing, twitching sensation of his dick, his cum filling me up, sending a shiver of unexpected pleasure through my entire body from the growing intensity of the connection and vulnerability between us.
As the high from our orgasms begins to fade, a familiar tension seizes my body, causing me to stiffen uncontrollably, haunted by the fear of last night's rejection echoing in my mind. But instead of Kenzo’s cool detachment making an appearance to freeze me out, Kenzo’s arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, enveloping me in a comforting warmth that contradicts my fears. Absentmindedly, his fingers trace soothing patterns along my side, his big hand cupping my breast, his lips tenderly kissing my cheek.
“You know, Priya, sex with you gets better and better. That’s the first time I’ve ever done anal, and I loved it…at least with you. Thanks, Priya,” he whispers close to my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. The soft sincerity of his voice, mixed with vulnerability, catches me off guard, softening something inside me. “Last night and this morning…it really helped me. I needed this more than you know, especially with all the crap with my shitty dad, losing everything that meant anything to me in the fire, the only home I ever knew burning down; I guess I needed your comfort.”
The warmth of his gratitude flows through his words and melts away my reservations, as much as his thank-you fills me with a surge of hope and desire to support him. Turning in his embrace to face him, I snuggle closer, finding the courage to speak my own truth: "Kenzo, I get it. Just know that I’ll always be here for you, just like you were there for me when my… when he…when my dad passed. I'll never forget how you supported me, holding me at the Antim Ardas while I cried, kissing me, kissing my tears away—I won't ever forget that." Kenzo could be my cruelest critic, but in some instances, he’d been a balm to my soul, soothing my greatest pain, and I wanted to offer him the same comfort.
Kenzo plants a soft kiss on my forehead, making my heart skip a beat. His beautiful green eyes meet my gaze, and for the first time, I feel like he really looks at me and sees me as a girl he could possibly love, or at least someone who can be his closest confidant and ally. A broad smile spread across his face, his eyes shining with relief and something tender I’d never seen reflected in his eyes anytime he’d looked at me before now. He lets out a nervous, sexy laugh.
“I guess we do have something in common, Priya. We’ve both been fucked up by trauma, huh? We both have today off, right? How about we spend our time off together? Just chill and forget about all the messed up shit for a bit?” His voice holds a hopeful note, one that speaks volumes so loud of his pain and brokenness, a scream in the silence of the bedroom that’s deafening. My heart aches for this beautiful, broken man.
I give him a small, shy smile. His suggestion of actually wanting to spend time with me, not out of obligation but because he genuinely wants to be around me, warms my soul, making me feel all gooey on the inside. “I’d love that,” I respond. The possibility of a day spent just with him sparks a flutter of excitement in my chest. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s get some breakfast first. You help me work up an appetite. Whoo, I’m starving, girl,” Kenzo chuckles lightheartedly, his thumb caressing the erect peak of my nipple, sending a zing straight to my clitoris, causing me to rub my thighs together, aching for a second round, only this time I wanted his dick stroking that sweet spot inside my pussy that makes me lose my mind. I feel a sense of disappointment when he releases me from his hold, rolling out of bed and throwing on a pair of discarded boxers. “Then, let’s take a drive down to the beach and have a lazy day, just hanging out.”
Nodding enthusiastically, I hop out of bed, tossing my discarded nightshirt over my head, excited about our plans. Even though they were so simple and so normal, I felt as if this was the start of something between us, the promise of something deeper blossoming between us. I smile to myself as I trail behind Kenzo to the kitchen, daring to allow that hope that he’d snuffed out of me last night to resurface because maybe, just maybe, after the years of him putting me through the wringer, giving me mixed signals then crushing my dreams of us being together, leaving a wake of devastation and a trail of disappointments, he was finally giving into his love for me and we could finally move towards something real.
Tonight was supposed to be fucking epic.
An amazing happily ever after to a summer that had unraveled from a hot mess express to an Oscar-worthy ending where I snagged the hottie of my dreams. Kenzo had become a staple in the excitement of my summer. Every cool summer night since the night I’d lost my virginity to him was spent fucking like rabbits, our sweaty bodies tangled in the damp sheets as he fucked me within an inch of my life. Kenzo couldn’t keep his hands off me, and I loved every second of it. During our shifts at Sundara’s, while we were supposed to be working, more often than not, we ended up sneaking away for the hottest, raunchiest hookups. The thrill of possibly getting caught was an added bonus of excitement to our midday trysts. My days off should have been a total snoozefest, but the time spent with Kenzo had made every day a blissful adventure with picnics in the vineyard, bike rides with the wind whipping through our hair, and my favorite days were playing hide and seek in the scorching summer sun, where we both managed to win a prize of passionate hot sex that left me delirious, burning with a fever that had nothing to do with the record temperatures outside.
After the way this summer unexpectedly played out for me, I knew I couldn’t have imagined a summer without Kenzo. Hence, I dreaded the best summer of my life coming to an end until Kenzo filled me with excitement by inviting me to the biggest party of the year—the end-of-summer bash at Desert Cove Beach. I spent hours getting dressed, wanting to look my sexiest, worthy of being the girl on Kenzo’s arm because I knew this was more than an invitation; he’d be taking me around his friends to announce our relationship to the world as official.
The night was warm, with the perfect beach breeze keeping it from becoming too hot. The music blared loud with Meg thee Stallion as drunk partygoers twerked and dry-humped each other in the sand, and everything felt so right…until it didn't.
While grabbing some trashcan punch, my entire world had been flipped upside down when I heard him-Kenzo laughing with his Palm Springs High best friends, and the words he spoke froze me in my tracks, obliterating my hard-won happiness. “Delusional,” he called me, apparently his favorite descriptor for me. But he didn’t stop there. Adding insult to injury, he made it clear we weren’t dating, that I was just his mom’s best friend’s daughter with some annoying silly crush on him. It felt like a sucker punch to the face, hearing him dismiss me like that as if I were a nobody that his friends need not concern themselves with, like all those memories we’d made this summer, those moments we shared, meant not a damn thing to him.
For the rest of the party, I tried to pretend at least to have a good time with Andrea, but the public humiliation of his words wouldn’t stop ringing in my ears. And against my better judgment, I went to find him, and what I found shattered my heart to pieces. In the dark shadows of the Moonlight Dunes, I saw Kenzo with his shorts around his ankles and that bitch who hated me from the winery with her lips wrapped around his dick, hoovering it like a champion dick sucker. The sight was a physical blow, knocking the wind out of my lungs. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Kenzo spotted me and winked at me, his lips curving into a devastating smirk that I’d grown to love now made my stomach churn violently. The next thing I knew, he blew a kiss my way—breaking something inside of me that I think will be forever irreparable. His actions provided me with the undeniable truth that he more than likely got off from my heartbreak, like an enjoyable sadistic kink, relishing in the spectacle of my undoing.
I fled, the sound of my own choking sobs and the soft, shushing, crunching sounds of the shifting grains of sand underfoot chasing me as I made my escape. Everything blurring into a haze of distorted shapes and colors, cold sweat drenching my skin, unable to focus or ground myself until I stumble onto the back porch of my home, my heart pounding in my ears, as hot tears that won’t stop streak black mascara down my cheeks. The rows of grapevines stretched out under the night sky, silent witnesses to the turmoil inside me. I crumple in a sobbing mess against the wooden railing of the porch, the cool night air doing nothing to end the torment of the panic attack that consumes me.
I rub roughly at the tears falling from my eyes, feeling like a fool---the silly girl Kenzo deemed me as just caught up in a fantasy world. Maybe it had all been in my head. The laughter we shared, all the times he fucked me hard, leaving me sore and wanting more, and his friendliness were all a ploy to keep me being a convenient warm body for him. He probably had just played a long con with me to pass the time during the long summer days.
I mean, how could I have gotten it all so wrong?
I wrap my arms around myself protectively, shivering as the cruel reality settles into my bones like an unwelcome chill, and allow heavy body-wracking sobs to escape from me.
The soft clatter of the screen door opening startles me from my tearful trance as the porch light flickers on, illuminating my once pitch-black hideaway. I hastily wipe my cheeks as Auntie Miako steps out onto the porch, the warm light spilling around her like a halo in the night. Her face, initially lit with the residual joy of the exciting reprieve she experienced on a fun getaway, morphs into concern as her eyes find mine, bloodshot, puffy, and swollen from crying.
"Priya, honey, is everything okay?" she asks, her voice laced with worry.
I manage a shaky nod, forcing myself to stand on wobbly legs that feel like Jello as I attempt to dust gritty sand from my romper. "You scared me. I just... I wasn’t expecting you and Mom back until tomorrow," I stammer, her sudden appearance catching me off guard in what feels like one of my lowest moments in life. Performing a silly dance, Auntie Miako holds up a bottle of wine and waves a large wine glass in the air with a big shit-eating grin on her beautiful face.
“I guess, surprise! Our last excursion ended early, and your overprotective mom was ready to get back home to you and make sure you all hadn’t destroyed the house with an end-of-the-summer rager. I slept mostly on the plane and couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I thought I’d enjoy the nice night. Join me?" She waves the wine suggestively, adding with a conspiratorial wink, "You can only have a glass if you promise not to tell your mother I let you drink.” Auntie Miako walks over to the outdoor bar, snagging a second wine glass from the shelf.
Despite the heaviness in my heart, a laugh escapes me. The absurdity of the moment temporarily lightens the load of my mental anguish. Moments like this remind me of why I love my godmother so much. "It’s a deal," I reply, following her to the plush outdoor sofa. She pours us each a glass, the rich aroma of the exquisite wine's fruity black cherry notes mingling with the fresh, earthy scent of the night air.
We settle into the cushions, and the comfort of her motherly presence helps slightly ease the tension of such a shitty night. I take a large sip of my glass, letting the tart sweetness of the red wine calm my nerves, as my Auntie Miako studies me with her perceptive eagle eyes. After a brief moment of silence filled with the hum of the cicadas as background noise, with the keen wisdom that only someone who’s known you your entire life can have, Auntie Miako cuts to the heart of the matter.
"It’s my fuckboy son that you’ve loved forever that has you hiding out here and crying under the beautiful stars?" she asks, half-joking but with a sharp edge of seriousness. I nearly choke on my next sip, hearing the word ‘fuckboy’ fly from my godmother’s mouth. Her question breaks the fragile dam that is holding back my emotions as I start to laugh through my tears. Before I knew it, the words were spilling out of me.
As I pour out every painful detail of my summer with Kenzo, Auntie Miako listens patiently, her face reflecting my own heartbreak. When I finally stop, she sighs deeply, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and regret. Auntie Miako can’t meet my gaze, choosing to stare into her wine glass, swirling the deep crimson liquid as if it held answers or some unfound wisdom.
"It's heartbreaking to hear how horrible Kenzo has treated you," she begins, her voice heavy with emotion. “As a mom, knowing I taught my boys to be kind, loving gentlemen, it’s devastating to hear how badly Kenzo lacks respect for women. It hurts me to my core to know he’s nonchalantly causing others so much pain. I feel partly responsible because I stayed in my marriage too long. Kenzo had a front-row seat to see how terrible his father was to me with all his cheating. I wish I could have shielded him from that, but it seems Kenzo is more like his father than I ever imagined."
I rub her arm, offering comfort, hating to see her look sorrowful, tears still streaming down my face. "It's hard to understand why, no matter how hard I try, Kenzo simply hates me, only wanting to ever hurt me."
Auntie Miako lets out a heavy sigh, her thumb swiping across my cheek to wipe away a tear, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. "You know, when your mom and I found out we were pregnant around the same time, we were so excited. We dreamed of having daughters who would be best friends just like us. I was even more thrilled when I found out I was having a boy. I imagined you and Kenzo might end up together, making us family by marriage."
I manage a small, watery smile despite the ache in my chest. "Life has a funny way of turning out, doesn’t it?"
Auntie Miako nods, her eyes glistening. “I’m not making excuses for his behavior. I know he wears this aloof mask like he’s perfect and invincible, but he’s been dealt quite a few blows this past year and is a hot mess. Sometimes, when people are caught up in their own pain, they don’t realize the harm they’re causing until it’s too late, and he may, unfortunately, be one of them. But from experience, Priya, you deserve so much better than Kenzo. The one for you won’t make you cry or feel like you’re constantly proving your worth or auditioning for his love. He’ll make you happy without all the games and heartache."
Her words were a balm to my wounded heart, but the pain of Kenzo’s actions still lingers, having left my self-esteem in tatters. "Do you really think a disappointment like me will find someone like that? Someone amazing?"
She smiles warmly, squeezing my shoulder in a side hug. "Absolutely. I love Kenzo, but I love you too. So, as your favorite auntie, wanting to give you the best boy advice. Forget about my asshole son, who clearly has relationship aspirations to be a fuck boy until the day he dies. When you get to USC, I promise you’ll meet so many new people. Someone incredible is out there for you, someone who will appreciate you for the amazing, beautiful, kindhearted woman you are."
Her humorous words, heartfelt and raw, stir something deep within me. "Auntie, it's hard. I've felt something for Kenzo for so long... but maybe you're right. Maybe it's time to let go," I begrudgingly admit, the confession tasting bitter on my tongue while I fight to come to terms with the devastating truth I’d been dead set on denying.
We polish off the bottle of wine in companionable silence, the night wrapping around us like a comforting security blanket. As she stands to leave, Auntie Miako kisses my forehead. "I’ll clean up. You take your time out here, okay? Sometimes, a little solitude can help you find clarity."
"Thanks, Auntie," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "For everything."
“Of course, love,” Auntie Miako whispers, squeezing my hand. "And remember, you’re never alone, no matter how dark it gets. I’m here, always."
As she walks inside, I sit back on the patio sofa, the cool air soothing my flushed, tear-streaked face. Still lost in my thoughts. Deep down, I knew I didn’t deserve Kenzo’s cruelty. I knew I deserved better, even if my heart wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
But would it ever be able to let go?
Could I really move on from my first love? After creating an ideal world with Kenzo as my leading man, could I envision a reality where I’d be happy in life without him?
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