by Amy Rose
I want to change the topic desperately. However, since these were Elliot’s parents, it’s best that I keep quiet, let Elliot handle the topics. Everyone else has almost finished their glass of wine and yet mine is still full. I take a couple of small sips so I can keep up with the illusion that I am indeed drinking the wine.
“Do you have any time off over Christmas, Angela?”
Arthur’s question is innocent enough. A fair question for this time of year. However, I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach he is searching for a certain answer.
“I do, actually, Arthur. The office I work in closes down for a two-week period. However most of the agents still show properties if we have an inquiry.”
Elliot then chimes in. “And during those two weeks you have agreed to come spend Christmas with me.” He is clearly brimming with happiness and it is infectious.
“Yes. Indeed I have.” We are looking at each other now. I am so happy that he is happy.
I don’t have to wait long for a question I am expecting.
“You don’t spend Christmas with your own family, dear?” Maggie asks. It is clear they are protective parents. As they should be. For all they know, I am some gold-digging woman looking to sink her teeth into their son. The term “dear,” although spoken friendly enough, appears to have a slight patronizing tone behind it.
“Not normally. My parents have never been fans of the cold winters. So they normally go on a cruise around this time of year, seeking warmer weather.”
My family used to spend every Christmas together until my grandparents passed. Now we do our own separate things, seeing each other for my birthday instead. No more is said on the topic, so it seems they are happy with my explanation.
“How’s the new job going, Dad? Are you liking it?” Elliot begins steering the conversation away from me for which I am very appreciative. His father responds in detail about his job. He is an accountant for a big company from what I can make out. It sounds as though they are being funny, talking about how his boss had given him a huge office with a view. I’m pretty sure I remember him telling me about his father working for him. It would make sense, after all he had mentioned to me before that he was a family man. I would try to remember to ask him later.
During this conversation, I sneakily keep catching glimpses of Elliot’s mother, Maggie. It is hard to do so from the corner of my eye, but I am able to see that she had not taken her eyes of us since we had sat down. She is looking at our hands intertwined and had the smallest of smiles formed on her lips. Even though it appeared she is happy, I couldn’t help feeling awkward. I wonder why she was paying so much attention to us. Is it just because she is protective?
After the conversation regarding Arthur’s work had died down, we all stand up and make our way toward the dining room. Taking up center stage is a large glass table, surrounded with ten seats. Maggie wanders straight past, walking through a swinging door. No doubt toward the kitchen; my suspicion proved correct when she returns with a large crockpot in hand. I can smell seafood wafting through the air.
“That smells delicious, Maggie,” I say as she places the pot down in the middle of the perfectly-set dining table.
“Did you make my favorite, Mom?” Elliot appears to be nearly bouncing in his seat, he lifts up slightly trying to look into the crockpot.
“Of course I did. Spaghetti marinara for my boy” She takes her seat to the right hand side of Arthur who has positioned himself at the head of the dining table. Elliot pulls out the seat two down from his father, and scooches it in for me once I am in place. He then sits himself on my right, in between his Father and me, and across from his mother.
Now that we are all sitting, I take notice of the place settings. White fabric placemats with two forks and two knives laid out on either side of the black, oval shaped bowls. A fabric serviette folded into a triangle sat underneath the bowl.
Toward the top of the placemat I see that we have new wine glasses. This time filled with a blood red liquid. I’m not a wine connoisseur myself so I’m not sure what it could be. Only that it is red wine. Thankfully I catch sight of the water jug, sitting on my side of the crockpot. I reach out and grasp it, pouring it to fill my water glass. I was getting thirsty, and this I could drink, without worry of side effects.
When I have filled my glass, I turn towards Elliot “Would you like some water, Elliot?”
“That would be great. Thanks, baby”
He moves his glass closer to me, making my job of pouring easier. When I am finished with my task, he collects it. Looking at his face I see him wink at me.
It reminded me of the game we played at the airport yesterday. Was it really only one day ago? So much has happened since then. It was the first time he had called me baby; it was for show though. However today he had used another term of endearment, babe, and we were at home by ourselves. Should I call him something too? Does he want me to? I will wait and see if a suitable moment arises and use a term that comes to mind then.
Elliot stands up and scooped out a large serving of marinara for everyone; he dishes his own helping out last.
“Bon appétit” Arthur says. Lifting his wine glass up toward the midpoint of our places at the table. Maggie and Elliot quickly follow suit. I raise my own too, albeit a few seconds after everyone else and we all touch glasses. Hearing a resounding clink, we all drink some wine before placing our glasses down. It tasted like a Cabernet Sauvignon to me. It is quite a lovely drop.
We all eat our meal in relative silence, everyone too busy forking in mouthfuls of pasta and delicious seafood. I am enjoying the spaghetti very much. Unlike a lot of restaurants who charge top dollar and only provide a couple of pieces of seafood, Maggie didn’t skimp at all. There are good amounts of everything. I enjoy mouthfuls of fish, prawns, scallops, mussels, octopus and something else that is scrumptious. The tomato sauce has hints of many herbs, basil and garlic too. It was so flavorsome. The pasta itself was cooked al dente, just the way I liked it. I think to myself even a chef like Liam would be impressed with this meal.
I make sure to leave a couple of mouthfuls in my bowl, as a sign of respect, something my grandmother instilled in me in my early teens. When I place my fork down, I look over to Elliot and I see that he has started to slow down with his meal.
“Looks as though you loved it, babe” I say to Elliot. Mission accomplished. Term of endearment spoken.
He smiles at me, clearly happy with my chosen word, and drops his fork seeking out my hand.
“I certainly did. How about you, baby?” He gives me a small wink.
“It was delicious” I reply. Then turning towards Maggie and Arthur who are watching us with small smiles worn on their faces. “You are a wonderful cook Maggie. It was very tasty, thank you.”
I look to both of them as I speak. Maggie is the one to reply.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Angela. This has been one of our boy’s favorite meals since he was a young lad. I try and cook it for him when he comes to visit us.”
We all sit at the dinner table for a while longer. Elliot is engrossed in a conversation with his father, something to do about sports. Since I’m not a fan of any type of sport myself, I tune out. Nodding occasionally and smiling when they do. All the while hoping they don’t ask me a question, knowing full well that I won’t be able to answer.
Sometime during this conversation Maggie had excused herself to the kitchen, taking all of the dirty dishes with her. She returned a short time later with a large silver tray, topped with a teapot and four teacups, all of which were on matching saucers. As she places mine down on the table in front of me I lift it to have a good look at it. It has a beautiful design, with dusty pink roses intertwined with a vine, the handle was very small, only large enough to allow one finger through. It was also rimmed in gold. The matching saucer was also beautiful and in immaculate condition. I know that they are older, antiques even and marveled at how they still looked like new.
We enjoy a cup of
tea before Elliot announces the lateness of the hour and advises that we should be heading off. I am extremely glad to hear him speak up because I am hoping for some alone time with him before I go to sleep tonight.
After we say our goodbyes, during which Elliot went into his father’s office for a short time, I wonder what is going on behind those closed doors. We exit the home and walk to the car. Price is waiting for us. I do hope he hasn’t been waiting for us here all this time. I can’t help myself. I just have to ask.
“Hey Price. You haven’t been waiting for us this whole time. Have you?”
He looks surprised at my question, looking to Elliot first he then turns back to me and replies.
“Yes, I have, Miss White. I have been keeping myself busy by watching Netflix on my iPad”
He opens up my door for me and I slide in. Poor man, had to wait here for us outside while we were inside eating marinara. Has he eaten?
Once we are both comfortable in the back seat of the Mercedes, Price begins the short drive home.
“Mom and Dad like you. You know?”
Elliot surprises me with this statement.
“I didn’t expect that. They seemed a little curt with me.” I am thinking of our earlier conversation in the living area.
He laughs a little before speaking again.
“They are pretty protective of me, however they can both see how happy I am.” He reaches out for my hand. “Dad is happy you will be sharing Christmas with us.”
Huh? They asked why I wasn’t spending it with my own family. Should I tell him I feel skeptical about this? Maybe uncomfortable, even. Looking at him next to me, he looks so very happy.
I keep quiet until I have rehearsed my next statement in my head a couple times. Finally satisfied I can get it all out I reply.
“They are right, you know. We live so far apart. I know we are going to try, but they do have a point. You do know that. Don’t you Elliot?” I squeeze his hand in reassurance.
“I know we live apart, but I truly believe we will make this, us, work. It’s such early days. Let’s just enjoy getting to know each other. Down the road we can decide if one of us needs to move. Let’s take it one day at a time, babe” He speaks with conviction. It makes me take note. He has obviously given this some thought.
Hold on. Did he just say “if one of us needs to move”? I’m not moving back to New York. No way, José. That isn’t going to happen. I left this town behind for a reason. But could this man make me abandon these thoughts. Make me want to move back to this city that holds so many horrible memories?
We travel the remainder of our car ride in silence. Our hands intertwined, his thumb rubbing against my forehand. It is rhythmic, and it helps me think. And there is a lot to think about. I will be getting some time to myself tomorrow. From the moment I step onto the plane and start the journey home, and then in only two weeks’ time I would see him again. He was going to make the journey for me to attend my Christmas party. After which I will be returning with him, to his home for a week.
I hardly know this man and I am going to stay at his house for an entire week. I know it’s nothing really, considering I am staying here presently. This trip is two nights, whereas the next will be seven nights. So much could happen in a week. Take this weekend for example. Less than forty-eight hours have passed and so much has happened.
I hear the tell-tale signs that we are once again approaching Elliot’s home: the tires moving slowly over the crushed rocks and gravel until finally coming to a complete stop.
“We’re home, baby” Elliot says as he exits the vehicle.
Once out of earshot, I breathe “We’re back at your very expensive home.”
Thankful that he doesn’t hear me. I step out of the car and turn toward the guest house. Price drives the car away from us toward the garage. Elliot grabs my hand, stopping me from taking even one step.
“Are you heading to bed?”
Even though I know I’m going to sleep straight away I nod. He wants to spend more time with me.
“Are you tired, Elliot?”
He shakes his head side to side slowly, emphasizing his nonverbal response. He stares at me for a moment before responding.
“Are you?”
I’m not surprised that he asks this question. After all, I am the one who has left it open. Hoping he would.
“Not overly, but it will be nice to lie down.”
Understanding my meaning he pauses for a moment, looking as though he is building up the courage to say something. C’mon Elliot. Spit it out. Ask to come with me. Please?
~ Chapter Twenty-Seven ~
“May I accompany you? We can talk for a while. At least until you’re ready to go to sleep?”
As soon as he has finished his question, he swallows and it’s audible. He is nervous, waiting for my reply. Does he want me to turn him away? Does he really want me to ask him back?
I feel my breath catch in my throat. This is what I had wanted him to ask, and yet, I don’t know what to say for a moment. So many thoughts are running through my mind. I pause and think. Do I let him? I’ll put the ball back in his court. Put it back on him. I’ll state a fact and he can take it as he wants to.
“It’s your guest house”
I turn and walk towards the guest house again. Listening intently behind me for any signs of his decision. My ears prick up to detect even the smallest of sounds. His footsteps on the crushed gravel underneath. Pleased to hear him following me.
I unlock the door with the key he had given me yesterday and let us both in. Immediately thankful for the lamp that I had left switched on earlier. As I am able to wander to the couch without knocking anything over.
I’m not intoxicated. That I know for certain. I had only finished one glass of wine for the entire evening, and when you then add the two glasses of water I also consumed, I’m not even a little bit tipsy. I am generally a clumsy person on a good day, worse when it’s dark or I have been drinking. So it’s a relief being able to see exactly where I am going.
I sit down on the couch, bending down to start unbuckling my black sandals. Once both are free from my feet, I drop them onto the floor directly in front of my legs. I lift the hem of my dress slightly, needing to scratch just above my knee, being careful not to show my scar, before dropping my skirt again.
I feel rather than see Elliot sit down beside me. The movement of the couch accommodating more weight. My body seeming to be completely in tune with his presence. When his hand makes contact with my own that is resting on my thigh that electrical current starts bouncing over my skin. The hairs on my body all lift off my skin, standing to attention. My heart starts to beat double time. I intake a slow breath. I thought that I was beginning to get used to this feeling, especially since it comes back every time he touches me. Every single time, since the very first time.
I turn my face to look at him and notice that his eyes are slightly hooded.
“Do you feel that?” I release the breath I had taken moments ago. I regret it as soon as I say it. He couldn’t possibly know what I am asking him about. He couldn’t be feeling this could he? Am I affecting him the same way?
“You mean, like static electricity?” Elliot replies.
Huh? He knows? He feels it, too. Our eye contact doesn’t break and I feel our bodies shifting closer to each other, as though we are being pulled together, just like a pair of magnets. Unable to pull away, even if I wanted to. We keep moving toward each other, as though there is an invisible hand on both of our backs pushing us ever closer, until our faces are only inches apart. He lifts his hands to cup my face, leaning his forehead against my own.
I hear his sharp intake of breath, I follow suit, quietly. I don’t want him to hear me. Something is building inside of me, of us possibly. I don’t say anything, hoping that his earlier mention of static electricity is a rhetorical question that he is asking himself. Hopeful he wasn’t awaiting a confirmation.
I ponder my thoughts. What should
be my next move? Or will he be the one to break this moment? Another couple of seconds go by, with so many thoughts popping into my head I focus on two of them. This is going to go either of two ways:
1. I should break away, stand up from the couch and get some distance between us, or,
2. I should wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him to me and kiss him
Luckily, I don’t have to make a choice. Elliot does that for me. He presses his lips against mine and that slow burning ember inside of my body catches on fire, making its way down my throat, and into the center of my body, spreading its warmth all over, into all limbs of my body. Our lips move against each other, with desire, with need. He offers his tongue to me and I accept, giving him unguarded access. They meet and massage each other before I push back with my own. They dance together in perfect synchronization, as though this is a well-practiced routine. Reveling in the feel of each other. We pull apart, well he pulls away from me. Seconds or minutes could have passed by during that kiss, for all I know it’s been an entire day, but when we separate I hear him draw plenty of breaths. Just like you would if you had run a marathon and it becomes apparent why it is he had to stop the kiss.
I, too, inhale several deep breaths. I try to be as quiet as possible, so he won’t hear the effect that he has on me. Earlier I had hoped, with every fiber of my being that I had the same effect on him, I no longer have to hope. It’s obvious. I affect him. My inner self claps.
“How the hell am I going to be without you for two whole weeks?” He murmurs. So quietly I presume he is voicing this to himself. I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear him. My heart is already racing and I desperately wanted to kiss him again and again and again.
If I am going to be able to keep my hands off him then I am going to need some distance. I need to go into another room. I stand up and walk around the couch, through the bedroom and into the master bathroom. I pull out the small padded stool that is positioned under the vanity and take a seat, staring at myself in the mirror. I take out my makeup remover, and pour some of the liquid onto one of the cotton balls I had packed and gently started to sweep over my eyes with it. Then with a new impregnated cotton ball I wipe over the remainder of my face. With my face now makeup free, I bend over to place the dirty cotton balls into the bin. Just as the lid is closing I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. Instead of remaining seated, I jump up, kicking the seat behind me slightly, standing now I catch my reflection in the mirror. I’m no longer alone. I can see him standing a few steps behind me. Even though I knew he was there I’m still surprised.