All of These Things

by De Mattea, Anna

  “Depends the form. I enjoy literature... but I can’t say I know all that much about paintings. I do love the tulips. They’re perfect. The colours are so dramatic.”

  “Well, I’m delighted to hear it,” he says with a straight face. “How about architecture? Has any particular style made an impact on you?”

  I need a moment to consider the question.

  “Well, I do like the hints of Victorian elegance in this town, but I’m keen on contemporary, too. So it’s an eclectic taste, I suppose.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “No.”

  “Describe it to me.”

  Alec leans back, sipping his wine casually and obviously not at all hesitant about staring at me. It’s eerie how truly curious he is.

  “Describe it to you?” I ask, disconcerted. “A kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms, and a living room. Not much to say, really.”

  Of course, it’s not an accurate run-through of the apartment. The honest answer is I’ve shared a queen bed with my mother from the time Dad moved out. Mom decided my bedroom was better off as her private space, and I was forced out for a dressing room. Our kitchen is fairly eccentric with red painted cabinets and white counter tops, complimented by a black toile skirt. On an antique hutch, a collection of vintage tea cups and Pyrex bowls are on permanent exhibition, displaying my mother’s other minor fixations.

  “I still live with my Mom. My parents divorced a long time ago, but my Dad owns the building, so it’s well maintained,” I say uneasily.

  Alec’s watching me intently, but I don’t look at him at all. It’s the wine. I’ve said too much.

  “He made a point of taking care of you. I respect that,” he says. “I respect that a lot. Good lad.”

  I allow myself a closer look, but it’s an awkward, passing glance at his face. It’s scary, what I find there. His eyes are pinned on me, and his face is gentle even when it’s unsmiling. It’s grave and humourless, but entirely mollifying.

  “He certainly had a million reasons to desert us, but he raised me none-the-less,” I say.

  “Well, I’m glad you have him.”

  I finally penetrate a fearless gaze his way, spotting gunmetal, blue eyes. “You and me, both.”

  The fluctuating light from the flames wisp his face. He’s handsome. In fact, Alec’s really very sexy. His light brown hair is short with unfussy curls forming mostly at the top. Thin, modest sideburns merge with the short re-growth of his beard, and his raspberry lips are inviting, so I stop to stare some more. They’re plump and look moist around the plunge of his upper lip. Michelangelo himself could not have carved a better mouth. It’s ripe, juicy, and I’m beguiled by it. My eyes drift slowly away to meet a salacious stare. Alec is amused, and I want to smack that smirk off his face.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asks, revelling in my humiliation.

  “So what’s your story, James Bond? Born in London?” I query, trying to divert my chagrin, stooping to condescending him, instead.

  “I’m from Wales, actually, but yes, I’ve lived in London.” Alec attempts half a smile and finishes his wine. “And I have family drama, too.”

  I make an understanding nod and decide to pour wine into the empty glass that’s still in his hand.

  “Thank you, Caroline.” His voice is barely audible, and his eyes are lasers coming straight at mine. He looks vulnerable and conflicted compared to the pompous ass he was a minute ago.

  “You’re welcome,” I say, biting my lower lip because I don’t know what else to say.

  “How many times have you heard how beautiful you are?”

  And welcome back the pompous ass.

  I clear my throat, and my chin dips into my chest from embarrassment. My voice is weak. “Um... I think the wine is getting to you, Alec.”

  “Doubtful. I’ve only just begun my second glass, thanks to you. Don’t be shy, Caroline. You’re beautiful. It’s impossible you don’t already know this. Boyfriend?”

  Boyfriend? Yes! Oh, what is wrong with me? I either have one or not. And I do! Of course I do but I take a few extra seconds to answer.

  Ryan and I met at Starbucks. Actually, I met him at a book store which is connected to the coffee shop. I noticed him noticing me, and initially, I didn’t know what to do with that. Then we mustered out a few sentences while in line and sat to chitchat. The rest was history, as they say.

  “Yes—Ryan,” I say firmly, and suddenly I’m brought back to the fact that we’re not alone.

  Flocks of people have gathered around in small groups, and Sofie manages to be the centre of attention in all of them. She’s absolutely beaming. The music is louder, and her company braver than when I was first introduced to them. One very married man is unashamedly staring at me as his wife maintains conversation with two other women who send quick glances at Alec. I recognize the music as Sofie’s, with Ella Fitzgerald in the mix.

  Two couples dance and sway with red wine swinging hazardously in their glasses. Promiscuity isn’t entirely absent in the vibe, and the ambience is buoyant, hardly a single discerning eye around.

  It’s refreshing, and even in a fuzzy state, I begin to understand Sofie a little clearer—why she loves this place and who we can be here.

  “Eat. I want you tipsy not unconscious,” Sofie says with a paper plate practically under my nose. It’s covered in bite-size hors d’oeuvres with a napkin beneath it.

  “Alec, I’m pretty sure Fatima made her famous hummus and chicken skewers just for you. Why don’t you make her night and give them a try?”

  He looks uncomfortable, and it’s both strange and pleasing to catch his awkwardness. At once, he’s on his feet.

  “I’ll do just that,” he says, turning and entrapping me in an intense gaze. “Save my place.”

  I don’t even want to look at Sofie because I certainly don’t need to see her to know what she’s thinking. She’s no doubt rejoicing from Alec’s flirtatious command.

  “Oh, shut up!” I blurt. “Did you know he was in Montreal? I saw him two days ago. He delivered a painting to Cat’s House, and he actually remembered me from your screensaver. How creepy is that!”

  “You don’t say,” she answers, too composed for my liking.

  “Sofie?” I say. “Sofie!

  “Oh, relax. I showed you pictures of him, too, I’m sure. He’s in a bunch of them from last summer.”

  I try arranging my thoughts. It would explain why Alec looked so familiar, and as I attempt to marshal my theories and collect ideas on how I feel about this, I reach a deliberation.

  “Oh my God. Are you serious right now? Are you trying to set us up, Sofie? I have Ryan!” I stare, dumbfounded. Fury rockets through me.

  “So what. I won’t tell,” she counters. “And, no, I wasn’t trying anything, Caroline, but I won’t say it didn’t cross my mind.”

  “Who even does something like that?” I ask, rising to my feet. “What kind of person tries to single-handedly destroy her best friend and cousin’s good and decent, happy relationship? Who Sof? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I noticed Alec gawking at your picture, and one time I straight out asked if you were his type. I guess the universe put the wheels in motion.”

  “Oh, would you cut it out with all of that. Let me tell you something about the universe. The universe cooked up a plan for me to walk into a bookstore at the same time Ryan was there. There’s your universe. You can’t dictate the universe, Sofie. You, of all people, should know that with your meditations and Feng Shui and Shamans. You’re virtually bordering on witchcraft! And now you’re strategizing against the universe? What would your leader, Ruby, say about that, hey?”

  Sofie’s eyes narrow, and her chin upswings insolently. She takes a step closer to stab a glare.

  “First of all, Ru
by is a guide, not a leader. And let me tell you one thing right now—I saw more excitement whooshing inside you tonight than I ever saw with Ryan. Even when you first met him and introduced him to me, I saw zero spark. There was no thrill and no buzz.”

  “Stop watching over me,” I say aggressively.

  “I don’t feel like it,” Sofie boasts.

  “You’re incorrigible, you know that. Like a hemorrhoid! You’re this eternal pain in my ass.”

  It never fails. I always feel late to the game around Sofie, and she’s continuously throwing me onto new field. She ventures into social circles with open arms, and I’m left dizzy in her rotations, and then need her like a lifeline.

  “We’re just talking, you know. Me and Alec,” I say, pulling myself together.

  “It’s sexy isn’t it... the accent?”

  I give her a signature mark of a roll of my eyes and devour the food. I needed that more than I knew.

  “It’s interesting. That’s all. I should get my phone. Need anything from inside?”

  “Yeah, maybe a backbone for you, or a life should you find one lying around.”

  I try adopting a stern stance but the inebriate that I am has tipped my equilibrium, so my only expression is a scowl.

  “You exhaust me,” I grumble.

  Sofie yelps, and I walk away.

  Chapter Six

  The kitchen floor is sticky under my feet which makes me nervous. I don’t understand the concept of wood flooring in a high traffic area of a house. It’s warm and attractive but tiling makes more sense to me. What if we ruin it? What if the owners don’t find the wood in the same condition it was prior to our rental? I have an incessant urge to start washing things. There are clutters of bottles and trays on the black granite of the white kitchen. I scan the small corner shelves over the sink and locate my phone. A slender, wooden boat contains the ashy ruins of expired incense. Sofie thinks it clears the air of bad karma and negativity. Personally, I light them for fragrance.

  I find one missed text from Ryan:

  I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible, terrible, awful person. I inhaled every whiff I could get of a British guy while my hard working, overzealous boyfriend was missing me back home. I’m utterly deplorable.

  I’m lucky I met someone like Ryan. He’s flattering and affectionate and incredibly kind and attractive. I love that he’s ambitious and stays objective. He’s a clear-thinker, and I liked that about him from our first date. His message was brief and fun, and it manages to charm me all over. He’s a good boyfriend, and I’m truly the luckiest girl.

  I tap on the green phone icon and find his name at the top of my favourites. We’ve only spoken once today, and now I miss him.

  “There she is,” he says after a second ring.

  “Hi. So, you miss me already?”

  “Of course. Especially your lips—badly. I thought of them, too, a few times today.”

  “Oh, really? And how did you manage?”

  “Let’s just say business communication classes and market analysis helped numb the pain.”

  I laugh, leaning against the counter.

  “How are the lobsters?” he asks.

  “Hey, that’s not all there is here. Don’t you diss it! Maine is beautiful. We should come here together.”

  For one reason or another, I’m already regretting that statement.

  “That sounds nice, baby. So tell me, what are the two of you up to tonight?”

  Oh, nothing special really except I had eye sex with a stunning British guy.

  “Sofie invited some acquaintances for drinks, and we’re sitting around a fire. You?” That was fairly honest. I give myself a mental high five before succumbing to the urge of slapping myself.

  Ryan tells me about his training and schoolwork as I struggle to sound interested. My head feels heavy on my shoulders, and I run cold water and fill a glass. I manage a few words, hearing him but not truly listening, and succeed at not putting my indifference into words or sighs. My apathy upsets me, but I know it’s because I’m lazy on my feet. After amorous salutations, we end our conversation.

  “So, you managed to escape?” Alec startles me.

  I can see him clearly under the kitchen lights. His hands are in the front pockets of his jeans, and his head drops forward, but his eyes leap up at me. I’m quite keen for the tinge of a cleft in his chin, and those lips are sinfully plump. His faint stubble beckons my fingertips, and I force myself not to imagine touching it. Those muscles that I have no name for clench again.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what, love?”

  “Creep up on me. Why do you do that?”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I had. Forgive me, Caroline. Dance?”

  It’s hardly a request because his hand has seized mine, and we walk towards the door. “You dance?”

  “You don’t?” he asks with a lopsided glance.

  “Yes, but you don’t look like you dance.”

  “Good! I’ve managed to surprise you. Point for me. Now it’s your turn.”

  I stagger behind him until he pulls me into his hard chest. I have to force thoughts of Ryan—of Ryan and his pretty incredible chest.

  As if preying on my private thoughts, a bluesy rendition of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” commands our stride and pace.

  “Do you enjoy jazz?” Alec asks.

  “If I say yes, do I get a point?”

  He laughs a genuine snigger. “I’d have to say yes, since it’s unusual today. So what, Pitbull and Beyoncé are not your thing?”

  “I told you already. My taste is eclectic.”

  How is he so light on his feet, especially in those boots? Ryan’s dancing has a more sensual character, but it’s easy to imagine Alec in a suit and tie. Too easy, perhaps, because I want to ward off these repulsive thoughts, but he smells too good to try. I’m guessing a citrus mint body wash under musk and leather all wrapped in the woody haze from the fire. Oh God, I’m smelling him again. I should jump into the freezing Atlantic to escape this trance.

  “Alec! You’re not performing tonight. What’s got you so distracted? The fire needs prodding.”

  O’Something’s voice hauls me out from my reveries, and I notice Alec watching me closely—lost in his own state of bemusement.

  “You can have the honour, mate. My hands are otherwise engaged,” he says, and I don’t like the sound of that so I move, initiating a much-needed gap between our bodies.

  “You should go,” I say. “Sofie’s counting on you.”

  Alec’s lips part, and his tongue darts out to lick the top one. I imagine it like velvet, and am aware of the drops of moisture on it. Suddenly, I crave to discover it with my own.

  Afraid that my vexing need has exposed me, I release his hold and struggle to formulate a reason for the detachment.

  “Go on,” I say. “I’m weak on my feet anyway.”

  Finally, we disconnect.

  “Don’t you dare, Caroline!” orders Sofie, grabbing the sponge from my hand and thwacking me with a dishcloth. “After these two get the fuck out of this house, you’re going to bed. We’ll clean up in the morning.”

  Surely, she can’t be serious. That’s the equivalence of finding presents tucked under a Christmas tree and telling a child to wait for tomorrow. On any other night, I’d ignore Sofie and immediately whirl into a cleaning ninja. Waking up to a messy kitchen is a definite pet peeve, yet I’m shaky on my feet, so I choose sleep instead.

  It’s impressive, really, how notably lax I can be here, and to be honest, I know it has ev
erything to do with Sofie. The realization actually ticks me off a little bit.

  Damn that woman.

  Gwen and Diane remain oblivious to our displeasure, carrying on comparing pictures of their home remodelling projects. They’re DIY authorities, and usually I admire people like that, but tonight I find them irritating. It’s after midnight, and I’m staggering around the living room. Sofie’s grabbing items for a walk on the beach with Jay as he waits somewhere out back. Frankly, she and I couldn’t care less about Gwen’s heated flooring or Diane’s textured wallpaper. Well, I couldn’t care less, but Sofie just doesn’t give a fuck. I want to sleep, and she wants Jason.

  Turning my back to the littered counter that’s calling my name, I walk out on the plates and trays soaking in the sink and dry my hands. I admit it’s quite an achievement for me. Anxiously, Sofie leads the women out, eager to escape to her rendez-vous.

  “Night-night, Care.” Sofie’s brimming with ridiculous need. I can almost feel her pulsating fervour. She’s mad about the guy!

  “Have fun,” I say, then lock the back door but immediately yank it open again. “Wait! Do you have a key with you?” I shout.

  “Yes!” she bellows.

  I yawn, dragging myself across the kitchen, and a knock interrupts my closing time.

  “Shit,” I mumble, assuming either Gwen or Diane have forgotten something.

  I switch the light off in the kitchen, wobbling over to the lamp on the console. I flick it on before reaching the door and labour with three aggravating security devices. I unlock, unbolt, and unchain the main entryway expecting to see Dumb and Dumber—as Sofie fondly refers to them. Before I can completely look up, or speak, two masked persons push me further inside.

  “Your party’s finally over. Now you can party with us,” one hisses, and the other clasps my mouth shut with his hands, tying a rag around my jaw.

  I’m trying not to mentally shut down, but I’m confused and petrified. I’m too stunned to recall any self-defence techniques, and the alcohol has weakened me. My moans and shrieks are feeble as I kick, scratch, and grip at whatever I can. I’m weighed down and hopelessly ineffective.