by S. L. Naeole
“When my mother died, did you come to the funeral?” I asked suddenly, my mind scouring my memories to see if I could pluck his face from them somehow.
“I could not. The day she lost her divinity was the day she died to me. Ameila was the only one of our kind who had chosen to continue speaking to her, as it had been agreed upon I suppose. Though she should have been censured for that, when I learned why it was she did, I couldn’t blame her. I would have done the same.”
“Done what?”
Lem’s eyes widened before softening as he reached out to stroke the side of my face. “Help Avi bring you into the world.”
I turned away from the touch that burned when it should not. “You would help the woman you love give birth to another man’s child?”
“You’re not some other man’s child, Grace. You have no father. You came from your mother’s soul, and not from any union she might have had with anyone else, so yes, I would have done whatever it took to help Avi bring you into this world.”
“I have a father. His name is James Shelley.”
“I apologize. I did not mean to insult you or your father. I just meant that, biologically, you are a singular creation, unique despite how much you remind me of your mother.”
“My dad says that I remind him of her, too.” The statement wasn’t meant to rub my parents’ relationship in his face, but I could tell by how cold it suddenly got that it had. “Lem—look, I’m sorry…”
He shook off the apology. “You needn’t concern yourself with how I feel. What happened between your mother and I was something that happened once, and I was the foolish one to believe that it could be something other than duty.”
I looked at him quizzically, and I could see the edge of hurt there, right where his irises met the dark curve of his pupils. “You still love her, don’t you?”
His lids lowered, his eyes turning into slits at my question before rising and revealing the clear, glassy stare of someone completely unaffected. “No.”
“No?” I was shocked by his answer. Someone who spoke of someone else the way he did, who got lost in their description of someone the way that he did could not have been anything but affected, and yet it was like he had become frozen.
“I loved her once, but love doesn’t last forever. It’s not meant for those who live the life everlasting, who live long enough to see it wither away and turn into resentment. It’s meant for those who die, for those who will escape seeing those they love change into something else.”
His voice took on a bitter tone, and I couldn’t help but feel his anger, his disappointment. Even though inside I still resented my mother’s actions, resented what they did to me and Dad, I knew that she loved my father, that they had been meant to love each other; and that in doing so they had broken someone’s heart.
“I guess it must suck seeing me, then,” I said half-jokingly, starting into a stride that he matched, step for step. “And at the same time, it must be quite cathartic.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Well, even though you say that you would have helped my mother bring me into this world, it must suck knowing that she wanted to have me with my dad, and cathartic knowing that soon I’ll be gone and there won’t be anything left to remind you of her.”
He stopped, his hand grabbing my arm to deaden my pace. “The last thing I would ever want is to see you gone.” There was desperation in his voice, a shaky edge that sliced straight through to me, and I saw that he meant every word. He trembled with its truth.
He pulled me towards him, his other hand coming to grip my other arm, holding me immobile against him as he looked down at me, his eyes a study in hot and cold, the glittering gold of one iris contrasting the icy, steely silver of the other. And when they darkened, when they almost disappeared into their darkness, when I felt my breathing stop and my heart shudder inside of me, he lowered his head.
It was the briefest of touches, something that I would have sworn didn’t even happen had I not kept my eyes open the entire time staring into his, seeing his reaction, feeling his palms grow hot, his lips turn soft and burning, like bathwater that was on the brink of scalding.
When he pulled away, he said nothing. Instead, he released me, and continued to walk. Silently, I followed. What had just happened? What had just occurred between us? Who was Lem to me but someone from my mother’s past? As my street grew nearer, I grew more and more concerned. What if we had been seen? What if this act of betrayal somehow got to Robert? After everything that I had accused him of, I had let this happen—maybe I even wanted it to happen.
Yes. I did want it to happen. I couldn’t deny that I found Lem attractive. But more than that, I needed that touch, that contact. And to know that Robert could have returned to me, and didn’t—it eased my guilt a bit.
By the time I stood in front of my front door, my nerves were calm, and I even took the liberty of pressing my fingers to my lips, as though they would somehow remind me of what had happened. Lem saw this and I could read his mind almost as surely as he would have read mine if I had let him. He knew why. He knew my intent.
But, if my guilt could be suppressed after a quick glancing touch of lips, what was I to do when he threw my hand aside and crushed his mouth to mine? Where could I hide my guilt when my hand rose to twine in the rich wine of his hair? And when my back pressed up against the door, and I pushed against him, needing to feel that closeness, even if it was a pale imitation of what it was my heart truly wanted, how would I be able to mask the burn of betrayal that I was sure had branded itself across my face?
“Stop,” I breathed when I could finally pull away. “This is wrong.”
“No it isn’t,” he whispered harshly against my mouth. “It isn’t wrong. I know you want me.”
“No,” I protested. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” he repeated before kissing me again, proving that I did.
I pushed at him, and surprised myself when he moved with little effort. I was panting, my hand running to my hair, pushing it aside before wiping my mouth on the back of it, as though I could somehow wipe away what I had done—what I had let happen.
“Maybe—maybe I wanted the kiss. Maybe I wanted to be reminded what it felt like to be kissed—but it wasn’t you that I wanted to kiss me. Maybe that isn’t true. Maybe I do want you. But I don’t love you; I love Robert.”
The transformation in his face was startling, and I pressed my back against the door as he came up against me, his eyes drawn into dark slits, his mouth set in a grim line on a face that had suddenly lost its curves of amusement and now held the harsh angles of someone whose pride had been hurt.
And then it was all gone. The same cheerful expression returned, albeit one that now seemed less genuine, and he sighed the sigh of the defeated. “I apologize for overstepping my bounds, Grace. I can blame no one else but myself.”
“I-it’s okay, Lem,” I spoke, my voice steady despite the drumming in my heart that was a mixture of excitement and fear.
“I hope that this doesn’t change our friendship. I would hate to know that my moment of impetuous, wingless emotion has damaged your faith in me.”
I shook my head and offered him my hand, a platonic gesture that he understood right away. His hand grabbed mine, gripping it firmly before pumping it up and down. “We’re still friends, Lem. Just…not those kinds of friends.”
To my surprise, he laughed, a carefree sound that made my lips curl up in a smile. “I should be more than content with any type of friendship you give me after my behavior, Grace. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said before turning around and opening the door. I stepped inside and turned around to thank him for walking me home. He bowed—actually bowed—and said that the pleasure was all his.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before,” I commented.
“Well, I’m glad that I could be your first,” he replied before sweeping away past the drive and down
the street until I lost him in the glare of sunset.
I walked into the house and saw that Dad had fallen asleep on the recliner, a dozing Matthew lying on his chest with his thumb wedged tightly between his pouty lips. I decided not to wake either of them and instead headed upstairs to get ready for dinner with Mrs. Deovolente. I had few things here, having not brought much with me the second time I had returned, but there was no need to dress up for the Olive Branch and so a pair of jeans and a t-shirt would do.
I took a quick shower, and then stood in front of the mirror to brush my wet hair into a slicked back ponytail. My reflection frightened me.
My eyes were bright, glittery, the excitement I had felt from Lem’s kiss overpowering the dullness of guilt that I could see lingering in the golden flecks of my brown irises. My lips were slightly puffed, and my cheeks showed the telltale flush of emotions that I should not have been feeling.
“What have I done?” I said to my reflection. “What did I do?” Suddenly glassy eyes turned watery and red, and the puffiness that had existed in my mouth spread to them, while the redness in my cheeks migrated to my nose and the bitter sting of tears that screamed their objection to everything that I had done.
It wasn’t so much the kiss…or the other kiss. Or even the other kiss. It was the feeling of wanting more of them that hurt. It was the feeling of wanting what came after them that burned.
“This isn’t you,” I said to myself. “This isn’t you. You’re not that girl.” And I wasn’t. I wasn’t that girl who would do whatever she could to get what she wanted. I wasn’t that person who would betray the person they loved to fulfill a desire. I wasn’t that person who would do that…to hurt someone else.
But I just had. I hadn’t just betrayed Robert; I’d also betrayed myself and it was far more damaging to my soul than anything else that anyone could do to me. My body had betrayed me just as it had Robert. My mouth, my racing heart, my lungs—only my head had stayed sane, stayed above water, and only it would keep me from falling under the spell of need again.
I needed to get away, and someone was already waiting to help me do that. I splashed cold water on my face and patted it dry before taking one last look at myself, satisfied that if anyone were to ask, I could simply say that I was having a late allergy attack. I cleaned out the crystal lumps that had pooled in the sink and dumped them into the trash, then turned off the light and headed downstairs.
Dad was awake now, Matthew busily drinking down a bottle of formula in his lap.
“Hey, Kiddo. I didn’t know you had returned.”
“And I’m about to leave again,” I said hastily. “I’m going out to dinner with my teacher—sort of a congratulatory celebration.”
“So you passed?”
I looked at him and felt my eyes bulge at the question. “Duh! Of course I passed!”
“Well then, I suppose that makes it official, doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
“Your honeymoon. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”
I rushed to him, my arms clumsily wrapping themselves around him, my body painfully arched away so as to keep from crushing Matthew. “I’m not going anywhere, Dad,” I told him with a hiccup. “I’m staying right here, with you, and Matthew.”
Dad chuckled and then gently pushed me away. “You know I’m smarter than that, kiddo. Now, go on. We’ll talk a bit more when you return.”
I looked at him, his eyes dry, his mouth lifted with a warm, fatherly smile. “All right.”
I started to head towards the door when I remembered that my bike had been stolen. “Damn. Dad, my bike was stolen today after school.”
“Did you remember to lock it up?”
“Yeah. Whoever took my bike left behind the lock.”
Dad muttered a curse and then sighed when he realized that he had just done so in front of Matthew. “The key to Janice’s car is hanging up in the kitchen. Why don’t you take it?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Take her car.”
“Thank you,” I said, dropping a kiss onto the top of his head.
“Just drive safe, and stay under the speed limit. I’m not coming to bail you out if you get pulled over for speeding.”
I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the keys to the small SUV, then dashed outside. It had been a while since I’d driven—a year, actually—and it took me a few minutes to get used to the feeling of being in front of the steering wheel, but once I put the car into gear, everything just proceeded naturally.
Parking was another story entirely. It took me longer to park in a stall than it did to get to the mall. I had trouble with keeping the car straight, and then I had parked too close to the car beside me, preventing me from being able to open my door. I attempted to reverse into another stall and nearly clipped another car. Finally, realizing how hopeless the situation was, I parked as far away as possible from any cars and objects that might damage—or suffer damage from—the car.
The walk to the restaurant was a long one, and Mrs. Deovolente was waiting by the entrance as I approached, a bouquet of wildflowers in her hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told her.
“It’s just a few minutes past seven. Come on, they have our table ready. These are for you. I thought these would be more acceptable than balloons—less conspicuous as well,” she said cheerfully.
I understood her intent right away and thanked her as we walked into the tiny restaurant, the smell of wine and lamb triggering the rumbling in my stomach. We were seated towards a back window, the waiter immediately pouring out two glasses of water with lemon before handing us our menus. As I looked at the specials, the teacher placed hers down onto the table and asked, “So, what did you do between class and here?”
My eyes rose from the dishes on the laminated placard in front of me and answered, “I cheated on my husband.”
NINE LIVES
“You’re…m-married?”
I took a sip of my water and nodded.
“F-for how long?” Mrs. Deovolente’s voice rose and fell with each syllable, her shock registering in every line on her face.
“Five weeks this past Monday.”
“And…and you’ve already had sex with someone else?” Her jaw hung down past her chin.
The water went down the wrong pipe and I began to choke. When I could manage a few words without another string of coughs, I shook my head violently. “No. No, I’ve never had sex. Not with anyone.”
A puzzled Mrs. Deovolente pushed everything in front of her aside and grabbed my hands. “Grace, are you telling me that you’re still a virgin? And you’re married?”
“Yes.”
“But…why?”
I gave her the only answer that I had. “I love him.”
A violent snort came from her delicate nose and it was my turn to stare in shock. “Love is never enough of a reason to get married, Grace. Never. And to be married for five weeks and not ever consummate the marriage? Is…is that why you wanted to know about seducing your boyfriend?”
My embarrassed nod sent her hands flying up in the air. “For the love of God, Grace. Do you realize how ridiculous this sounds? You’re eighteen, married, and you’re already confessing to cheating on your husband—of five weeks. And on top of that, you’re still a virgin. I don’t know what to say to you about any of this except who was it?”
I stared at my hands, the rings that branded me as belonging to someone else staring up at me like a pair of knowing eyes. “Someone that I should've never let near me.”
In the dim light of the restaurant, Mrs. Deovolente could finally see the distress in my face and she inched forward to clasp onto my upturned hands. “You’re so confused, aren’t you? Oh goodness. Did you want to be with that other person?”
Wide eyed and adamant, I shook my head. “I liked the kiss, but I don’t want to be with anyone else but Robert. I only want him.”
“So why don’t you tell him?”
I watery sno
rt let me, and I looked away. “He knows.”
“So what’s he waiting for?”
My eyes looked into hers and I saw that she wanted to understand. But would she be able to understand with only pieces of the truth? “We can’t be together, Mel. We can’t be together the way that I want to—the way he says he wants to.”
A glimmer of recognition passed over her and she said softly, “You know, you could always wear a condom.”
“It’s not that simple. I wish that it was.”
The waiter returned then, his pad held out, and I blindly ordered the special, not caring what it was having forgotten it already. Mrs. Deovolente ordered the same, and when the waiter left with our order, she leaned in, her voice lower, as though she were afraid that someone would hear us in the empty and dark restaurant.
“But it is,” she whispered. “It is that simple. You can’t get pregnant if you use a condom, Grace.”
“You don’t understand, Mel-”
Her voice grew hard, grating as it registered as low as possible. “Grace—you’re the one who doesn’t understand. They didn’t have protection then, only ways to get rid of it, but…you couldn’t get rid of those kinds of pregnancies. But it’s different now. You can prevent yourself from being impregnated by one of them.”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” I stammered.
“I know. I know what Robert is.”
I felt the blood drain from my face, from my hands, and I felt incredibly cold as I stared at my teacher from across that small table. I could say nothing. When the waiter arrived with our plate of something that smelled like the back end of a bus, I said nothing.
“Excuse me, but could you have this wrapped up?” the stranger in front of me asked the poor guy, who simply nodded and removed the plates from the table. “Grace, we need to talk. Somewhere else.”