Where You Go

by Claire Cain

  “I’m not sure you’ve spent much time around the average soldier, then,” he said, his eyes flaring in warning.

  “Ah, well no, I don’t suppose I have. You’re my one and only, so far.” I winked at him.

  I know, I winked. I was generally less tense around him, but he was still making me nervous. So sue me.

  “Well I’m obviously in your thrall, but that’s a decades-old story, so I don’t count. I’m sure you’ll find that simply being female and in the general vicinity will gain you attention. It can be a problem, but most of ’em are decent kids.” He smiled at his words. “Man, I sound old.”

  “You’re not old. I understand. I usually feel like a twenty-year-old inside my mind, but then when I talk with actual twenty-year-olds, I realize just how much happens in the ensuing decade and how I’m so not twenty anymore.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed with a nod and took a big bite of his pizza. He chewed and nodded at it in approval. It was pretty good pizza, especially for not having anything to recommend it other than Lewis had left me the brochure that included a two dollar off coupon.

  “Did you ever go to Italy? We used to talk about going together so we could eat pasta together—do you remember that? As though we didn’t eat pasta every other day at my parents’ house.” Snapshots of the many meals we had together flipped through my mind. Especially in the summer months, we ate dinner together every few nights when we were in junior high. We’d play with neighborhood kids, not quite old enough to eschew being outside, and then end up at one of our houses. Usually, we chose mine, as my mom’s cooking was far better than his mom’s.

  “I’ve never been, but I suspect I’d like it. I like most Italian things. I did a TDY—” he stopped when I tilted my head in question. “Uh, temporary tour of duty, sorry I forget you don’t know all the acronyms. I did a TDY in Germany for about six weeks a few years ago and even though I didn’t get to see much, I loved it,” he said as he took another bite.

  “Did you get to travel around at all?” I asked, finally feeling the warm glow of a full stomach creep over me.

  “No, not really. I got to leave the post a few times but just to go into the surrounding towns. We’re so busy when we’re on a training rotation—it’s all work and long hours until the end. But I’d do it again just for the chance for a few days in country,” he said as he wiped his hands with a napkin.

  “I think I’ve hit my wall. I can’t do any more damage to that pizza or I’ll pop.” I set down the half-eaten slice in my hand. The exhaustion of the day hit, and I leaned back against the couch and rested my head. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I felt some of the stress of the last few days releasing its grip on me. Driving alone in a moving van for almost two days straight was totally exhausting, and that wasn’t to mention the general anxious feeling I felt about figuring out what life would look like in a new city, entirely on my own.

  “You’ve had a long couple of days, I’m sure. It looks good in here already, though. I bet you’ll be all set up by Thursday.” His voice settled around me, and I felt myself unwinding the knot of stress that had settled firmly in-between my shoulders.

  For a few minutes we were quiet, and I had to work not to fill the space with chatter. I could feel myself wishing for sleep despite the fact that the silence and his nearness had my body on edge. I could hear my own breathing and his, and let it lull me for a minute, finding that the silence wasn’t uncomfortable if I could just calm the crap down. I felt myself slipping into deeper breathing, my body melting into the couch.

  I felt something move, just vaguely, around the edges of my slowly slipping consciousness, but when his hand touched my cheek, his finger tracing along my jaw, my eyes opened and my pulse immediately raced.

  I’d done an excellent job of ignoring his insanely un-ignorable physical presence all day. I even congratulated myself on not staring at his shoulders and biceps every time we carried something and I was faced with his unmistakably fit body at every turn.

  I created little chants for myself. I will not objectify my friend. I will not objectify my friend.

  “It’s strange, seeing you like this,” he said quietly as his finger continued tracing the side of my jaw from chin to ear. He’d moved closer to me and sat sideways, resting one elbow against the back of the couch.

  I found my voice as I watched him, still resting my head on the couch. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it. You look exactly like you always did—you look like you, but you’re all grown up.” His voice was low and calm and a little rough. His finger traced from my chin to my ear and down my neck, then back up. His touch was so light, if I couldn’t see his hand moving, I wouldn’t have been sure he was really touching me. I tried to keep my breathing even, but I could see my chest rising and falling more rapidly under his attention.

  “You’re all grown up too, which I believe we’ve established,” I said, my voice steadier than I could have hoped. I blinked a few times and calmed myself, enjoying his soft touch and only mildly terrified by the thought of what he might do next.

  “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined you’d be,” he said, his hand now touching the hair that was tucked behind my ear and hung down to my collar bone.

  “Hmm. You imagined me?” I asked with a small smile, eyes on his wrist as it moved slowly up and down, his hand in my hair too close to see without moving my head. I couldn’t dwell on his comment, or I would disintegrate into a cloud of stunned delight.

  “Yes. Often,” he said, his voice dropping lower.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yes. Why? You didn’t imagine what I’d look like?” he asked. He stopped his careful exploration of my neck and hair and rested his hand so the tips of his fingers rested at the slope where my neck met my shoulders. He was far more casual about touching me than I felt.

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I saw pictures every now and then, so I sort of knew. If you’d just cave and join the modern world of social media, I would’ve had a much easier time.” I gave him a playful glare. “You’ve always looked like you with varying degrees of… I don’t know, experience? Intensity? I guess maturity might be the right word. But you certainly are all grown up now—that’s true.” I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from continuing the babble.

  He laughed at that. “So you’re saying I look old again. ‘Experience’ and ‘maturity’ are code for old.” His fingers started their path again. Ear, neck, collar bone.

  “You are so obviously not old, don’t start with me. You’re only like, six months older than me, right? Plus, men age better than women, so when you look old, I’ll look older.” I couldn’t help but feel a flash of annoyance at the thought of him looking like a ripped silver fox at age seventy while across the world somewhere I’d be sagging and stretched and looking very much my age. I fought against the urge to close my eyes again—I wanted to hide from his nearness, but I couldn’t stop watching him.

  “I disagree, but I surrender,” he said.

  “Well, what did you imagine?” I said, slipping back into feeling hypnotized by his voice and his closeness and his fingers still almost imperceptibly tracing along my neck.

  He was quiet then, for a minute. I watched him study me, and when I couldn’t take the intensity anymore, let myself shut them for another moment.

  “I don’t know… I can’t even remember, now that you’re in front of me.” His voice had shifted, something in it heavy. As I tried to make sense of what he meant, I felt his fingers trace along the lines of my neck, along my jaw, and then when I felt him pulling my chin toward him, I opened my eyes.

  His face was closer now, his eyes searing into mine as I met them. One hand came to rest on top of my hand on my thigh, the other filtered back into my hair. He moved slowly toward me and looked at my lips, then back up into my eyes. I could hardly do anything other than yield to his gentle pull—the sensation of his hand on mine, his other hand in my hair, his face n
earing mine, was all too much to process.

  He was moving slowly enough I could have easily pulled back or said something, but I let him pull me in. He moved his other hand to my shoulder, now slightly raised up from where I’d been leaning back against the couch, to angle my whole body toward him. Finally, the gap was closed, and his lips were touching mine.

  If our first kiss was demanding and hungry, this one was, to continue the night’s theme, delicate. He kissed me just once, then pulled back a little and his eyes searched mine. I returned his look, and he must have been satisfied by what he saw because he pulled me closer and kissed me again, this time with only slightly more pressure. His lips moved slowly, carefully, reverently. I let my hands gravitate toward him and felt the short hair at the back of his neck, then slowly ran my fingers through his hair at the back of his head. It was close-cropped and surprisingly soft.

  My hands in his hair must have confirmed my interest, as if my total willingness to be pulled into a kiss hadn’t done that already, and he intensified the kiss, his tongue and lips moving over mine with enthusiasm. I must have made a sound of approval because I felt him smile. The hand in my hair slipped back down my neck and came to rest on my shoulder. His hands gripped my shoulders now, and he held me in place there a minute longer before he pulled away with a kind of groan. I opened my eyes to see him rest his elbows on his knees and his head in one hand, almost like he was seasick.

  I sat up and watched him, completely baffled. That wasn’t the effect I’d anticipated. I cleared my throat lightly and said, “Are you ok?” I felt a gush of nervousness rush over me as I waited for his answer.

  He kept his head in his hands a few seconds longer and then turned to me with his brow furrowed. “This isn’t good,” he said, looking genuinely troubled.

  His words hit me right in the stomach, and I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. I had invested some serious time over the last few weeks in convincing myself that I only cared about Luke as a friend, that my excitement to see him was because we’d picked up our friendship after so long and not because I found him inescapably attractive on every level. I hadn’t deluded myself quite effectively enough because hearing him say anything like what he’d just said was an absolute punch in the gut. My face must have showed it.

  “I didn’t mean I didn’t like what just happened—don’t misread what I just said.” He spoke to the floor, his head still resting in his hand.

  “Uh, ok. How should I read it?” I asked, trying not to feel as raw and exposed as I did. He slid closer to me so his thigh paralleled mine, took my hand in his and laced our fingers together. My heart beat faster at his touch despite feeling totally confused.

  He looked at our intertwined hands. “I can’t not touch you,” he said in a resigned tone. Then he kissed me again, his eyes open, watching me. I looked back at him, a wide-eyed, but annoyingly willing participant of the kiss. He pulled back and shook his head again, and then finally his seriousness seemed to crack and he smirked. “Damn. I should go.” He didn’t stop looking back at me, didn’t let go of my hand, and made no move to get up.

  “I’ll admit, I’m confused,” I said because I’d never been able to play coy very well, and this whole series of events was hella confusing.

  He took a deep breath, blew it out in a burst, and sat up. He looked down at our hands again and said, “I think I thought I could kiss you again and kind of… get you out of my system.” He glanced up at me with an eyebrow raised.

  “Get me out of your system? What does that mean?” My throat felt tight and I felt incredibly stupid. I felt like an overgrown geek sitting there next to him, lamely letting him hold my hand while he explained why he didn’t want me. I pulled back my hand and tried not to let the emotion creep into my eyes.

  He hesitated then, his breathing careful and he shook his head, still looking down where our hands had rested—where his hand was still resting, open and upturned. “I used to be in love with you, Alex.” He said it flatly, and like he was sure I knew this already.

  “What? When?… What?” I stuttered.

  Whaaaat?

  “You knew this. You must have. I dropped off the face of the planet in ninth grade when you started ‘going out’ with Jordan Smith. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t stand to be around you after that because I knew you didn’t feel the same way, and I just had to get space. Then I figured out the early college stuff, and it was easier when I had a plan.” He was looking at me, watching my reaction, clearly surprised to see my baffled face.

  “I never knew what happened. I thought it was because of Louis—that you were upset, or embarrassed or… I don’t know. I just couldn’t get you to come over anymore, or go get frozen yogurt after school, or talk to me, or do… anything. I was devastated,” I said quietly.

  The silence hung there between us. It still didn’t make sense. I used to be in love with you. How could he just say that, like it was nothing?

  I waited for him to explain how this connected to whatever just happened.

  “So you thought you were in love with me, and that applies to the fact that you look like it’s the end of the world because you just kissed me again because…? What am I missing?” I felt frustration creeping into my voice. I didn’t want to fight with him, but I felt myself gearing up for battle.

  “I didn’t just think I was in love with you. All the crap with Louis just made me… a coward, basically. It doesn’t matter. I was in love with you. And I was for a long time after that. All those letters you wrote me in basic training… every time we interacted it came back. You’d think after so long it would have faded. And then we didn’t talk much at all for years, just an email here or there, and I finally grew out of it. Then I saw you a few years ago and you were dating someone—and that sucked, but I mean, I was happy for you.” He looked at me and then shook his head a little. “Then you were home and single, and I wasn’t dating anyone either, and I figured it was the first time in a long time we were in a place to catch up. So I sort of jumped you while we were back home when I heard you’d be nearby—like I wanted to prove to myself we would be friends again, just like before, but holy hell, that plan didn’t work.” He took a deep breath that filled his chest and then expelled it.

  I finally grew out of it. He’d been in love with me, but he grew out of it? I felt an ache bouncing around my hollowed out chest, a familiar sense of loss and confusion.

  He gave me another miserable look and continued. “And then over the last few weeks I talked myself into believing that whatever it was I felt that night when I kissed you was just the thrill of reconnecting, of seeing you after so long. I didn’t want to risk our friendship getting awkward right as we were reconnecting. I’d planned to be friendly but just that—just friendly today. But I can’t keep my eyes or hands off of you, and so I kissed you again, and you kissed me back and—” he cut himself off by running his hands over his face as he groaned in frustration. My heart was racing yet again, listening to him describe much of what I’d been feeling.

  “So you tried kissing me again to… ‘get me out of your system,’” I supplied, not sure how I should feel about that.

  “I was hoping that if I kissed you again it’d feel like kissing a sister, or something, and it’d be awkward for a minute, and then we’d move back into friend zone and live happily ever after as life-long buddies,” he explained, looking at me again with his pained, perfectly blue eyes.

  “Well this sure isn’t awkward at all, so that plan failed,” I said, shaking my head at him and crossing my arms over my chest, heat rising to my cheeks.

  “It’s completely awkward,” he said, still shaking his head, and then quietly he muttered, “and I’m totally screwed.”

  “I’m sorry Luke, I still don’t understand. We are friends. So you kissed me, and it was good—at least it was for me, but that doesn’t mean—”

  He sprang at me then, and his lips were on mine before I could finish my thought. He kissed me aggressively this t
ime, his lips devouring me as I responded. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, his hands were in my hair, and my stomach was doing flips at the contact. He broke away again and practically pushed me away.

  “Shit!” he said, and he stood up. He moved toward the table where his keys and wallet sat.

  I gathered my composure as best I could, still breathing hard in the wake of that mind-melt of a kiss. “I have no idea what’s happening right now,” I said as evenly as I could.

  “I’m just…” He looked at me for a minute and I waited to hear him explain everything—waited to hear him say something to unravel this mess that had somehow appeared out of thin air. He reached for my door knob. “I’m freaking out, ok? I’m going to go, and I’ll text you later. Make sure you lock your door.” And with that, he was gone.

  I expected to cry because I certainly felt upset, but I knew Luke wasn’t trying to be a jerk. He seemed genuinely spooked by kissing me, and I guessed by wanting to keep kissing me. As delightfully insulting as that was, I wasn’t getting the whole story, and I knew it.

  I used to be in love with you. I finally grew out of it. What a thrilling, crushing admission he’d made tonight. What was I supposed to do with that information?

  And mostly? I couldn’t stop thinking about his lips on mine and his hands in my hair, or his fingers sliding along my jaw. I realized with a sinking sensation that I had no desire to be Luke’s friend.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning as I woke from a coma of exhaustion-induced sleep, I checked my phone to see I’d slept until after ten. As a lover of mornings, this was simultaneously delightful, since I rarely slept past seven, and maddening, because I felt the gaping loss of a morning’s productivity, and I had a ton of unpacking yet to do. I also saw I had a text from Luke.

  Luke: I forgot to give you the present I got for your cat. Can I bring it by on Saturday?