Embers of Starlight

by Sonia de Leon

  Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a tall building. The overhang at the entrance is lit up in cobalt blue lights. I pay the cabbie, then walk inside the sliding glass doors, not waiting to see if Sam will follow. After I check in and get the room key, I glance outside. He's pacing in front of the hotel, smoking a cigarette. I roll my eyes. He had quit the last time I saw him, and he didn't taste like nicotine when he kissed me earlier. He glances up and meets my eyes as he takes one last drag, then extinguishes the butt and comes inside.

  I walk to the elevators, and hear his footsteps close behind me. We step inside the doors, and I turn to him with my arms crossed.

  “I thought you quit.”

  “I did. I bummed one from the door man. You got me really nervous right now, Tula.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “What's up with this surprise platonic sleepover?”

  I laugh. “Platonic? Like that platonic kiss?”

  The doors ding as they slide open on our floor. I'm pleased to see that he looks slightly guilty upon hearing my comment.

  We stop in front of our door, and I turn to face him. “I need you to know something. I had this hotel room booked already. Stop with that face and listen—”

  “What, you're that hell bent on losing your virginity tonight? You planned it to be him?” He turns away and runs his hand over his hair. “I'm such an idiot,” he mutters.

  “I did plan to bring him. But I'm choosing you, Samson. I'm happy he couldn't come!” I move to stand in front of him. “Can't you see that? I'm happy you're the one here. We have the rest of our lives to plan, but let's just do something stupid right now. In twenty years, I don't want to look back and regret not”—the words get stuck for a moment because I'm not certain how he'll react to my honesty—“not loving you when I had the chance. If I can't have you forever, at least I can choose tonight.”

  Sam leans back against the wall. “Tula, this will change everything between us. You know that, right?”

  I nod, then turn and slip the key card in the slot. I press down the lever of the handle and look back at him. “Your choice.” I wait.

  He pushes off the wall and walks toward me. He pretends to trip and stumbles against me, then both of our bodies push the door open.

  “Whoops,” he says, walking inside.

  “Oh, whatever. You did that on purpose. Own it. First thing I want to do is take a . . . ” My voice trails off as I see the room.

  “Shower?” Sam finishes with a smirk.

  A king size bed lies in the center of the room. Beyond, are clear glass walls to the bathroom. A large deep tub is in the center, with a sink made of dark wood that matches the floor. Just past the sink is the open shower area. The only privacy in the bathroom is the toilet, enclosed by frosted glass walls.

  “About that shower. I've changed my mind,” I declare.

  He wrinkles his nose. “No, you definitely need a shower.”

  “I don't stink!” I protest.

  He plops on the bed and picks up the remote. “I'll turn on the TV.”

  “I'm going to feel like a naked burlesque dancer,” I mumble.

  He sits up quickly. “You're going to dance?”

  “No! Watch TV. And change the channel, you have it on the Spanish channel.”

  I walk in the bathroom and look around. This is ridiculous. Now I know how animals at the zoo feel. I turn the hot water on full blast as I go behind the frosted glass wall to undress and use the bathroom. Five minutes later, and the desired effect is achieved. All the glass walls are fully fogged up, so I start to feel more comfortable.

  After I adjust the water temperature, I stand underneath the shower head, washing the hairspray from my hair and the makeup from my face. My thoughts are running wild, because the enormity of what we're doing here is staggering, but I have no doubts that this is what I want.

  “Hey, did you know the walls got fogged up?” Samson waltzes in the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

  I scream and pull a towel off the rack, then hold it against my breasts. “Privacy, please.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me, then walks over to the tub and fiddles with some knobs on the wall. Water pours from a ceiling-mounted spigot directly above the bathtub.

  “Look at that, Tula! It's coming from the ceiling!”

  “Get out!”

  "You've had twenty whole minutes in here. I need to wash up, too. Or maybe I should just get under the shower with you?” He begins walking toward the shower, and acts like he's going to remove the towel from around his waist. My eyes widen. I know what I had planned by bringing him here, but this is all too sudden.

  “No, no!” I shout. “Take your bath! Put some bubbles in it too, Maria.”

  “You're really bold for someone who's completely naked.” He stands in front of the shower, and I clutch tighter to the soaking wet towel barely covering me. “But good idea about the bubbles.”

  He walks over to the toiletries, opens one of the small bottles, and pours half of the contents in the water, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as bubbles rise to the surface. I can't help myself, and I laugh as I watch his antics. His silliness is so adorable.

  I've never seen him shirtless, and I can't help but admire him. He's lean, but solid muscle, and his skin is smooth and tanned to a slight golden hue. I have such a strong urge to touch him, and I bite my lip and look down at the tile floor, realizing tonight is my one chance to do exactly that. As I look up, I catch a brief glimpse of his backside as he slips into the tub.

  “Ooooh, that's nice.” He groans and leans back, his eyes closed.

  I turn off the shower and reach for a dry towel, then wrap myself up. My sopping wet hair, I twist into a turban with another towel.

  I'm almost to the doorway when he speaks. “Damnit, I can't reach the knobs from here. Can you come turn the water off, Tula?” He closes his eyes again and reclines against the tub walls.

  I oblige, and walk over to the wall behind him to turn off the water. The moment I turn the knob to the off position, I'm grabbed from behind. I shriek and fall backward. Water and bubbles fly everywhere, as I land in the bathtub on Samson's lap, with my legs hanging out over one side.

  He is smiling with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, but his expression soon turns tender. Slowly, Sam begins to unwind the turban. My head tilts back as he tugs the towel from my hair. Warm lips press to the underside of my jawbone and a shiver passes through me. My reaction to him is instantaneous, and I'm quickly able to feel his response to me. Our lips find their way to each other in gentle, light kisses. I love everything about his mouth, and I force myself to slow down so I can memorize every sensation and touch, but our kisses grow frantic and determined.

  His fingers tug at the top of the towel around me, and he soon has it completely removed, letting the soaked terrycloth drop to the floor on the side of the tub. He groans against my mouth as his hands find my breasts, and I respond with some unintelligible sound. My legs wind around him, and nature takes over from there as our bodies instinctually slip together. There is fullness, a brief pain—and surprisingly—pleasure. Our first time is awkward and clumsy, yet nothing short of perfect.

  My hands clutch tightly to his shoulders as he buries his face into my neck, the muffled sounds echoing around us. We're both shaking at the end, and he cups my face in his hands, tenderly kissing my lips as the spasms subside.

  I'm taken aback at my body's response to him. It seems impossible, but even though it was over with faster than I wanted it to be, that was absolutely perfect. The warm water appears to have made what I had anticipated to be a highly painful moment, into a slightly painful but incredible experience.

  “Wow,” I finally say.

  “Wow.” He has a smug look in his eyes.

  “Not as bad as I thought it would be.” I lean against him, enjoying the sensation of our skin against skin.

  We're still joined together below the water, and he shifts his hips slightly.

  “Oh?” I say, slightl
y surprised. “Not done yet?”

  “I'm twenty years old, that was just the opening credits.” He grins, but then looks concerned. “That is . . . if you're okay with that.”

  “My favorite movie is Pride & Prejudice. Colin Firth version.” I begin to kiss his throat.

  He squirms slightly. “Uh, that's a five hour movie, Tula.”

  “I hope you can pull an all nighter, Maria.”

  8

  THERE IS SOMETHING BITTERSWEET about our time together. We're both inexperienced and unrefined, but the purity within these moments is untouchable.

  We learn one another again and again in the darkness of the night, touching, exploring, and whispering things we would never have the courage to say in the daytime. I'm overwhelmed at what's happening to my heart, and it's almost painful to pretend what we're doing is only a physical act.

  I now completely understand the difference between having sex and making love. How else can this perfect melding of mind, body, and spirit be described? The things we've done, the words we've said, and the noises—my goodness, the noises we've made—it's beyond personal, but it binds us on some raw, primal level. Before this, I knew in my mind that I needed him, but now, my body is what craves him.

  As the sun peeks over the horizon, I'm certain I will never love another man as much as I love this one.

  “Tula, what if you get pregnant from this?” Sam asks, as we lay amid the strewn sheets and pillows. He sounds genuinely worried we didn't take any precautions.

  I lift my head from his chest to look at him. “I'm not thinking about that right now.”

  “Let's name him Stanley.”

  I start laughing and lightly punch his ribcage.

  “I think I like Bertha better.” I nod. “Perfect girl name.”

  “Lorelai.” He traces his finger down my nose. “That would be her name.”

  My eyes fill with tears and I lower my head to snuggle close to him again. A few minutes later, he turns from his back and faces me, brushing the wetness from my cheeks.

  “Do you regret this?”

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  “Me either.”

  He lifts my chin, then kisses me gently but deeply. I roll to my back, bringing him with me, desperate to have him a part of me again. We move slowly, and I grimace slightly at the tenderness between my legs as my softness yields to his strength.

  When we finally fall asleep some time later, he curls himself around me. “Tula?”

  “Mmhmm?” My eyes are closed and my body feels entirely drained of all life force.

  “Thanks for popping my cherry.” His body shakes behind me in silent laughter.

  I have just enough energy left to laugh along with him before we both succumb to the oblivion of well-sated sleep.

  * * *

  WE ARE AWOKEN SEVERAL hours later by a ringing phone. Pillows and blankets go flying as we search for the offending noise. We eventually find Samson's dress pants behind the bed, and he pulls his phone out of a pocket. His face changes as he recognizes the number, but he doesn't answer. He just sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the phone with an expression of foreboding.

  I kneel beside him as he puts his phone to his ear to listens to the voicemail. It's a guy’s voice, excited and shouting. Sam listens to the message in full, then sets the phone down.

  “So, did you do well?”

  He rubs his hand over his face. “Yeah. Highest score.”

  “That's awesome!” I bounce excitedly on the bed. He doesn't seem as happy as I am. I come behind him and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Tell me,” I say softly.

  He is silent for a few moments. I wait patiently, my breasts pressed against his bare back. When he does speak, his words are cryptic.

  “Sometimes you think you want something more than anything in the world, and when you finally get it, you realize it's not what you want at all.”

  What does he mean? My insecure thoughts immediately make me think he's referring to his night with me. My heart rises up and whispers the answer, but I know my wishes are a delusional dream. I gather my courage to probe further.

  “What does that mean, Samson?”

  He stands and walks to the window, staring out at the city around. “The world is so big. There's so much out there, so many people. It's easy to think that what I want is more important than everything else.”

  I still have no idea where he's going with this speech, but I let him finish, allowing my eyes to trace the silhouette of his gorgeous, sculpted body against the Seattle skyline.

  “My happiness is your happiness, Tula.” He turns and comes back to the bed, then sits next to me. Our hands interlock and then he flips my palm up, tracing the lines with his finger. “What we did last night, I want to do that every single night. Not with just anyone. With you.”

  The hope inside me begins to flicker, but it's extinguished with his next words.

  “But it's not about what I want. I'm not enough for you—”

  I shake my head frantically.

  He puts his hand up and shakes his head. “Let me finish. There is a great guy who is willing and able to do anything for you. But that's not me. I wish it could be. I'm only willing, but I'm not able. We gotta think about your mom. I won't make enough money for that. She deserves better, you deserve better. You won't be happy if she isn't taken care of right. So my happiness will be your happiness.”

  Tears begin building inside of me and I struggle to control my emotions. He lifts my hand, kisses my palm, and sets it down on my lap.

  “You're going to marry Adrian when he proposes. Your mom will be able to live in comfort and be treated well. You're going to have four or five kids, and you're going to get really fat too.” I laugh as tears begin to slide down my cheeks. “But you'll be happy,” he says with conviction. He uses his thumb to wipe the corners of my eyes, even as redness and moisture appear in his. The next words are spoken slowly, his voice shaking with emotion. “I'll see you again one day, Tula. We'll be older. Wiser. And we'll always have the memories of the one night we were able to belong to one another.” Sam places his hands on either side of my head. “I expect to see laughter lines here and here.” He kisses the outer corners of my eyes. “You're going to tell me all about your life, and I'll see how happy you are. And so your happiness will be my happiness.”

  The tears are streaming freely down my cheeks now. We take our sorrow and merge it together as he makes love to me one last time. This time, our joining is slow, desperate, and exceedingly beautiful.

  After we leave the room, we crack jokes about our mutual walk of shame with my tousled hair and our rumpled clothes. Everything is the same, but everything has changed.

  We say goodbye in front of the hotel. He takes a taxi to the airport, and I take a taxi back home where I gather the remnants of my torn dreams, and do my best to piece them together to form something new.

  9

  SAM AND I STAY in touch over the next couple months through infrequent text messages. We keep our communication impersonal, and merely update about our lives. He becomes one of the youngest men to be accepted into Special Forces, and his training will be nonstop from now on.

  After I tell Solei about what happened night of prom, she is adamant that I don't stay with Adrian.

  “Look babe, if there's one thing I've learned in my nineteen years, it's that you don't stay with someone you don't like kissing. It's a simple fact.”

  She does her best to convince me to break up with Adrian, but the truth is, I have no real reason to. He's perfect in every way, and I genuinely enjoy his friendship. In dating him, I've discovered that I enjoy gifts, compliments, and wine-fueled dinners over candlelight. I used to think I was above material displays of affection, but who am I kidding? Adrian makes me feel special, valued, and beautiful. It's everything a girl could want. But I'd be lying if I said he makes me feel even a fraction of what Samson makes me feel.

  In September, it finally happens. I text Sam
to share the news.

  He asked. I said yes.

  When will it be?

  Next spring. I wish you could come.

  Me too, Pop Rocks. But I can't. I wish you so much happiness.

  And those are our only words about my pending nuptials. The frenzy of planning my wedding begins. Adrian turns out to be more of a bridezilla than me, and insists on picking everything out, which I'm perfectly okay with.

  In all honesty, I don't like the amount of attention placed on the wedding itself. You could feed several small villages with the cost of an American wedding. Oftentimes, people end up divorced before they finish paying off the occasion that supposedly marks the start of their lives together. Forever begins with stress and debt.

  My dad once told me that the original First Nations custom was to have no marriage contract, ceremony, or celebration. That's how I've always envisioned my own wedding. Simple, but the start of a union that is lasting.

  There seems to be a lot that I've hoped for; foolish dream that will never happen now. But if I can't have love, I will choose security.

  * * *

  MY WEDDING DAY BEGINS with sunshine and a cloudless blue sky. The weather is unseasonably hot for the beginning of May, but I'm grateful for the warmth. It takes my mind off the chill of doubt that has begun to take root.

  “Shake it off, Tula,” I murmur to myself. “Pre-wedding jitters, that's all.”

  The wedding is staged about two hours east of Seattle, in a private home backed by the rising mountain ranges of The National Forest. On the outside, the house seems a part of the mountains beyond, with its steel, glass, and rock exterior. It's perched on a hillside that overlooks a creek and gently rolling pastures. The entire home is outfitted with built-in light maple cabinets, and the flooring throughout is either slate grey tile, grey carpet, or light maple wood. The design is simplistic, modern, and somewhat utilitarian.