Diving In (Open Door Love Story) by Stacey Wallace Benefiel

“Can I interest you in a piece of pie? We’ve got pumpkin and pecan. I’m about to have my second round of the day.”
    “Yes, please.”
    Mrs. Riley smacks her husband on the ass as he walks by. “I didn’t get the whipped cream. Safeway was closed.”
    “Oh, the horror,” Mr. Riley replies.
    At my house it would’ve been a major disaster that there was no whipped cream. My mother would’ve written a letter to Safeway detailing the myriad ways she was not going to support their business any longer. But it also would’ve been a non-issue because my mother would never have forgotten the whipped cream and had to go to Safeway on Thanksgiving. She consistently forgot how to act like a human being, but she never forgot something if it was on the never-ending to-do list in her head.
    I notice for the first time that Gabe is sitting on the couch and not in his chair. I guess I’m used to seeing him seated and just assumed. I hesitantly walk over and sit next to him on the couch. He braces himself with his hands to keep from falling toward me when my weight caves the seat cushions inward.
    “Oops,” I say, embarrassed, and scoot away from him quickly.
    He smiles. “No big deal. I should’ve warned you that I faceplant when people sit next to me on the couch. Another awesome thing about being me. I’ve had my face in my dad’s lap more times than I care to remember.”
    “You know, FFCH, there are some things I don’t need to know.”
    “Well, from one over-sharer to another, them’s the breaks. Don’t ever say I don’t give you some truly horrifying images to chew on.”
    I shake my head violently. “I will only think of your dad as a door fixer and a pie bringer and you can’t make me do otherwise.”
    “Jesus. You two are weird,” Mrs. Riley says. She rolls her eyes, but then winks at me.
    Mr. Riley comes into the family room with two enormous slices of pie on these dainty china plates. He hands one to me. “Here, lemme get you a TV tray.”
    He drags a metal tray with legs over to me and I set my pie down on it, resisting squealing like a little girl. At my house, you may have beverages in the den while watching TV on holidays, but under no circumstances were we ever allowed to have food anywhere but the kitchen or dining room table. This. Is. Awesome.
    Gabe taps me on the shoulder. “Hey looney tunes, you all right there? You’ve got a super goofy look on your face.”
    I shrug. “Pie in the family room is the best thing ever.”
    Mr. Riley snorts. “You have to raise your expectations, dear.”
    We hang out eating and not eating, watching football and not watching football, talking and not talking. It’s all very easy. Gabe reaches out and rubs my shoulder from time to time and I bring my hand up and run my fingertips over the top of his hand. We’re flirty without being gross. A couple of hours pass this way. Leftovers are brought out and everyone eats again. His mom’s cooking is delicious and the food is better than my mom’s, even though it is nearly identical.
    Mrs. Riley stands and saunters over to her husband, reaching a hand out to him. “I need to take a walk or I’m going to burst.”
    Mr. Riley happily gets up from his chair and takes his wife’s hand. “We’ll be back in an hour. Mom’s got her phone if you need us.”
    “Cool. Have a good walk,” Gabe says, grinning up at his folks. The instant the front door is closed, he turns to me. “I have been dying for them to take a hint. Stand up, will ya?”
    Gabe braces himself and I stand up. Then he whips the blanket covering his legs off and takes hold of his left leg, just under the knee, hoisting it up onto the couch. He does the same with the other until he’s lounging back on the armrest.
    “Get on top of me.” He licks his lips and looks me up and down, giving me the full-body tingles.
    I’m ready and not ready for anything. I take a step toward him and then straddle him, one knee dug into the crack between the