#ch: kevin sheehan

[motownfiction]

the body

She can pretend all she wants, but Steph knows that the body sleeping next to her in bed this morning is the wrong one.

How did it even happen? She was never into Kevin Sheehan when they were in high school. Sure, she liked him fine, but that was the end of it. He was a slightly funny ginger kid who tried too hard to gain the other guys’ respect, so he never quite got it. When she found out Vicky St. John had been cheating on Nick Crosby with Kevin for most of eleventh grade and all of twelfth, Steph was a little impressed. Nothing beyond that. They had no connection outside civility. Polite laughs and nods in the hallway if one of them was in the other’s way.

And then, all of a sudden, Kevin is all in Steph’s way. On purpose. Because she wanted him to be.

As it turns out, he has some friend over here at Central. Somebody he knew from some camp or another, before the other guy moved away. He and Steph ran into each other, and they clung to each other at the bar all night long. Familiarity breeds … whatever last night was. They talked about how classes were going, what they were planning to major in, how happy they were to be out on their own, living by their own rules. Kevin shoved a handful of fried pickles in his mouth and said that was the beauty of it. If he wanted nothing but fried pickles and illicit beer for dinner, that’s what he would have. Steph said she was partial to late-night ice cream in the dining hall, and Kevin asked if she could show him. She started with vanilla, but she didn’t end there.

He stirs a little, and Steph prays he doesn’t wake up. She doesn’t want to talk to him because she’s worried she’ll start talking about all the wrong people again. Sam and Jill and everyone who makes her feel like things could be OK. Kevin deserves better than that. He’s not the right guy for Steph, but he deserves someone who wants him here for more than a night. Steph doesn’t have to know him well to know he’s a relationship guy, just like she’s a relationship girl.

That’s why it hurts to look at Jill, who wants to keep her options open.

Steph hears the door open, and she jumps out of her skin – embarrassing, seeing that’s all she’s wearing. Jill walks in, wearing last night’s clothes, and Steph wants to die.

Jill looks her up and down.

“Looks like you had fun,” she says. “I did, too.”

She kicks off her shoes, pulls off her sheer tights, and rolls into bed. Somehow, Kevin Sheehan sleeps like a brick through all of this.

Steph lies down and closes her eyes as tightly as she can.

Maybe she’s the wrong body in this room.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 18!)

[motownfiction]

7-eleven

Sam doesn’t like wine. Even the sweet ones are bitter on his tongue. He remembers his first sip: April 13, 1975, at his First Communion in St. Catherine’s Church. He’s not sure he believes the priest turned the wine into blood, but he is sure that it tastes like torture. Since then, he’s done his best to avoid wine. Instead, he’s become a sommelier of Slurpees.

It all started last summer, a few days after his high school graduation, when he picked up a part-time job at the 7-Eleven around the block from his parents’ house. He’s been loyal to the Slurpee all his life, which hasn’t changed, except he has a different relationship with it now. A terse understanding. A respect. Things change when you ring up a hundred in a day.

This is the third summer Sam has worked at 7-Eleven. By now, he’s got a mood for every flavor. He says it’s like that scene from White Christmas where Bing Crosby tells Rosemary Clooney how every sandwich reminds him of a different kind of girl, but none of his coworkers have seen White Christmas. Then he says it’s just as well – not such a good idea to compare girls to the lunch menu. They look at him even more strangely then.

But still, he thinks, every Slurpee ought to have a mood. Coca-Cola is a drive home from your tedious 9-5 job, reaching into the cupholder, maybe muttering “9 to 5” under your breath. Maybe you switch the station to find something like “Everybody’s Talkin’” because you’d rather think about Midnight Cowboy than pencil-pushing for another day. Coca-Cola is an escape.

Sam thinks cherry’s different. Cherry’s a Saturday afternoon on a joyride in June. You stop in to cool down with air conditioning and childhood nostalgia. Nothing like a bright red tongue to get you there. Cherry is “Glory Days” and “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” Sam drank cherry last week before he kissed Sadie’s friend James for the first time (and after the second time he kissed him, too). Cherry is an adventure.

But Sam thinks orange is the most remarkable. Not because it tastes the best. To him, orange is a long day that ends in desperation. You’ll take anything because you’re afraid of having nothing. And then somebody comes along who loves the thing that you hate, and you think you balance each other out. You think. Orange is “Careless Whisper” and “Don’t Dream It’s Over.” Sam always bought orange Slurpees for Steph when they were in love. Orange is heartbreak yet to come.

He heard from Kevin that Steph isn’t coming home this summer. She’s staying in Mount Pleasant to work as a bartender. She might have to get real acquainted with wine. At least, that’s what Sam says to stop himself from missing her.

He bites on the straw of his orange Slurpee and waits for his shift to end.

(prompt from @nosebleedclub june challenge -- day 10! i know it’s the 16, but this prompt was too “me” to pass up!)

[motownfiction]

maybe i do like you -- a lot

Like most Saturday nights in high school, Lola DeLuca spends the night at Katie Sheehan’s house. That’s just the way it goes, even now that they’ve been graduated for about six weeks. They’re trying to fit in as much time together as they can before college starts in the fall. Lola’s staying home to go to Michigan, like Daniel, but Katie’s getting out. She’s going to Central. When she announced her plans, Lola gave her a hard time about them (about why she’d go to Central when she had an elite school in her backyard), but Katie said she wanted to be adventurous. Like Kevin.

Oh, Kevin.

Rather than stay home, Kevin moved away after high school, too. He went to Michigan State, which is only far if you want to whine and complain about picking him up. It’s close enough so that he visits when he has the time (AKA when he wants to do his laundry without paying to use the machines). And one night, in the summer before Lola starts her freshman year of college, Kevin comes home to do just that.

It’s after midnight, and Katie fell asleep about an hour ago. The girls were in the middle of watching Top Gun, which Katie always gets really bored with. Once the movie is over, Lola rewinds the tape and puts it back in the case, ready to return to the video store in the morning. She makes her way down to the kitchen. Mrs. Sheehan’s asleep by now, but she’s always allowed Lola to roam the kitchen of her own accord. 

Lola makes better food than I do, she always says. 

Lola doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s pretty much true. She giggles thinking about that time she made lasagna, and Kevin ate half the dish. It was a little silly and normal, but then, so are crushes.

She opens the fridge and finds leftover ravioli, which she made two nights ago when she was here for dinner. No use in letting it go bad. She pops the bowl in the microwave and watches it spin around. She sighs. She wishes her mother would get a microwave, but she’s convinced the rays ruin the taste of the food. Lola almost doesn’t care. She’s eighteen, and she doesn’t have all day to stand over the stove.

She hears someone’s footsteps coming into the kitchen, which makes her jump. When she sees Kevin standing there, her heart doesn’t calm down. She forgot he was home tonight. She exhales his name.

“Kevin,” Lola says. “I thought … you scared me!”

“I could say the same thing to you,” Kevin says. “You’re making dinner after midnight. In my kitchen.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure what to do. So I decided to eat. I made the food, anyway.”

“What is it?”

The microwave beeps, and Lola pulls the bowl out. She tips it toward Kevin and watches as the steam flies high in the air.

“Ravioli,” she says. “You want some?”

Kevin laughs.

“You sure there’s enough in there?” he asks.

“I’ll make it enough.”

Kevin grins and grabs a fork from the silverware drawer. He and Lola sit at the kitchen table, trading stories about what the last school year was like. Lola laments not being on the homecoming or prom courts. Kevin laments that he was crowned prom king two years earlier.

“Why would you feel sorry about that?” Lola asks. “I thought it was really cool.”

“It’s really cool if you’re the kind of guy who wants to be remembered for it,” Kevin says. “I don’t want to be remembered for wearing a plastic crown.”

“But don’t you think they voted for you for other reasons?”

“Yeah. They voted for Daniel at homecoming, and I was left.”

“It’s not that. It’s … look, everyone thought you were hilarious. And smart. And nice.”

Kevin laughs and takes a bite of the ravioli.

“I dunno,” he says. “I’m pretty sure that was just you.”

“It wasn’t. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have made you prom king, and I wouldn’t have thought that was the coolest thing ever. Of course, maybe if you hadn’t been prom king, I wouldn’t have assumed I had no chance with you. But …”

“Who said you had no chance with me?”

Lola’s heart skips a beat. For a split second, she wonders if she’s asleep on the floor in Katie’s room, but then, she feels the warmth of the ravioli bowl in the palm of her hand. It’s too real. The heat.

“I …” she starts, but Kevin cuts her off. He hasn’t even been drinking.

“Look, Lola, I’m not stupid,” he says. “I know you had a crush on me. I think … I dunno, sometimes I think you still might, in a way. But maybe I’m wrong. I’m wrong a lot. But I … I didn’t know you thought I couldn’t like you, too.”

“What was I supposed to think?” Lola asks. “You were two years older than me. You still are. It’s just that I’m not sure how much it matters. You know. In theory.”

“Forget about ‘in theory.’ Maybe … maybe I do like you – a lot.”

The words sound like a dream.

Seconds later, the kiss feels like one.

[motownfiction]

a bouquet of marigolds for your first love

Sam goes to the flower market and picks up a bouquet of marigolds. Now that he’s made this one stop, he’s not turning back around. He’s not pulling over for anything. If he has to pee, he’ll just hold it. His breakfast will tide him over. He can’t stop now. He has to make it all the way to Mount Pleasant. He has to make it all the way to see Steph.

It’s the summer of ‘87, right after Steph’s sophomore year (and Sam’s completion of an associate’s degree, but who really cares about that?). Her mother says she doesn’t think Steph will be home much this summer. She’s working at a little restaurant in town with a couple of her friends, and it seems to be treating her well. Sam’s happy for her. Really, he is. He just doesn’t want to go a full summer without seeing her. And somehow, somewhere inside of himself, he knows she doesn’t want to go a full summer without seeing him, either.

He parks the car in front of the restaurant where Steph is working and picks up the bouquet of marigolds from the passenger seat. They’re her favorite flower – have been since she was a little girl who herself as a marigold for a self-portrait in school. She’s always been such an artist. Maybe that’s why Sam can’t seem to stop being in love with her, even after giving her up. He looks at himself in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car. As good as it gets. It’s time.

When he walks into the restaurant, it doesn’t take him long to see Steph. She’s in the back with the jukebox, combing through the selections until she finds one she likes. Eventually, she settles on Prince singing “Kiss,” which makes Sam smile. Steph’s taste in music gets better and better everyday. At least, it did when they saw each other everyday … when they didn’t have to act like they weren’t in love.

Sam thinks about walking up to her and asking for a kiss when Prince does. He thinks about giving her the marigolds and telling her what an asshole he’s been since they broke up; what a fool. He thinks about it. But it’s just like Sam to think and not act. It’s just like Sam to dream and not to do. Even when he goes through with things, he’s never fast enough. Somebody else is always quicker on the draw.

This time, it’s Kevin Sheehan.

Of all people in the world, Kevin fucking Sheehan. He doesn’t go to Central. He doesn’t even live in Mount Pleasant. He just happens to be wherever the next great college party is. And apparently, tonight, the great college party is Steph. When Kevin wraps his arm around her, Sam’s pretty sure it’s all over for him tonight. When Steph presses up in her shoes to kiss him, Sam knows he doesn’t have a prayer.

He thinks about letting the bouquet of marigolds fall to the ground.

But he takes them with him when he goes.

If he dropped them, Steph would see them. And somehow, even without a real clue, she would know they were from Sam. She would know he’d been there. She would know he was looking for her.

He’s not sure he can handle that right now.

He’s not sure he can handle it ever.

[motownfiction]

we have to hurry

The Armstrongs come back for dinner the following Christmas. This time, Kevin didn’t invite them. Mom did. As luck – is it luck? – would have it, she and Susie became fast friends over last year’s Christmas ham. Now, it’s like it only makes sense that the Armstrongs would join the Sheehans once again.

Katie is working double overtime to conceal her excitement.

Thankfully, it’s pretty easy. If there’s one thing Katie is good at, it’s running long distances. But if there are two things Katie is good at, they’re running long distances and keeping her cool. That’s why nobody ever knew she had a crush on Lizzy Blossom all throughout senior year. That’s why nobody ever knew how she felt like she was dying when Harley Sullivan proposed to Lizzy Blossom on the day after graduation back in June (and why nobody ever knew how thrilled Katie was to hear they broke up seven weeks later). If you told anybody at St. Catherine’s that Katie Sheehan was a lesbian the whole time she was there, their jaws would hit the floor. Katie made damn sure of it.

So what if she spent two years of her high school career hopelessly in love with Steph Armstrong? So what if she’s finally in college at the same school as Steph and attending real parties there? So what if she’s gotten to know Steph really well? So what if the last three parties have ended with Steph kissing Katie like they’re in Casablanca – with Katie gazing up at Steph’s ceiling? So what about any of it?

At least, that’s what she has to tell herself.

On the inside, she is dancing like she’s never danced before.

When Steph and her mother walk through the Sheehans’ door early in the evening on Christmas, she and Katie immediately lock eyes. Katie thinks she could either sink through the wooden floors or fly through the roof. Steph is more and more beautiful each day. Today, she wears a houndstooth blouse and a short black skirt, like a teacher, but decidedly edgier. Katie can’t stop staring at her. She’s beautiful. She’s beautiful, and Katie’s spending another year in an oversized ugly sweater.

But when Steph tells Katie she likes the sweater, somehow, Katie knows she means it.

Mom asks Katie and Steph to go down into the cellar and bring up some wine and some Cokes for the under-twenty-one crowd. Kevin, who won’t be twenty-one until June, tries to round up his age another few months. Mom says that’s why she put the girls on beverages.

“Yeah, but remember last year, when they ended up under the mistletoe?” Kevin asks, laughing a little too hard for Katie’s taste. “What if it happens again?”

Katie shoots Kevin a look. He’s the only person in their family (extended or otherwise) who knows she’s a lesbian. He’s the only person who knows she’s been hooking up with Steph (except for Steph herself). If he makes the wrong move – says the wrong thing – it could all be over. Luckily, with one stare, he shapes up. Katie exhales. Kevin’s done a lot of growing up since all those classes he had to repeat.

Steph follows Katie into the cellar downstairs. As Katie looks through the wine for something she thinks her mother would like, Steph makes small talk – much smaller than Katie expected from somebody she makes out with at least once every week.

“I can’t believe your family is rich enough to have a cellar,” she says, running her fingers along the selection of pop cans.

“Yeah, well, I guess we are,” Katie says. “That’s what happens when your dad leaves behind a small fortune, and your mom sticks around to make it bigger.”

“I guess so.”

Katie digs her heel into the ground and looks at Steph with stubborn eyes.

“Look, I don’t want to push you,” she says. “Especially because you’ve made it clear that when it comes to you and me, you’re the pusher.”

Steph turns bright red.

“I … what?” she asks.

“Don’t be that way. You’re being weird around me. It’s Christmas, you’re in my house, and you’re being weird around me.”

Steph sighs nervously.

“Well, I guess,” she says. “But can you really blame me? Our mothers are here. I don’t want my mother to know I’m sleeping with anyone. Last year, when she found out I slept with your brother, she made fun of me for two weeks.”

“That’s different.”

“Why is that different?”

“My brother is a pitiful choice.”

Steph smiles. Katie feels her heart break, just a little, in the corner. If she could scoop Steph up now and kiss her like she would anywhere else … if she could, if she could.

“I’m serious, though,” Katie says. “I know … I know it’s not gonna be like it was for you and … well, you know.”

Steph nods. They don’t talk about Sam, but he’s always there, lingering in the background like some Rob Lowe-looking ghost Katie will never be able to compete with.

“But it doesn’t have to be weird, either,” she adds. “It doesn’t have to be … look, I like you. And I’m pretty sure you like me.”

“I do,” Steph says, and Katie knows she means it. She can feel it.

“Yeah, I know. So, can’t that be enough? Can’t we just … like each other? Even in my house on Christmas?”

Steph grins with all her teeth. Katie’s heart mends and breaks all at once. She didn’t even know that was possible. Then again, she didn’t think Steph Armstrong was possible, either. But here they are. Here they’ll stay. Maybe.

“We have to hurry,” Steph says.

Katie wrinkles her nose.

“Hurry?” she asks. “Hurry wha–?”

But she doesn’t have time to eke out that last syllable. Before she knows it, Steph’s arms are around her, and she’s kissing her like Casablanca. Katie feels herself blush in the middle of it. Even though Steph says they have to hurry, there’s no sign of her stopping. Katie giggles in the midst of the kiss, but Steph still holds on tight.

Now Katie knows why they call her Armstrong.

[motownfiction]

very quick supporting character guide

instead of working on my conference paper (or in between getting stuck on my conference paper), i’m going to highlight the supporting characters after all.

carrie sullivan: reserved bookworm with an untapped wild side. quietly studious and observant, almost like she can predict the future. becomes a professor of existential philosophy and middle-names her daughter after kierkegaard. charlie’s wife; cordelia’s mother. will give you the benefit of the doubt, even if she knows she shouldn’t.

lola deluca: ball of pure energy and nonstop ideas. an innovator first and a romantic second. four-foot-eleven but acts ten feet tall. opens a vintage diner in her hometown. daniel’s one and only younger sister. kevin’s wife; emily and aurora’s mom. will stop at nothing to achieve her goals (or to help you achieve yours).

katie sheehan: shy but adventurous. longs to circumnavigate the globe, either by herself or with someone she really loves. tall redhead with big green eyes. future photojournalist. kevin’s one and only younger sister. steph’s wife. wants to see the world, but more importantly, she wants to tell you all about it.

kevin sheehan: brash, bold, and sometimes crudely funny. wants to happen to the world but isn’t quite sure how. future history teacher in the halls of his parochial alma mater, st. catherine’s. former birthday party magician. katie’s one and only big brother. lola’s husband; emily and aurora’s dad. still has dreams about seeing his name in lights (though he doesn’t quite know where).

elenore o’connor: quirky, individualistic, and hilarious. a deep feeler with a penchant for romance and fantasy. a future public defender. lucy and will’s eldest daughter, born to them when they were still seventeen. emma’s one and only big sister. veronica’s mom. covered in sparkles and boundless love.

emma o’connor: introverted but courageous. asks for what she wants and usually makes sure that she receives. a cerebral personality like her mother. a future film scholar. lucy and will’s youngest daughter, born eleven years after their first child. elenore’s one and only little sister. rational, practical, and rare.

[motownfiction]

you can’t keep doing this

Kevin is at the advising office again. It’s the seventh time in his whole college career he’s made a trip like this one. When his advisor, Sharon, sees him sitting out there, waiting for her with a slip of paper in his hand, she makes a face like she might rather be six feet under.

“Mr. Sheehan,” she says, somewhere between exasperation and delight. “As much as I love to see you in my office, you can’t keep doing this.”

“I think I can, actually,” Kevin says. “You’re the one who said you knew a guy who filled out the same form thirteen times before he graduated.”

Sharon sighs and puts her hands on her hips. Kevin stifles a laugh. He knows that look. It’s the look that most authority figures give him. It’s just that Sharon’s is the funniest, what with her purple glasses and lipstick to match. She’s a funny one. Kevin might miss her more than anything else at State.

“I didn’t think you’d nearly rival him,” Sharon says.

“Neither did I, but I’m kinda glad I did.”

“Kevin, you cannot keep doing this! Do you realize what you’re dealing with here? You’re choosing – and sticking to – a college major. That’s the thing that’s going to get you a diploma, which is going to get you a job one of these days. You keep treating different majors like they’re free samples at Baskin-Robbins. You know that’s what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“I know that’s what I was doing. I’ve evolved.”

Sharon sighs again.

“You’ve evolved,” she says. “Since when?”

“Since this morning. I took that history class you recommended to me after I said I was going to be a Political Science major back in April.”

Sharon nods, almost like she regrets recommending any classes to Kevin at all. And Kevin can’t blame her. Sometimes, he even exhausts himself.

“OK,” Sharon says. “What’s your new major going to be this time, Kevin?”

“History,” Kevin says without missing a beat. “I’m going to major in history. And I’m going to stick with it this time. I really, really am.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth about that?”

“Because have I ever answered your question about my new major that quickly before? Or do I usually find a million ways to beat around the bush like … like some guy who beats around the bush?”

Sharon really does let herself laugh that time. Kevin’s pretty thrilled. Nothing in the world he loves more than making a good person laugh.

“You never picked English as one of your majors, did you?” Sharon asks.

“Nope.”

“It’s a good thing. You’re not great with similes.”

Kevin laughs. He knows exactly what she means.

[motownfiction]

rival team

In the eighth grade, Will’s least favorite class of the day is gym.

He loves the idea of spending an hour running around, jumping, and throwing things. That sounds like a lot of fun – like stuff he’s always been good at. What he’s not good at are organized team sports. And that’s all that a Catholic school gym class is really about.

It’s the middle of April. Today is Friday, and they’re at the end of their two-week soccer unit. Everyday is a new game, but everyday, the same guys win: the popular guys, the ones who dabble in every sport, even the ones they don’t actually play for St. Catherine’s, like Robby Blair and Nick Crosby. Will (and Daniel, his only true ally in the class) is on their team, but it still feels like he’s losing the game. Blair and Crosby do it all by themselves, a Starsky and Hutch for the junior high crowd.

They’re in the last few minutes before the teacher blows the whistle and sends them back into the locker room. Will’s done a pretty good job of avoiding the ball … until now, when Kevin Sheehan accidentally kicks it to him. Will looks up at Kevin with panic in his eyes.

“Will, man, I’m sorry!” Kevin says. “I didn’t know what to do! The ball never comes to me!”

But Will doesn’t say anything. He has the same instinct as Kevin, and he kicks the ball to the person closest to him … the person he feels the most comfortable with: Daniel.

There’s a gleam in Daniel’s eye that isn’t usually there. He never has to deal with the ball, either, but he doesn’t receive it with the same horror as Will and Kevin did. Instead, Daniel has this look like he wants to be a hero. It’s a look Will knows all too well because it’s a look he gets in his own eye. He holds his breath and watches Daniel kick the ball all the way down the field to score his first goal in eight years of gym class history … for the rival team.

The teacher blows the whistle.

The rival team wins.

Will knows it shouldn’t matter. It definitely doesn’t matter to him. He just wants to change clothes so he can go to lunch and have a few words with Lucy, who just finished up her French class. She’s always in a happy mood after French class. Unfortunately, the boys in fourth-period gym aren’t in the happiest moods, especially not Crosby and Blair.

Blair sneers at Daniel on their way inside. Crosby whispers something to Blair that Will wishes he never would have heard.

“He doesn’t know how to play because his dad left him,” he says, and he and Blair both laugh.

Will’s breath hitches. He looks around to see if Daniel heard. Luckily, he didn’t. He’s chatting with Kevin Sheehan about how pretty Steph Armstrong looked when she did the first reading at All Schools’ Mass yesterday morning.

Good.

Now Will can take care of this on his own.

He speeds up to Crosby and Blair – mostly Crosby – and kicks him in the back of the leg. Crosby falls to his knees and yelps, and Will can’t help but laugh. He’s pretty sure Crosby is exaggerating. But he’d love to think he could just lay him out like that … that he could humiliate him.

And maybe he still can.

He thinks about what he could say to stand up for Daniel. He wants to tell Crosby that it’s not funny to bully a kid whose father left; that it’s not funny when your parent doesn’t love you because all you ever deserve is their love. But just because Will feels it and believes it doesn’t mean he can get away with saying it. He’s a fourteen-year-old boy, and fourteen-year-old boys don’t talk about their feelings. It’s 1981, and they’re not supposed to do that if they want to make it out of school in one piece. Will looks down at Crosby on the grass. He knows exactly what he has to say.

“Fuck you, Crosby.”

Will walks away, and he knows Crosby knew what he meant.

(part of @nosebleedclub poetry month challenge -- day xvi!)

[motownfiction]

sherbet

Lola’s always had a thing for orange sherbet. It’s been her favorite dessert since she was about ten, and she had Chinese takeout at the Sheehans’ house for the first time. They said that’s what the restaurant always gave them – orange sherbet and fortune cookies. At the end of the day, Lola was in love. And after twelve years, she’s still in love.

Being pregnant makes it worse. She’s thinking about orange sherbet when she should be thinking about anything else. When she’s taking orders at Abby’s Diner, she’s scribbling orange sherbet on her notepad instead of cheeseburger or hot dog. When she’s eating vegetables, she pretends she’s eating orange sherbet. When she falls asleep, she wonders if she’ll dream about orange sherbet.

“It’s fucking ridiculous,” she complains to Kevin on the phone one night when she can’t sleep. “I feel like a giant parody. Literally, too, considering the whole ‘pregnant’ thing.”

Kevin laughs, which makes Lola laugh … only because she loves the sound of Kevin’s voice. They’ve been together for almost all of Lola’s pregnancy. He’s not the father of her baby, and she’s not quite sure who is. But it doesn’t matter. When Lola decided she wanted the baby, Kevin decided he wanted Lola. And if being with Lola meant being a father, then that was even better. We’re part of each other’s purpose, he said one night when neither of them could sleep. All three of us. We’re here for each other.

A little while later, after she and Kevin hang up, Lola hears a knock on her front door. Nervously, she gets out of bed and peers through the blinds. It’s Kevin on the porch, and he’s holding a plastic bag. Maybe from a drugstore. When she opens the door, he shows off the bag like it’s made of gold. And it might as well be.

Lola can see through the sheerness of the plastic that Kevin brought her orange sherbet.

And now, she’ll be able to sleep.

[motownfiction]

oscula

Kevin remembers his first kiss probably too vividly. He was in the eighth grade at Kim Campbell’s birthday party, the same party where he’d later find out Sadie Doyle had her first kiss with Nick Crosby. A group of kids decided to play Spin the Bottle. Somehow, Kevin got roped into the game, which even then, he thought was strange. His whole presence at Kim Campbell’s party was strange, but he knew right away he got a pity invitation. Their mothers worked together, and Mrs. Campbell was probably (and rightfully) terrified that her daughter was turning into a queen bee who enjoys leaving others in the cold. Kevin remembers feeling just like that … until it was his turn to spin the bottle.

The empty Coke bottle stopped spinning in front of Vicky St. John, Kim’s best friend since they were born, and Kevin’s less-than-secret crush for almost as long. He knows he cheered, he knows she hastily applied Cherry Smash Kissing Potion, and he knows it was over in about a second and half. It was a whole second longer than he’d anticipated, but in the years since, he’s chocked that up to the stickiness of the lip gloss.

But after that night, Kevin was thrilled to have gotten his first kiss out of the way. Even if it wasn’t romantic, at least he wouldn’t have to overthink it ever again. And for a long time, that was true. He kissed lots of people before it made him nervous again. Gina Lumetta, once. Vicky St. John, a few more times in high school, when she was pissed at Nick Crosby. Steph Armstrong, more than a few times in college. Sam Doyle, once, on New Year’s Eve in ‘89, partly as a joke and party because he wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Turns out he’s just not as into Sam as Steph is (or at all). Either way, kissing was never a big deal after that first night and that first kiss. Not until there was Lola.

Lola DeLuca has always been Kevin’s constant. Barry, his best friend at work, says that Lola is his mole. He’s the chemistry teacher and spends the entire month of October with Avogadro on his mind. All metaphors aside, Lola’s always been a thought in Kevin’s mind – a feeling everywhere else. She was in love with him before he knew he was someone worth falling in love with. She was in love with him, and he wasn’t ready for her. But one day, somehow, he always figured he would be. It wasn’t that he was trying to choose other women ahead of Lola. It was that he didn’t want to come to Lola as the wrong man.

They’ve been talking to each other more and more lately. Going out on real dates. Lola says he never came to her as the wrong man – that she’d had the wrong man four months ago, and now, she couldn’t recall his name for the life of her. She expects being pregnant to throw Kevin right off, cast him away, make him run and never look back. But he’s not going to do that. She’s his constant. She’s his constant, and this time, that’s going to be more than just a wish passing through.

Tonight, they’re sitting on the couch at Kevin’s place, mindlessly watching something on the television. Kevin twists a strand of Lola’s hair around his index finger, and before long, they’re leaning in to kiss each other. Kevin’s heart jumps around just like it did when he was in the eighth grade. This is not his first kiss. This isn’t even his first kiss with Lola. But there’s something about the reality of it … the gravity of it … that makes him just as excited as he was then.

By the look on Lola’s face – that untamed, beautiful smile – he knows she feels it, too.

[motownfiction]

man, if i hadn’t already established lola deluca and kevin sheehan as endgame, i would totally do endgame for kevin sheehan and sarah o’connor

[motownfiction]

a spark, a beginning

For Kevin, the past two years of college have been about familiarity. Familiar parties, familiar meals, familiar bedfellows. Nobody knows this – except himself – but when he lost his virginity to Steph Armstrong after midterms in freshman year, he mostly chose her because she reminded him of home. Kevin wishes he didn’t miss home so much. All his friends are thrilled to be at school. They love coming home at whatever hour they please, love spending whole days without calling their mothers, love finding new girls at new parties to take back to their rooms and forget about less than two days later. And there’s a part of Kevin that almost likes that, too. It’s just not a big enough part. It’s not enough to keep him going.

On the first day of school this year – junior year, when you absolutely need to find a major, or your advisor will read you the riot act – Kevin has a history class. He’s a marketing major because he doesn’t know what else to be, and he’s been putting off the classes that the university requires. Never mind that he’s also been putting off marketing classes or that he only took two last spring. It doesn’t matter. He’s here now, and he’s going to slug it out. That’s what you do with shit you don’t like. You slug it out. This class will be like an antibiotic, he thinks. Maybe it doesn’t go down so well, but in the end, you’ll get what you need from it. Just what you need.

Apparently, Kevin underestimated just how much he needed.

The class is about U.S. history since the Civil War, and right away, Kevin feels a spark, a beginning, when his professor talks. For years, he didn’t think history classes were allowed to be like this. In high school, history classes spent a lot of time talking about conquistadors and Henry Clay, and by the time it was Memorial Day, you were just getting to the Gettysburg Address. Then you’d have a final exam, and class would be over. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was predictable in that way. History is only what we weren’t alive to remember.

But that’s not how Kevin’s professor makes it seem. He stands up there and says that history is a living memory – your living memory. If you remember flashes of Vietnam on your television (and the way you felt when your parents told you the war was over, even if you were only eight and sometimes forgot there was a war going on at all), that’s history. If you remember what it felt like when the rest of the United States elected Ronald Reagan as President (even if you were only thirteen and didn’t understand the differences between Republicans and Democrats; didn’t understand why it was such a big deal that Reagan had once been an actor), that’s history. If you remember anything you might have heard on the radio yesterday, that’s history, too.

Something about it strikes a chord with Kevin. Something about it seems important. He thinks back to one of his English classes at St. Catherine’s, when Mrs. Burczyk had the students write about a current event as though they were looking back on it maybe ten years later. Kevin remembers that all the time. He remembers thinking it was really important to know that the present wouldn’t always be the present, and the way he feels right now will be untouchable to the people who come and sit in this desk in an hour, to his children in many years. He remembers thinking somebody should teach students about that. Forget Henry Clay, who ran for President so many times, you almost thought he was going to win. Think about now. Think about how by the time you finish saying how, you’ve got history between your lips.

He goes to his advisor’s office and changes his major to history before lunch. It’s too important to let it go another hour.

From now on, he thinks, maybe he can do without so much familiarity.

[motownfiction]

family gathering

After high school, Steph doesn’t much care for celebrating Christmas. Last year, her first at Central, she went back home and spent the holiday with her mother. They had a fine time with their hot chocolate and Honey Baked Ham, but it just wasn’t the same as it had been all those years before. All those years before, when they would head over to the Doyles’ house, and Sam would follow Steph around with his very own garnish of mistletoe. Those were the days – the days Sam decided to end.

This year, Steph is home for the holiday again, but she’s been nervous about it for weeks. About a week and a half ago, after an awkward hookup with Kevin Sheehan, she lay next to him in her bed and vented her concerns.

Just going to be boring … I know my mom misses what it was like before … I just wish we had more family around.

And out of the kindness of his silly, silly heart, Kevin invited Steph and her mother to a family gathering at his house on Christmas night. Steph agreed to attend on one condition: Kevin had to understand that they were not boyfriend and girlfriend.

Probably never will be, she adds, and she can’t tell whether or not Kevin is disappointed. She also can’t tell whether or not it really matters. It’s just Kevin.

Tonight, she sits at the Sheehans’ dining room table, and she wonders why she’s never been inside their house before. The class she and Kevin graduated in was small enough so that you could, theoretically, have made it to every student’s house. Besides, she and his younger sister, Katie, were even sometimes sort of friends.

Katie has been looking at her from across the table off and on all night. Steph gulps when she catches her eyes on her again. She wonders what she could be thinking … what she could be feeling, too.

Maybe she’s thinking that Steph and Susie don’t belong there. Maybe they’re an imposition. Maybe they’re too poor. That’s what Steph has always feared – being like Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink. She’s not really sure who Katie Sheehan would be in this analogy, but for some reason, she wants her to be Andrew McCarthy. She’ll deal with the implications of that later (then again, maybe she won’t). But sometimes, when she runs into Kevin at a party, and he’s drinking the cheapest, grossest beer in the house, Steph forgets that the Sheehans have always been rich. Before Mr. Sheehan died when Kevin was fifteen, he was a powerful finance guy; Mrs. Sheehan owns and operates a small franchise of daycare centers in the area. The last few years have made her rich all on her own – rich enough so that when Kevin failed his Intro to Biology class last fall, Mrs. Sheehan wasn’t worried that he’d need to spend money to repeat it. Steph, on the other hand, developed a coffee addiction so she could study for her bio exams. Nothing like a late-night study session to make you doubt whether or not you can read.

Katie is still staring at her.

Eventually, dinner winds down, and Steph walks over to the sink to rinse her plate. Mrs. Sheehan insists she doesn’t have to, but Steph’s work ethic can’t be tamed. A few seconds later, Katie gets up to wash her hands in the kitchen sink. And at first, Steph thinks nothing of it.

She thinks nothing of it until Kevin begins to clap and shout.

“What?” she asks. “What is it?”

“You and Katie!” Kevin says. “You’re standing underneath Mom’s mistletoe!”

The girls look up. Sure enough, dangling from the knob on one of her kitchen cabinets, there’s Mrs. Sheehan’s garnish of mistletoe. Steph gulps hard and looks at Katie, whose face is whiter than the snow outside.

“You know what that means!” Kevin says. “You gotta kiss!”

“Ke-vin,” Mrs. Sheehan says. “They don’t have to kiss. Not as long as they don’t want to.”

Steph and Katie laugh politely, like they think they’re expected to do. But that’s just it. It feels like an expectation. An expectation to joke about kissing another girl. An expectation that mistletoe doesn’t count when it’s between two women. Steph’s blood boils. And what if she did kiss Katie Sheehan, here, under the kitchen mistletoe? What would happen then? Katie wouldn’t be the first girl Steph has ever kissed. She wouldn’t even be the second. She thinks about reaching out and kissing her right now, except she doesn’t want to embarrass her. Katie deserves better than that. She deserves a better kiss.

But they let the moment pass. Just laugh it off and try to move on. Try to enjoy peppermint bark and pumpkin pie the best they can.

Still, Steph can’t stop thinking.

Maybe she should have kissed Katie Sheehan.

Maybe she wanted to.

[motownfiction]

this game we play

Kevin’s proposal isn’t very romantic. Lola thinks that a very different version of herself would have been disappointed in it. When she was very young, she used to write stories about how her marriage proposal would look. There were usually roaring fires and flowers of some sort. Originally, they were roses (a good old cliché), but as time went on, they were five thousand daylilies in her room. The man, of course, always stayed the same. Always Kevin Sheehan. Even, as it turns out, in real life.

They’re lying in bed one Saturday morning, waiting to hear Emily through the baby monitor. She’s a year old now, and a little while back, she looked at Kevin and said her first word: Dada. Lola had to fight with herself not to cry; Kevin was a wreck on the spot. Since then, Kevin’s been a permanent fixture in Lola’s apartment … permanent but still with an apartment of his own … one he’s barely spent more than a few hours in since he and Lola fell in love. They’ve both noticed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lola says. “Your lease is almost up. Why not move in with me?”

Kevin looks at the ceiling. Lola can feel him nod from her side of the bed.

“I could do that,” he says. “We could also just get married.”

Lola’s heart does a little jig. She props herself up on one elbow and looks Kevin dead in the eye, which almost freaks him out. God, he’s cute when he’s a little freaked out.

“Kevin,” she says, “are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I am. Do you … do you want to marry me?”

Lola feels herself blushing like an idiot. You’re not supposed to blush at a marriage proposal, but Lola’s never been fond of what she’s supposed to do.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I really do.”

She feels Kevin grinning, too. He reaches his arm out and wraps it around her. She lets out a long, heavy sigh. Close to perfection.

“You know, when we get married,” Kevin says. “This game we play, where one of us runs off because they’re scared of the other one’s feelings … it’s gotta stop.”

Lola rolls back over on her side and kisses Kevin’s cheek.

“I’ve been wanting to stop for years,” Lola says. “With or without a ring.”

She feels Kevin’s laughter beside her again, and for another minute, everything is in the right place. Everything feels as it should.

[motownfiction]

the road ahead of us

Lola’s glad to know that St. Catherine’s has phased out the five-year class reunion. She can’t bear the thought of showing up with a picture of little baby Emily in her wallet but no date. She can’t bear to tell the truth about the circumstances of Emily’s birth, and she knows she would have to: People from St. Catherine’s love to tell the whole truth, like little witnesses, exactly what they were trained up to be. But Lola can’t bear the thought of it … can’t bear telling the people she used to sit next to in algebra that she dated a guy for three weeks, got pregnant by accident, and she didn’t care to look the guy up when she got her little surprise. She can’t bear to admit that she’s a little fuzzy on his last name.

She shares all of these anxieties with Kevin Sheehan, who’s been a damn good help these past few months. He recently moved back to their old suburb after getting a job at St. Catherine’s, teaching history to tenth graders. Lola remembers her own tenth-grade history class. Ms. Davies wasn’t the most attentive teacher in the world, so she either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the way Lola would sit in the back corner and doodle in her notebook for fifty-two minutes. Most of the doodles were hearts with Kevin’s name in them. But that was a long time ago … and it feels longer still.

Since college (and since having Emily earlier this year), Lola’s grown up quite a bit. She’s more committed to her goal of owning and operating her own restaurant one day. She’s looking into MBA programs, courtesy of Mom, Daniel, and Kevin saying they’ll look after Emily when she has to take classes at night. And she no longer lies awake at night having romantic fantasies about Kevin Sheehan kissing her passionately and tossing her into a new life. A better life. One with songs like a damn Disney movie. She doesn’t think about that anymore.

Kevin’s realer than he’s ever been.

Even after all the times they’ve kissed before, all the times they’ve hooked up, all the times they’ve laughed until they think they’ll pass out, Kevin has never felt quite so real to Lola before. He’s around all the time. He changes diapers. He spends hours in rocking chairs. He sings “Can’t Fight This Feeling” on a loop, as it’s sometimes the only song that will get Emily to calm down and go to sleep. And Lola knows that in another time, all this tenderness would have made her fall in love with Kevin like he’s a prince. But it’s just not that way anymore. He’s just Kevin. Just a good guy she loves because he’s good.

It is still, of course, welcome when he kisses her in the doorway late tonight.

He says all the right things. That he loves Lola. That he loves Emily. That he promises he could be a good father to Emily, really, if Lola only lets him. That it doesn’t matter that he’s not Emily’s biological father. He’s always loved her like she’s his. She is his, and he wants it to stay that way.

“I’m better when I love you,” Kevin says.

Lola’s known him long enough to know it’s not bullshit. She takes a deep breath.

“If you really want this,” she says, “if you really want to be Emily’s dad … the road ahead of us … it’s gonna be tough.”

“Doesn’t scare me. Does it scare you?”

“No.”

When he kisses her, she isn’t scared of that, either.

[motownfiction]

sweet melancholy

In the morning, Lola wakes up in her bedroom, alone.

There was no other way it could have gone – not really. She’d been at the Sheehans’ place, and it would have been wrong for her to stay the night there, knowing Katie would come home from work at any minute. She’s not sure how she would have explained it: Surprise! I’m finally banging your brother! Want some cake? It feels ridiculous to even joke about.

But maybe it just feels ridiculous in general. Kevin Sheehan was supposed to be an adolescent crush – a cliché, somebody you only think you love because he’s around, because it’s oh-so-dramatic to have a big thing for your best friend’s older brother. And for a little while after she started college (after they shared their first strange kiss, the one it’s still too awkward to even think about very much), that’s really what Lola believed. At least, it’s what she wanted to believe. Every time she saw Kevin after that first kiss, he became more and more real to her. And the more real he became, the more it felt like love. Not throwaway comedic lust. Love.

And maybe there’s nothing more cruel in the world. Nothing more cruel and nothing more wonderful than figuring out it was really love all along.

Last night was not Lola’s first time. That was back in the middle of the fall with a guy in her Cost Analysis class. He was cute and smart and said all the right things, but that wasn’t enough, especially after he figured out Lola was the better student (the better head for business, as their professor put it one day when he paired them together for a group activity). That guy was the first time. At that moment, it felt right. At that moment, it felt like the best thing to do. Because for as ordinary as this guy was, for as neutrally as Lola knew she felt about him, she knew there was one thing working to his advantage.

He was not Kevin Sheehan.

And she had to do whatever she could to move on from Kevin Sheehan.

Because Kevin wasn’t supposed to be the person she loved. Kevin was supposed to be temporary – a memory to look back on and blush, to joke about, to wonder why she was ever that obvious. She’d spent her time pining after him. She was ready to move on; ready to accept the fact that he would never want her, no matter what she did (if she dyed her hair, if she put tube socks in her bra, if she wore the shortest skirts she could find).

So, why did he have to keep wanting her? In the smallest bits and intervals, why did he have to keep wanting her? Why couldn’t he have the decency to want her all at once?

Why doesn’t she have the guts to turn him away when he asks?

Because it feels too good to be in the spotlight with Kevin Sheehan. He’s raucously funny, but he’s never mean. He can make you laugh at yourself while also making you feel like the most beautiful person in the world. Last night, he kept joking about how Lola’s fashion inspiration was definitely Orange Blossom from Strawberry Shortcake.

“Every color needs to be somebody’s favorite, Kevin,” she said and grinned at him like she did when she was thirteen and learning to (badly) flirt. “Why shouldn’t orange be mine?”

They laughed for a little while but not because anything was funny. After a minute, Lola started to slip, and Kevin caught her around the waist. When they locked eyes, they stopped laughing. Lola gulped hard. That’s the thing about Kevin. His laugh is filled with more mirth than you can handle, but his serious face … it’ll shut you right down. Lola thought about saying something. Turned out Kevin had that handled.

“I missed you.”

And that was the beginning of the end. Or the beginning of the beginning. Lola smiles and almost cries in her bed this morning, thinking about which way to feel. She doesn’t know. She spent so many years thinking and dreaming about what that night would be like. Even when she didn’t think it was in the cards, she still held out hope – hope for herself, hope for Kevin. Last night wasn’t like her dreams, nor was it better, but it was real. It happened. And in that way, wasn’t it better? Isn’t it better to be awake?

She sighs and smiles, smiles and sighs. She still doesn’t know. For now, she’ll lie here in the sweet melancholy of a fantasy made into flesh. For now, she’ll try not to wait.