Embers of Starlight

by Sonia de Leon

  I'm laughing so much that tears are streaming down my cheeks and I can barely breathe. I wipe the wetness from my face, breathlessly laughing. “That is the best story I have ever heard.”

  “I'm glad my most embarrassing moment is entertaining for you.”

  “Well, I think it makes it easier to talk about the first thing you mentioned.”

  He cocks his head as he purses his lips, pretending not to remember.

  “Male virginity,” I remind him.

  He sighs. “Yeah. I'm going to be twenty in two months. I have this self-induced pressure to just get it over with.”

  “Look, just find someone you care about. Find someone whom you want to share every moment of your life with, the good and the bad. If you can find that, the rest will follow and it'll be great no matter what.”

  He stares at me with his beautiful gray eyes—that strange, unreadable expression again!—then looks away, shaking his head, as if to dislodge a thought. “How'd you get to be so wise, Pop Rocks?” he mutters.

  “I'm not sure, Maria.”

  He drops the fork he's using to flip the bacon, and the look in his eyes is menacing. I scream as he tackles me to the ground. The bag of flour goes flying, and a poof of white powder rains down on us. I squeal and flop around like a fish out of water as he mercilessly digs his fingers into my ribs and belly. The only thing that saves me from his tickles is the knock on the door.

  Samson sits back on his heels, offers his hand, and pulls me up to sitting. “You expecting someone?”

  I gasp, still laughing, as I try to catch my breath, then shake my head. “No.”

  I dust the flour off my hands, then stand and walk to the door. When I open it, a huge bouquet of roses looms in the doorway.

  “Flower delivery for Tula,” says the disembodied voice from behind the blooms.

  “Oh my goodness,” I whisper as I grab the large crystal vase of long-stemmed roses. I place the monstrous bouquet on the hallway table, then sign the delivery receipt.

  After I close the door, I examine the lush, velvety flowers, wrinkling my nose at the strong scent. A note is nestled amongst the stems.

  I tried calling last night, but your cell went straight to voicemail. I couldn't stop thinking about you . . . I hope the sight of these roses brings you as much pleasure as the sight of you brings to me.

  Until Saturday,

  Adrian

  I sigh and hold the note to my heart. When I look up, Sam is peering at me from the kitchen. He turns away, saying nothing.

  5

  SAM STAYS UNTIL FRIDAY. We visit my mom, go hiking, and meet up with Solei to go to the movie theater. He is scheduled to begin his army training in Texas, and plans to apply for Special Forces immediately after.

  The next afternoon, Adrian texts me, telling me to check my mail. A package sits on my doorstep. Inside is a long black dress. There is a single strap that is studded with diamond-like gemstones, and the side slit of the dress rises to my mid-thigh. It's very sexy. I immediately text him back, thanking him. He replies with a brief suggestion for me to only wear earrings for jewelry.

  Solei helps me get ready again, and she curls my hair so that the long, reddish-gold waves fall down to my lower back. I select a pair of my mom's simple pearl earrings, and then slip into black ballet flats. I frown at my shoes. They're not up to par with the rest of my outfit, and I make a mental note to go shopping for a proper pair of high heels.

  Adrian meets me at the front door, looking impeccable in a three piece black suit. He draws me into his arms for a deep kiss. I break contact first, and turn my head. His kisses don't really do it for me. He mistakes my discomfort for shyness, and lifts my chin with one finger.

  “So innocent,” he says softly. “I'll have to make sure I take things slowly with you.”

  He reaches in his inside suit coat pocket, pulls out a long black box, and puts it in my hands. When I open it, my mouth drops open at the sight of a strand of white pearls. He picks up the necklace and places it against my neck. I immediately lift my mass of hair, and turn so he can fasten the necklace. Once the pearls are secure, he presses his lips against my shoulder, and I shiver at the intimate touch. I like the way it feels.

  Our first stop is dinner at a steak house in the city. He spares no expense, and even orders a bottle of their best wine, not seeming to care that I'm not twenty-one. I sip from my glass tentatively. We finish the bottle over dinner, and the wine makes me feel warm, relaxed, and sensuous. I giggle freely at his normally corny jokes, and find myself genuinely enjoying the night. Conversation flows unhindered. I learn that we have so many things in common. After I tell him about my mom, he admits his mother also suffers from mental illness.

  “I never tell anyone this,” he says while holding my hand. “I don't bring people to meet my parents. I mean, my dad is never home—he's a workaholic—and my mom is so erratic. It can be embarrassing.” He sighs then kisses my hand. “I don't know what it is, Tula, but I feel such a strong connection with you.”

  I smile, my eyes prickling with emotion. What he revealed to me was such an intimate thing, and I know how difficult it is to let people in.

  After dinner, we go see The Merchant of Venice at a theatre in the city. We have our own private box, and I usually enjoy Shakespeare, but we end up talking and kissing for most of the play.

  Our relationship goes into hyper drive after this. We no longer share any classes in college, but we see each other as often as we can. He is the embodiment of romance, and constantly surprises me. I do my best to hold off on sex, but it's difficult because he is so passionate. I'm not yet convinced that I love him though, and I refuse to give that precious part of myself to someone I don't love. When I tell him I want to wait, he is understanding.

  There seems to be this invisible distance between us, some unseen chasm that I cannot cross. But when he talks to me, and when he kisses me, everything feels right again. I can't explain the disconnect.

  One evening we are watching movies at his condo, an impeccable high rise smack dab in the middle of Seattle, and things get very heated between us. In a good way.

  Adrian pulls away from our kiss, breathless, his hand on my neck as he traces my earlobe with his thumb. “There's something I have to say. I know that we haven't known each other long, but I feel like I've been searching my whole life for you. I know you here.” He places my hand on his heart. “I think I might love you, Tula.”

  I am speechless in disbelief, and respond by pulling him to me again. Love? I'm not sure about that. I tell my mind to shut up, and focus on kissing this incredible man with as much passion as I can.

  I'm living what every girl dreams of—gifts, fancy dates, and a handsome, rich man who openly professes his love. But when I close my eyes and open my mouth to his, I don't envision the black-haired Adonis who is holding me. My mind drifts to the face of a James-Dean-looking boy with beautiful steel gray eyes.

  * * *

  IN THE BEGINNING OF April, Solei begs me to go to prom, happening next month, for one last high school fling. I ask Adrian to be my date, certain he'll say no to such a juvenile diversion, but he surprises me by saying, “If it will make you happy, I'd love to go.”

  See? That's why I've fallen for this guy. He loves to make me happy. Great relationships have been built on less, and I'm beginning to feel more confident that he truly is the one I'm meant to be with. It may be cliché, but I secretly plan for prom night to be the night.

  I book a room at the trendiest hotel in Seattle, feeling more and more confident in my choice. Adrian continues to wow me with extravagant gifts, amazing dates, and over-the-top romantic moments. I couldn't be happier.

  The day before prom, Adrian has to leave town. He calls me, apologizing profusely, and explains his mother is not doing well. I'm disappointed, but I fully support his obligations. I tell Solei that I'm not going, and ask her to come over before prom so I can give her and her boyfriend a little gift—my hotel room.

 
Instead, she shows up early, and forces me to wear the dress I planned on. I'm secretly happy to wear it. The dress cost a lot of money, and makes me look fabulous. It's a floor-length, strapless, mint green gown, with a sweetheart neckline. The bodice is embellished in gemstones, and they're also loosely scattered down to the bottom of the chiffon overlay.

  Solei's phone buzzes. She opens it and reads the text message, then looks at me excitedly. “They're here!”

  “Who's they?” I trail behind her. She resembles a pixie in her one shoulder, orange-pink tulle mini and glittery, pink stilettos.

  “You didn't think I'd let you go to prom dateless, right?” she shoots back.

  “Solei!” I whine. “This is going to be so awkward!”

  I stumble as I slip my bare feet into diamond studded, mint heels. Solei reaches the door and flings it wide open. “Your date, madam!” she proclaims.

  After readjusting my bodice, I look up. My mouth drops open. My date's expression mirrors mine.

  6

  “Samson!” I begin to tear up at the surprise of seeing him, then remember my eye makeup, and totally pull one of those cliché girl moves of fanning my face while blinking my eyes rapidly. “Oh my gosh, I'm going to cry! I can't believe you're here, how did you—”

  He steps inside the doorway. “Solei called me yesterday, said your date bailed—wow, Tula, you're beautiful!” His tone is so genuine and earnest. It's not even spoken as a compliment, he says the words as if they are an absolute fact.

  “You clean up well, too.” I grin at him.

  He's suited up in a slate grey tuxedo with a mint green bow tie. Solei has done very well. Sam offers me his arm, and I daintily place my hand at the crook of his elbow.

  On the outskirts of Seattle, is a neighborhood filled with nothing but industrial warehouses. Our limo drops us off at a building that is completely nondescript from the outside, and we feel like we're on the wrong side of town. But once we step inside the gray metal door, it's completely transformed. Exposed floor to ceiling brick walls and large sliding barn doors give it a rustic feel. Long white linen curtains hang from wooden ceiling beams, lending a softness to the industrial space. Large, potted plants are situated in the corners, and I see more rooms beyond this first great room. One room has a floor to ceiling aquarium as a wall, filled with exotic fish. On the other side of the glass is another room that has a wall with nothing but juxtaposed mirrors of all shapes and various style frames. The ceiling is covered in string lights, loosely wrapped in white tulle.

  We find our way up a flight of wooden stairs to the upper level, which is a large, open-air rooftop deck. The space is sleek and modern, with dark woods, glass-paneled walls, and clean lines. There are sofas made of dark wicker, and covered in linen-clad cushions, with matching lounge chairs all around. My finger traces the pattern of the colorful mosaic on a table next to me. Samson grabs my other hand and leads me to the other side of the deck where outdoor string lights are hung across a dance floor. The same music that was playing downstairs also drifts from the outdoor speakers.

  No one is dancing yet, but we stand in silence and gaze at the Seattle skyline, slowly lighting up as the sun kisses the horizon. Sam still hasn't let go of my hand, and I find myself enjoying the feel of his large, warm hand wrapped around mine.

  “I took the ASVAB test.” He keeps his eyes on the horizon as he speaks.

  I turn to him, studying his profile. Achieving a high score on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery test is a must to qualify for Special Forces. He's been waiting for this moment since the day he decided he wanted to follow in the footsteps of the men in his family. I'm not sure why he doesn't sound excited.

  “That's great, Sam. How do you think you did?”

  “I find out tomorrow.” He squeezes my hand. “I have doubts sometimes, Tula. I don't know what it means. Sometimes I don't imagine myself in Special Forces.”

  “Would you rather go for Navy SEAL or something?”

  He gives a short laugh. “That's just it. When I try to envision myself at my happiest and what I'd be doing, I don't see military all the time. My mind is just so messed up right now.” He drops my hand and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

  I'm afraid to probe any further, and I can tell he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. “Let's eat, I'm starving.” Sam turns and leads the way back downstairs where food is being served.

  * * *

  AFTER DINNER, WE DANCE together in the room of mirrors. It's so weird doing something as intimate as slow dancing with him. Not unenjoyable by any stretch of the imagination, just strange to feel his hand against my lower back, and to have my hand resting on his large shoulder. But I enjoy the closeness more than I should.

  Sam has taken off his suit jacket and looks even more handsome. I run my thumb under the strap of his suspenders.

  “Where does one find mint green suspenders?” I ask, looking up at him as I smile.

  He gazes back down at me, his lips softly curving. “Ask Solei. She called me last night, asked me for my sizes, then ordered me to get on a plane in the morning. She's so bossy.”

  I laugh and rest my cheek against his chest. “I'm glad you came. I've missed you a lot.”

  “Me too. All of what you said. Ditto.” He sighs and rubs my waist with his thumb, then pulls me even closer to him.

  “Tula . . . I—”

  I wait for him to speak, but he doesn't keep going. I lift my head and look up at him. His eyes stare down at me, and they seem sad for some reason.

  “What's up?” I ask softly.

  “How's it going with you and Face-Sucker?”

  “Adrian”—I put emphasis on the name—“is great. He's like, the perfect guy. He treats me good, buys me gifts, and he even knows about my mom. The other day, I was stressing about the little bit of money I have left from my dad's life insurance, and he told me not to worry. It was weird.” I shake my head as I remember. “He said, 'I will take care of you and yours for as long as you let me.' I don't know why it felt like a proposal.”

  “He knows he's lucky to have you, Tula. He'd be an idiot to not propose.”

  “That's sweet of you to say.” I grin up at him, then my smile falls. “But sometimes, I feel like there's something missing. I don't know what it is, and I feel stupid for second guessing something that seems so perfect, you know?”

  He nods.

  I continue. “It's like, I can see my life with him. The big house, nice cars, expensive gifts, my mom being taken care of, and I have to be an idiot to not want that. But I imagine myself there, and I'm not smiling. I'm not laughing.”

  Everything we want to say is rising to the surface. I feel it. I know he feels it. If there would ever be a time to sway the paths of our lives, this is it. This moment is alive, it's pulsing, it's growing, and it seems as if every living thing under the heavens is chanting our names, telling us to go for it.

  “Tula.”

  “Yeah?” I look up at him.

  A spark of emotion is lit in his eyes, walls lowered and words unspoken flashing by. What I see in his expression pierces me. It bypasses my heart, such a fickle, easily-changed organ, and embeds directly into my soul. I don't need to hear what he's thinking, because I feel it. We've stopped dancing and people are swaying around us, oblivious to the turmoil raging between us.

  “Can I kiss you?” His stare is direct and unflinching.

  “Please don't,” I whisper as I back up. “I couldn't bear it—”

  I turn and run to the doors, pushing the heavy metal open, and stumbling into the cool air outside. I take in deep breaths, willing myself to sanity. As much as I want Sam, I can't betray Adrian. That's not the person I want to be.

  “You really find me so unbearable?” Sam walks up to me, holding his suit jacket. A flash of arrogance crosses his face.

  “That's not it. Not at all.” I lift my chin and meet his eyes. “If you kiss me, and it's amazing, I'd have to live the rest of my life without ever
feeling that again.”

  The words barely pass my lips, when he drops his jacket and pulls me into his arms, engulfing me, nearly smothering me as his mouth meets mine. His lips are soft, his mouth sweet, and this kiss feels like home. It's familiar and foreign. Endless, but somehow not enough. I want to crawl inside of his skin and merge with him, so that whatever this is could last forever. We kiss and we kiss, and that feeling I've been searching for all along is rushing through me in torrents.

  This wasn't supposed to happen. My best friend has permanently ruined any future kisses from Adrian. My boyfriend. Damn it all! I pull away and slap him. Sam flinches slightly in shock, but steps forward, undeterred. I shove my palms hard against him, then my stupid body rebels as I fist my hands into his shirt and bring him back to me. His lips slam into mine again, as he wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me up to him.

  Our breathing syncs as we desperately drink from one another, convinced we can kiss forever and forget our commitments, forget the paths our lives have dictated, and stay wrapped in one another until our hearts stop beating.

  7

  WE SEPARATE SLIGHTLY AS he sets me back down on the ground.

  He presses his forehead to mine. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, but then laughs softly. “Actually, no. I'm not sorry.”

  I'll never know whether it was the mind-blowing kiss we just had, or because I'm an impulsive teenager, but in that instant, I make a decision, one that might haunt me the rest of my life, but I'd rather live with those consequences than spend the rest of my life wondering.

  “Come with me.” I grab him by the hand and lead him to the street where lines of taxis sit idle. We get in one¸ and I give the cab driver an address.

  Sam's eyes are wide and wary. “What are you doing?” Based on the tone of his voice, he already knows the answer.

  I scoot next to him, lift his arm, and drape it over my shoulders. There is a slight tension in his posture at first, but he soon relaxes and we sit in silence as the city comes closer.