By one p.m., I had accomplished little to nothing. I was rinsing off my lunch plate with hot water and setting it in the dishwasher when the doorbell startled me.
I quickly tried to remember if Kyra or Lexi had mentioned coming over. After convincing myself they hadn’t, I expected to greet some salesperson or Jehovah’s Witness when I opened the door. Instead, I was met with a nervous, fidgety Patrick.
My eyes grew as big as saucers, causing my bangs to fall into my eyes. Patrick and I had never spent time together outside of school apart from talking on the phone. Much less at my house. Much less at my house when no one else was home.
His head was slightly lowered, but after a few seconds of me staring stupidly with my mouth open in silence, he grinned up at me with an amusement in his eyes. “Can I come in? It’s kind of cold out here.”
As if to prove his point, the wind blew a few stray flurries into the house.
His words and a giant snowflake that adhered itself to my nose finally broke me from my stupor. “Yeah, sure. Sorry.” I wiped the snowflake off my nose, brushed back my bangs, and backed out of the way, watching in awe as he stepped into the foyer and stomped off the snow from his shoes on our rug. I shut the door behind him.
When he finished, he turned to me and took a deep breath. “You’re probably wondering how I knew where you lived.”
I eyed him expectantly, waiting for him to answer his rhetorical question.
“I actually got your address from Josh, if you can believe it.” He laughed nervously and began to walk toward the living room out of the tiled foyer.
“Wait!” He swung around abruptly at my command and I shook my head, laughing just as nervously. “Sorry. My mom doesn’t like wet shoes on the carpet. Can you take them off here by the door?”
“Oh. Sure thing.” He walked back to the door and slid off his shoes without untying them as he braced himself with one hand against the wall. I wondered how my being at home alone with a guy would rank on my mom’s “do not like” list in comparison to wet shoes on the carpet.
After taking off his shoes and hanging his black coat on the coat rack by the door, he faced me, leaning against the wall. He didn’t speak for almost a minute but just looked at me as a brooding slide show of mixed emotions flickered in his eyes, flipping from desire to affection to anxiety and finally to grief.
“So, I could give you a tour of the house,” I offered, eager to end the disconcerting slide show.
That seemed to relax him slightly and he breathed more freely. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”
I led him through the whole house, feeling increasingly like myself as I told him about my family and the different rooms of my house—things I was familiar with. I stopped outside my bedroom door.
“This must be your bedroom since it’s all that’s left.” He chuckled. “What? You don’t want me to see your bedroom because it’s a mess or something?”
The truth was I was a little self-conscious showing him my personal sanctuary where I ran to hide from everything I couldn’t control. I thought he might laugh at how anal retentive I was in keeping it clean and orderly or make fun of how many books I owned. “No,” I muttered, “actually it’s kind of the opposite.”
I turned the knob, squeaked open my door, and watched his reaction as he wandered in, gazing at all of my neatly organized books and penguins and my perfectly made bed. That was where his eyes stopped and he lifted an eyebrow at me with a mock-frown. “You know, most teens don’t even make their beds, much less keep them in pristine condition.”
“Is it a crime that I prefer my bed to be made?” I joked uneasily as I sat on the object in question. I followed his inspection of the rest of my room.
He took his time with it, moving around the small space and scrutinizing every detail from the titles of most of my books to the decorations in my room. I couldn’t tell if he was memorizing my bedroom and its contents for some unknown purpose or if he was stalling. Either way, his silence and distance from me made him appear as cold and aloof as a detective investigating a crime scene.
“You know, you can learn a lot about a person by their bedroom,” he eventually said in an even tone I couldn’t read. His back still faced me as he picked up one of my penguin figurines.
I cringed, hoping he hadn’t learned too much. “And?” I asked, reluctantly opening my squinted eyes.
“Well, you love penguins for one thing. That much is obvious.” He twisted his torso around to show me the small penguin he had plucked from my dresser and smiled as he set it back in its proper place. He must have also learned I would probably have a meltdown if he set it somewhere else.
He shifted to my book shelves. “You also love books and do a lot of reading. Again, that part is obvious, but what’s not so obvious…is why.” My eyes grew faintly wider in anxious apprehension as he continued, pulling out a random book and flipping aimlessly through the pages. “You love getting lost in the lives of the characters. It’s like a retreat for you away from your own crazy life. Their lives are always so much better than yours, right? Less…chaos?”
He glanced at me over his shoulder, but I was too stupefied to answer.
He returned his attention to my desk with my organizational paraphernalia all neatly in order. “You’re also very organized, and you’re a perfectionist. You want to control and organize as much as you can around you because there are so many things in your life that are out of control…and that drives you mad.”
I sat, stunned, feeling raw both physically and emotionally as though he had dug around deep inside my soul with a pickaxe to unearth things I barely recognized myself.
He took a deep breath and slowly turned around to face me sitting speechlessly on my bed. His eyes were impassioned with both fervor and anguish as he approached me and spoke in a quavering voice. “You’re also beautiful and captivating. But I don’t need to look at your bedroom to understand that. You hooked me the first moment I laid eyes on you. And you’ve kept me hanging on your string ever since.” He sounded almost resentful for me somehow luring him in, which seemed absurd as it was truly the other way around.
When he finally reached me, I could see a fire blazing in his eyes that was both irresistible and painful to watch. He grabbed both of my arms and snatched me off my bed, staring intently into my eyes before crashing his mouth against mine in the most passionate, frenzied kiss I had ever felt or witnessed. His lips and tongue had an electric charge that shocked me, and I nearly burst as potent lust pulsated through my suddenly weakened body. All too soon, his lips parted from mine and he gazed at me with pain and guilt radiating from his core through his eyes, making him tremble.
He left me frozen there, practically running out of my room to hastily slide on his shoes and grab his coat. After the door slammed shut, I went limp and fell on my bed, drained of my energy but also still on edge, like someone panting on the side of the road after barely escaping a wreck.
The dinner table was covered with mounds of traditional Thanksgiving food piled high and spread over every inch of the table that wasn’t taken by a plate. How on earth would the four of us be able to eat even a fifth of it? I at least wouldn’t be making much of a dent since my appetite hadn’t been the same since Patrick left me stranded in a weak, befuddled mess.
Our Thanksgiving celebration really was sad and pitiful, despite the delicious food. My mother, my sister Jenny, and her husband all remained silent for most of the meal, their oppressive shadows confirming how utterly depressed and in mourning they continued to be. I sat in a melancholy trance, studying my plate as I moved my food around to keep from facing their now-familiar parasites.
It was nothing new. I had almost gotten used to seeing the shadow around my mother, which showed up the day of the miscarriage. The look on Jenny’s face, though, as she dealt with her massive burden was heartbreaking. She was obviously grieving, but it also looked like she felt helpless and ashamed for what happened to her baby.
Austin was even worse. There was ob
vious depression in his slumped posture, but his much darker and more hateful shadow revealed anger and condemnation, as if he wanted to blame something or someone. I hoped he wasn’t blaming Jenny.
“I miss Hanna,” my mother eventually said through held back tears. “She sure is a ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”
I smiled at my mom. “Yeah, she is.”
“I miss her too Mom,” Jenny said, “but you know she’s doing good things over in Haiti. We can’t be selfish with her.”
Jenny was all logic and no feeling. She must’ve been making a practice of suppressing any and all emotions to make it through the day without falling apart.
“What about your boyfriend, Tom?” I asked. “Is he coming over at all today?” None of us had met the guy yet, but our mom talked about him constantly.
“Um, no. No, he had to be on call or something.” She gazed down at her plate as she shook her head, indicating it was a touchy subject and I shouldn’t press it further. Just to be sure, she picked up her fork and knife and began earnestly slicing her turkey into bite-size pieces. Her knife harshly scratched the bottom of her china plate. “Well, it’s just a few more days until Sunday, and then Hanna will be back. We’ll just have to make do until then.” She forced a smile and we continued our dismal little party in silence.
When Sunday finally did arrive, Hanna stepped through the door, lugging her heavy rolling suitcase onto the tiled foyer, and let it crash to the ground. My mother’s shadow immediately retracted and hung back several feet behind her. I had a feeling I knew why, and it wasn’t out of shock from the loud sound of Hanna’s luggage.
When my sister rushed over to embrace both of us, beaming from ear to ear, I came face to face with the same brilliant form of light I had seen the day she announced her trip. It was now virtually surrounding her. I gave her a quick, tight squeeze and then backed away. Observing my sister and her buoyant joy made me realize for the first time a sharp contrast between the shadows and light figures. The shadows were heavy and burdensome when they hung on people, but the figures of light were freeing, as if they were helping lift people up as they walked on air. I had no doubt this one was also helping ward off my mother’s shadow. I silently thanked it for that.
“So, how was the trip?” my mother asked, smiling as big as Hanna, but more out of relief than pure joy.
“Amazing! I can’t even explain to you how incredible it was! I think everyone should go to a foreign country and help the poor at some point in their lives. It’s life-changing!” That was just like Hanna. It wasn’t enough for her to enjoy her experience herself. She wanted everybody in the world to be able to enjoy and benefit from it as well.
“What was your favorite part?” I was curious as to what one actually did in a foreign country to “help.” Especially a young woman who was clueless when it came to construction or anything mechanical.
“Spending time with the orphans, definitely!” Her eyes lit up as she elaborated. “I know it doesn’t really sound like help, but trust me. Those precious little children need love and affection just as much as our children here do. And they’re starving for it because there are so many of them. The workers just don’t have the time to give. Those little kids soaked up all the attention and love I could give them. It was truly amazing…and so gratifying!”
She plopped onto the couch and sighed with a grin plastered on her face. She seemed as satisfied and at peace as if she were floating on a cloud, yet also as excited and joyful as if she had just won a race.
I must admit I was beginning to get somewhat jealous of Hanna and Kyra. If constant joy, peace and contentedness were by-products of having a bright, glimmering leech attached to you, or on you—whatever the case was with Kyra—then I wanted one. I didn’t care how fearful and awe-struck they made me or how little I understood their methods in choosing when and who to save. That hope and desire didn’t last long, though. My guilt assured me no shining figure of light would ever want any part of me.
“Well, enough about me,” Hanna said, jumping upright in her seat. “I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve talked. I’ve being so preoccupied with my trip. Is there anything new with either of you? For instance, in the guy department?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively at both of us, and I felt transparent all of a sudden.
Luckily, my mother went first, granting me a little time to think of a safe reply. Sadly, she didn’t take very long. “No, Tom and I are still together.” She stated her relationship status as though she wasn’t completely confident, and I became curious, forgetting to formulate my own response.
“And you? I know you’re not with Josh anymore. Is there anyone else?”
“Oh, uh, not really.” Hanna smirked at me, easily calling my bluff. “Well, kind of. His name is Patrick, but we’re pretty much just friends right now.” I wanted this conversation to end, and quickly, so I added, “I’ll be sure to let you know if anything changes with him.”
I smiled, hoping she’d get the hint. My mother apparently wanted to end the conversation as much as I did, because she began prodding Hanna for more details about her trip. That left me, once again, to my musings about Patrick.
I would have to confront him in class on Monday about what happened in my bedroom, but where to begin? I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it. There was also the matter of Josh and the supposed parties I had shoved to the back of my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I decided asking him about the partying had to be dealt with first. I would mention it first thing in class on Monday.
My resolve rapidly dissipated, however, once I entered my computer class and saw his head turned purposefully away from my seat and resting on his hand. Either he was nervous about talking to me after our kiss, or he had hastily changed his mind about his feelings for me. I wasn’t sure which, but I was in no hurry to find out.
I took my seat and rolled up my chair to stare at my computer, not wanting to be the first to speak. I didn’t have to wait long. Once he heard me sit down, he jerked upright and glanced at me with a nervous but genuine smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Silence.
I fumbled with the zipper on my bag and slowly got out my notebook to at least act like I wasn’t desperately waiting for him to say something else.
“So…how was your Thanksgiving?” he asked formally, as if he were merely some regular school acquaintance.
“Um, just okay.” That was an understatement if there ever was one. “It was just me, my mom, Jenny, and her husband. Hanna was in Haiti. They’re all still pretty shook up over Jenny’s miscarriage, so they were kind of depressed the whole time.”
“And you? Were you depressed the whole time?” In less than a minute his voice had shifted from random acquaintance to sincerely concerned and compassionate friend. I whirled around to discover what expression went with such a voice and found intense devotion saturating his eyes.
He put his hand on mine, which was resting on my keyboard, and I flinched slightly from the cool tingle that shot up my arm. As much as I craved his touch, I pulled my hand away and placed both hands in my lap, staring at them in an attempt to locate my nerve. If I wanted to mention either our kiss or Josh’s conversation last Tuesday, I needed to do it now. Patrick had practically opened the door for me.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t in the best of moods on Thanksgiving.” I kept a neutral tone and continued observing my hands. “Actually, two things have been eating at me for a while, one of them since last Tuesday.”
I paused and peeked at Patrick who cocked his head to one side. He was clearly taken off guard. Of course, he had suspected our kiss to be one of the things that was bothering me, but he obviously had no idea about the other. “What happened Tuesday?”
I took a deep breath and did my best to look him in the eyes in order to gauge his reaction to my claim. “I overheard Josh talking with someone, and he mentioned having been to a few of your parties. He said you were going to have another one over t
he break while your dad was gone.” For a moment his expression was as unmoved and unreadable as a professional poker player’s. “Is that true?”
Patrick bent his head and sighed heavily. After pausing for several seconds, he slowly lifted it to meet my gaze with weary eyes. “Yes, it’s true. But it’s not what you think.”
He took a deep breath as he studied the wall to find the right words and continue his explanation. “I live at home with just my dad, and he’s out of town a lot for business. We also move a lot, so I don’t have time to make a lot of friends. Sometimes it gets pretty lonely at my house all by myself.”
He looked down with a dejected frown and I immediately felt sorry for him and for even bringing it up. “I have had a few parties at my house while my dad was gone, but just because it’s the easiest way to meet new people and make friends. It’s a lot better than being lonely all the time.” He peered up at me with green puppy dog eyes and I found myself wanting to spend every night with him just so he wouldn’t have to be alone. I knew how that felt.
“I never keep any alcohol at my house, but sometimes other people bring some themselves. I don’t really agree with it, but I don’t want to be rude and turn them away either. So I just let them bring it.”
It was a sound logical argument, and I nodded eagerly in understanding. “Sure, that makes sense. I wouldn’t want to be rude like that to anyone either.” I beamed at him, so relieved by his explanation I could have leaned over and kissed him.
He grinned in return. “You should come sometime,” he offered, and then smiled seductively as he launched his chair toward mine with a shove from his feet. “It’ll be fun.”
I hadn’t prepared myself for that. “Oh, uh…” I averted my eyes, knowing I couldn’t reject his offer while simultaneously melting under his sultry gaze. “I don’t know about that. My mother would freak if she knew I was around that kind of stuff.” I tried to laugh to play off my real fear about going.
“You wouldn’t have to drink. I rarely drink anything myself. It’s harmless, honestly,” he pleaded. He even stuck out his bottom lip, which would have made most people look like a pouty little kid. On Patrick, it just made him irresistibly charming.
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