*Content Warnings: Sexual Assault or Rape
There Was a Guy
There was a guy with her, a tall guy, taller than Mariah’s daughter. He could probably run fast, faster than she could. He had a strong build. Strong hands. If he wanted, he could easily overtake her.
Mariah’s breath caught in her throat. A painful jolt ran through her. Her heart started pounding. She lingered in the window of the coffee shop. She’d arrived early to pick up her seventeen-year-old daughter, Aspen, from her shift. It was dark out, almost ten o’clock, and she could see inside, but the guy in there with Aspen couldn’t see out. He couldn’t see Mariah watching him.
How old was he? Seventeen? Eighteen? He wore a gray hoodie with a snarling brown bear on it, the high school mascot. His jeans were dark blue, not sagging or tattered like the fashion was these days. His face was clean-shaven. He had dark auburn hair that fell to his shoulders. No crazy colors. No tattoos or piercings that Mariah could see. He didn’t look anything like the creeps that hung around the graffitied old gas station where Mariah worked. There wasn’t any sign that he was shifty. No reason to believe that he’d put his hands on her daughter.
But he was staring intently at her.
Mariah’s stomach lurched. She drew closer to the window, holding her breath so it wouldn’t fog up the glass and cloud her vision. She was relieved, for once, that there weren’t any streetlights nearby, so she was free to stand there unnoticed, cloaked by the darkness.
Probably this was a little stalkerish. But Aspen had never mentioned working alone with a guy during her closing shift.
She didn’t say much to Mariah anymore.
It was a quaint little coffee shop with wood-paneled walls, decorative houseplants, and cutesy little signs with pictures of mountains and sunny skies. A perfectly safe place to work, in the daytime at least, when the place was teeming with people and there were more than two employees working. But now, the coffee shop was empty, except for Aspen and this guy.
Aspen sat on one of the tables, her legs dangling, the tips of her toes almost touching the ground. She still looked so much like a kid, with her white sneakers covered in doodles and streaks of baby blue running through her blond ponytail. She wore a stupid grin on her face, her cheeks burning bright red as the guy came closer to her.
Just slap the fucking bastard, Mariah willed her. Slap him and tell him to get out of your face.
But Aspen hadn’t taken her eyes off him the whole time that they’d been talking. She shimmied forward and dropped her feet on the ground, and then she was standing so close to the guy that their bodies were almost touching.
The guy leaned forward, and their lips met.
Slap him in the face. Get away from her, you little—
They pulled apart.
Aspen broke into a grin.
They kissed again. The guy held his hands out as though he didn’t quite know what to do with them, and then, tentatively, he wrapped his arms around Aspen, resting his hands on the small of her back. Aspen leaned into his embrace.
Mariah wanted to throw up. She felt the phantom of lips pressing against hers, the phantom of hands digging into her skin, pinning her down, fingers curling through her hair. The back of her neck prickled. The guy ran his fingers through Aspen’s hair, kissing her harder, and something inside Mariah snapped like a rubber band. She darted around to the front of the building and barreled through the door.
The guy let go of Aspen faster than a kid that got caught trying to steal a candy bar. Aspen stumbled into the table behind her, cursing. She glanced at Mariah, then ducked her head, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. The guy jumped like a deer and half walked, half skipped over to the counter, sliding into place behind the register. “Hello, ma’am, what can I get for you?”
Mariah glared at him. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jarrett.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“I work here.”
“No shit.”
Aspen stepped in between them. “Mom? I’m ready to go.”
“Get your stuff,” Mariah said, as Jarrett’s eyes widened. Aspen glanced from one to the other, and then she turned on her heel and fled the scene.
Jarrett watched her go. He cleared his throat, not looking Mariah in the eye. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry about that, ma’am.”
“Yeah?” Mariah put her hands on her hips. Her stomach was twisted in knots, but she couldn’t let him see that she was rattled. She sauntered up to the counter, leaned her elbows on it, and narrowed her eyes.
Jarrett retreated a couple steps.
Mariah’s heart was pounding so hard that it hurt. “How long have you been trying to screw with my daughter?”
“It’s not like that.” Jarrett ducked his head, glancing at Mariah out of the corner of his eye. “We’re just friends.”
Mariah waited.
“I got hired at the beginning of the semester,” Jarrett said.
It was March. Aspen hadn’t said a word about dating or kissing or whatever, exactly, was going on between them. Jarrett, seeming to guess Mariah’s thoughts, went on, “Aspen and I, we’re not… That was just…” He cleared his throat, looking down at his feet. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
Mariah relished the look of nervousness on his face. He was scared of her. Good. If he was scared of her, then he wouldn’t dare mess with her daughter again. She leaned farther over the counter, fixing Jarrett with the most dangerous glare she could muster. “It better not. I better not see you screwing with her again. You hear me? You hurt her, I’ll break you.”
Jarrett nodded.
Aspen returned, her backpack slung haphazardly over her shoulder. She wouldn’t even look at Jarrett. “Mom, I’m ready to go.”
“K,” Mariah said.
“Have a good night,” Jarrett said, in a voice that sounded falsely hearty.
Aspen didn’t acknowledge him. She just made a beeline for the door. Mariah backed away, still glowering at Jarrett, and then she pivoted on her foot, turned her back to him, and marched out of the coffee shop.
“You’re insane,” Aspen said, once they were both outside. “You’re literally insane, Mom. Nothing happened, okay? He’s not a creep.”
“Is it always you two in there by yourselves?”
“We didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s literally closing time. That’s why it was empty.”
They crossed the parking lot, piled into the car, and set off. Aspen got right on her phone. She hunched her shoulders, ducking her head so that Mariah couldn’t look her in the eye.
Mariah gripped the steering wheel so tight that it was almost painful. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
“You’ve still got your pepper spray, right? And the whistle?”
“They’re in my backpack.”
“Which stays in the back room?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You need to have those on your person.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve told you this before.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m sure,” Aspen said. “I told you, he’s not a creep. There’s no need to flip out.”
Mariah sighed.
They spent the rest of the drive home in silence. Aspen shrank down in her seat so far that the seatbelt rose to her neck. Her fingers were furiously tapping away on her phone. Mariah passed the gas station where she worked, crossed the railroad tracks, weaved through the dumpy old trailer park where they lived, and parked on the strip of gravel outside their trailer.
Aspen darted straight to her room.
Mariah sighed, trailing after her. She tossed her jacket on the couch. It was a cramped little trailer, with a counter that stuck out a few feet, serving as a barrier between the otherwise combined kitchen and living area. The fridge, couch, and counter hogged up half the floor space. Brightly colored sneakers sat in a heap by the door. There was a calendar covered up in small black scribbles, Aspen’s multitude of after-school activities. Photos of the both of them hung on the wall, off-kilter, hugged by a thin blanket of dust.
Mariah checked the fridge. Nothing appetizing. She headed toward Aspen’s room to find out if she was hungry.
The sound of Aspen’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “I’m so sorry about that. Yeah. I know. She’s insane. She’s just insane.”
Her voice was hoarse, like she was trying to talk low so Mariah wouldn’t hear, but the walls of this trailer were as thin as paper. Mariah didn’t move.
“She’s always been like that,” Aspen went on. “No, it’s not you, I promise. She hates men. Like, she literally hates them.”
A pause.
“She’s never said. But—okay, so I’ve never met my dad, right? Literally all my mom’s ever said about him is that he’s a”—Aspen dropped her voice to barely a whisper—“an effing perv, if that tells you anything.” She paused. “No, that’s all I know. I don’t know.”
Another pause.
“She wouldn’t,” Aspen said. “She’s just trying to scare you, that’s all.”
There was a silence.
“Jarrett, I swear she didn’t mean it. It’s not like she’s actually going to come and beat you up if she sees us together again. Besides, it’s not like she…” Aspen dropped her voice even lower. “It’s not like she’s got to know.” There was a long silence, and when she spoke again, her voice warbled like she was about to cry. “Okay. Fine. Goodbye.”
She hung up.
Mariah hesitated. There were footsteps, the creaking of bedsprings, and the sound of Aspen crying.
Mariah retreated. She sank onto the couch, turning on the TV so that if Aspen came out, she’d look busy. She rubbed a hand against her forehead.
Shit.
She’d screwed up, hadn’t she?
Because now that she’d caught her breath, it was painfully obvious to Mariah that Jarrett wasn’t dangerous. He was just a boy. An ordinary boy that liked Aspen and that Aspen liked back.
It shouldn’t bother her so much.
Maybe it was because Aspen had never mentioned him. Because Mariah wasn’t important enough to know what was going on in Aspen’s life anymore. Memories started resurfacing: all the times she’d yelled at Aspen that the bus was coming, and Aspen would come out of the bathroom, her face glowing with makeup… the times she’d be curled up on the couch, grinning down at her phone… all the times she’d come home late from work, claiming there’d been a sudden rush of customers at the end of her shift…
Aspen’s door swung open, and she ducked past Mariah, carrying her aquamarine water bottle covered in stickers, heading for the sink.
“You hungry?” Mariah asked, pretending not to notice how red her eyes were.
Aspen shrugged, sticking her water bottle under the faucet. She wouldn’t even look at Mariah.
They’d been best friends when Aspen was little. They’d sing along to songs on the radio and play riffs on an imaginary air guitar on the drive to school, and then in the afternoon, Aspen would tell her all the playground gossip.
It wasn’t like that anymore.
Mariah took a deep breath. “So…who were you talking to?”
Aspen hesitated. “Jarrett.”
“That guy back there?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.” Mariah hesitated. “He, um, he seemed to like you pretty well.”
Aspen wrinkled her brow. “I guess so.”
It felt like a brick wall had gone up between them. Mariah squeezed the couch cushion in her fist, wracking her brain for something else to say, to make Aspen feel more at ease, to get back to how things used to be.
“So how long have you and Jarrett been…friends?”
“Since January. When he got hired.”
“Does he go to your school?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he in any of your classes?”
“A few.”
“Which ones?”
Aspen narrowed her eyes. “Is this another interrogation?”
“No,” Mariah said. “I’m trying to make conversation. Give me a break.”
Aspen rolled her eyes, taking a swig of water.
“So, you must like Jarrett pretty well,” Mariah said.
Aspen’s face flushed. She crossed her arms, dropping her gaze to the floor. “Um, okay? And?”
“And nothing. I mean, that’s good. Good for you,” Mariah said, trying to sound encouraging. She could still see the way Aspen had gazed into Jarrett’s eyes, the way she’d leaned into his embrace when he kissed her, and she tried not to let the disgust show on her face. “Maybe you guys can go to prom together or something.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because thanks to you, he’s now convinced that you’re going to beat him up if he so much as looks at me.” Aspen glared at her. “And he said he’d be calling our boss. To try and swap shifts with someone. To get away from me.”
“Oh.” Mariah wiped her face on her sleeve to hide the fact that her lips were twitching with a smile. “Sorry.”
“Whatever.”
“I was just trying to protect you.”
“There’s nothing to protect me from.”
“Well, maybe if you would’ve told me sooner about your secret boyfriend, then I would’ve had context when I saw you two making out in there.”
Aspen’s face burned beet red. She crossed her arms, running one hand up and down her arm, clenching a fistful of her shirt sleeve. “We’re not dating. That was literally the only time that we’ve…you know.”
Mariah wrinkled her nose.
“Okay?” Aspen said.
“You better be careful. Are you even allowed to make out at work?”
“No one was there.”
“I was.”
“There’s probably a rule against customers threatening employees, too.”
“I’m your mom. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
Aspen threw her hands in the air. “From what, Mom? From what? What exactly do you think Jarrett’s gonna try and do to me in the coffee shop?”
“Well, I’d say, but it’s not exactly PG-13.”
Aspen’s face wrinkled with disgust. She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. She shook her head, starting toward her room. “That’s it. Forget it. I’m done talking to you.”
“Aspen, come on.” Mariah got to her feet, following her. “I just—”
But that was all she could get out before Aspen ran into her room and slammed the door.
Mariah drummed her fingers on the table.
She’d been here an hour, slumped in a corner of the coffee shop. Her table was a mess with a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich and two empty cups of iced coffee. She’d brought a book of logic puzzles and had kept her head down, avoiding making eye contact with the kids working the counter, but so far, they’d ignored her.
Aspen was at home, holed up in her room. She hadn’t spoken to Mariah for days. She’d get home from school or work or marching band practice and lock herself in her bedroom. Mariah would knock on her door, begging her to come out and talk, but Aspen wouldn’t even acknowledge her.
“I’m sorry,” Mariah had said for probably the hundredth time, earlier that day, when Aspen had emerged to refill her water bottle. “Come on—” She’d reached for Aspen’s arm, but Aspen yanked it away and scurried back to her room.
There used to be a time when no guy would come between them. They’d snuggle up on the couch in their pajamas and watch movies. Mariah would attempt to help Aspen with her homework, laboring over fraction worksheets with as little comprehension as Aspen had. She’d drag her along on mushroom hunts in the woods in springtime, the air heavy from rain.
Mariah glanced up. Sometime when she wasn’t paying attention, one of the kids working the counter had left, and Jarrett had taken his place. Well, what do you know, she told herself, even though really, she’d been waiting. She scrambled to her feet and loped up to the counter, flashing an apologetic smile at a college-aged girl as she slid into line in front of her. She stuffed her hands in her sweatshirt pocket, hanging her head, trying to look meek.
Jarrett shrank back as Mariah approached. “Um…” He cleared his throat. “Hello, ma’am, what can I get for you?”
Mariah ordered an iced coffee, and Jarrett said the price. Mariah didn’t even pretend to reach for her wallet. “Look. About Aspen—”
“I traded shifts,” Jarrett said. “I’m not working with her anymore. And I broke it off—not that we were dating to begin with—but she keeps trying to talk to me. I’ve been keeping my distance, I swear.”
That explained things.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Mariah said. “I just overreacted, that’s all. I’m not mad. It’s fine if you and Aspen wanna date. Actually, I’d rather you did that. Alright?”
“That’s okay,” Jarrett said.
“She really likes you,” Mariah went on. “She’s been crying and stuff all week.”
Maybe she was just imagining it, but she thought she saw a flush creeping up Jarrett’s cheeks.
He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, there’s a line behind you.”
“Jarrett—”
“I need you to pay for your coffee.”
“Think about it, okay?”
“I’m going to call the manager.”
The other workers had gathered behind Jarrett. One girl was typing on her phone. Mariah fumbled through her wallet, her cheeks burning. She threw some crumpled bills on the counter, took her coffee and her change, and stormed out.
She drove home and went straight to Aspen’s door. She raised her hand to knock. You think anything you say is gonna help? She shook her head to herself. It’s not like you can make things any worse. She already hates you.
She knocked.
There was a long pause.
“What do you want?” Aspen called out.
“I’ve gotta talk to you,” Mariah said.
She waited.
“Fine,” Aspen said, her voice hoarse.
Mariah cracked the door open. Aspen sat slouched in her beanbag chair, phone in hand, earbuds in her ears. Mariah caught a glimpse of the red in her eyes before Aspen curled her body away, rubbing her face on her sleeve.
“Hey, sweet girl.” Mariah cleared her throat. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.”
The silence hung open like a wound.
“You’re not fine,” Mariah said. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Aspen—”
“What’d you come here for?”
Mariah sighed.
She glanced around the room, at the pale yellow walls, pasted all over with posters and stickers. The surface of Aspen’s desk was buried underneath a stack of paperbacks, charm bracelets, and temporary tattoo sheets. Bursts of red popped out: crimson nail polish, rouge, rose- red lip gloss. Mariah felt out of place here. It had been a long time since she’d done more than stick her head in here to wake Aspen in the morning.
“I talked to Jarrett tonight, at the coffee shop,” she said. “I told him he could go out with you, told him I was just out of my mind the other day. But he wouldn’t hardly talk to me. Just wanted me to pay for my drink and get out.” She hesitated. “I guess I scared him too good before.”
She could tell by the look on Aspen’s face that this wasn’t news to her.
“Yeah, I guess you did,” Aspen said.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Just forget about it.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.”
Aspen’s eyes were raw, her face puffy. Her shirt sleeve looked damp, like she’d been using it to dry the tears from her face. Watching her, it felt like something inside Mariah was cracking apart. She wanted to wrap her arms around her and hold her tight. She wanted to go back to how things used to be, when Aspen was little. Back when she knew how to make everything better.
Images of herself, of the way Aspen must see her, flashed across Mariah’s mind: a crazy- eyed woman, skulking in the corner of the coffee shop, threatening to beat up a teenage boy…
A hot flush of shame curled through her.
“I screwed up real bad. I know that,” Mariah said.
“Yeah.”
“I wish I could make it up to you somehow.”
“Yeah.” Aspen took a shuddering breath. “Mom, would you please just leave me alone?”
Mariah’s throat constricted. She nodded. “Yeah. Of course.” She rose to her feet, trembling. She started to go, then lingered in the doorway, looking down at her little girl.
“I love you,” Mariah said. “I love you so much.”
Aspen glanced up at her, but didn’t say a word.
…
Mariah didn’t bother Aspen anymore.
She let her eat dinner in her room, instead of forcing her to come out and talk. When Aspen emerged to refill her water bottle, Mariah didn’t badger her with questions about her day. She watched TV alone, and she stopped asking Aspen to join her.
If Aspen wanted to talk to her, she would.
Mariah tried to convince herself that things were better this way. It’s not that she doesn’t love you. She kept having to remind herself of this. She’s just got her own life. Her own friends. She doesn’t need you like you need her. Mariah’s insides twisted, a twinge of jealousy. You’re selfish for stewing like this. You’re jealous that she’s got friends? That she’s got everything, and all you’ve got is her?
But it was true, wasn’t it?
Before Aspen, Mariah didn’t have anyone. She’d grown up dodging her father’s beatings and trying to sneak food out of the kitchen cupboard. She’d been so thin that she could feel her own ribs. She’d run away from home, seventeen and pregnant, with nothing but some clothes stuffed in a backpack and a few hundred dollars tucked in her shoes.
The memories would come flooding back sometimes, and she’d start shaking, struggling to breathe. When Aspen was a baby, Mariah would sit on the front stoop and hold her against her chest, rocking her back and forth, feeling the tension seep out of her bones.
“It’s not gonna be like this for you, sweet girl,” she’d whisper.
Now, Mariah sat on the front stoop, alone, hugging her knees. The trailer park looked, more than ever, like a junkyard: roofs patched up with plastic tarps, old trucks rusting in people’s yards, empty beer cans hiding in knee-high grass. The sky was a haze of muted sherbet, casting yellowish shadows on everything below.
She felt stupid, sitting out here, moping like this.
The door swung open. The warm glow from inside lit up the stoop and the edge of the grass. Aspen hovered over her, her earbuds dangling from one hand. “Mom, what are you doing?”
“Just sitting here,” Mariah said. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“I ate already.”
“Alright.”
Aspen shifted from one foot to the other. “Mom, are you, like…okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Cause you’re just sitting out here in the dark.”
“So?”
Aspen clenched the doorknob, wavering between inside the trailer and out. Then she pushed the door almost shut and sat down next to Mariah, who scooted aside to make room. Aspen stuck her phone in her pocket, wrapping her earbuds around one finger.
Mariah picked at a hangnail.
“Mom, um… I do love you,” Aspen said.
Mariah glanced sideways at her, but Aspen wouldn’t meet her eye. She just bit her lip, yanking her earbuds off her finger and wrapping them around again, till her finger pads turned white.
“I love you too,” Mariah said.
Aspen took a deep breath. “And I can see how it might’ve seemed a little sketchy…me and Jarrett in there, alone, at night and everything. But he’s a nice guy, really.”
“Yeah.”
“He was so easy to talk to.”
“He’s still not talking to you?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Mariah said. “He was your friend, and I just had to barge in and screw everything up for you.”
“Yeah.”
“I just… I just freaked out.”
Aspen nodded.
“But that’s no excuse for how I acted,” Mariah said. “Honestly, it’s a wonder how you put up with me at all.”
Aspen’s lips twitched with a smile.
She didn’t go, No, Mom, it’s not hard living with you. And Mariah didn’t give some heartfelt speech about how hard it was, the thought of Aspen growing up and leaving her. They just sat there, side by side, staring up at the stars, until Aspen rose to her feet and went inside.
About the Author
Carrie McKinney has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. She’s previously had work published in Apricity Magazine and The Afterpast Review. When not writing, Carrie can be found gardening or walking her Beagle mix.