“I understand that we’re friends,” I told him. My head was spinning. The concentration I used to avoid misspeaking again, and having virtually zero experience—sans Jake—talking with a boy, had me reeling with the effort of trying to piece this all together. “I think I’m just a little confused,” I added lamely, staring into the bowl of hummus. I focused on a green speck, picking each word wisely and carefully. “I know it’s my fault that I’m confused, and I promise you I’ve told myself over and over again that it’s just not possible, but I think . . . I think I need to hear it,” I said and forced myself to exhale. “If you could just assure me that all we are is friends, I think that might help.” I left my request hanging in the balance, not even breathing for fear I might tip over. My mouth was so dry it hurt to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he said, forlorn. “I can’t do that.”
Slowly, I raised my head, and turned toward him rasping. “You can’t?”
There was caution and inquiry written all over his face. “Telling you I only want to be friends would be a lie. If that’s what you want, though, I’ll respect your boundaries.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
His jaw clenched. “What don’t you understand, Foster?” He leaned forward, toward me. We were only a few inches apart.
“Are you saying that you . . . you want to be more than friends?”
Chapter Twenty-seven
He laughed. It was an exasperated sound, accompanied by a half-hearted eye roll. Sitting back, he threw his weight into the couch, staring straight ahead.
“It’s not possible I’ve been that subtle,” he said mostly to himself. “There’s no way. I don’t think I even know how to be subtle.” Growing more decided about this, his head turned to me suddenly, followed by the rest of him. “Foster.” The faintest of smirks pulled at his lips. “I’ve called or come by to see you every day since you’ve been gone from school. I brought both you and your mother flowers, I nearly gave myself an aneurism keeping up with your homework and mine, and a moment ago I told you all I want to do is be with you.” He laughed, a quick breath of air rushed toward me. “I’m at a loss as to how I can possibly make intentions any clearer.” He gathered our hands together so that mine were entirely invisible inside his. “Let me try this one more time.” Whispering, he stared into my eyes, the smallest of smiles on his full lips. “I like you. I like you a lot. More than friends—though I do want that, too. When I’m not with you, I miss you. When I am with you, I still miss you. How is that for straightforward?”
Just to be sure, I dug my toenail into the top of my foot. When it hurt enough to assure me I wasn’t asleep, I whispered, “Very good, thank you.”
He laughed lightly. “Good. One more thing; you said before that you shouldn’t have said what you did—about feeling guilt—but I’m actually very glad you did,” he said. “Because if you hadn’t, then I never would have been able to tell you how wrong you are. Before I do that, though, can you promise to hear me? To put some effort into believing the things I have to say?”
“Yes,” I said. For him, I would put great effort into believing. What happened from there, I couldn’t be sure and was not prepared to make promises. I was glad he didn’t ask for any.
He studied me intently, growing more amused still. “You make me laugh,” he began, smiling for a moment before his lips settled into a serious expression. “You make me think twice about things . . . especially the ones I’ve always just accepted as truth and fact. And you do it in a way that doesn’t make me want to shut you out. You challenge me, but you do it with respect and humility. Most people just want you to hear them talk—and talk and talk. You,” he said emphatically, “I can never get you to talk enough. I feel like I’m always just waiting for more. More of you. When I’m around you . . .” He paused, and I was shocked to first feel and then see his hands trembling. “When I’m with you I feel happy.” Something about the way he said this held an explorative tentativeness, like he was trying the words out for the first time. Confidence took over from there, and slowly he pushed a long burst of air through his lips. “You said earlier that feelings lie, and maybe they do—but mine aren’t. My feelings for you are real. To me, they are the most real thing I’ve had in a very, very long time.”
His voice broke on the word time, and with it a sliver of my heart, which was pulsing so hard and so quick I was dizzied by it. When that deep line appeared between Dominic’s brows, I didn’t even have to think. My hands worked of their own volition, gently working at the tension around on his forehead.
He smiled. “You make me happy, Foster. I wasn’t sure I would ever have that again.”
My heart was ambivalent, leaping and sinking—like an elevator unsure of its destination. I forced myself to focus on the first; he was happy, and this was good. That I was the one who made him happy . . . this was almost too much to bear. My elation, heady as it was, felt squelched by the second part of his admission. How could it not? This sadness was not just his, but mine too.
“Why?” I whispered so softly that I wasn’t sure if he had heard it.
He inhaled through his nose. “I almost answered that question earlier . . . in the greenhouse.”
A pang of loss pounded at my temples. “I know,” I said.
He nodded, smiling sadly. “When the misters came on I didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved.” This too I knew; I had seen that look on his face as he stared upward, his bronze skin absorbing the moisture. “Well, I suppose now would be a good time to continue that conversation.” He seemed resigned, but beneath the resignation was a prominent hesitation. And even though he laughed gruffly, his hands were trembling again. “You’ve been very patient with me. Much more than I would have been able to be with you, but”—he stopped short, biting into his lip—“I hate asking this of you because I can imagine what it’s like, the things you must be wondering, how confusing everything must seem to you. I don’t want to keep anything from you any longer than necessary, which is why I’m going to ask you if you might be willing to wait just a little longer. I’m asking you, though, not telling you. You can say no, and I’ll understand. You should know it has nothing to do with not wanting to tell you everything—I can’t even explain how badly I want you to know. It’s important, though, that I try and do this right. All my instincts tell me to just go for it, and usually I would, without taking any time to thoroughly think through it and prepare.” I could see him reconsider this. He shook his head, just once, meeting my eyes with resurrected determination. “I don’t want to do that, though. Not with this. Not with you.”
I squeezed his hand. I did this because I couldn’t be sure my words wouldn’t betray me just now. Already, they had proven careless tonight, and I didn’t want to repeat that offense. I found strength to smile, hoping it translated reassurance, though I doubted it was very believable. My body was tense and my pulse was racing hard, the exhilaration pumping adrenaline into my system. This decision he presented to me, it was like reading a book, arriving to the much-anticipated climatic moment, and then having to willingly put it down without knowing when I might be able to finish it—but infinitely worse. I felt trapped in this reoccurring moment, always thirty seconds away from cognition, only to have the insidious cycle begin again. Dominic continued to watch me closely. The choice was mine; say the word, and the relentless, insanity-inducing questions would all be answered. This felt too much like last Sunday, all the same sensations rising up, vying for pivotal preeminence and the jurisdiction to steer me one way or the other.
I squeezed his hand again, needing something sturdy and certain to hold onto. “Dominic.” He smiled weakly. Then, so sure of my decision, gently returned the squeeze and settled back into the couch.
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “If our situations were reversed, I don’t think I could wait either.” Still gripping my hand, he swallowed and prepared himself with focused fortitude. Long before these preparations, I tried to stop him, to tell him t
hat of course I would wait until he was ready. And through this trying, I could not find the resolve to do so. “About six months ago—”
I made a noise that was gibberish, and forced out the only words I could think of. “I can wait!” I nearly shouted it at him, this eerily similar reply spoken last Sunday in the stillness of my car. It worked though; he stopped talking. I hadn’t realized that I’d closed my eyes, and they weren’t the only parts of my body scrunched up; I loosened my limbs one by one, opening my eyes last, blinking the distortion away.
Dominic was shaking his head back and forth, a look of wonder on his face. “Foster, I don’t expect you to wait any longer.”
“I want to,” I said, determination outweighing everything else. “If it’s important to you that it be right, then I would rather wait. It will mean more to both of us that way.” And it was that expression, the awe and adoration, that made not knowing everything this instant entirely bearable. Of course it made me blush, too, but for once he didn’t remark about it.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, blue eyes wide and the happiest I had ever seen them. “I can’t see how you were meant for me.” I allowed myself a shaky breath, letting those words sink in for a moment.
Meant for me.
“Well”—he angled his head, looking wholly adorable and irresistible in the same gesture—“now that it’s understood how I feel, I think it’s only right I return the question to you.” He waited a beat, reading me first before asking. His eyes narrowed, smiling and mischievous. “Do you like me, Foster?”
Perceptibly, I felt a euphoric smile spread across my face, a burst of heat along with it. “A lot,” I replied, using his very same words.
He ducked his head briefly, laughing. “Nice.” When he looked up, the same smile splitting my face in half was there in his, tantamount in its beatific joy. “All right.” His voice was a very deep purr. “Then I have something else to ask you.”
I tried to look inviting, to match the way in which he transitioned from happy to sultry in one seemingly effortless glide. “Okay,” I said, not so much sultry as muggy, I thought.
I was much too happy to be bothered by this incompetence for very long. Dominic held me in a wordless moment, watching me from under thick black lashes, the scar sliding to the left as the corner of his mouth curled up. “This Friday night I would like to take you somewhere. Just you and me . . . on a date.”
My smile was back with a vengeance, sending a ping of pain running along the outside of my jaw. I pressed my teeth into my lower lip and nodded. “I would like that,” I said breathlessly, feeling like a starburst had just exploded inside me and would shoot me straight through the ceiling.
He laughed, looking flummoxed. “You have no idea how happy I am right now.”
Beaming I said, “I’m positive I do,” thinking further that our faces were sure to hurt tomorrow if this carried on for much longer.
Dominic lowered his head once more, looking at our hands. Gently taking my wrists in his fingers, he laid one of my hands on the couch, and the other he turned palm up to rest on the bare part of his lower thigh. I was mesmerized by everything he was doing; each move was so fluid, so gentle. My skin responded viscerally, goosebumps rising up wherever he touched me. As he did this, I wondered if it was like this for everyone, or if perhaps this was something different, something special. He slid his fingers slowly into mine until they formed a perfect shoe lace. I liked the way they looked—joined and inseparable. I had been watching him with fascination so when his eyes flickered up, a fierce determination brimming in them, I instantly felt my smile simmer.
“I promise,” he said softly. “Friday. After that, no more secrets.”
I understood he was reassuring me, and for that I found myself both excited and anxious, but an edginess pervaded his eyes, taking away his happiness. This is what I did not like at all, and struggled to make peace with the warring emotions. I wanted to know everything—but I did not want him riddling himself with fear until Friday. I saw no way of mitigating this, though, and began to think of how I might be on our date. As a picture of us was summoned, my stomach did acrobatic things, giving cause to wonder if I might need to self-medicate just to calm myself down enough to get dressed. Surfacing from the reverie and seeing his distress, I decided that if I was unable to give him the security, I could at least attempt to take his mind off the subject.
“Would you like to work on our Senior Piece?” I asked. He smiled, nodded with a gratefulness requiring no words to decipher. I had only taken a few steps up the stairs, heading toward my room to retrieve my music folder, when Dominic’s cell phone started buzzing. Turning, we met one another’s eyes.
“It’s just my Aunt,” he said, holding the phone aloft. “Should only take a second.”
“Take your time,” I said feeling weightless and blithe, as I continued up the stairs.
Music folder in hand, I gamboled back down the stairs. I giggled, noticing that I was actually bouncing, as if miniature cloud puffs sprung up beneath my feet. I glanced toward the front door to see if Dominic had returned from his car and found it shut tightly. Passing the mirror, I caught my blurred reflection, and with no good reason tiptoed over and stood before it, a thrumming exhilaration loud in my ears.
I gasped. It was true then, what people said about how the face changes. I did; I absolutely looked different. My eyes were a brighter green, my pallor enhanced by rosy cheeks and something else I had trouble naming; a shine or glow, having little to do with color or complexion, and everything to do with a light burning from within me. I gasped again when the word pretty came to mind and I realized I spoke of myself. I shook my head and giggled; however, I didn’t leave right away. Studying myself, I pulled an unraveling thread from the wide collar of my sweater, and ran my fingers carefully through my curls. Then, reaching into my pocket, I watched my reflection reveal the cherry Chapstick tucked inside. I reapplied a generous layer, pressing my lips firmly together until they, too, shined like the rest of me.
“Did you already check the circuit breaker?” Still on the phone, Dominic had a chunk of black hair wedged between his fingers as he spoke into the phone. “What about switching everything off and flipping them back on one by one? It’s possible, but everything is working fine over here, so I doubt it’s a power outage. Did you check with the neighbors?” He began pacing back and forth in front of the couch. Seeing me, he smiled and then mouthed, “Sorry.”
I waved a hand reassuringly, and went to sit on the piano bench. It was quiet on his end, but I could clearly hear the voice of a female, slightly harried and not a little frightened. Dominic made noises every few seconds in the way of yes and no, and walked over to a bookshelf. He pulled back a book, Edgar Allen Poe, then lowering the end of the phone, blew lightly. Dust particles filled the air around him. Dominic blinked, looking over at me with a wry smirk.
“Only the downstairs, then?” he asked, eyes on me as he spoke. “Hm—okay. It’s probably just a faulty wire.” He pulled the phone back quickly, glanced at the screen, then moved it back to his ear. “It’s still early enough that I can swing by the hardware store if I need to, after I have a look and figure out what’s causing it. No, not at all. Shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes. All right, well”—he hesitated for moment—“if you can, light a candle and stay where you are. I’ll be home in five, okay?” His back was to me as he hung up, sliding the leather-bound book back in with the others.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, and turned around. “And no.” The smile of resignation didn’t touch his eyes, only very slightly at the mouth. “Apparently the power just went out downstairs. With my uncle still at work and my aunt home by herself, my services are needed.”
“It must be nice having someone who can repair things like that when they break,” I offered, concealing my own disheartenment.
“Mm.” He raised his brows and nodded, then reached up to scratch his head. “Yeah,
but right now I’m wishing I wasn’t all that handy.” He gave a breathy laugh and came toward me. “Likely it’s just a matter of messing with the fuse box, but my aunt can’t remember where it is. I thought about trying to walk her through it over the phone, but I don’t want her wandering around in the dark in that huge house.”
“You should go,” I agreed, as he took a seat beside me on the bench. The sides of our arms pressed together, and I savored the comfort of his weight, knowing in just a moment he would need to leave.
He echoed my thoughts. “So,” he said on a sigh, “that means I have to leave you.” He swiveled, removing the comfort of his arm but in return fixing his beautiful eyes on mine.
“I know,” I replied. “Will you come by in the morning? Before school?”
He gave me a smile that transformed the churning disappointment in my stomach to a thunderous waterfall. “I’ll try and do one better than that.” He took a tendril of my hair, wrapping it gently around his finger. “How about I come back over once I’ve figured things out. Would that be okay, if it’s not too late?” I forced myself to let him finish his sentence, though I was ready to answer long before then. Not trusting my voice, I simply nodded. “Would you rather I just come by when I’m done, or should I call first?” he asked, still twirling.
“Um . . .” I was slightly distracted, and just about to tell him a call wasn’t necessary when a flash of me before bed, in a seaweed mask and the flannel pajamas too comfortable to throw away, had me changing my mind abruptly.
Mistaking the look on my face for lack of enthusiasm, he added, “Are you tired? Should we just plan on tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “I’m a little tired,” I said honestly, then pushing my nerves aside, “but not too tired to see you.” The reservation on his face melted and pure delight replaced it. “Maybe just call first—or text,” I suggested, images of me in bedtime attire still fresh in my mind.
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