“I noticed you’ve been working hard on the shop,” she catches my attention.
“I have to finish the shelves by Saturday so I can use my father’s help hanging them on the walls on Sunday, and then I’ll have a week to settle the last details,” I explain with satisfaction as I grab the coffee cup I had left on the table and finish drinking its contents.
“And it seems Jared is also very busy with his work. I’ve never seen him go in and out so many times since he moved in. He seems… happier,” she holds forth tapping a chubby finger on her pursed lips. I smile because I like the happy version of Jared, though I like the eternally busy one a little less, but I suppose he has his objectives to achieve too, like me, and now we have to give them our all.
“It looks like that to me, too,” I agree, gloating somewhat. Jane eyes me suspiciously.
“What went on between the two of you?” In my mind the suspicion that Jane was some kind of detective in a previous life is slowly becoming a certainty.
“I wouldn’t know how to define it exactly,” I try to keep it vague.
“Oh dear, this may be a problem,” she warns me.
“Who has a problem?” Ernest comes back out holding a big box, which he hurriedly sets on the floor near the counter.
“Our dear Gil, Erny. It seems she isn’t certain of how to define her relationship with Jared,” Jane explains as if I weren’t there.
“A relationship is a relationship. That’s already a definition,” he calmly replies.
“What are you talking about, Erny? There are millions of different relationships, the world of relationships is extremely complex.”
“Well, then you do have a problem, Gil,” he agrees coming over to me.
“Oh, stop it, both of you, I don’t have a problem. The name Jared and I will give to our relationship is our business,” I reply, attempting to keep a straight face. As if it were easy – this conversation is surreal.
“I suggest: ‘problem’,” Ernest insists, polite as usual.
“And the fact that you’re denying it is proof that it’s true,” Jane confirms.
“I don’t like problems, unlike Jared; I avoid them when I can and I don’t like having two voices of my conscience pointing them out. I’m enjoying the moment,” I explain, not at all intimidated by their insinuations.
“Well, the fact that she admits to liking the boy means she has a clear idea of this relationship,” Ernest reflects, addressing Jane. He seems to enjoy pretending I’m not here.
“That’s true,” she agrees thoughtfully.
“After all they just want what we all want: someone with whom they can spend the rest of their lives. Most people aren’t lucky enough to be able to bicker with you every day, Jane.”
“It’s always a pleasure, Erny,” the old lady smiles.
Ernest kept his word, and this morning I found the hat forms he had promised me tidily arranged in the room that will become my storage area. This makes me suspect he knows perfectly well how to be tidy, it’s just that he doesn’t want to make the effort. Maybe Jane is right about him. Of course, since I found a beautiful professional sewing machine near the forms, I could never ever turn my back on him. Ernest is and will always be my savior.
Today I skipped lunch because I wanted to get ahead with the work. I want to finish putting the shelves together before Sunday when Father is coming so we can paint them and hang them on the walls. I gulp down the umpteenth sip of coffee and pick the drill back up. Since I resumed working this afternoon, I’ve had a hard time holding on to anything I pick up, and the drill is no exception apparently. I got a dozen holes wrong, which means more plaster and more time. Maybe I had best finish the coffee. I pick the cup back up, finish its contents in one gulp, and throw it over my shoulder to join all the others that have kept me company today. Then I place the drill on the spot where I want to make the hole. Concentration and a steady hand, that’s what I need. I’m about to push the ‘on’ button, when the voice I have imagined hearing over the past few days catches me by surprise.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jared exclaims in alarm behind me.
“I’m putting together the shelves,” I reply, trying to focus on the spot I need to drill. Why are my eyelids so heavy? Darn, I said concentration and a steady hand, didn’t I? It shouldn’t be that difficult.
“How many of these did you drink?” he insists, coming up behind me and waving one of the empty cups in front of my face. I find this distracting.
“I don’t know. I didn’t count them, but for sure I’ll have to place a complaint at the café across the street: their coffee isn’t very good seeing as it doesn’t work,” I complain.
Jared’s response is to take the drill from my hand with a warning look that brooks no response. Too bad I’m having a hard time focusing on him too. I stand on tiptoe in the vain attempt to get my drill back, but he holds it up so high I can’t reach it.
“You’re turning into a caffeine addict,” he scolds me, circling my waist with his free arm.
“I only had a few cups,” I protest renouncing my attempt to reach the drill and enjoying the feeling of his chest against mine. Suddenly I feel very tired, my eyes refuse to remain open and in my head I try to calculate the hours of sleep I have managed to fit in over the last few days, but there’s no way I can do any counting – it’s too complicated.
“You’ve finished working for today,” I hear him say as he sets the drill down on the shelf I haven’t finished putting together. He gathers me up in his arms and heads out of the shop and up the stairs. He is wearing a shirt and his tie is loosened. He obviously has just got back. I’m proud of him – he’s worked a lot this week and it looks like his mysterious job is finally going his way.
“Where are we going?” I mutter, already half asleep, lulled by his embrace. I feel like I’m on a cloud – soft, warm, welcoming, and protective.
“You need to get some sleep,” he replies, amused. I barely perceive the sound of the door to his apartment closing, but instead of stopping in front of the couch, as I had expected at first, Jared passes by it and heads for the bedroom. A few seconds later he sets me down on the bed, which smells of fresh laundry and lavender scented softener. It’s so inviting.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, struggling against sleep. Now that I have set my head on the pillow, it’s awfully hard to remain alert.
“Go to sleep,” I hear him murmur, too far away.
“Don’t go,” I beg him.
“I’m not going,” he reassures me. But I don’t believe him until I see him lay down next to me: his arm slips under my head supporting it, and I curl up against his side.
“Did you have a hard day?” I ask, closing my eyes and enjoying the heat of his breath on my hair. The delicate touch of his fingers drawing small circles on the hand I set on his chest is soothing.
“I had an intense day.”
“Are you ok?”
“Now I am.” These few words are enough for me to give in to my exhaustion, to let myself be lulled by his breathing as it blends with my own, and to fall asleep.
When I awaken, I am overcome by a vague and indefinite sense of alarm. I open my eyes and the view before me is totally alien. Where am I? I sit up while a growing sense of anxiety comes over me and I look around in search of something that will help me find my bearings. I’m about to give in to panic when the door opens and Jared appears.
“Good morning,” he greets me with a smile that dispels my anxiety like soap bubbles. “I was about to despair and call the mortician.”
“What am I doing here? How many hours did I sleep?”
“You scolded me for not using the bedroom, so I thought I’d fix that,” he reveals in amusement, taking a seat next to me. “Yesterday afternoon you were half asleep when I brought you here, and now it’s ten thirty. I’ll let you count the hours.”
I concentrate to figure out how many hours have gone by, but I can’t accept the incredible truth.
> “I didn’t actually sleep sixteen hours, you’re messing with me!” I exclaim in alarm.
“Minute more, minute less,” he makes fun of me.
“It can’t be!” I jump out of bed in such a hurry that Jared has to get up too if he doesn’t want to be plowed under. “Where’s my phone? I have to call Grandma Natalie, she’ll be worried sick!”
“It’s on the bedside table, don’t worry,” he replies, pointing at it. “I talked to your grandmother yesterday evening.”
“What?” for a moment I am taken aback. The news is so shocking that I no longer care about the phone.
“She called yesterday evening around eight, and since you were sleeping, I answered to reassure her that you were alive and well.” His expression has become strange.
“And?” I urge him on. I have the feeling he’s hiding something.
“And nothing. Just remember: if one day they find me dead someplace, you should know it was her.” I look him in the face for a moment as I mull over the information, then the image of Grandma Natalie, always so anxious, scolding him on the phone pops into my head and I can’t help but laugh.
“You find it amusing? Your grandmother is terrifying,” he complains, almost offended.
“Sorry…” I try to articulate amidst my laughter. Jared crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. Ok, I need to get my act together. “No, it’s not amusing. But, in my defense I can assure you that she isn’t dangerous.” Though, come to think of it, she might be for him; it’s the third time I lost track of time at his house. Maybe Grandma Natalie is right to worry: I was a trustworthy person up to a few weeks ago.
“You say so only because you’re not convinced, like her, that I’m going to seduce and abandon her dearest granddaughter,” he observes, not at all reassured.
“Why? Are you trying to seduce me?” I move closer to him, amused. He looks me straight in the eye with an intensity I wasn’t expecting.
“No,” he replies laying a hand on my cheek and circling my waist with the other. “I’m trying to conquer you, it’s different,” he whispers against my lips pulling me closer. The warmth of his body is going to my head.
“Whatever it is, you’re doing a pretty good job of it,” I breathe, trying to bring my heartbeat back to an acceptable pace. Jared gives me one of his incredible smiles and a moment later he sets his lips on mine. I love his delicate touch that becomes increasingly demanding, as if there were nothing more important than us, than our searching tongues, than our bodies recognizing each other. I like the way he makes me feel: important, unique, as if he has never desired something more than he desires me. His hand makes its way through my hair, his fingers weave through the strands in slow, circular movements that cloud my mind. I let myself go completely, captured in his embrace and in this kiss I wish would never end.
We pull away only because we both risk dying from the lack of oxygen. Neither of us like doing this, I can tell by the burning gaze Jared is giving me. I am confused, I’ve never felt anything like this.
“What are we doing?” I ask, unable to pull away from him.
“Be with me,” is his determined reply.
“What?”
“Be with me, be my girlfriend.”
I’m taken aback. There is no trace of hesitation in his voice.
“Weren’t you the one who said he didn’t need anyone in his life?” I remind him.
“Yes, and you were the obstinate one who refused to let me be.”
“So… actually…” a smile I can’t repress curves my lips upwards while my heart fills with a joy I have never experienced before, “I conquered you.”
“If you say so,” he winks, pulling me close once again, “I have no trouble admitting it, as long as the feeling is mutual.”
“I don’t think I have the same effect on you that you have on me,” I complain, burying my face in the folds of his shirt. He laughs, raising my chin with a finger.
“You have no idea of the effect you have on me.”
We sit there looking at each other until the ringing of a phone that isn’t mine distracts us. It’s coming from the living room. Jared gives me a sonorous kiss on the forehead before he leaves me to go and answer it. I’ve never seen him so happy, and I didn’t think it would ever happen. I could stay here and give him his privacy, but I know so little about him and the temptation to discover more is irresistible. I take my phone, slip it into the pocket of my overalls, and follow him into the living room.
“Hello?” he replies coolly. “No, Jeremy, I haven’t heard from them.” I see his back stiffen, as if he were uncomfortable; his jaw line contracts and his forehead is drawn into a frown. I go over to him and set a hand on his free arm; I don’t like it when he locks himself behind that mask of harshness and bad temper. His eyes flicker towards me while he continues to listen to the guy talking on the phone.
“Please, don’t give me crap. They don’t even know where I am, neither of them cares!” he furiously bursts out. His fingers form a fist and his lips are pursed, as if he were trying to refrain from saying something he might regret.
“Of course I didn’t tell them. They were the ones who wanted to get rid of me, remember? Father’s opinion is the same as his father’s, and don’t tell me they want me there.” Jared lets himself fall on the couch and leans his elbows on his knees. I sit next to him, trying to figure out what is upsetting him so much, but I can’t understand a word of what this Jeremy guy is telling him, I can only catch his agitated tone.
“Please, Jeremy, let’s end it here. I’m sorry about Mom, but I don’t want to talk about it.” Jared takes a deep breath as if he were trying to calm down while he passes a hand over his face and then through his hair. “I know, I have my share of the blame and I’m trying to fix things, but don’t tell me stories about how much they miss me. I’m not a kid anymore. No, I’ll come back when I’ve fixed things up, not a moment sooner, and don’t call me anymore, I don’t have time to listen to your crap, am I clear?” Suddenly the man on the other end of the line falls silent, Jared sighs, he looks tired. “Don’t worry, Jeremy, everything will go back to normal. I’m ok, there’s no reason to worry about me, ok?” he reassures him. The other says something and Jared hangs up. He looks worn out.
“Is everything ok?” I ask him, worried. This change of mood was too sudden even for someone like him. He turns, and I get the impression that he is just now realizing I am sitting next to him, as if the call has totally estranged him from reality.
“Yes,” he simply replies.
“Who was it?” I have no intention of ignoring something that concerns him so deeply and he’d better deal with it. We look at each other, me determined to get my answer, him with no intention of giving it to me, then he sighs again and caves.
“My brother, Jeremy,” he reveals, letting himself go against the back of the couch.
“What did he want?”
“He wants me to go back home to Boston so my mother’ll stop worrying.”
“And why don’t you?” I immediately regret the question: if he went back to Boston, I wouldn’t have many chances to see him again, and I don’t want this to happen – not now. I may be selfish, but I can’t pretend I don’t care about having him by my side. I’m not ready for my feelings, I know next to nothing about love, all I know is that I love to look into his eyes, feel his hand in mine, listen to his voice, taste his lips, and breathe his scent. I don’t want it all to end so fast, and this awareness makes me feel a little guilty. It is so evident he has some important issues to resolve with his family, and for his own good I think he should.
“If I’m here it’s also my parents’ fault,” he replies, too cryptically for me to understand.
“What do you mean? What have your parents got to do with it?”
“It’s complicated, Gil, I’ve told you lots of times,” he insists. “All you need to know is that not all families are as perfect as yours.”
“Mine isn’t perfect at all. We’ve
had our share of problems. I don’t think the perfect family exists, one where everything goes as it should, in which there aren’t difficulties that have to be overcome or foul characters you have to put up with. My family is no different to many others. Maybe you just have to learn to put up with yours,” I try to remind him. I don’t like the idea that he doesn’t get along with his mother or with any of the other people who love him.
“Certainly no one in your family would turn their back on you, even if you made the biggest mistake of your life,” he broods bitterly.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, just that my parents are still under my grandfather’s thumb and he’s a very old fashioned man, for whom a person’s reputation counts more than anything else, more than relationships, more than family ties.”
“Oh…” is all I can say.
“But enough of that, this is no time for such issues,” Jared gets up from the couch and holds out his hand to me. “What would you like to do?”
“What would I like to do? Actually I should go downstairs and finish the shelves,” I remind him, perplexed that seemingly my observation doesn’t dampen his enthusiasm. He’s once again the happy man of a moment ago, and I can’t prevent his good mood from infecting me. Maybe it’s best to put complications off to another time.
“We’ll take care of the shelves tomorrow, today we’ll grant one of the wishes on your list.”
“My list?”
“Yes. Everyone has a list of things they want to do before they die, so pick one: what would you like to do?” he asks again with an entirely new light in his eyes.
“Well… let me see… we could… oh, I know, let’s rob a bank!” I suggest, amused.
“Gil, be serious,” he scolds me.
“You’re right. To rob a bank we’d need a gun, and to get hold of a gun we’d have to know a gangster,” I ponder out loud.
What a Girl Wants Page 15