Imperfect Chemistry

by Mary Frame

Dull gray light filters through the thin white curtains and rouses me from sleep. I had set my alarm to go off at six thirty in order to catch the bus from campus to my parents’ house, but it never went off. It should be dark outside still. I sit up, my eyes flying to the alarm clock, but the normally green digital face is pitch-black. It’s unnaturally silent in my room. The power is out.

  I get out of bed and head to the kitchen to grab my cell phone and immediately regret leaving the warmth of my comforter. I don’t know how long the power’s been off, but it’s freezing in here. I peek out the window in the kitchen and gasp in shock. There’s at least five feet of snow on the ground.

  It snows here every winter, but not like this. The town is in a valley surrounded by mountains and when it does snow, it normally dumps at the higher elevations and it will max out at about an inch or two on the valley floor. It very rarely hits us this hard. No wonder the power went out.

  My cell phone still has battery life, but just barely. It’s eight o’clock in the morning. I quickly dial my mom’s number.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” she answers her phone.

  “Mom? Thanksgiving is tomorrow.”

  “Lucy! I know Thanksgiving is tomorrow, but it’s the holidays!” she trills in a sing-song voice. A statement that only makes sense in her mind. “Are you okay honey?”

  “I’m fine. My power is out and I missed the bus.”

  “They said on the news there are blackouts all over the city, but don’t worry, you just sit tight. Ken and Tom are going to come get you as soon as Doug gets done plowing, but that might not be until tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be fine, you’re such a smart girl.”

  Doug McDougall is our neighbor and he also works for the city. One of his jobs in the winter is running a giant plow truck when it snows.

  “Okay. I thought the McDougalls hated us.”

  “Oh, they do not! You know how the boys are, always playing pranks on each other. It will be fine. Sheila is here with her boyfriend, and the kids have been asking about you since they got here yesterday.”

  My mom rambles on a bit more about the family that’s already there and what’s been going on before my phone starts beeping at me.

  “Mom?” I have to interrupt her. “My phone’s dying. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Love you Lucy!” she says and then the phone cuts off. I pull it from my ear and look at the now black screen. Then I look around my cold, silent apartment.

  I eat a slice of pumpkin pie for breakfast because it’s the only thing I have that doesn’t need to be cooked, and then I get back in bed with a book. The wind is blowing again, rattling the windows and gusting against the thin walls, and it’s still snowing.

  I can’t take a hot shower because there’s no power to heat the water. Going to the bathroom is torture, not only because of leaving the sanctuary of my somewhat warm bed, but also the porcelain toilet seat feels like an ice cube against my rear end.

  By three o’clock in the afternoon, the power is still off and I fear I’m losing my mind. I have to do something because even my bed is getting cold, despite all the covers and jackets I’ve thrown on myself. I’m uncomfortable and freezing and bored. And it’s just so…quiet. There are no normal sounds. No heater kicking on, no hum of the refrigerator, just the cold wind beating against the walls outside.

  If only I had a fireplace like Jensen’s, I could at least huddle up in the living room, listening to the crackle of wood, feeling the heat from the flames.

  I wonder if Jensen made it to the airport last night.

  Maybe he’s not here and I could use his fireplace. Surely, he wouldn’t deny me such a small luxury. I wouldn’t touch anything and I would replenish any firewood used.

  And that settles it in my mind. It’s better than just sitting here, after all.

  I grab a bobby pin from the bathroom to get past the lock if needed, and then I bundle up and head out the door. Ten steps later and I knock first, just in case he’s still home, and I’m surprised when it swings open and Jensen hustles me inside shutting us in quickly to block out he cold wind.

  “You’re home,” I say stupidly, shivering, standing in his entryway in my large jacket and PJ pants and slippers. He’s wearing black cotton pants and a flannel button-up top.

  “Flights were cancelled last night,” he says. “Not that I could have driven to the airport in this.” His eyes narrow on my face. “You’re freezing. Your lips are literally blue.”

  I nod. No need to waste breath with pointless speaking.

  “Come on.” He grabs my arm and leads me into the living room. He’s pushed back all of his furniture. There’s a mattress on the floor in front of the fireplace all covered in blankets.

  He helps me take off my jacket and then he lifts the covers up on the bed and shoves me under them, getting in behind me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask through chattering teeth.

  He wraps his arms around me, and pulls me against him, my back to his front. “What do you think I’m doing? You’re the scientist. I have to get you warm and this is the most efficient way to do it.”

  I don’t have a response. Of course he’s right. After a few minutes, our combined body heat starts warming both of us up and my shaking stops.

  “I didn’t realize how cold I was,” I say finally. I also didn’t realize just how alone I was on my side of the duplex. But lying here, listening to the crack of the wood in the fire and to Jensen’s breathing against my neck, just the sounds of normalcy have relaxed something inside me.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks after a minute more of lying together.

  “Starving.” I haven’t eaten since the slice of pumpkin pie this morning.

  He pulls away from me and gets out of the bed, heading for the kitchen and I immediately miss his warmth.

  “Do you like hot dogs?” he calls.

  “I like anything edible at this point.”

  He returns a few minutes later with his hands full. He has a package of hot dogs, a bag of buns, a handful of small ketchup packets, two wire coat hangers wrapped in paper from a drycleaner and a pair of pliers.

  He sits on the end of the mattress, only a few feet away from the black metal fire grate, and rips the paper off the hangers, throwing it into the fire. Then he straightens the coat hangers out into long metal sticks using the pliers to unwrap the twisted metal. Once that’s done, he opens the hot dog package and slides the dogs lengthwise onto the sticks.

  I slide out from under the warmth of the blanket to sit next to him. It’s much warmer in his house than it was in mine, but it’s still a bit chilly, even with the fire. After I situate myself next to him, he hands me one of the dogs on a stick, and moves the grate from the fire. I immediately thrust the food into the flames.

  Jensen leans his own stick against the wall and kneels on the bed next to me, pulling the covers towards us. He covers me with the blanket first, then grabs his stick and sits next to me so we are sharing the warmth and roasting our dogs at the same time.

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  We have to sit pretty close to share the blankets and the fire. His leg is resting against mine. Granted, there are at least two layers of clothes between my skin and his, but it doesn’t change the fact that my stomach drops every time one of us moves and his legs rub against mine.

  “For what?” he asks.

  “This.” I lift the stick slightly. “I’ve never been so excited about processed, nitrate-full meat in my entire life. Also thank you for letting me in.”

  “No thanks required. What else would I have done? Let you freeze? And this isn’t exactly a gourmet meal, here.”

  I shrug. “It’s better than nothing.”

  It doesn’t take long for the dogs to heat through. We help each other with the buns and condiments and sticks until finally we are both eating. I think this cheap hot dog is the most delicious thing I’ve ever had.

  We both have another one and then he puts more wood o
n the fire before replacing the grate. We get back under the covers, facing each other but not touching.

  “You should stay here tonight,” he says. The firelight flickers over his face and there’s no way I can say no. I’m not sure a ravaging pack of starving warthogs could convince me to return to my cold and desolate side of the duplex. Even though, normally, I’m a fan of isolation.

  “Okay,” I say.

  His phone starts making music and he turns and picks it up from the floor next to the mattress.

  “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice filters through the line.

  “Hey, mom. No, everything is fine.”

  He’s quiet and I can hear his mom’s voice on the phone, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.

  “Okay, yeah.” Pause. “Uh, huh. Right.” A longer pause, and finally, “Give everyone my love.”

  He hangs up and turns back towards me, leaving the phone on the floor.

  “Is your mom worried about you?” I ask.

  “More likely she’s worried about being alone with my dad and his parents,” he says.

  “Oh. They’re in L.A., where you were going?”

  “Yeah, they’ve been there since Monday.”

  “Do you always spend the holidays there with your family?”

  “Mostly. They do it up really nice and my grandparents have this giant house. Except…” He pauses and frowns.

  “Except?”

  He shrugs, shifting the covers a little. “It’s always nice. I mean too nice, too formal. I’ve always kind of wanted to have Thanksgiving like in the movies. Weird relatives, eating in the living room watching football, kids running around making a mess and driving everyone crazy.”

  “That sounds like every dinner with my family.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Except my mom follows the kids around with her dust buster and is constantly cleaning. She’s a little anal. And my grandma usually gets drunk and starts calling everyone Scooby.”

  He laughs. “Why does she do that?”

  “The world may never know.”

  We’re quiet for a minute, but it’s not awkward. We lay there and listen to the crackle and pop of the fireplace. I trace patterns on the soft sheets with my finger.

  “Can I ask you something?” he says.

  I shift my eyes from my finger to his face. “Of course.”

  “You haven’t, uh, I mean, we haven’t talked much lately, and I saw you with that guy Tony that one night, and I was just wondering if you, um, didn’t need me anymore? For your research?”

  “I…” I can’t lie to him. I had planned on telling him the truth, and here’s my perfect opening. Especially after that completely awkward and totally sweet bumbling mess of a statement.

  But I feel ashamed to reveal the truth. How can I tell him I wanted to make him jealous? That I willfully attempted to hurt him? When the real truth is that I don’t want to hurt him at all. Ever.

  “I haven’t replaced you,” I say, finally. “He was one of Freya’s friends.”

  “Oh. Okay.” He looks confused.

  I sigh and cover my face with a bit of blanket. I can’t look at him when I say this. “The truth is,” I say into the fabric. “Tony is gay. And Freya said that I should try to make you jealous, and I went along with it even though it’s stupid and wrong and I thought for sure when I met him that you would see he prefers men and it wouldn’t matter, but I didn’t know he was a drama major—”

  “Lucy,” Jensen interrupts me and tugs the blanket away from my face. “You were trying to make me jealous?”

  I watch his expression. There’s a glimmer of relief and something else. Amusement?

  “I guess so,” I say.

  “Why?”

  My mouth opens and closes. Then opens again. Well. “Because I think I like you?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question, but that’s how it pops out of my mouth.

  “Are you not sure?” he asks, but one corner of his mouth is sliding upwards, like he knows I’m sure and he knows how hard it is to admit that to someone when you aren’t sure if they return your affection and he wants to see me suffer for his own amusement.

  “I’m fairly sure,” I say.

  “Fairly?”

  I pretend to consider. “I’m about eighty-three percent sure.”

  “And the remaining seventeen percent?”

  “Fifteen percent undecided and two percent is pure, unadulterated loathing.”

  He bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but smile at his response even though I still feel embarrassed and unsure. He hasn’t said he likes me back.

  “I’m glad you told me the truth,” he says.

  “I’m not sure I share that sentiment.”

  “Well, you should. I have to tell you, after what I’ve been through, I appreciate the honesty.”

  I have a feeling he’s referring to his ex-girlfriend Chloe, and her relationship with his best friend.

  “My turn,” I say, after a minute of silence.

  “Your turn for what?”

  “A question.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  I want to ask how he feels about me and if my emotions are reciprocated, but I’m not sure I can handle a negative reply. If he doesn’t feel the same way, I still have to stay here and face him. I can’t exactly leave, at least not without threat of frostbite. I also want to ask about what happened with Chloe and Liam, but I fear that might be too personal, so I settle for the next best question.

  “Who’s the blonde?”

  “What blonde?”

  “The one that comes here and stays for approximately three hours every week before she leaves.”

  “Oh, you mean Candice.”

  “Candice?”

  “She’s just a friend.” He shrugs.

  He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t want to beleaguer the point. If he says she’s a friend, she’s a friend. I shut my eyes and lay there analyzing everything that just happened. I admitted something very embarrassing, and he didn’t say he likes me back but he also didn’t cringe away in horror and shock. He didn’t explain about Candice and…

  I’m not sure what to think at this point. And I almost don’t care. I’m warm now, I’m no longer starving, and the exhaustion is creeping in.

  “Lucy?”

  I open my eyes and find Jensen watching me through half-lidded eyes.

  “Good night,” he says.

  I smile. “Good night.”

 

  Chapter Fifteen

  I'm old-fashioned and a square. I believe people should not engage in sex too early. They will never forget that first sexual experience, and it would be a pity to just throw it away. So what's the rush? Hug and kiss and neck and pet, and don't rush into a sexual encounter.

  –Dr. Ruth