by Kelly Oram
“An app on the television or a gas fireplace that you turn on with a remote? I’ve never had an actual fire in a house before. Just, you know, bonfires on the beach, or whatever.”
I shook my head, chuckling to myself as I filled the coffee machine with water and turned it on. “Well, if you’re really so excited about it, we’ll keep it going and you can sleep on the sofa tonight.”
I was teasing her, but she got really excited by the idea and told me I was awesome as she bounded off to the shower. Dad was still chuckling as he started stacking logs in the fireplace. “I like her.”
“Yeah, Jordan’s a character, that’s for sure. And she would take that as a compliment.”
I smiled to myself as I sat down at the kitchen table and opened up my laptop. Dad had never been unfriendly to Sophie in any way, but he’d never randomly admitted any affection toward her, either. It was a nice change having my family like my girlfriend. Not that Jordan was my girlfriend, but she’d taken Sophie’s place in my life all the same.
We lapsed into silence as I opened my music software and Dad built the fire. Once it was doing all those things that apparently only real fires do—crackling, smelling good, and producing heat—Dad poured two mugs of coffee and sat down next to me at the table. “So, how’s the music thing going?”
I accepted the coffee and shrugged as I sipped it. “I’m a little stressed out right now, but I’ve loved this semester.”
“I can tell. You’ve been a whole new man these last couple of days. You’re growing up.” Dad nodded, smiling distantly. “Your mom would be so proud of you, you know.”
I was surprised by the sentimentality. It wasn’t really Dad’s style, but maybe his dating again was softening him up. It was a little awkward, but it was kind of nice, too. I nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure she is.”
Dad sighed. “She sure loved music. That’s where you get all your talent. I used to love listening to her play that guitar, and she sang like an angel.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. My most vivid memories of my mom were of her singing and playing the guitar for us. “She really was an angel,” I agreed. “I’m sure that was why heaven took her from us so early. God was probably sick of harps and wanted to liven things up with a six-string and some classic Dolly Parton songs.”
The joke worked in forcing Dad from his sudden melancholy. He laughed and then looked at me with a proud smile on his face. “I worry about you going into such a tough career—I’m your dad, after all—but I’m glad you’re going for it. You love it the way she did. I’m glad you’re carrying on her legacy. I’m proud of you, too.”
My chest tightened again. I hadn’t realized he approved. “Thanks.”
Dad’s smile turned crooked and he leaned in closer, lowering his voice even though we were alone. “Don’t tell your brothers I said this, but I worry about you less than them.”
I snorted. “Not a shocker.”
Dad chuckled. “Yeah, you’ve always been a good kid. Had your head on a lot straighter. And now, with Jordan…” He gave me an impressed nod. “You’ve found yourself a keeper this time.”
I coughed in surprise and reached up to rub my flaming neck. What was going on around here? Had Pearl called ahead of time and let everyone in on the conspiracy?
“I mean it,” Dad said. “Sophie’s not a bad girl, but I just never understood the two of you. I couldn’t see a future for you guys, but Jordan’s different. The way you are together is so natural. It makes me proud and scares me at the same time.”
“Dad.” The flames were spreading from my neck to my entire face and the tips of my ears. “Jordan and I aren’t—I mean, she’s just—we’re friends. She’s my best friend, but we’re not—”
“Your mom was my best friend, too.” Dad gave me a knowing smile and stood up. “I’m going over to Patricia’s for a while. You kids behave yourselves while I’m gone. Let her roast some marshmallows or something. She’ll get a kick out of that.”
. . . . .
After Dad left, I got wrapped up in my music and didn’t notice when Jordan returned until the stereo in the family room clicked on. I laughed as the first notes of Queen and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” came on. “Very funny,” I said, pushing back into a stretch and rubbing my eyes.
Jordan plopped down into the chair next to mine, dressed in her pajamas, with a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. She was grinning a bright smile that no one would be immune to. “I’ve decided you’re right about music,” she declared. “Life is a movie, but movies are so much better with a soundtrack.”
“And my soundtrack right now is ‘Under Pressure?’”
Jordan’s grin widened. “You looked stressed.”
I gave that one to her and looked back at my computer. A tired sigh escaped me. She got up and held out her hand to me. “Come on. Break time. Come sit by the fire with me.”
I let her drag me to my feet, and sat with her on the carpet in front of the hearth. “Is it everything you imagined?” I asked, after we’d stared into the flames for a few minutes.
“Mmm.” She shut her eyes and breathed in deeply. “I love it. I might have to invite myself back for Christmas so I can have a fire and a Christmas tree and snow outside the frosty window.”
My heart throbbed at the vivid picture she described, as if I’d been waiting my whole life for that Christmas with her and was only just now discovering it. What was with me? Ever since I wrote that song, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from turning to her—to us.
“So, that song you wrote…”
I flinched, startled from my daydreaming. “I was just messing around,” I said quickly. “It was silly.”
“It’s amazing.”
My mouth was suddenly too dry, and my heart was hammering in my chest. For the first time ever, I had no idea what to say to her. “You’re biased.”
She smiled and shook her head. “No. It’s really good. It’s like you stopped thinking about the showcase, and what you thought people wanted, and just…wrote a song. It’s exactly the kind of song I’d expect from you. It’s from your heart. It’s you, Nate.”
She couldn’t know how right she was. When I’d written that song, I wasn’t thinking about anything at all. Well, anything except her, and how much she would laugh when I compared her to different flavors of ice cream. I hadn’t worried about anything when I wrote it, because it hadn’t mattered. I was just having fun. That song really was from my heart. It was everything I had in me. Everything I felt, wanted, hadn’t realized, and couldn’t say. It was me. That’s why it had shocked me so much.
“You have to use it in the showcase.”
I jerked my head back again and stared at Jordan. “Seriously?”
“I wouldn’t joke about this. Use it. It’s brilliant.”
“It’s not even a song yet. It’s just lyrics. I have a vague idea of the melody, but every time I try to hear the song in my mind, it’s missing something. It’s all about different flavors, but all I hear is vanilla, just like my other songs.” I shook my head, a strange panic seizing me. “A song called ‘31 Flavors of You’ can’t be vanilla.”
It would be a crime; Jordan wasn’t vanilla. She deserved all thirty-one flavors, and then some.
“Okay, I know what to do.” She patted my leg and then took my hand. I clung to it like a lifeline, lacing our fingers together, as if holding her hand would ward off my fear and insecurities. “When I get stuck, I turn to my favorites for inspiration.” She stood up and brought me with her because I hadn’t let go of her hand. “There’s something I want you to see.”
We moved to the couch and when I handed over the remote, Jordan browsed the online rental choices like a woman on a mission.
“Moulin Rouge!?” I asked, a little worried by the cover of the title she’d pulled up.
“This might be a little too out there for you. No car chases, explosions, or any shoot-outs. But I think it might help you.”
When she glanced at me, seeking
permission, I waved her on. “You’ve never failed me before, Miss Spielberg. I trust you.”
Her face lit up at the praise. “I promise it’s good. It’s up there with The Princess Bride, and you know how I feel about that one.”
I was frightened at first, because the movie is pretty insane, but I was quickly taken in. There is a fine line between insanity and brilliance. Moulin Rouge! walked that line with grace. It was a quirky musical about a poet who fell for a courtesan. I could completely relate to Christian, the main character, because he’d been put on the spot to write this play, and everyone was standing around waiting for him to finish.
But it wasn’t the connection to the characters that Jordan had wanted me to make; it was the music. I’d never heard anything like it. They’d taken twenty-first century pop and rock songs and twisted them into Broadway-style medleys. It was Nirvana, Elton John, U2, Madonna, Paul McCartney, even Fat Boy Slim, as you’d never heard them before. “This is amazing,” I muttered, enamored by what they’d done with the music. “They mixed ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ with cancan dancing.”
“And it’s awesome, right?”
I nodded, bewildered. “How did they ever come up with something like that?”
Jordan pointed at the screen. “You could do something like that.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “I love your faith in me, but I’m not that genius.”
“No, I mean you could mix styles like that.” She frowned at me. “But you are that genius.”
We’d have to agree to disagree on that one.
Jordan paused the movie and pulled her legs up onto the couch, facing me Indian style. “Okay, think about it. You yourself are a mesh of flavors—yes, we’re totally sticking with the flavor metaphor. You’re adorable and sexy, as we’ve said before. You also have the hipster thing going, but you can jam like freaking Kyle Hamilton, too. Then you grin and grandmothers around the world want to pinch your cheeks and feed you milk and cookies.”
I rolled my eyes. She ignored me and kept going, growing more and more excited as her speech went on. “Then there’s your taste in music. It’s eclectic. You are totally an emo-coffee-shop-open-mic-night-just-me-and-my-guitar-singer-songwriter. But you also love rock, and have a not-so-secret obsession with Dolly Parton. And don’t forget that the choirboy in you appreciates classical music. You’re a Baskin-Robbins blend of epic proportions. Your song should mirror that. You should mix all the different styles you love. Take that melody you hear in your head and start adding flavors.”
Holy crap. That was it! The basic melody I’d heard would sound great with a nice electric violin or maybe a cello, and a guitar heavy on the distortion pedal. And maybe I could pulse it with some techno electronica beats. It could be dubstep meets rock meets orchestra…meets ice cream. My brain started spinning with possibilities.
Jordan’s laugh broke me out of my epiphany. “Go,” she said. “I can finish the movie by myself.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. “I’m not the genius here.” I pulled her forward, planting a solid kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
. . . . .
I didn’t notice when the movie ended, or that Jordan had fallen asleep. If my father or brothers came home, I didn’t hear them and they didn’t disturb me. My body felt the late hour, but I couldn’t turn off my mind. I’d been trying so hard for months to find my sound, and I finally had it. But it wasn’t a sound. It was a flavor. I know that seems crazy, but it was true.
My headphones were lifted from my head and a soft voice whispered, “Hey you, it’s 3:00 a.m…”
She’d startled the living daylights out of me, but I was so excited that I recovered quickly and jumped from my chair, pulling her into my arms. “You beautiful genius!” I announced, scooping her off her feet to twirl her around in circles. “I love you so much right now I could just…”
My eyes fell to her lips and I stopped spinning us. I gulped, searching for the words I’d been thinking of that I could no longer remember. Jordan supplied them for me. “Kiss me?”
She barely uttered the words and looked so petrified that I couldn’t tell if that was an actual request or just her finishing my sentence. Either way, the answer was yes. Licking my lips, I sucked in a deep breath and slowly lowered my face to hers. I gave her time to stop me. I gave her time to back away, turn her head, say no—anything. She didn’t.
Our lips met lightly in a timid kiss, as if neither of us understood or could believe what was happening. The connection ignited something inside me. It filled a craving and caused an even greater one to take over me. The kiss was brief—a tease, a whisper of promise that had us both thirsting for more when we pulled back.
She looked up at me in shock. I stared down at her in awe. She bit her bottom lip, and her eyes fell to my lips. “We shouldn’t,” she breathed, gaze locked on my mouth. “We’re roommates.”
“It’s a bad idea,” I agreed. My face drew closer to hers again. “Things would be awkward if it ended badly. It could ruin our friendship.”
Nodding, she slid her arms around my neck. “It was a bad idea for Christian and Satine, too.”
“I didn’t see the whole movie.”
“They went for it anyway.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
My lips captured hers again, and this time, our mouths met with a desperate clashing of intense passion. When we were forced apart from a need for oxygen, I tried to clear my head. “It’s really late.”
“You’re right.” She leaned forward, gracing me with a torturously sweet kiss. “Get some sleep, Nate.”
“You, too.” I kissed her back one last time, and then forced myself to let her go. It took all of my willpower.
It’s never a good idea to sleep late in the Anderson house, especially if you’re on the family room couch and don’t have the safety of a locked bedroom door. I woke up screaming curses after Tyler shoved ice-cold slush down my shirt. “Look, Runt, it snowed last night!”
Chris and Tyler fell apart with laughter as I jumped to my feet and ripped my shirt off, vowing to kill them both. “Aw, where’s your sense of humor, Runt?” Chris asked.
“Serves you right for ditching us last night,” Tyler said.
“Jordan ditched you too, and I don’t see you giving her a snow-bath wakeup call.”
That probably wasn’t the best thing to say. Tyler and Chris glanced at each other with matching evil grins and dashed out the front door. Muttering another curse, I ran down the hall and shut myself into my room. Luckily, Jordan was still safe and snug in bed—snow free. She sat up, confused. “Nate?”
“Shh!”
I climbed onto her bed, opened the window, and popped out the screen. It had only snowed about two inches during the night and it was already starting to melt, but it was enough for me to gather up a few slushy snowballs from the windowsill. I handed two to Jordan, took the other two, and slid the window shut again.
“What are you doing?”
“Trust me. Lie back down and pretend you’re still sleeping.”
She frowned, but followed my lead, speaking in a soft whisper. “With snow in my hands? It’s freezing and it’s melting.”
“Just do it.”
I slipped behind the closet door just as Jordan’s door creaked open. She quickly pulled the covers over her and waited as Chris and Tyler snuck in, giggling like five-year-olds. Jordan didn’t let either of them get close enough to drop snow on her. When they were at the foot of her bed, she sprung up and lopped her mushy snowballs at them. Her aim was great; she nailed them both in the face.
While they were distracted, I slid out of the closet and got them both back, dumping what was left of my snowballs down their backs. Unfortunately, this made me the target of the snowballs that had been meant for Jordan. I quickly found myself on the floor beneath both of my brothers. And since I’d already lost my shirt and was wearing pajama pants with an elastic waist, they decided
to be doubly cruel and dropped their snowballs down my pants.
When I screamed, my brothers let me up, howling with laughter. I climbed to my feet, but the snow was stuck so I stripped off my pants to free myself of the icy sludge. “Holy crap, that’s freezing!”
Chris and Tyler howled even louder. It wasn’t until I heard Jordan’s laugh—the traitor—that I remembered she was there, and that I was now standing in front of her in my boxers, shivering.
“Nice try, though, Runt,” Chris said as he left the room, laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.
Tyler slapped my bare stomach. “Maybe next time, little brother. Hurry and get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”
“I’m older than you,” I called as he left the room.
He poked his head back in the door. “I meant little as in size, Runt.” He winked at Jordan and then shut the bedroom door behind him.
When I turned back around, Jordan was still sitting up in bed, trying her hardest not to laugh at me. I snatched the top blanket from the bed and wrapped myself up in it, sighing in defeat as I sat on the edge of the bed. “Somehow, I pictured that going differently.”
Jordan burst into hysterical giggles. “Well, it was two against one. Not really fair.”
“It was supposed to be even teams. Where were you with the assist?”
She grinned. “I was stuck in bed because I’m not wearing any pants, and unlike you, I had no desire to prance around in my underwear in front of your brothers. I enjoyed the show, though.”
“Very funny.”
“And I appreciate the rescue. If you hadn’t saved me, I’d have woken up to a snow ambush.”
There was no need to mention that I’d accidentally given them the idea to include her in their morning assault. “True. I think you owe me now.”
“Agreed.” She glanced at the ceiling and tapped her finger to her chin. “But how to repay you?”
My heart thumped. Was she thinking of our spontaneous middle-of-the-night kiss, too? I didn’t want to be the first one to bring it up since I’d been the one to kiss her first, and now I’d barged into her room and stripped down to my underwear. Those two events were totally unrelated, but together could make it seem like I was here hoping for round two.