Three-Quarters

The crunch of cinnamon churro cereal crackled in her skull. Cassidy chewed with relish. Her senses, waking from last night's marijuana-induced haze, leapt at every flavor, texture, and sound. She tucked her knees against her thin body and pulled her triple-XL turtleneck over them. She was so snug she could make-believe she was still in bed, heaven on her tongue.

Sunlight seared her eyeballs. Eyelids offered little protection against the morning rays. After opening the blinds, Sharon stirred her coffee and sat at the breakfast table with her daughter. Cassidy needed coffee. There was no way to get through class without it. But to her hypersensitive taste buds, all the stevia in the world would not make the coffee's bitterness bearable -- not at the strength she required.

"Fun night?" asked Sharon.

"Mm-hmm." It had been fun. Infiltrating a college party was risky, but she and her friends had it down to a science -- partner up, don't leave your partner alone for any reason, don't drink anything you didn't pour yourself. Hookup-wise, this meant they sometimes shared one guy. Janet, though dependable, liked engaging in full-on threesomes. Cassidy preferred Zara. Zara took her turn then let Cassidy take hers. Cassidy didn't mind going second. It was more work for her, but the dudes lasted longer. Last night, she and Zara had been partners. Janet paired up with a short, goth chick named Felice -- more her type anyway.

Cassidy stirred her bowl of sugary, cinnamon goodness. If only she hadn't done molly. Molly made sex feel amazing, but it killed her appetite. She was low on energy as it was. Lifting the bowl to her lips, she drank what milk her stomach could handle. Cold, rich, creamy, and a little spice -- Christmas in her mouth. She deserved a fun night. After what she'd let those computer lab-dwellers do to her (while stone-cold sober no less), no one could begrudge her a night of debauchery.

"Someone had a late night." Desmond set down a steaming plate of eggs and bacon. "You earned it," he said, "I saw that GPA. Four-point-two." He whistled slowly and washed down his food with a swig of coffee. Cassidy couldn't look at him, and not just because the sight of food made her queasy.

"Thanks, dad," she said, chin on her knees.

"Congratulations," said Sharon flatly.

"Make sure to drink lots of water." Desmond had given Cassidy little other advice since she'd begun going out by herself. With her academic performance now consistently stellar, fatherhood took the form of tips for hangover management. He put away the last of his breakfast and rinsed his dishes in the sink. "I'm off. Take care of each other." He kissed them both goodbye and grabbed his briefcase on the way out the door.

Sharon retrieved a bottle of water and placed it on the table. She brushed Cassidy's thick, chin-length blonde hair out of puffy blue eyes. Her features were sharp and symmetrical like her mother's, but less diamond shaped and more squared, like her father's. "I'll drive you to school," she said.

"Fine." Cassidy rose and stretched. At five-foot-ten, she was even taller than her dad. Though she towered above Sharon, the oversized turtleneck hanging on her narrow shoulders, smothering her slender hands in the sleeves made her look like a little girl. Sharon watched her climb upstairs to get dressed. Her baby had grown into a star student on paper and a burnout in the flesh.

###

"Cassidy, are you happy?" said Sharon. Cassidy only slouched against the car door. With her dark sunglasses, she appeared vexingly aloof. Sharon took one hand off the wheel and poked her shoulder. "Cassidy!" She started.

"What?"

"Were you asleep?"

"Mm-hmm."

"How are you going to get through class?"

"I'll prop my head up, keep my shades on. They won't know."

"They let you wear sunglasses in class?"

"I'll say they're prescription, and my regular glasses broke."

"You don't wear glasses."

"They can't prove that."

"So you're going to sleep in class."

"It's whatever. I'll pass all my stuff. I just don't want the absence." They stopped at a red light. Sharon let out a sigh. Something had been bothering her for months. There never seemed to be a good time to bring it up.

"I don't understand," she said. "I just don't understand. You must study at some point. Other kids taking all AP classes like you -- they do nothing BUT study. You're going out with friends at night, and... who knows what...." Cassidy stayed silent. She picked at a button on her jacket, so Sharon knew she was awake. Sharon braced for what she was about to say. "Cassidy, are you ch--?" Her phone buzzed. "...Would you mind checking that?" she asked instead.

Cassidy glanced at Sharon's phone. "Butt text."

"What?"

"It's a butt text. Some three-oh-seven number. It just said 'X'." Sharon drove right past the school. By the time she realized and turned around, they were running late. Cassidy had to dash out of the car. Sharon didn't care. She was abuzz with the thrill of hiding in plain sight.

###

DING-DONG. As she rang the doorbell of Apartment 212, a peculiar feeling pervaded her insides. It wasn't butterflies. She'd had butterflies on the beach. This was pressure, like on an airplane during takeoff. She was about to enter a realm where she had no control, but complete trust in the one who did.

The door opened. She felt weightless -- suspended at the moment a plane reaches altitude and levels. Travis leaned against the top of the doorframe. A lock of hair hung over one eye. It made his other seem sharper. "Can I help you, ma'am?" Sharon blinked. His eye peered out from behind the hair. It seemed to smirk. The rest of his face followed suit. "Just kidding. Get in here."

A slim, sinewy arm pulled her in by the waist. Travis's mouth gripped hers. A dull burn spread across her tongue. From behind, she heard the deadbolt lock shut. Travis's lips moved to her forehead. The burning sensation in her mouth stayed. She felt his heartbeat on her cheek through his thin white shirt. Just as he swelled against her stomach, he let go and strolled to the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

Sharon didn't hear. She was in awe. Tucked in one corner of the living room was a desk, four monitors, and a swivel chair. The rest of the apartment was bare -- no couch, no tables, nothing on the walls. It was only a one-bedroom-one-bath, but it felt big, cold, and sterile. Sharon sought refuge in the kitchen where a warm, comforting aroma filled the air. A pot of green beans and potatoes simmered on the stove. Though simple, it smelled exotic. Travis leaned on the counter, eating from a bowl. He seemed perfectly at home -- a welcome presence in the blank emptiness around them. Sharon watched two long legs extending from cargo shorts, the heel of one bare foot hooked around the other.

"Did you just move in?"

"No. I've been here a while."

"Where's your furniture?"

"This is it."

"This can't be it."

"Why not?"

Sharon studied him. He seemed genuinely unaware this was no way to live. "Travis, you're not..." she began, "I mean, are you... struggling?" He looked at her, surprised, then chuckled.

"You mean financially? You think I'm poor?" Sharon was embarrassed. "Yeah, I'm just doing the software thing until VCRs make a comeback."

"But it's just so strange. Wouldn't you like some more places to sit down or put things? To fill up the space and make it feel normal, and...." She trailed off. Travis got off the counter and stood over her.

"Don't worry about it." He speared his last bite and held it up to her. "Want some?" It smelled great. Sharon took it. After two seconds of chewing, her mouth was on fire. "Too spicy?" he asked. Tears streamed down her face. "Crap. Here." Travis took a carton of milk from the fridge and held it to her lips. She gulped the cold, fatty liquid until the flames were quenched. "Sorry," he said. He offered a paper towel. "I've been putting spices from this Indian supermarket in everything I eat. I guess I don't know my own tolerance."

Sharon blew her nose. "That's okay. It tastes good. At first."

"Thank you." Travis took the carton, drained the remainder of the milk, and tossed it in the trash. "So, you ready?"

"Hmm?" Sharon remembered the purpose of her visit. "Oh. Yes. I guess. Don't sweep me off my feet or anythi--." Before she could finish, he swept her off her feet. Effortlessly, he carried her to the bedroom. She laughed in his arms, but once he set her down, she was no longer amused. "Oh, my God," she said. There was no bed -- just a sleeping bag on a foam mat with a single, solitary pillow. Besides that, the room was empty as the rest.

"What is it?" he asked, oblivious as before.

"Do you live here, or are you camping?"

"It's clean. I washed everything last night." Sharon put her face in her hands.

"Not the point." When she opened her eyes, Travis was shirtless. Body hair darkened the contours of his lean, wiry torso. His eyes flickered. His voice was steady.

"Take off your clothes." Sharon felt weak.

"You're lucky you're tall." Kneeling down, she let her purse fall from her shoulder. She opened the fly of his shorts. There he was, straight before her. From far above, Travis's hard face peered down. Sharon wanted to break that face. She wanted to make him shudder with her touch. Just a little. Just to know she could. Fixing her eyes up at him, she parted her lips and leaned close.

In one swift motion, Travis seized her by the chin and tossed her on the mat. A hand crept under her blouse, unclasping her bra. "I said. Clothes. Off." A gust of fabric, and she was topless. Lips clenched her nipples, sending her into a bout of hurried breaths. Groping dazedly, she found his arms. Stretched over his long frame, his muscles did not seem large, but in her hands, it was clear she was helpless.

His mouth pulled flesh. She shivered. Teeth were palpable against her skin. It felt like he might devour her breast. Involuntarily, she jerked her hips. He planted a knee between her thighs. Rubbing on it staved off her appetite.

A small, sudden orgasm struck her. Travis's nipple-play now whetted her hunger. She tugged her jeans. They hugged her hips tight. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and jerked, barely forcing them an inch around her rear. Her inability to stop grinding on his leg increased the difficulty. "Please," she said, "get in me."

He yanked her jeans to her knees, lifting them and pinning them to her shoulders. Her glistening womanhood was presented. Travis dived in. How his tongue prodded such a small point so quickly, Sharon couldn't believe. A clitoral orgasm simmered, rose, then bubbled over, trickling out from his lips. A cry escaped her. It echoed through the apartment. She clasped her mouth to stop the walls repeating her adultery.

Bracing one forearm across the back of her knees, he ran a hand down her thigh. It made her shudder. Travis groaned. The sound resonated through her and the room. The echo was no longer off-putting. It amplified the validation. He pressed a hand to her opening. Two fingers brought a sound from her on their way in. Arching them, he worked her spot, still twirling his tongue on her clit, albeit sparingly. The build to the next orgasm was slow. He was teasing. She tried to thrust herself in his face, but his arm held her legs fast to her body. A groan of half-pleasure, half-frustration filled the room.

Between tongue and fingers, a simultaneous orgasm was arriving, but at a snail's pace. Sharon put a hand on each leg and pushed up. They lifted about an inch before being forced back down. Travis pleasured her harder -- still not enough. When her second effort failed, he got rough. Her clit pressed in his lips, he shook his head. His fingers lifted her bottom in the air.

Orgasms ripped her flesh. Every muscle in her compact, voluptuous body went taught. She went straight as an arrow. The burst of strength caught Travis off balance, rolling him over and trapping his face under her backside. She sat up and let ripples of delight peter out in trembling spasms. Still sitting on his face, she took her time removing her shoes and jeans from around her ankles. He'd come up for air when ready. Finally, he pushed her off. "Too much of a good thing," he said, panting.

"Aw." She kissed him on the nose. He got to his knees, ready to pounce. She took him in her hand gently, baiting an attack. "Go ahead. Do whatever you want."

Travis wrapped both hands around her neck. "That's what I've been doing, you whore." He threw her face down on the pillow. Sharon arched her back. Something prodded her nether lips, poised to enter. He pulled her back by her thick blonde hair, filling her inch by inch till his hip bones dug in her backside. He gave her some slack, then brought her clapping against him with a firm tug. Sparks of ecstasy flared deep within. He smacked her behind, urging her to ride, her hair as his reins. She obeyed, picking up speed with every hand that came down on her shaking flesh.

The finish was near. Sharon felt Travis was close too. She wanted to win. Between ragged breaths, she managed, "Oh, please... please..." He understood. Hoisting her upright on her knees, he pressed a hand to her crotch. The rubbing multiplied the climax from penetration. High-pitched cries broke the air. Thighs quaked. She would've collapsed had Travis not held her. When the stimulation grew too great, Sharon grabbed his fingers. Only now did she feel him nuzzling her neck. His breaths were quick, hot, and aggressive. He waited for her let go of his fingers before plowing forward. His efforts grew in severity, but merely extended the comedown from her final orgasm. She was spent. As she slipped from consciousness, she felt her head hit the pillow and ejaculate land on her back amid grunts from gritted teeth.

"Hey, wake up." Sharon lifted her head. Travis's hair was wet. He'd washed up and was back in his clothes. Sore from what they'd done (and from lying on her breasts wrong), she rose. She covered up with the pillow to not be more naked than the room. Travis snatched it away. Sharon stood still, arms at her sides, letting him see his handiwork -- sweat, redness, himself... "There's a fresh bar of soap in the shower," he said. "Use the towel on the right. It's brand new. You have book club in ninety minutes." He dropped the pillow and left.

Once she washed and dressed, she found Travis at his desk. He lounged in his chair, pivoting from side to side. His posture was lazy, but he stared down his screens like crosshairs. He picked off bits of code from walls of incomprehensible text to delete or rewrite. Sharon approached so he pivoted his leg into hers, where it stayed. He kept his eyes on work, but took one hand off the keyboard to stroke the back of her knee. Her nipples hardened.

"What is it?" he said.

"I don't see you at the gym anymore."

"I changed up my schedule. Best we don't meet in public."

"I can control myself if you can."

"I can't." Travis looked her in the eye. "Not anymore, at least." Sharon remembered what it was like at his age. Every boyfriend she'd had could never keep his hands off no matter where they were. Still, she missed seeing him outside of sex.

"We should go somewhere," she said. Travis considered this.

"It'll have to be out of town. We don't want to run into people you know." His finger sent a tingle up her leg. "Overnight would be best. Can you get away that long?"

"I'll check."

"Okay. Let me know." He gave her a slap on the butt, "Now beat it. We both got stuff to do."

###

She had definitely been there. Sharon clicked the next image on Cedar Grove's website. The photos of their units looked just like where she'd been with Travis yesterday. She half-expected to see one of herself naked on the floor.

Putting her laptop aside, she unfolded her legs across the silky king-size bed, stretched, and touched her heels. Resting her face on her knees, she saw her drawings on the bedroom wall. They were mostly of Cassidy through the years. Cassidy never held still when told to, so Sharon had to sketch candidly. Ages one to twelve were asleep. Thirteen to sixteen were texting. Seventeen was driving down the highway on their family vacation to Santa Monica last summer. Sharon was proudest of that one. Cassidy looked focused and a bit scared, but happy. The way she held the steering wheel was just like how she held Desmond's fingers when first learning to walk.

The door flew open and in hurried Desmond, tearing off his business suit. "I know, I know, we're running late. Give me two minutes." He stumbled dropping his pants and drawers on the way to the shower.

"You're showering?" said Sharon. "It's just the Tayanis."

"You don't know the day I've had. It's a dirty job sometimes." Violent scrubbing spattered water on the shower door. Sharon picked up his suit and laid it on a chair. "Oh, by the way, my alma mater asked me to give a guest lecture next weekend." Sharon looked up from gathering his clothes.

"Next weekend?"

"Yep. Plane leaves Friday afternoon. Comes back Sunday evening."

"Two whole days," she said to herself.

"What was that?"

"So you'll be in D.C. for two days?"

"Right." The water stopped. A dripping Desmond emerged, toweling off. She dropped his clothes in the hamper and saw something entwined in his boxers -- a long, black hair. Dirty job indeed. "Also," he said, "Cassidy asked if she could have some friends over while I'm gone. I said okay."

"So you already told her." Desmond fastened his jeans and pulled on a polo.

"Well, she's nailing her grades. She deserves to blow off a little steam."

"Why? She never studies."

"Sorry?"

"She never studies. Why does she need to blow off steam?"

"...Okay, then she deserves to have fun for being smart."

"Smart kids still study. She's going out every night, sleeping in class--"

"Wait, wait, what are you saying? You don't think she's...?"

"Cheating? Yes."

"Wow. Okay. Cheating how, like buying papers online?"

"I don't know."

"Have you checked with the bank? Has she made any strange payments?"

"She's eighteen. She can open her own account."

"Has she?"

"I don't know!"

"Then what are we even talking about?"

Sharon sighed. "Can you at least admit it's possible?"

"Let me tell you what I think," said Desmond. He took her hand and led her to the vanity. "I think our daughter is the smartest, most brilliant kid ever made, because you and I made her." He held her close from behind, head against hers. "Look at us. How could she not be?" The mirror showed a classy, handsome couple. What Sharon saw looking back were two cheaters. More than ever, she was sure Cassidy was one too. "Now come on," he said, "We really are late."

###

Darius Tayani was an accomplished cosmetic surgeon. His wife Dina made exquisite use of his wealth. From intricate, Persian carpeting to sheer silk drapes, the décor of their expansive house suggested a triumphant rise from their beginnings as starry-eyed kids in Iran. There was a spring in the step of every shoeless party guest, as if this place were a monument to their accomplishments too.

"Is it too spicy?" asked Dina. Sharon chewed a pita chip heaped with pomegranate salsa. It was so crisp and fresh it made her insides younger as it went down. "I was afraid of making it too sweet, so I might have overdone the jalapeño."

"Please," said Sharon, "take it away before I eat it all." Laughing, Dina sashayed out of the kitchen and through a throng of smiling people. Sharon sipped her green juice, glancing out the glass wall. Desmond and Darius spoke by the pool waterfall. Their conversation was business-related, judging from their faces. She remembered she also had business here.

Melissa rolled the stem of an empty wine glass in her fingers, her bare feet crossed on an Ottoman. "Sharon, tell me I can have another glass," she said, "Be my enabler. Just this once. Please?"