Under the Orange Moon Read Free Page B

around the room. He pulled open his bedside drawer and smirked at the items that were left behind: remnants of his glory days in high school, magazines, phone numbers, condoms and a foul ball from the last Diamond Backs game he went to.
    He stood up and changed into more comfortable clothes. He had been so used to his nice pants and collared shirts that he wore he had forgotten what it felt like to wear a pair of jeans. He slipped a faded, gray Harvard T-shirt over his head and fell back against his twin bed.
    Ben ran his hand through his hair and laughed to himself when the reality of it all set it. He was home. Seeing the Mathews somewhat stamped this into place for him. Not his mother or her house. It was the Mathews family that made him feel that pleasant, good-to-be-home feeling. 
    It was like old times. Only Dylan was not the old Dylan.
    Dylan. She was absolutely fascinating. He couldn’t control his reminiscent smile when he thought of her, the only girl born to poor Linda Mathews and who came out with a knack for doing boy things better than most boys. She wore baggy clothes on her petite body, loved art and all that applied, threw a football like Brett Favre and had no problem taking her brothers down by using the unfair advantage of having the ability to kick them square in the balls.
    She could hardly be described as a weed anymore.
    He thought about her eyes—her emerald green eyes. Those were the same. Her hair shined the same, too, he noticed. Sparkling wisps of auburn still shone through the light brunette color when the sun beamed down on it a certain way. Her skin was olive and looked somewhat Mediterranean when the summer rays were strongest, he remembered.
    She was the same way he left her five years before, only she let the best of herself come out with age. He hadn’t forgotten her effects on him, but he found her pull a bit more difficult to avoid now.
    Ben sighed at the memory of her skirt bunched between her legs and he nearly scolded himself out loud for even allowing thoughts about Dylan’s legs to enter his mind.
    “Knock, knock.” Ruth opened the door without any grant from Ben, which in his mind was not just annoying, but typical. “Are you going to be here for dinner?” Already she was making his visit complicated.
    “I don’t believe so. Why?”
    “I thought about cooking.” Ruth’s face only half frowned. “No big deal.” Her expression proved otherwise.
    “Tomorrow?”
    “I thawed the chicken already. Maybe it will keep until then.”
    “I’m sure it will be fine, Mom.” Ben sat up and stared at her disappointed face. “Ask me.”
    “What?”
    Ben rolled his eyes. “Ask me what you want to ask me. Get it over with.”
    “Fine. How is he?” Ruth’s eyes watered and her voice choked.
    “He’s the same as always. He’s busy, selfish, and bitter.” Ben’s three words to sum up his father, Warren McKenna, were harsh, but true.            
    Sometimes it was hard for him to draw a line between his parents. He wasn’t sure which order his hatred went. Did he hate his selfish father for leaving his mother? Or did he hate his pathetic mother for allowing his father to leave? Either way, he hated them both.
    “Ben, you shouldn’t say those things.”
    “Then you shouldn’t ask.” Ben stood to his feet. “You’ve wasted about two decades of your life waiting for that man, Mom.”
    “I haven’t waited.” Ruth’s voice went quiet, sending Ben his signal that the familiar tears were coming.
    “I’ll see you later.” Ben walked by her, gently placing his hand on her arm as he passed. “We’ll have dinner tomorrow night.”
    He hated when she cried. Not because it made him sad, but because it truly irritated him more than he could tolerate. Ben remembered clearly all the times she had cried in front of him. It seemed his mother cried over everything they discussed. No one should ever see a parent cry, a theory he wished his mother lived by.
    Dylan sat