by Jolene Perry
“It’ll be worth it.” She’s grinning as she turns to face me.
That smile hits me in a million different happy places. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking needing to talk to Hélèna. Right now, this is enough. I’d love it if it was more, but this is enough.
So, I’ve practically cried in front of this girl, told her way more than I normally let people in on, slept all pressed together, and she still hasn’t let me kiss her. My world has definitely changed.
We’re on a rocky hill, and the tower’s the only thing up here. Already I can see islands in every direction. The frustration and ache from this morning is dissolving as much as it ever does anymore.
“Look.” She steps in so close to me that our bodies are touching, shoulders to hips, maybe more.
I am looking, but not to where she’s pointing. I’m looking at her. Her tank is cut low and my fingers itch to trace her collarbone and slide down her shoulders.
“Your dad’s boat is right down there.” Her arm’s stretched out pointing, but I can’t take my eyes off her.
“What?” Her nose almost touches my cheek, putting our lips dangerously close together.
“I like you.” What? That’s my smooth line? I couldn’t come up with anything more clever than that?
But her eyes practically sparkle as she leans in.
Finally, touching her lips with mine has become more of a need than anything I’ve imagined in a long time. Just before our lips touch, she turns away.
“Where are you going?” I try to laugh but don’t pull it off.
“We’re climbing the tower, silly.” She jogs ahead of me.
“You’re killing me, Amber.”
Her laughter floats through me, punching holes in the darkness.
I jog to catch up to her. The tower is stone, tall, with only tiny windows for light on the winding staircase leading to the top. Her light steps on the boards are all I can hear, and blackness is nearly complete once I step inside.
When I break back out into the sun at the top of the stairs, I pinch my eyes shut for a few moments before daring to open them. The view from up here is even better than below.
“Wow.” I step to the railing on the edge, and rest my arms there, looking across the ocean and scattered islands.
“I know. Worth it, huh?” Her hands touch my waist from behind me and slowly slide around my stomach.
There’s no way she could know that this is one of my favorite ways to be touched. Her chest presses against my back and then her face as she rests her head on my shoulder blade.
“Very worth it,” I answer. My arms rest on top of hers, and I slide our fingers together.
She’s practically begging me to kiss her; all pressed into me like this.
I turn around and take her in my arms.
She stretches up. I lean down. Her breath touches my lips.
“Not yet.” She breathes out, spins around and runs for the hole to the stairs.
“Oh come on!” I laugh. “Surely I’ve earned it by now!” Killing me. But this little game we have going on is also pretty awesome. Distracting, if nothing else.
She laughs back and disappears into the blackness below.
I take one last look around and head for the steps. The stairs look even blacker than before, but I move into the darkness. Her hand takes mine. She’s just a blur. My eyes aren’t adjusted. I smell her breath and then feel her lips against mine, sending a wave of want through me. Our fingers slide together. I lean forward and feel her smooth lips again. I need more of her. She feels even better than I’ve been imagining. Soft. Warm. Comfort. Electric.
She laughs and pulls away, running down the stairs.
“Wait!” My eyes have adjusted. Now I can see her.
Her laughter turns to shrieks as I get closer, but she’s fast and escapes my grasp. She disappears into the light. I run out behind her, but the sun hits my eyes, and once again I stop, unable to see. She grabs my shirt from the side and pulls me toward her as she leans against the side of the rock tower.
“There’s something sorta nice about being disoriented, isn’t there?” She’s as breathless as me.
I start to laugh again, but she pulls me too close. I don’t have time to think about how I want to touch my lips to hers, we just do. She’s warm, tastes sweet, and it feels like something big, something important. We’re finally kissing the way I’ve been thinking about for way too long.
I lose myself in her, in her mouth, the way I haven’t since maybe my first kiss ever. I press our bodies together as I pull her closer. I feel Amber in my chest, in places where I still hurt, like pin pricks on a fresh bruise. As if this simple act of liking her, of really liking her, completely changes what a kiss is. As much as the familiar touch of a girl’s lips is what I thought I wanted—it’s more with her. Too much. I step back.
Our eyes meet, and even that pushes into me, on the rawness left by losing Mom.
“You okay?”
“I really like you.” My shoulders slump down in honest realization. “Really.”
Her smile spreads wide, and I blink a few times as the familiar feel of hot tears hit the back of my eyes. I’m completely messed in the head. Or the heart. Or something like that.
Her hand takes mine, and I may be crushing her with my squeeze, and my need for her to feel something like I do, but her smile never falters.
My body’s in this weird state of shock thinking of what I’ve missed out on. This adds to my thought that I might not be one of the nice guys. How have I never liked a girl this much? It’s not like I’m lacking in experiences.
Amber breaks our gaze first, staring at the ground. “I don’t… you know I haven’t, or that I don’t. I’ve just never been with someone like you.” Her forehead presses into my chest.
I pull her close, maybe if she’s closer, all the ache will blend in, but she’ll overpower it. “Me either.”
She shakes her head and puts her arms more tightly around me. “That’s not what I meant.”
She means actual, physical, experience.
“You just do what feels good. The rest just… comes.”
“That sounds like a guy thing to say.” I can tell by the way she isn’t even trying to look at me that we probably won’t kiss again. Well, we’ll definitely kiss again, just not right now. I lean down and press my lips to her temple, just because I can. Still hurting, but still really feeling how much I like her.
“Ready to walk back down?” I ask.
“Ready.” She steps away from me more quickly than I’d like, but keeps my hand in hers, hopefully wanting to keep the connection as much as I want to.
But as we walk, her hand feels better and better. Normally holding hands just gets uncomfortable. My fingers start to feel all stretched, and then my hand gets too hot. But this is nice. She’s nice. Every time our eyes catch, which is often, because she’s looking up at me, she smiles. The same strip of white teeth I noticed on my first day. And now it’s for me.
Finally I can’t stand it anymore. Our hike is almost over. I pull her to a stop, lean down and kiss her twice, very softly. I’m going to have to keep telling myself this is a big deal for her, the physical stuff. She leans up to give me one last kiss and as the sweetness of her falls through my body, pushing away more of the hurt, I know this is probably a big deal for me, too.
- - -
We’re both sitting cross-legged on my bed, a book of Dad’s movies between us.
“For one movie, and then I’m going back out to my own bed.” Her jaw is set. She’s actually serious.
“You spent the night in here last night!” I’m hoping it sounds teasing, but I’m sort of amazed. We’re kissing now, and that makes spending the night together way better.
She starts flipping through the small book. “It’s just...”
My fin
gertips touch the soft spot under her chin. “I’m not going to try anything crazy, you know.”
Her eyes still won’t meet mine. “Look, Antony, I meant it today when I said I have like no experience.”
“But you’re eighteen, and you’re beautiful.” She can’t have NO experience.
“I’ve spent all my time on Mom’s boat, traveling here, there and everywhere. I’ve had braces and glasses. I’ve kept to myself, and when you’re the older girl in the home-school groups who’s never done anything, you avoid being close to anyone.” The whole time she talks, she flips through the book, not meeting my eyes.
What does she mean by never done anything? “Is it totally rude of me to ask?” Will she know what I’m talking about?
She covers her face for a moment before resting her hands flat on her cheeks. “I have kissed three boys ever. You’re one of them. And…”
And the silence stretches on.
“You don’t really want to know this, do you?” Her eyes finally meet mine.
“I feel like…yeah…I kinda do, because now I’m worried I’m just going to push you too much or something.” It’s hard to take a deep breath in here.
“Everything feels like too much.” Her cheeks are bright, and her eyes go back to the movie book between us.
“Relax, Amber. It doesn’t have to all be so serious.”
Her brows pull together. “This is the side of you that scares me.”
“I’m sorry.” Only I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for.
“No, don’t be. I just…I guess I need you to know that I’m not ready for anything else, you know?” Once again her thick lashes come up, and her liquid blue eyes push against all the best places in my chest, and also some of the bruised ones. It’s all just become part of feeling things.
“Okay.” I lean forward and kiss her lips softly. “But this is nice, right?”
“Very.” Her breathing has already changed, and she may be scared to go further right now, but I don’t think it’ll take her as long as she thinks it will for her to want more.
“So, you’ll stay in here with me?”
“Maybe.” She pulls away.
“I promise to be nice. Does that help?” I lean over the book to kiss her cheek. That’s a sweet gesture, but I don’t move away. She’s too warm.
“It helps.” Her lips graze my neck and it takes some serious deep calming breaths for my body to not get excited the way it wants to.
“Stay and I won’t touch you unless you beg,” I whisper.
“Right.” Her laugh is light and her lips touch my neck again.
“Deal?”
“Deal.”
And then I take advantage of her moment of weakness, pull her into my arms and hope she won’t pull away—at least not for a while.
- - -
In a desperate attempt to take control of all the crap that feels out of my control, I write to Mom’s manager.
I write. I want to do Mom’s memoir. Can we talk?
Antony
I get an email back almost immediately.
Antony –
I love the idea. I will fly you in from wherever you are.
This makes me laugh. Really? Cause I have no freaking idea where I am. Somewhere in the Pacific.
Let’s meet. I’m sure you have some pictures we’ve never seen. Timing on something like this is everything. I’d love to see you in New York at your earliest convenience.
Mel
And instead of thinking about it I look over my computer. “We’re not far from Vancouver, right?”
“A few hours,” Dad says.
“I need to go to New York. Just for a few days.” The more I say it out loud, the more I know it needs to be done.
He chokes on his eggs, and nearly drops his fork. “What?”
“You’re the one who wanted me to check e-mail. I have a few things I want to take care of.”
“It can’t wait?” His eyes are wide and focused hard.
Can it wait? I don’t know. It’s like I’ve made the decision to go, so I just want it over with. “No. It can’t wait.”
Dad lets out a sigh. “Can I come with you?”
I slump, really wanting to take care of things on my own, and not completely sure if I’m ready to tell him why.
“Never mind. You want to be on your own. But here’s the deal, Antony. No parties like last time. Even though I’m in Seattle, and you’re in New York, I need to know where you are. Got it?”
“Got it.” And as Dad and I slowly understand each other better, I’m not as offended as I would have been a few weeks ago.
“And don’t pull any I’m eighteen now, shit. Okay? You still live with me, and you’re not done with high school.” He even points.
I smile because I’ve never heard my dad cuss. “Okay.” Now I need to tell Amber.
- - -
I packed one small bag for New York. I have stuff there, and now Dad and I are sailing straight for Vancouver Island.
Dad and I are on deck while the girls fix lunch below. The small ribbons on the sails are going all wrong. “If we trim it a little tighter, we should be able to pull an extra knot or two out of it, right?” I point to the mainsail.
“Try it.” Dad doesn’t move. He’s engrossed in whatever email he’s reading on his phone.
“What?” Me?
“You’ve helped with the sails a bit. Try it. See if it works.” He looks up only briefly and then goes back to reading.
Wow. Me. Sailing. I check the autopilot another time and the stand up to find the lines I need to tighten. Everything can be controlled from this one spot on the boat. Now I know. I remember how to wrap the line around the crank, so I find the mainsail lines, work them through, and I tighten. I check the little string things on the sails and they’re more straight back and flowing than before. I step back and check the Garmin. “We gained two knots!”
“Great job.” Dad gives me a wide smile. “And I feel great. I just got another email from my agent. My next book is up, out, and heading to print.”
“I’ve written two.” The words spill before I have time to check myself.
Silence.
“Novels?” Dad asks.
I nod. The surprise and pride in his voice fills me in a really good way. There’s something different about having a dad proud rather than a mom. With moms it feels almost like an obligation. With Dad, it just…I feel guilty even thinking this, but it carries more weight.
“Your mom didn’t say.”
Your Mom. My mom. Sucks that I was afraid to tell her. “She didn’t know.” I check our speed again, and the heading. “She’s read parts of both, but…”
“That’s where Amber’s comment came from. About you writing your mom’s story.” His eyes are on me. My eyes are everywhere but on him. Too personal.
“She’s reading my stuff,” I say.
“Feel weird?” Dad asks with a chuckle.
“Makes me naked,” I admit.
“I remember that—and while we’re on the topic of naked, you and Amber…”
“Are taking things very, very slow.” My eyes are still fixed on navigation.
Dad clears his throat. I’m hoping it indicates a subject change. “What kind of writing do you do?”
Funny that talking about my writing is easier than talking about Amber.
“I write fiction that I hope reads more like a literary memoir. I’ve done one set in Eastern Europe, one in Moscow and the one I’m working on now is set in South Africa.” Dad and I are talking…about something we have in common. And I’m sailing his freaking million-dollar boat. Six months ago I would have rolled on the floor with laughter if I thought for a second I’d be doing what I’m doing now. Although, if six months ago someone had told me I’d be living without my m
om, I wouldn’t have believed that either. A chill runs up my spine, but again, I’m getting good at shoving things away.
“The travels with your mom helped you out,” Dad says.
“It’s why I started to write. It’s just another way of telling the story of the people that mom wanted to tell.” Really, if it was all so connected to what Mom and I did together, why couldn’t I tell her? She knew I was writing, but didn’t know I was making them into books.
I’m switching screens from close up charts and wind speeds, to charts that show from Alaska to Oregon and our small speck of a boat in-between.
“That’s really amazing,” he says. “I’d uh…love to read one.”
I check our heading again and then check the sails. Our two knots are holding. And I know what I’m about to say, and I can’t believe it’s about to come out of my mouth. “I’ll email you the docs.” Mostly I want him to love them. Maybe part of me even wants him to see some of himself in me. That’s a new one—and definitely is on the list of stuff I never saw coming.
“Thanks.” There’s something almost reverent about Dad’s voice as he speaks. “I’m proud of you.”
I laugh. “Well, you haven’t read them, Dad.” And now I’m sort of terrified about what he’ll think. I may think the kind of writing he does is beneath me, or whatever, but what if mine are crap? And I just think they’re good?
“Is this what your trip is about?”
“Part,” I tell him. I’m not sure if I want him in on the whole thing yet. The idea of writing Mom’s story is daunting.
I check our headings again and adjust the autopilot a couple of degrees. I’m slowly learning not adjust more than that. Navigation’s a tricky thing.
Fifteen
I’m in a cab. In New York. No Mom. Being here without her hurts like a weight that follows, digs and jabs at every opportunity. Oh, and no Dad. The crazy thing is that I don’t even feel like taking advantage of it.
Finn’s trouble. Gem’s trouble. David’s in California. And the more I think about it, the more I just don’t care enough to try and get together with anyone else.