Are You Mine?

by N. K. Smith

  “In the city? Why?”

  “Poetry reading.”

  “You write poetry, too? How come you didn’t read me any of that?”

  “Because it sucks. Anyway, we’re heading back uptown where we left the car. We have to go hang with some of Myka’s fellow goggle-wearing, corset-loving friends.” I cover my mouth and phone with my hand and talk low. “I totally don’t want to go. Come into the city and save me from the steampunk bandits!”

  I love his laugh. “Just look at it as research.”

  It sounds like a no, so I press on. “I don’t want to. The book is almost finished, and I’d rather hang with you. We could walk around the city, I could push you into fountains, it’ll be fun.”

  “Hmmm. Being pushed into fountains does sound like a good time, but I’m just about to tag this bridge.”

  “We can hit it on the way home.” I look to Myka. She’d be okay to drive home by herself if I went with Fox. “Please?”

  I think it’s the quiet way I say it that does him in. I’m not used to begging for anything, so it comes out natural and innocent. “Fine, but I’m holding you to that promise of tagging on the way home.”

  “Have I ever told you how sexy I think it that you’re so dedicated to achieving that goal?”

  There’s silence for just a second, then he says, “Say sexy again.”

  I can feel the blush rise, and when I glance at the reflective glass of the window, I can see how shy I look with my bottom lip between my teeth and my bowed head. “Sexy.”

  “Heading to you right now. Do you have an address?”

  I give it to him, and after we hang up, I explain my plan to Myka. All she does is give me her big-eyed expression which tells me she’s not only fine with me ditching her for Fox, she approves of it. Forty-five minutes later, I’m holding hands with Fox as we walk around Times Square, sipping coffee and people watching.

  We only talk when he’s pointing something out to me, and I like that. There’s something almost magical dancing around us, like I’m inside a cloud nebula and we’re creating our own star. I think he feels it, too. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I see twinkling in his eyes, like he’s looking at something special, like the vast, sparkling sky that hosts planets and stars.

  But he’s just looking at me.

  It makes me think that maybe I’m special, at least to him, and because of it, I feel special. Like I’m not just Saige, stuck in the merry-go-round of my little life, but like I’m half of something huge and awesome on the roller coasters of the unknown.

  After I pitch my coffee cup, he takes my hand and uses his momentum to swing me, then presses me up against a building—I don’t know which one and I don’t care—and stares at me like I’m the only person in the world other than him.

  The kiss is fantastic and generates heat from the core of my body that radiates out to my extremities. It’s a scary kiss because I know with every millisecond that passes, I’m more and more invested in him. This feeling I have—the feeling he gives me—is so deep and wondrous, I never want to let go of it.

  I’ve never wanted someone’s hands on my waist. I’ve never needed this kind of closeness, and if I have, then it’s been so long since it has been realistically available to me that I’ve forgotten it. With his lips on mine, it feels like there is no other place I’m supposed to be; no other love I’m supposed to feel.

  And then it hits me again. This is love I feel. True and honest love.

  When he pulls away, I breathe in, tasting the scent of his skin. I don’t want to let him go, so I grab a hold of his shirt and pull him back, bury my face in his neck, and delight in the feeling of his arms wrapped around me.

  We stay only for another half hour or so, then drive back to New Jersey. Fox tags the bridge, but he’s quick about it, almost like it’s a simple obligation and not what he wants to be doing. At my place, it doesn’t take us long to fall into each other, making out on my bed. It’s the first time he’s been in my bedroom, but neither of us say anything about it.

  My pulse is quick, and I’m out of breath when he pulls away to glance at the clock. “I should go.”

  “Work?”

  “Yeah. It’s late and I—”

  “Sleep here.”

  Fox presses his lips together, then asks, “Really?”

  I nod.

  “My breath will be horrible in the morning.”

  “I have mouthwash.” I lift my body and kiss him.

  After another few minutes of this, he pulls away again, a laugh in his voice. “I’ll stay, but we have to sleep.”

  I agree, then snuggle down into the covers and back against him. It’s an odd sensation to fall asleep being held, but there’s something so right in it. Fox falls asleep first, and I take a silent moment to be thankful for the gratitude I feel deep within my heart. Not everyone is as lucky as I am to be able to feel this way.

  Chapter 16

  Fox

  Waking up next to Saige is nothing short of awesome. She’s a pretty sleeper, with her hair fanned out like a halo around her and her hands together, palm to palm, tucked under her chin. I let her sleep because she is too beautiful to wake. I want to kiss her before I leave, so I’m sure I’ll nudge her until she opens her eyes, but that’s in a little while.

  I slip out of bed, careful to go as slow as possible so I don’t disturb her. In the bathroom, I rinse out my mouth; in the kitchen, I start the coffee; and in the living room, I stand in front of the flag from her father’s funeral.

  Even if she hadn’t told me specifically about her feeling of abandonment, it’s written all over her. I can see it in the words she uses, her actions, and the way she’s always waiting for people to leave.

  Behind the box is a photograph of a little girl standing with a man. It’s obviously Saige, and I assume the man is her father. He’s in military fatigues. I can tell it’s Christmas by the little bit of garland hanging over a mantel in the background. Saige is holding a book tightly to her chest. She’s got her arms wrapped around it like she’s using it to protect herself.

  Her father is smiling and has an arm around her shoulders. Although Saige wears a smile, she’s not exactly smiling. Her eyes are not focused on the camera, but somewhere just to the side, and she’s not relaxed in her father’s hug, she’s tense and stiff. Her body isn’t pressed against his. She’s set off an inch or so, just enough to give me the idea that she’s shielding herself again.

  It’s sad.

  The picture isn’t in a frame, and the edges have curled. When I pluck it off the shelf, I notice a stack of letters behind it. They’re not my business, but I pick them up. They’re from her father, and by the postmarks, they’re in order of when he sent them with his last on top.

  My curiosity pushes me to open the top letter. I scan it. The words jumble in my mind, letters everywhere in unrecognizable patterns. I just need to focus, and I’ll be able to make sense of it. It’s slow going, but as I study each arrangement of letters, I can reorganize them into patterns that make sense. I narrow my eyes as if that will help me concentrate, but I’ve never wanted to read anything as much as I want to read this private letter written by my girlfriend’s dead father.

  Dear Saige,

  Happy birthday. I know it’s not yet, but by the time you get this, it will be. Not too long until I get to come home to you. I know it’s been tough, and you and your grandmother aren’t getting along so well, but she loves you. Soon, I’ll be home, and we’ll start another chapter in our lives. It’s probably difficult for you to understand why I’ve come back to this place over and over again, but one day, when you’re older, we’ll sit down together, and I’ll tell you everything.

  I miss you. I miss your mother. I can see from the last picture you sent me, that you’re growing to look like her. Your eyes are the same color as hers, but you have more sadness in them. I guess that’s to be expected.

  Well, baby girl, I’ll finish this. I should be able to call you on your birthd
ay. Eleven years old! I’ve missed too many of those years, but when I come home, I’ll make up for it. Promise.

  I love you and think about you every single day, almost every minute. Be good to your grandma, keep up the schoolwork, and pray for me.

  I love you,

  Dad

  When I look up from the letter, Saige is leaning against the wall a few feet away, holding a cup of coffee. Damn. I don’t know how I didn’t hear her get up, get coffee, or come back into the living room. I flash her what I hope is an embarrassed, but charming smile, but she doesn’t return it. The little crease between her eyebrows is deeper than it usually is.

  I’m just about to apologize for being a snoopy, nosey jerk when she says, “You’re going to be late for work.”

  I fold the letter back up, tuck it into the envelope, replace the stack of letters and the photo on the shelf, then move to her. There’s a piece of white fuzz in her hair, so I focus on that because I’m not sure I want to see what’s in her eyes. I pick it off as I say, “Sorry, Saigey, I. . .”

  “That one came four days after my birthday.”

  I cup her cheek and stroke the bone beneath her eye with my thumb.

  “It came two days after they informed us he was missing. Ten days after that, they confirmed he’d been killed.”

  “Saige,” I whisper.

  She turns her head so I’m no longer touching her and takes a step away. “It took you forever to read that, but you made it through.”

  “I. . .” I don’t know what to say to her.

  “Are you going to stay for coffee, or do you have to go right away?”

  Saige doesn’t sound upset that I read the private letter, and there’s no way I’m leaving yet, so I take her hand and walk with her into the kitchen. When I’m holding a hot cup of coffee, I lean back against the counter and watch her watching me.

  She’s like the words on the page. The meaning is hidden from me until I can unscramble and make sense of them. But unlike the words, Saige doesn’t make it easy by just showing me the strange patterns and jumbled letters. She keeps it all closed off.

  “Do you miss him?” It’s a stupid question because how can a kid not miss her dad? But she shakes her head. “Your mom?”

  “She was gone when I was five. My dad was deployed when I was five. Before that, his base was in North Carolina, but since my mom’s job was in the city, we didn’t live with him. So,” she says, drawing out the word as she shrugs, “I barely knew either of them.”

  “But you can still miss them even if you barely knew them.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Her voice isn’t exactly hard, but there’s a sharpness to it that lets me know not to push.

  I decide to skip past anymore of the awkwardness we sometimes find ourselves in. I cross the room, and careful not to spill my coffee or hers, I bring her into my arms. She can say whatever she likes, but I know she misses her parents. I’ve been without my mother, too, and even if I don’t know her well—at least I don’t know my sane mother well—I miss her every day.

  I’m so comfortable next to her like this, and I can feel her relax into me, even though I think she’s probably trying not to. Last night was great, but this is amazing. It’s like inch by inch she’s letting me in. “Will you read me the poems you read last night?”

  “It was just one, and absolutely not,” she says and shifts out of my arms. “I’ll burn it in front of you though.”

  “What? You read it in front of complete strangers but you won’t read it to me?”

  “Hell, no. I don’t care what strangers think of my shitty poetry, but I—”

  “Care about what I think?”

  She takes a sip of coffee.

  “Next time you’re at my place, I’ll let you see my sketchbook from 2007. I was thirteen and not only had I not perfected my style, but I thought about boobs way too much. I swear, it’ll lower your opinion of me by, like, ten percent.” I pause to let what I’ve just admitted sink in. “What about it? Want to trade crappy poetry for crappily rendered breasts?”

  My attempt at making her laugh is successful. Saige rolls her eyes, takes my free hand, and we walk back to the living room together. The quiet is relaxed and I feel content with her sitting so close to me.

  ***

  “You’re late, Fox.”

  I nod as I quickly punch in and grab the order sheet Mr. Morgan holds out to me. “I’m sorry.”

  “You need to call and explain next time. We have orders upon orders lining up for back to school in August.”

  “I know,” I say. He gives me a hard look, then walks away which leaves me free to make my way to the packing area.

  I’d feel bad if I hadn’t been late because of spending time with Saige. I think I’d be late every day if that meant I got to wake up with her every morning.

  The day goes fast, and apart from the short talk with my boss this morning, nothing thrilling happens at the warehouse or at the Burger Joint. Of course, that might be because with the excitement of having a new girlfriend, everything else is dull and not as meaningful.

  On my way to Saige’s, Alex calls to tell me about a party at Bree’s tomorrow. As fun as it sounds, I know Saige won’t want to go, so I say, “I’m going to pass on this one, bro.”

  “What? You? Come on, Fox, it’s not a party unless you’re there.”

  I laugh and think about asking Saige to go with me as I pull up to the curb outside her apartment. If she goes, maybe everyone would have the chance to get to know her. If she opens herself up a little, maybe she’d like my friends. “We all know you’re the life of the party, Alex,” I say. “You won’t even miss me.”

  “Not likely, Fox. You’ve been MIA for weeks now, man, when you going to come out? Or are you too good for us now?”

  “I’ve always been too good for you, but that’s never stopped me before.”

  “So what’s stopping you now?”

  “I’m seeing someone, and I’d rather—”

  “That Saige chick? You are a brave, brave man, Fox.”

  I’m getting tired of everyone thinking that Saige is some kind of untouchable outcast. “Not brave at all. She’s pretty and—”

  “She’s alright, but it’s not her looks that scares everyone.”

  “Well, she’s nice too.” Why the hell do I have to defend my relationship with her to my friends?

  “She’s just not the friendliest person out there.”

  “Yeah, but you know what happened to her family, right?”

  Alex says, “So that gives her the right to be cold and stuck up?”

  “No, that gives her the right to be distant and protect herself. I have to go.” I hang up before he has the chance to say anything else. If these people keep questioning me like this, I’m going to have to cut them loose. I like Saige, and they can either accept it or not.

  I forget all about any parties or anyone else once I’m inside Saige’s apartment. We don’t even pretend we’re going to work on “Myka’s Metal Valentine.” Instead, we spend our time in her bedroom making out. It’s pretty fantastic, and I can’t help but want more. Since she took her shirt off that day, I’ve been thinking about sex with her. The lines of her body are already taking up one complete notebook.

  No matter how much I’d love to have sex with her, I’m not willing to push our relationship beyond the point of comfort for either of us. We’ve got lots of time. She’s going to NYU, which means she’ll be close by. I’m not stupid, and I know college will present a lot of other opportunities to her for dating, so I want to make sure we’re solid before the fall. That doesn’t mean I want to pressure her into anything now though.

  I don’t want to go for it too soon, especially knowing she did it with Tommy St. John when she was only fourteen. I don’t think less of her, but it does make me worry about why she would do that. Rebellion or not, he’s not worthy.

  Saige’s hands under my shirt bring my mind right back to what we’re doing in her bed. Sex. I mean, not s
ex, but close enough to satisfy me. It’s half-past eleven when we stop. I nudge her just a bit and she rolls over to lie facing away from me. She curls into a ball as I drape my arm over her and nuzzle the back of her head with my face.

  We fall asleep, but only for a few minutes because my phone rings. I blindly reach out for my cell on the nightstand. When it’s close to my face, I see it’s my dad. “What’s up, Pop?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Saige’s. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your mom, Fox. She’s—”

  “What? What’s going on? Is she—”

  “Just calm down and let me finish.” Pop takes a deep breath, like he’s taking his own advice. “She’s somewhere on the grounds, but she got past the staff, and she’s out there alone in the woods.”

  Just imagining my mother huddled somewhere outside is enough to get my heart thumping. “She hates trees.”

  “I know, but—”

  Then it hits me. My mom can be dangerous. “What if she follows the road to the closest town? What if—”

  “Fox, I’m going up there now. If you want to come I’m leaving in—”

  I cut my dad off. “I’ll be there in ten. Can you wait?”

  “Yeah. It’ll be okay.”

  I end the call and find Saige looking at me. “Ma’s missing.”

  Saige bites her lip while she draws her eyebrows together. I can hardly stand to look at her expression because it’s almost exactly how I feel inside. I lean in, give her a kiss, then hop out of bed. “Got to go.”

  “Let me know if—”

  I don’t let her finish. “I will. Talk to you soon.”

  Within ten minutes, I’m at my house. The trip up to the hospital is tense. Pop and I don’t talk. We’re both worried about Ma, but the way he clutches at the steering wheel makes me worry about him. Sometimes I wonder horrible things, like how much better his life would be if something happened to my mother. I don’t want anything to happen to her, but I’ve watched my dad kill himself at a job he doesn’t enjoy to be able to afford a decent hospital for Ma. I’ve seen how tired he is to come home from work, do all the household chores, then make a quick run up to see her before visiting hours end.