Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  We aren’t staying at hotels the whole time. Adam has friends that we’ll stay with in London, and we’re staying with an old friend of my mom’s in Brazil.

  I’m excited and nervous at the same time. I can’t wait for my trip to start, but I’m afraid of the unknown. Traveling can be dangerous. My mom wouldn’t have bought me a secret wallet I can wrap around my ankle if it weren’t.

  I’ve become shy and nervous over the last few years. I wasn’t like this in high school. I wasn’t crazy popular, but I had lots of friends and a boyfriend.

  Ally’s illness changed me. I know I will never be the person I was before, but I don’t want to be who I am now either. I want to be brave. If my parents found out what I’m planning, they would probably cancel the trip. That’s why I’m careful to delete my browsing history every night.

  My mom pops her head in my doorway. “Still want to come with?”

  I look up and nod. I stand and grab my purse to follow her. I’m tagging along with her to the animal shelter today and tomorrow. I figure I’ll be doing a lot of walking during my travels, and I can practice with all of dogs that need to be walked at the shelter. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone with her. Being around the animals relaxes me.

  When we get there, she heads straight to the back office while I make my way to the kennels.

  “Hey, George,” I call out to another volunteer. “Who needs walking?”

  He passes me a leash. “Trixie and Morton are the only ones who have been on a long walk since I’ve been here.”

  It’s still early. “I’ll start with Herman.” I gesture toward a German shepherd mix. “Hi, Herman. Who’s a good boy? You are. Yes, you are,” I coo as I open his kennel.

  He jumps on me, trying to lick my face. I clip the leash to his collar, and then while his front paws are still on me, I scratch his sides. He leans into the scratch, throwing his head back. I laugh and push him down. I wave to George as Herman and I make our way behind the shelter. I grab a waste bag on the way and shove it into my pocket.

  There’s a field before a wooded area with walking trails behind the shelter. Sometimes, I’ll play Frisbee with the well-behaved dogs in the field.

  I learned the hard way that Herman is not trustworthy off the leash. I spent one afternoon chasing him through the woods. I won’t make that mistake again. He’s full of energy this morning, and he does more bouncing than walking.

  I tried to talk my mom into adopting him, but if she convinces my dad to get a dog, she wants a small one.

  It’s cool in the shade. Other than the occasional squirrel, Herman and I match each other’s pace easily.

  I take the longer trail, talking to Herman as we walk. “Are you going to miss me, buddy?”

  He just looks at me, tongue hanging out. I take that as a yes.

  “I’m going to miss you too. Before I leave tomorrow, I promise I’ll remind George that you like the long trail.”

  He isn’t paying attention. Instead, he is fully focused on smelling the post of a sign. I have to tug him to get him to start walking again.

  After our walk, I let him jump on me and lick me before putting him back in his kennel.

  “Is he a good dog?”

  I turn and see a woman in the doorway. She’s curiously looking at Herman.

  I gulp. “He’s a great dog, just active. He loves to walk.”

  I reach my fingertips into his kennel, letting him lick them. Inside my head, I hope she won’t adopt him. I plaster a smile on my face, and I let her know that we have a room where she can hang out with any of the dogs she might be interested in. I gesture toward George, letting her know that he can help her.

  I hook the leash to a beagle and go back outside. Sampson, the beagle, is an older dog. Instead of heading into the woods, we make a wide lap around the field. He’s panting and goes straight for his water dish when we come back inside.

  Herman isn’t in his kennel. I sigh and take out the next dog. All the while, I hope that Herman will be back in his kennel when I get back. He still isn’t there though when I do come back.

  George sees me staring at his kennel. “Hey, that lady adopted him.”

  I nod. I figured as much. I force a half smile before I head out with another dog. When I get back, I get some water and hang out with my mom in the back office, so I can sit in front of a fan for a while.

  “I heard Herman got adopted.”

  I nod. “The lady seemed nice. I hope she takes good care of him.”

  Once my mom is done, we head home, and on the way, we grab some takeout for lunch. My dad is napping in the hammock in the backyard. My mom shakes his shoulder, awaking him.

  “You’re getting red.”

  He pulls her down next to him. She laughs as he kisses the side of her head. I’m happy for them. It will be good for them to have me out of their hair. I sit at the kitchen table and start eating. They walk in together a couple of minutes later.

  I snort when I see my dad. “How long were you out there?”

  He looks confused. “Not long.” He looks at my mom. “Why?”

  She looks away, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Dad, go look in the mirror.”

  We hear his groan when he sees himself. He looks like a semi-sunburned Two-Face from Batman. He walks back into the kitchen, giving us dirty looks as we giggle.

  We don’t talk while we eat. The silence is only disturbed by an occasional giggle. After lunch, my mom and dad go upstairs, so she can put cream on his face.

  ***

  I sit in the backseat with my backpack next to me. As my dad drives to the airport, my mom looks back every few minutes, like she’s checking to make sure I’m still there. Each time she looks back, I lift my eyebrows and grin at her. They’re not sure I can do this. I’m not sure I can do this. I just can’t let them know that.

  I have a direct flight to JFK. Once my rolling case is checked, my mom and dad walk with me to the line for security.

  “Call us once you’ve landed,” my mom says, pulling me into a hug.

  “I will,” I murmur into her neck.

  My dad pulls me into his arms next. “Have fun, sweetie. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Just be safe.”

  I nod, not wanting to cry. I’m twenty-four. I should be able to say good-bye to my parents at an airport without tearing up.

  As I weave my way through the rope maze, my parents stay and watch me. My dad’s arm is casually slung around my mom’s shoulders. She leans into him. When I get to the front of the line, I look back to blow them a kiss and give a final wave. They wave back, and I can tell my mom is crying. I square my shoulders and don’t look back again. That way, they won’t see that I’m crying.

  Once I’m past security, I find a restroom, so I can wash my face. My flight will start boarding in forty-five minutes. I find an end seat at my gate and sink into it, tucking my backpack under my legs in front of me. I have a book, but I’m too nervous to read it. Instead, I people-watch.

  There’s a family of five—a mom, a dad, two boys, and a girl—in the seats facing mine. I envy the kids. I always wanted a brother or a sister when I was growing up. I guess that’s why Ally filled that older sister void for me.

  There’s also a group of older women. It’s not hard to figure out their plans. They have matching handmade T-shirts with puffy paint, letting everyone know they are Broadway bound. They’re a loud group, laughing and joking with each other and anyone sitting near them. They lift my mood, and I can’t help but smile at their antics.

  As soon as I’m on the plane, that feeling is gone. I’m on my way to meet the stranger who I’m going to travel around the world with. A stranger who I have not even managed to have an actual conversation with. I know it shouldn’t matter, but I’m worried about making a good first impression and what he’s like. I have no interest in traveling with someone I can’t get along with.

  I have a direct flight, and I watch a movie on the way. Before I know it, we’re de
scending. I have a window, and I am basically trapped until the people sitting next to me have gotten their things and are in the aisle.

  Once I’m off the plane, I call my mom to let her know I’ve landed. She has bad news for me. Adam had something come up, and he will not be picking me up from the airport. She’s going to text me his address, so I can take a cab to his apartment instead. He’s going to leave a key with a neighbor for me. Awesome…or the opposite.

  I make my way to baggage claim, and I have no trouble finding my giant suitcase. There’s a queue for taxicabs right outside. I’m on my way to Adam’s apartment in no time. As we flow through traffic, I feel a sense of pride bloom within me. I realize that even though I’m still in the States, I have managed to deal with a change in plans easily, and I am on my way to where I need to be by myself.

  The cab pulls up in front of a six-story brick apartment building. I glance up and down the street. It’s congested. I can’t imagine trying to find a parking spot, but then I remember my mom said that Adam doesn’t have a car. The cab driver pulls my suitcase from the trunk and leaves before I can thank him.

  The main door to the building has a buzzer-type system to it. Adam’s neighbor, Mr. Wiltshire, buzzes me in. I heft my suitcase up four flights of stairs. Mr. Wiltshire is there, waiting for me with the key. I thank him, and once I have Adam’s door open, I practically fall into his apartment.

  Once the door is locked behind me, I take a look around, mainly in search of a bathroom. The apartment is small, studio-style. I’m curious where I’m supposed to sleep tonight.

  His style is minimalist. It makes sense, given how small the place is. I can’t ignore the photos on his walls. The wall behind his sofa has exposed brick, and the photos are wire-mounted in brushed nickel frames. They’re black-and-white photos of mountains, lakes, and lighthouses. There are also a series of objects—doorknobs, hinges, and rivets—in extreme close-up.

  I linger at each one, captivated, until my stomach grumbles. I’m poking around his kitchen when he walks in with dinner in hand. I blush, closing the cabinet I was looking in, and I wave. My mouth drops when I see him. He really should update his avi because covering that face with a camera should be a crime.

  He sets bags of takeout on the coffee table. “You must be Aubrey,” he says, reaching out his hand.

  I gulp when his hand folds around mine. He’s tall with a lanky build and light brown hair that falls into his gray eyes. I repress the urge to reach up and run my fingers through his hair. My stomach clenches, an uncontrolled physical reaction to him.

  I haven’t had or even thought about sex in years. One glance at Adam at my body seemed to be waking from some sort of hibernation.

  Chapter 7

  My hand is still in his. He seems to be appraising me. My free hand automatically moves to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I’m wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. I’m suddenly wishing I were wearing something cuter. He drops my hand, and I push it into my pocket.

  “Italian good? I picked up some chicken alfredo on the way.”

  I cringe. I hate alfredo sauce, but I don’t want to be rude. He didn’t know.

  “Maybe just a little bit.” I sigh, and then I close my eyes and pray he did not just hear the dying whale sound my stomach just made.

  I smell garlic and hope that means there are breadsticks. He reaches up, leaning into me, to open the cabinet behind me. I hold my breath as he pulls down two plates.

  God, why did he have to get alfredo?

  I follow him to the couch and watch as he spoons a ridiculous amount onto my plate.

  Once both plates are ready, he looks up at me. “What do you want to drink? I have some beer or soda.”

  “Um…” I push the noodles around on my plate, trying not to gag. “Soda is good.”

  While he pours me a glass, I devour a breadstick. Part of me wants to ask if he has a strainer. I don’t mind noodles, and if I can rinse the sauce off of them, I know I can eat it. I stab one noodle with my fork and attempt to wipe some of the sauce off by rubbing it against the plate before lifting it to my mouth. There is something about the smell that turns my stomach. Short of pinching my nose for each bite, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat any of it.

  He’s walking back over with my drink. I can’t look him in the eye.

  “I’m so sorry. I hate to do this, but do you have anything else I could eat?”

  I cringe and look up at him. His hand is suspended, midair, reaching out to pass me my drink. He licks his bottom lip and leans down to set my drink next to me before straightening back up.

  “Something wrong with the alfredo?” He tilts his head, waiting for my response.

  “I just…I don’t know why, but I’m a picky eater. There’s something about the sauce. If you don’t have anything else…” I think of his near empty cabinets. “If you have a strainer, I can still eat the noodles.”

  “I can go and get you something else.” He sounds pissed.

  “No, don’t. I’m fine. I wasn’t even that hungry.”

  He lifts a brow at me and smirks as my stomach chooses that moment to growl.

  “I don’t want to put you out. Please, if you have a strainer, I can still eat the noodles,” I plead.

  He reaches down, lifting my plate, and sets it on his kitchen counter. I want to disappear as I watch him strain my noodles.

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “Do you want any kind of sauce?”

  “Plain is good. Thank you.”

  He gives the noodles one final shake before dumping them back on my plate. He looks beyond annoyed when he sets the plate back in front of me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he mumbles while opening a beer.

  I focus on eating the food in front of me. I’m starving. I can’t believe I tried to tell him otherwise.

  “So, is there a lot of stuff you don’t eat? That could be an issue while traveling.”

  I gulp down the bite I’m working on. “I don’t like seafood, and I just like plain stuff.”

  His jaw drops. “No seafood?”

  I nod.

  “No fish, shrimp, sushi, lobster? None?”

  I hate these questions. I don’t understand why it bothers people that I don’t eat certain kinds of food. It’s not like I have an issue with people eating stuff I don’t like.

  I reply with my canned response, “If it comes from the sea, it’s not for me.”

  “You’re missing out.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” I snap.

  He shrugs, taking a long pull from his bottle. When I’ve finished, he takes my plate. I offer to wash it, but he shakes his head and does it himself. I want to ask what our sleeping arrangements will be, but I feel awkward bringing it up. I wonder if my dad would have booked me a hotel room if he had known Adam lived in a studio.

  “Do you shower at night or in the morning?” he asks, walking back over.

  I look over at him, confused. “Morning. Is that okay?”

  “We have to get up early. I was going to shower tonight to save time.”

  “Oh, I can take a shower tonight. I just normally like to shower in the morning. It helps me wake up.” I don’t know why I told him that.

  He turns and leans against the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. “What other things wake you up?” he teases.

  I furrow my brow. “Caffeine, I guess.”

  He smirks. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  I clear my throat. “Not to change the subject, but where am I sleeping tonight?”

  The sofa seems like the only logical answer, but there’s only one, and if it’s his bed…

  I feel my cheeks redden just at the thought of sitting on what might be his bed.

  One side of his mouth pulls up into a half smile. I don’t like how looking at his mouth makes me feel. This trip is supposed to be about finding myself, not lusting after my babysitter.

  “You’re sleeping with me ton
ight.”

  Did he just say that?

  “No, I’m not,” I stammer.

  He grins, pushing himself off the counter, and he walks toward me. I feel myself sinking into the sofa, trying to further the distance between us. When he gets to the coffee table, he pulls it to the side, closer to the door. There is nothing blocking him from me now. My mouth drops. He turns and opens double doors of what looks like an entertainment center. I exhale when I see it’s a Murphy bed.

  He grins at me. “Which do you want—sofa or bed?”

  The idea of sleeping in his bed, laying my head on his pillow, surrounded by his scent excites me. I gulp. “Either is fine.”

  He nods. “Won’t eat seafood but has no problem sleeping on a lumpy couch. Interesting.”

  I roll my eyes at the seafood dig.

  “Can’t even get you to try fish and chips while we’re in England?”

  I meet his eyes and smile sweetly. “Sure. Just hold the fish.”

  He closes the doors to the bed and sits back down next to me. He picks up his beer to take another swig. “Seriously, when was the last time you tried seafood?”

  There seems to be two types of people in the world. There are people who, when told I don’t eat certain kinds of food, accept it and never mention it again. Then, there are people who cannot let it go, who will say that if I try their salmon dish or shrimp-something that I will love it.

  I shake my head. “Can you just let it go?”

  He shrugs, turning his attention toward my suitcase. “All right, open her up. Let’s see what you have.”

  “Huh?”

  “This is your first trip overseas, right?”

  I nod.

  “I want to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”

  My mouth drops. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  What does he think I am, some little kid? I push the picture of my mom helping me pack out of my mind. I’ve only read every travel guide known to man in the last three months. I’m probably better packed than he is. Besides, I don’t want him seeing my underwear or my stockpile of tampons.

  He nods, lifting his hands. “Only trying to help.”

  I wrinkle my nose.