aching for something. She’s sitting across the table from Cadence in a small café, bags of lingerie at her feet. They’re surrounded by sane, rational people who would all think she’d gone round the sodding twist if they knew what an exorbitant amount of money she’d just spent on lingerie for a sixteen-year-old.
This isn’t normal.
In fact, this is spiraling so far out of the realm of normal that it’s making her a little nauseous. She picks up her latte to take a sip and glances at Cadence, wondering what she’s thinking. For the last five minutes, she’s been staring intently at a kissing couple in the corner of the room.
Probably in their early twenties, the couple have their tongues so far down each other’s throats it’s a wonder they can still breathe. Every now and again, the boy puts his hand on the girl’s thigh, and she responds by pushing him back down toward her knee. At least one person here still has some sense of decency.
What could be on Cadence’s mind, though? She’s never spoken about boys, except to suggest that she might not want to marry one. She’s never confided in Marlee about school crushes, or boyfriends, or going on dates. She’s never been on a date. Has she ever been asked? Why the secrecy? Perhaps there’s nothing to hide. Perhaps she’s still too young. After all, she’s been very sheltered.
At the request of the Ashlocks, Marlee had never educated Cadence in such things. They didn’t want their daughter encouraged to date, to explore, or to become worldly in that way. The less thought given to the matter the better, they’d said, since her personal feelings aren’t going to be taken into consideration anyway.
On the rare occasions that Cadence asks for specifics on certain topics, Marlee never lies, but Cadence seems to have little interest in romantic pursuits. Still, she’s only sixteen, Marlee reminds herself. There’s plenty of time for that to develop.
As the kissing couple finally break for air, Cadence turns back to the table and to her cup of steaming hot chocolate, thinking deeply before asking:
“Will you kiss me like that?”
Marlee coughs and wheezes, choking on her latte, some of the hot liquid getting caught in her windpipe. “Why in the world would you ask me such a thing?”
“Because I like it when our lips touch,” she says matter-of-factly. “Do you?”
Marlee sets her cup down and stares into the bottom of her drink. “Far too much.”
She looks saddened, and Cadence can’t fathom why.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re only sixteen, Cady.” Marlee sounds deeply apologetic. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to kiss you like that. Do you understand? It’s against the law.”
“No, it’s not.” Cadence scowls, angered by the suggestion. “I’m old enough now. I—”
“Not for me,” Marlee cuts her protest short. “I’m your nanny. The rules are different.”
Cadence, utterly flummoxed by this unforeseen stumbling block, is rendered temporarily silent, her disappointment palpable.
Then, “How different?”
“Eighteen,” Marlee answers with a sigh. “As long as I’m still your nanny, you have to be eighteen.”
“But we love each other,” Cadence counters.
Oh, how her view of the world is so adorably simplistic.
“Darling”—Marlee reaches for Cadence’s hand on the table—“I could get in a lot of trouble for kissing you that way. Besides anything else, do you know how old I am?”
Cadence shakes her head, sipping her drink.
“I’m thirty-three. I’m more than twice your age.” She wishes that weren’t true. “For god’s sake, I’m old enough to be your mother.”
Cadence sets her cup down so forcefully it almost cracks the saucer. “If you don’t want to give me kisses that way, just say so. Don’t make any more excuses.” She looks crestfallen, her eyes full of tears.
Marlee is heartbroken. “Sweetheart, I would love to kiss you that deeply. I really would.” She weaves her
This isn’t normal.
In fact, this is spiraling so far out of the realm of normal that it’s making her a little nauseous. She picks up her latte to take a sip and glances at Cadence, wondering what she’s thinking. For the last five minutes, she’s been staring intently at a kissing couple in the corner of the room.
Probably in their early twenties, the couple have their tongues so far down each other’s throats it’s a wonder they can still breathe. Every now and again, the boy puts his hand on the girl’s thigh, and she responds by pushing him back down toward her knee. At least one person here still has some sense of decency.
What could be on Cadence’s mind, though? She’s never spoken about boys, except to suggest that she might not want to marry one. She’s never confided in Marlee about school crushes, or boyfriends, or going on dates. She’s never been on a date. Has she ever been asked? Why the secrecy? Perhaps there’s nothing to hide. Perhaps she’s still too young. After all, she’s been very sheltered.
At the request of the Ashlocks, Marlee had never educated Cadence in such things. They didn’t want their daughter encouraged to date, to explore, or to become worldly in that way. The less thought given to the matter the better, they’d said, since her personal feelings aren’t going to be taken into consideration anyway.
On the rare occasions that Cadence asks for specifics on certain topics, Marlee never lies, but Cadence seems to have little interest in romantic pursuits. Still, she’s only sixteen, Marlee reminds herself. There’s plenty of time for that to develop.
As the kissing couple finally break for air, Cadence turns back to the table and to her cup of steaming hot chocolate, thinking deeply before asking:
“Will you kiss me like that?”
Marlee coughs and wheezes, choking on her latte, some of the hot liquid getting caught in her windpipe. “Why in the world would you ask me such a thing?”
“Because I like it when our lips touch,” she says matter-of-factly. “Do you?”
Marlee sets her cup down and stares into the bottom of her drink. “Far too much.”
She looks saddened, and Cadence can’t fathom why.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re only sixteen, Cady.” Marlee sounds deeply apologetic. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to kiss you like that. Do you understand? It’s against the law.”
“No, it’s not.” Cadence scowls, angered by the suggestion. “I’m old enough now. I—”
“Not for me,” Marlee cuts her protest short. “I’m your nanny. The rules are different.”
Cadence, utterly flummoxed by this unforeseen stumbling block, is rendered temporarily silent, her disappointment palpable.
Then, “How different?”
“Eighteen,” Marlee answers with a sigh. “As long as I’m still your nanny, you have to be eighteen.”
“But we love each other,” Cadence counters.
Oh, how her view of the world is so adorably simplistic.
“Darling”—Marlee reaches for Cadence’s hand on the table—“I could get in a lot of trouble for kissing you that way. Besides anything else, do you know how old I am?”
Cadence shakes her head, sipping her drink.
“I’m thirty-three. I’m more than twice your age.” She wishes that weren’t true. “For god’s sake, I’m old enough to be your mother.”
Cadence sets her cup down so forcefully it almost cracks the saucer. “If you don’t want to give me kisses that way, just say so. Don’t make any more excuses.” She looks crestfallen, her eyes full of tears.
Marlee is heartbroken. “Sweetheart, I would love to kiss you that deeply. I really would.” She weaves her
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