by Auden Dar
“Lina, dear, is that you all grown up?” she asks with affection in her tone.
“Um, yes, Miss Pendleton. It’s been several years.” I respond shyly, although she’s witnessed me in my most vulnerable teenage moments.
“My dear, fourteen years! Come over here and give me a hug. You’ve always been pretty, but my goodness, you really are beautiful. Julian mentioned earlier he was bringing someone special over, which I found quite surprising. He’s never brought anyone here before with the exception of his assistant and the Emersons. What a pleasant surprise.”
I rush over to her, and she immediately offers me a tight, warm embrace. Taking in her scent brings me back to my childhood. Hmmm. She smells like Butter Cake, and I instantly grin against her chest.
“How was your trip?” Julian asks while reaching for one of her homemade cookies.
Releasing me, she studies me for a second before responding to him. “Italy was absolutely lovely. Thank you for such an extravagant holiday.” Her eyes are now focused on him. It’s obvious she’s beaming at the man she helped raise.
Julian takes a bite of a chocolate chip cookie before rolling his eyes in appreciation. “My God, these are delicious. Lina, you have to try one,” he says while practically feeding me the remaining piece of his cookie. As I devour the orgasm-worthy treat, he continues his conversation with Miss Pendelton. “I look forward to hearing all about your culinary adventure. I was just giving Lina a tour and can’t find Mugpie. Where is that rambunctious bulldog of mine?”
Miss Pendleton shakes her head, “Making trouble for Cecelia. He managed to get into a bag of potato chips a few hours ago, and well, let’s just say he overdid it. He’s at the vet right now and should be home soon. And Lina, please let me know what you like so I can make sure it’s in stock. The bedroom next to Julian’s is ready for you. Had I known you were the guest, I would have made a special 80s music playlist for the system in the room.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m not staying here. I live only a few blocks away. I would still love an 80s music playlist, though.”
Julian glares at me with an expression that I can’t seem to understand. He tilts his head, his lips pursed. Confusion? Anger?
“Excuse us, Miss Pendleton.” Grabbing my hand, he leads me to the hallway.
“What do you mean you’re not staying here? Did we not discuss this earlier? Your room is ready. We can get your clothes later, or we can just get some new ones.”
Huh?
My room.
I am utterly confused. Why would he want me to stay at his duplex when my loft is within walking distance?
In the back of my mind, I assumed I was just visiting Julian. After all, I do have my own apartment; the only place I have ever thought of as home. Roger will be returning soon, and I am excited to live with my former roommate. Some of the best times in my life have been living with him.
“Do you understand what it means to have you here? To have you in my apartment? Are you planning on returning to Andrew?”
“No!” I answer adamantly to all three of his questions. “Julian, I love my loft. That’s why I’m going back there.”
I glance around, trying to figure out why he would assume I would be staying with him. Not once since we landed in New York did we discuss my living situation. He mentioned he wanted me to be at his place but not as a roommate. I am dumbfounded. “Why is it so important for me to stay here? It doesn’t make sense. Julian, my apartment is only a few blocks away.”
And there it is, dejection in his eyes. As if the words I just uttered stung him. He remains quiet. Suddenly, our tour of the apartment is over. I’m not going to play a song on his grand piano. I’m not going swimming. I’m not going to have the chance to taste homemade pizza. I’m not going to see Mugpie and hear him snort. Instead of remaining in his apartment, after we say our goodbyes to Miss Pendleton, he gestures for us to leave. We head toward the private elevator in awkward silence.
The fifteen-minute walk to my apartment takes forever even though we’re only a few blocks away from Julian’s. Broadway is bustling with energy as we make our way in quietude. Words, unable to form from both our lips. Although there is so much that needs to be said. I’m unable to comprehend why he acted the way he did. Having only reconnected a few weeks ago, Julian seems possessive of our friendship.
We stand inches apart in front of my apartment building. “Julian, I’m sorry if I have offended you in some way.”
Not a word escapes his lips, and an uncomfortable silence continues to hang over us. I rock side to side before stopping myself. With hesitancy, I move forward on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. “Okay, then. Um, thank you, Julian. I’m happy that you’re back.” I pause before offering, “I hope Mugpie is okay. Please give him a sloppy kiss from me.”
He raises his head slightly, gazing up at my building without a response; his eyes refuse to meet mine. I continue to stare at his beautiful, long neck when my breath hitches for a second.
“Do … do you want to come up for a drink?” Our time together shouldn’t end awkwardly.
Raindrops begin to gently fall; one trickles down along the side of my cheek. Another falls on my shoulder. I am about to move back when Julian reaches for me, pulling me close to his chest. I swallow hard, aware of what this may mean. Dipping his head, our eyes lock. Oh, my God. His gaze slowly moves down to my mouth, and it renders me speechless. A few long seconds pass by. My chest begins to rise and fall. My mind races. And my heart beats at an absurd velocity. Suddenly, his beautiful mouth is on mine.
I close my eyes. At this instant, the soft full lips I’ve dreamed about belong to me. His kiss−it is slow, tender, and violent all at the same time. Rather than resist, I return with fervor, reveling at this moment.
Sweet Jesus. He tastes better than I had imagined. Our tongues dance a slow dance as if we’ve been lovers for years.
We belong.
It is the kiss of life. The kiss I’ll remember for as long as I live. Breathing him in, I’m warmed by the intoxicating spicy notes of his cologne. The feel of his stubble grazes my chin, and I love it.
Raindrops continue to fall. Cars honk. Pedestrians walk around us.
Our first kiss continues as if the world is coming to an end. I’ve never felt so consumed by one kiss.
His large hand makes its way up and down my back. I place both my hands on the side of his jaw, urging for more. He moans into my mouth. And I swear, I feel like I’m floating on air. Surprisingly, the most amazing kisser I’ve ever had pulls his lips away from mine. And the distance feels like an inexplicable void.
Our kiss ends. My mouth remains half-open, a clear invitation for him to continue. I open my hooded eyes and his handsome face mesmerizes me. My mouth continues to tingle from a few seconds ago. With his lips now caressing my ear, Julian gently whispers, “I’ve missed you, my darling, Lina.”
I missed you too.
We’re in the middle of LaGuardia Place. Even though his lips are no longer with mine, we’re still connected. His strong arms are still wrapped tightly around me. The world surrounds us, yet it is only Julian and me at this moment.
“What am I going to do with you?” he says in a deep, low voice I’ve never heard before. Completely stupefied, I’m unable to respond to his question.
What can he do to me?
After that insane, mind-blowing kiss, I only have one thought: Please make love to me!
The perfect image of Julian … of us … entangled in my bed plants a ridiculous smile on my face. If he made my knees weak with just one kiss, what would it be like to feel all of him? With my face pressed firmly against his chest, I peek up. His lips purse as he tilts his head up before gazing down at me. He sighs before pulling completely away.
Our passionate embrace, over.
With a simple kiss on my forehead, Julian walks away, leaving me dumbfounded.
Thirty-Five
Julian Caine kissed me.
Br
eathtaking. Toe-curling. Mind-blowing. Earth-shattering. I could die now kind of kiss. And I want more.
More.
It takes everything in me not to beg him to stay. It takes everything in me not to run after him. It takes everything in me not to scream, “Come back!” I watch him walk away with his head bowed down and both hands in his jeans pockets as sprinkles of rain continue to fall. Why would you leave me after such a kiss? I know he must have felt something. How could he not?
Frozen in place, I remain in front of my building in a stupor when specks of raindrops immediately become torrential. And although I love the feel of rain when it hits my fingertips, I force myself to seek shelter.
Striding up the stairs that will lead me home, my heart races at a frenetic pace and my mind runs in circles.
Julian Caine kissed me. Julian Caine kissed me.
I lick my lips, hoping to taste him again.
And by the grace of God, I can still taste him.
Standing in front of my tall entry door as it stares at me, my body refuses to move. I touch my swollen lips again, tracing them from side to side with my forefinger.
The man I’ve desired for weeks kissed me.
My lips are raw from one kiss; they still tingle, and I can still feel his lips on mine.
Still mesmerized by that unforgettable kiss, I cannot help my trembling hands, and it takes a while to unlock my door. The way he left me with a look of regret makes me believe the kiss was a mistake−a mistake on Julian’s part. Or was it a mistake on my part? I touch my lips again, desiring to feel his against mine again.
Who are you trying to fool? You’ve wanted him to kiss you for weeks.
My sofa beckons me, and without hesitation, I plop myself down, glancing at the window directly across from the couch. He kissed me! To stop myself from overthinking what just happened, I resort to one of my favorite pastimes … people watching.
Stop thinking about the kiss, I chide myself.
I stare outside, and it feels wonderful to be home. It was the first place my parents lived together; it was the place I was conceived, and it is a place that holds dear memories of my father.
Situated on LaGuardia Place, my father told me it was a dream come true finding the building and renovating the apartment into our home. The warehouse had been a full-frame factory building with black ceilings. Gutting the place, he turned it into loft with twenty-one windows. With a great room out front, the three bedrooms are situated in the back for privacy. The day he purchased the building was also the day he met my mother. I had grown up in this loft and lived here until his death. My mother’s artwork hangs proudly throughout my home.
Planted in front of a large floor-to-ceiling window, I can still see pedestrians making their way up and down LaGuardia Place even with the pouring rain. Occupying the fourth floor allows me to enjoy the views that expand all the way to Mercer Street. Moreover, the view overlooks the famous LaGuardia statue. Before Roger permanently moved in several years ago, I lived here alone during college vacations. The remaining apartments below have been rented to the same two families since I was a kid. Although as a teenager I lived on the Upper East Side with my grandparents, I kept this particular apartment unoccupied.
Directly across from my building is a five-acre garden. Brilliantly designed by an American-Japanese architect, it is a haven unknown to so many New Yorkers. It’s a quiet oasis smacked right in the heart of one of the world’s busiest cities. Although it is only around the corner from Bleecker Street, the park is sometimes empty during the times I have sat on a stone bench to collect my thoughts. However, there is an elderly couple that visits the park daily at three p.m. Disappointment hits me; I won’t see them today because of the rain. The park is virtually deserted with the exception of a man dressed in a dark brown trench coat, sitting on one of the benches, holding a bouquet. He raises his head and stares directly up at my building. Heavy rain prevents me from making out his face.
I continue to watch the view before me. NYU students run with their heads covered by their backpacks. Vehicles travel along north and south of LaGuardia Place. And the man I had been staring at for the past few minutes rises from his seat and leaves the park while the bouquet remains on the bench.
Peeking at the clock, I’ve been observing the outside world for more than an hour. What is Julian doing now? Is he thinking of me? Why would he leave me the way he did? Surprisingly, my fingers continue to trace my lips. I close my eyes, remembering his lips against mine. It was one kiss. I’ve had thousands of kisses from my former fiancé. But my lips are still tingling. My mind is still dizzy. My heart is still rapidly beating.
My phone buzzes, and a text from the man who kissed me not too long ago appears.
JULIAN: I shouldn’t have kissed you. You’re not ready.
Ready?
My body is on fire with him even though he’s only kissed me once. My heart … a small part of my heart still belongs to a man who let me go so easily.
It was just a kiss.
My fingers hover the keyboard as my mind tries to form some sort of response. What exactly am I not ready for?
At this moment, I want to cross the friendship line. Yes, I’ve just left my fiancé, and my heart is still broken. But the inexplicable pull Julian has on me is something I can’t deny. I don’t want to deny it. Courage comes over me, pushing inhibition aside.
ME: I’m a big girl.
JULIAN: Have a good night, darling.
Why am I disheartened and disappointed by Julian’s response?
“Because that one kiss had eradicated all the kisses I’ve ever had before,” I say quietly, admitting the truth to no one but myself.
Thirty-Six
Today is my birthday. For most people, birthdays are a cause for celebration but for me, it’s the most dreaded time of the year. My birthdate represents two of the most tragic moments in my life. My mother’s death when she brought me into this world. My father’s death when he skidded off the Pacific Coast Highway a few hours before my thirteenth birthday.
I think of my dad. Seventeen years have passed, but I grieve as if it were only yesterday. Daily, I think of the man who cherished me. I smile, remembering how we’d sing along to show tunes while walking me to and from school daily. Every weekend, he and I would manage to catch a movie or a musical. A day didn’t go by without an “I love you.” Closing my eyes allows me to hear my dad play the piano. The sound of Rachmaninoff’s “Prelude in C Minor” is so clear that I forget where I am.
In an instant, I open my eyes. I look to my right and on my nightstand is a first edition of Turgenev’s First Love, a gift from Julian. It was my father’s favorite book and the last one we had read together. I choke at the memory and would give anything to have my dad by my side.
It’s nine o’clock in the morning, and I am still in bed under three comforters, wishing the day would quickly end. I’ve spent the past fourteen birthdays in bed. Andrew never forced me to do anything. We just never celebrated my birthday.
My phone has been buzzing all morning, and several texts and voicemails have arrived. The messages are from my nana, Marcel, Patti, Roger, and some of my friends who, although I haven’t seen in years, have somehow always remembered to wish me well on this particular day. Several messages, including the last one, are from Julian. I can’t resist replaying the last message several times.
The Blue Nile’s “Downtown Lights” plays in the background.
“Happy Birthday, darling. You’re probably under a million covers and wishing this day would go away. Am I correct? Today is not a day of mourning, Lina, because you’re here. And although you’ve experienced so much loss in your life, there is still a reason to celebrate.” There is a slight pause. “If you can tear yourself away from your massive bed, I would love to see you. I would love to be with you on this special day.”
His message has been replayed at least ten times in the past thirty minutes. I touch my lips, and the memory of the kiss of all kisses
envelops me again. And although his lackluster response to my last text disappointed me, I can still feel his lips. I still taste him. And I want him as I’ve never wanted someone before.
Stop, Lina. Stop.
Realization hits me that everyone has called except Andrew. Even with so much on his mind, he has always been cognizant of the fact that birthdays are difficult for me. There have been birthdays when he’s spent the entire day in bed with me, holding me, soothing me, as I cried the day away. It’s painful to acknowledge he hasn’t contacted me. His last words come back loud and clear, “You need to stop this. Do what you need to do.” I had become an inconvenience in Andrew Nielsen’s world.
Suddenly, his ‘Good luck’ text appears in my head.
Fuck you, Andrew. Fuck you for not fighting for me, for us.
It’s exhausting feeling sorry for myself. I finally leave the comfort my bed affords me. I brush my teeth, study myself in the mirror, and wonder if I have aged too much. A line has not formed on my forehead. There are no signs of crow’s feet. But traces of sadness that makeup can’t conceal are all over my face.
Turning on the Bluetooth speakers, The Church’s “Under the Milky Way” plays as I make my way into the shower. I sing along, contemplating the lyrics. I wish I knew what I was looking for as well. Warm water runs down my body as I tell myself that today I am going to celebrate my birthday. I am going to celebrate my life even though it’s not exactly how I thought it would be. My former fiancé is probably getting his day started by walking around the block. Patti is in Miami again with her Louie. Roger is in Austin attending SXSW, and my nana is back in Sao Paulo visiting friends and probably drinking a caipirinha in my honor. Although I think of them, there is really no one I would rather spend my birthday with than Julian.
I glance at my naked body in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, checking out my thirty-year-old figure when I hear a knock on my door. My hair is still dripping wet, and my body is covered in almond oil. Immediately reaching for the towel on my bed, I wrap myself in it and head for the door.