The family posed skillfully in each photograph. One was candid, one was color, and another was sepia, then of course, the classic black and white. It was like flipping past magazine advertisements for the perfect family captured during their most perfect moments. Everything about the Davies home was, well, perfect. Not a spot of dirt. Not a speck of dust. Not an item out of place. A diorama in a museum that captured the housing and lifestyle of the elite. As the people themselves that lived in this house, the Davies estate was quite flawless.
“Don’t you want to see your room?” Denver cut into my thoughts.
“My room?” I asked in a dreamy daze, caught in the Davies magic bubble.
“Yes, I mean, the one you’ll be using during your stay. It’s quite splendiferous. I made sure they put you on the second floor, close to me.”
“There are more than two floors?”
“Oh, you!” Denver swatted my arm like having more than two floors was normal around here.
Most families in the area were basic. They resided in cookie-cutter colonials, or regular ranches, not houses that overshadowed grand hotels. Denver had to have known she didn’t live in your average, typical, run of the mill home. She visited my place, and she must have had other friends whose parents didn’t own mansions, or didn’t she? Maybe I was the only one. Maybe the rest of her friends lived in palaces, and jetted off to exotic islands, or lunched with royalty on the weekends.
Swiveling around with the grace of a ballerina, Denver turned to pull me out of the family room. The wooden floor boards creaked as light notes of pitter pattering feet halted our quest to take me to my room.
Following the heels of the footsteps, Denver’s parents materialized around the corner. Two warm, friendly faces beamed down at me, smiling as wide as the pictures on the mantle. Flawless, as if they had jumped from the photographs, her mom and dad had immaculate skin, perfect hair, and divine clothing. Like Denver, they moved with ease, perfectly poised. They smiled and held out their hands to greet me.
“Hello, dear, so nice to have you in our home,” Denver’s mom pulled me into a hug. “I’ve heard so much about you. My name is Debbie. This is my husband, Denver’s father, Dereck.”
I gulped, speechless.
“Greetings, young man.” Denver’s father pumped my hand up and down with a distinct handshake, firm yet not too firm. A three bear’s handshake, just right.
“Welcome to our home, Dexx,” Denver’s mom reaffirmed.
“T-Thanks,” my voice shook while I willed myself to control my timidity.
“Now, is Dexx short for Dexter?” she asked.
“No, it’s not!” blurted out Denver, sounding a bit perturbed.
“Denver, let’s embrace the holiday spirit, and dial down the tone,” Debbie requested, remindful.
“Sorry.” Denver kicked at an invisible dust ball.
“I-Is your son home, ma’am?” I changed the subject.
“Please, call me Debbie, and no dear, he and his girlfriend, Poppy, are out. You’ll meet them later. But, Denver will show you to your room. You’ll bunk close to Declan. Perhaps you can get to know each other better.”
“Don’t worry,” Denver whispered, “you aren’t sleeping in a bunk.”
“Well, I’ll let you kids get to it, then. Denver, please take Dexx’s bag up to his room,” Debbie instructed.
“So nice to meet you,” Dereck said, still smiling like his son, Mr. Model.
I nodded my head, meaning to sir and ma’am them one more time, but Denver squealed and pulled me away.
We ran to the front room to pick up my bag, and raced up a tall, winding staircase.
“You’re a little jack-rabbit, slow down,” I coughed, winded by Denver’s sleek body’s fast speed.
“Come on, pokey.”
Denver grabbed me by the hand. Our fingers touched. My tips tingled with pins and needles. Her smooth, thin hand felt both hot and cold to the touch. Her soft skin exhilarated me. It woke up my senses. She swung around. Our eyes met. We laughed and looked away. I dropped my hand to my side to grab on to the railing to steady myself, still chuckling and breathing heavy
“Here’s your room for the next few days.”
Denver pushed open the door to reveal a spectacular layout. A king-sized bed sat against a forest green wall surrounded by a brass metal frame and headboard. A green and red comforter covered the top of the bed. Two golden chocolate coins rested on the fluffy throw pillows. Two nightstands sandwiched the bed on either side, like two cozy bookends. A brass lamp perched on each stand. A long dresser and a wide wardrobe stood against the other wall. An open door, next to the wardrobe, led to my own private bathroom. The entire room was larger than the kitchen and dining room combined at my own home, perhaps even bigger than my entire ground floor.
Amazed, I cupped my hands over my mouth. But, instantly enraged by my ridiculous behavior, I wiped a finger under my nose, playing it cool. I pretended to have an itch. I sniffed and stuffed my free hand in my pants pocket.
“Gee, thanks.”
I put my bag down and struck a very casual pose, hoping I sounded nonchalant.
“Can I see the rest of the rooms?”
“Sure, let’s see. Here’s Declan’s room,” Denver trilled comically in a funny, high-pitched voice.
Denver led me out of my guestroom, and shut the door. She opened the door to the next room, and shoved me in playfully. My icy, unapproachable Denver melted into a warm, sweet honey bear. I laughed at her silly antics. She gave me a hip bump. I toppled onto her brother’s bed. We both cracked up.
“You’re killing me here, Denver,” I guffawed.
She fluttered her lashes dramatically.
Declan’s room outdid my guestroom by a million trillion. I rested on his smooth bedspread, and checked out his digs. His walls and dresser brimmed with an overwhelming array of Batman paraphernalia, action figures, posters, utility belts, photos of himself wearing costumes at comic conventions, and well-preserved, classic comic books. But, my eyes gravitated toward the pictures of her.
In between the superhero bric-a-brac, images of Poppy brightened up the otherwise dark, grim room. The two cozied up together in a few pictures, but in most of them, Poppy lingered alone. She waved at the camera, lost in a forest, surrounded by autumn leaves of red, orange, gold, and brown. She laughed by a pool, sipping from a straw dunked in a diet soda can. She blew a kiss from the Eiffel Tower, scarf wrapped around her long neck which matched her lipstick. In each photo, her thick ponytail swung in the wind, or hung lazily down her back. Her cute, buckteeth jutted slightly, yet adorably out of her smiling mouth. Her eyes focused on the lens with an air of sophisticated sensuality. Perhaps Declan was at the other end of the camera. Perhaps he was not. Maybe the pictures were originally intended for him, or maybe there weren’t. It didn’t matter. He owned them, for now.
My body shot off the bed. I carefully smoothed out the lumps to rid the bed of my crinkly evidence.
“Your brother seems like the type who might be bothered by a stray crease in the bed.”
Denver shrugged. “You have no idea! But, I really don’t care. Let’s move on,” she chirped.
I ran ahead, and pushed open the next door. A familiar scent wafted out of the room, and traveled up my nose, a tantalizing floral, and fruity note. I could tell who it belonged to long before I spotted the large white “P” painted with tiny flowers on the wall. In this creamy, white walled room, a floral duvet wrapped around a plump bed covered in an abundance of bright, pastel, oversized throw pillows. A massive array of stuffed animals crowded the bed. A tiny overnight bag sat in the corner, and, like thirty lipstick tubes lined up and down a well-lit vanity. Poppy had definitely arrived.
Denver examined my face.
“Don’t worry, Dexx, we don’t have to
hang out with them.”
Thankfully, she misread my signals. We exited Poppy’s room together.
“Hey, what’s down this hall?”
“The stairs to the third floor where the rest of my family will stay,” Denver sighed, like a third floor was not at all a big deal.
“Cool! Can I see your room?”
“Um, maybe later.” Denver twisted her lips. She brushed off the topic, and avoided my eyes. “You know, my parents don’t like us having friends in our room with the door closed. They aren’t as relaxed as your family.”
“I don’t care. We can keep the door open.”
“Nah, maybe later.”
Denver rocked back and forth on her feet. She fidgeted with her pearl necklace, pulling it around and around her neck.
“Denver!” Debbie’s voice echoed from somewhere in the massive house. The “D” and the “R” bounced off the walls, reverberating like sonic pings in an enclosed racket ball court.
“What?” Denver turned to me. “Does your mom do this to you too when you have a guest over?”
“Yes.” I smirked.
She rolled her eyes. They dazzled brighter than aquamarine jewels under the clear sea even when she appeared irritated.
“Please come back downstairs with your guest and help me finish getting the party ready.”
“Fine!” Denver groaned.
She touched my back and gently prompted me to move. The hairs on my neck rose, sending a shiver down my spine.
Denver led me into the kitchen which was more than a kitchen. It was a massive chef’s quarters for catering only the most prestigious ballroom soirées. Debbie stood in the middle of the room next to a long butcher block. Her lips spread in a warm, comfortable smile, in a way that only the most nurturing mothers could, TV ready for the most wholesome family situation dramedies, or a nutritious cooking show.
“Hey, you two. I thought you might enjoy decorating these Christmas cookies for me.” Her enormous blue eyes sparkled almost as bright as Denver’s.
Several dozen round, naked cookies lay cooling on racks. They were so golden, brown, and crispy, my mouth totally salivated looking at them. More shapes, like stars, snowmen, bells, and candy canes, rested on long strips of parchment paper. Small, rounded knives swam in colorful tubs of creamy frosting. Old jam jars packed with candy, and bottles of sprinkles shined in rows on top of the marble counter, in every flavor and color imaginable, a child’s dreamland. I imagined it was an open invitation to a bakeshop with an endless supply of sweet treats and delectable goodies.
“This isn’t too babyish for you, is it?” Denver’s brow furrowed.
“Are you kidding me? This is awesome! Let’s kick this decorating into high gear,” I laughed.
Debbie glowed. She nodded approvingly. “I guess I’ll leave you two to it.” She grinned and left the room with the same graceful flowing stride as Denver.
We each grabbed a thin metal spatula, and selected a cookie to glaze.
“My family goes overboard at Christmas time. It’s Declan’s favorite holiday.”
Denver slathered a generous helping of white icing on a snowman.
“It’s everybody’s favorite holiday. Who wouldn’t go overboard during this time of the year?”
I licked some green frosting off my pinkie and popped a mini marshmallow in my mouth.
“True, who doesn’t like Christmas. But, Declan, my brother, he’s rather, er,” she sucked air through her teeth, “obsessed with the idea, among other things. So, my family can’t resist making his dreams come alive during the holidays.”
Denver scooped up a handful of chocolate chips, and dropped them in her mouth.
“So, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” she munched, covering her mouth with her hand as she chewed, “except, life around here typically revolves around Declan. Declan, Declan, Declan. I, on the other hand, I’m, well, I’m, let’s say, nothing special. Low-key, low maintenance, low on the priority list.”
Denver’s candid revelations shocked me. She spoke to me so plainly, and with such ease, I hadn’t realized how comfortable she felt being alone with me.
“Nothing about you says ordinary to me. In fact, you are quite the opposite!”
“Really?”
“Yep. You exhibit such extraordinary qualities, an air of exceptional confidence, so sure about yourself, that most girls at school envy you.”
“Thanks for saying so. I hadn’t noticed.”
“Are you kidding? Most kids at school put you on a high pedestal. They look up to you. They want to be like you. It must be difficult to maintain such an image. Perhaps your parents would rather keep you grounded, take away that social anxiety, free you from peer pressure, and treat you like a human being. Maybe you should look at it that way, consider feeling grateful that your parents see you as Denver, and not DENVER!” My fingers wiggled in a circular motion, as a magician would after saying voila, completing a spectacular trick.
She took in my words for a moment. Shaking her head she poured a handful of chocolate in her hand, and stuffed it in her mouth.
“Why are you constantly so right? You’re killin me here, boy,” she garbled between chews, with her cheeks stuffed on either side, gorging herself hamster style.
Adding to the morsels in her mouth, she dug into the cinnamon candies, and poured a scoop on her tongue.
“Taste good that way,” she said between chomps.
Laughter escaped me. Denver revealed so much all the while childishly goofing around. She mixed her serious side with a large helping of silly. I couldn’t help but get caught up in a Denver daze.
“Look at you!” I cackled between bites of a cookie. “How do you get to stuff your face, and stay so tiny?”
“You’re mean!” She swatted my arm.
“I’m not mean!” I chuckled.
“You’ve got some guts, boy, to say that to a girl,”
Denver chortled, and tossed a few candy-coated chocolates my way.
I retaliated by hitting her sweater with some spicy gumdrops.
“Come on, Denver, what’s your secret?” I laughed.
“Lucky, I suppose.” She struck a pose, placing her hand behind her silky hair, and stuck out her tongue. “The Davies family metabolism. We’re all born with a hollow leg so we can eat what we like, and store the rest of the candy for later.”
Swirling her finger in the red frosting, she plucked a gooey blob, and smashed it on my nose.
“Boop!” she squealed. “Rudolph with your nose so red, won’t you guide my sleigh instead?”
My eyes narrowed. I plunged my fist in the white frosting.
“You wouldn’t dare, Dexx!” Denver screamed, laughing.
“Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. What are you going to do to make me stop?”
“I’m going to stop you like this.”
She stuck her fingers in the cinnamon candy jar, and flung a handful in my face.
“Oh, you are going to get it!” I yelled.
I cupped my hands on her cheeks, and smeared frosting.
Denver retaliated by dumping a bottle of sprinkles on my head. She ran around to the other side of the butcher-block island. I tossed a few marshmallows at her, and launched another glob of frosting. She catapulted some candy on a spoon. Denver squirted a tube of icing in my face, leaking it onto my sweater.
I chased her around the butcher block. We laughed and laughed. Our giggles died down, then started back up in waves, rising and falling in a playful momentum, running in tiresome circles until we crashed, smacking right into each other. Our arms wrapped around each other. Our noses touched. With our lips spread apart, our mouths almost met in a kiss. My heart beat fiercely. My mind pushed me forward. I leaned in so clos
e I could smell her sweet chocolaty breath spiced with a pleasant hint of cinnamon.
Denver cleared her throat. She stepped back, her creamy complexion a rosy pink.
“Eh-um.”
She straightened her dress, and picked some frosting out of her hair.
“I think we need to clean up, and finish with the party preparations. My mom will kill me if she sees this mess!”
Out of breath, my heart still raced with excitement.
“I think you’re right.”
Denver bent down. She swept the candy off the floor, wiped down the counter top. I organized the frosted cookies, and capped up the sprinkles. We dumped the wasted candy, and cleaned up the evidence.
“Well, gee, I am going to freshen up, and . . .” She looked down at her outfit, “change my clothes. You might want to do the same.”
“Yeah,” I laughed, “I’m not exactly party presentable in this state.”
I picked some stray sprinkles off my sweater.
“There’s some fresh soap, and towels in your bathroom. I’ll meet you down here in a bit.”
Still woozy from our encounter, my wobbly legs floated up the stairs to my guestroom.
Denver’s intriguing vulnerability humanized her. It brought her down to earth to dwell with mortal men such as myself. I’d found the couple of hours we spent together so far pleasantly surprising.
I peeled off my grubby sweater. I entered the washroom, and flipped on the lights. The Davies spared no expense in decorating. Lush soaps and fancy creams crowded the exquisite counter top. Fluffy towels hung from several racks. A quilted robe swung on a hook on the back of the door. With such exquisite treatment, who would ever want to leave the Davies’ five star resort?
I took guilty pleasure in ripping the packaging off the tiny soaps. My enormous bathroom had a Jacuzzi tub, and a separate shower. It even had a sliding door for the water closet. I hopped in the shower, and let the steaming water pour down my back, massaging my tense muscles. Pent-up anxiety from the excitement of our frosting fight, and our near kiss, melted away in the hot water, and flushed down the drain with the excess shampoo. I wrapped my soaked body in soft towels, and flung myself onto the firm bed. My eyelids fluttered closed. I rested my eyes. My body was not used to such relaxing comfort. The lux mattress soothed me, and lulled me to sleep.
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