by Hotcheri
I took another bite of my apple, suddenly wondering if the family therapy meeting Dr. Khan had ordered us to attend yesterday had actually affected dad. It didn't seem like it at the time, mostly because he spent most of the hour long therapy session arguing with Dr. Hayman. As soon as dad found out (inadvertently, from Faith) about my headache activated nausea, he dragged me straight to Dr. Khan, much to my surprise. Huh. What do you know, I got him worried. And here I was thinking that he hated me, especially after I got expelled. I guess that goes to show how complex humans can be, huh?
Anyway, that was when Dr. Khan suggested the group therapy to help us get through what he called 'Luke's illness'. I think it was the Faith angle that got him, when dad explained about how she freaked out on him. Ever since that day, she always comes and 'checks up' on me, bringing me little presents and asking if I want to play games with her. She was starting to act like my little shadow. I think she was scared that if she left me alone, even for a second, something would happen to me. That was the main reason I agreed to go to last night’s therapy, but it wasn't something I wanted to repeat.
Grabbing a mug from the overhead cabinet, Dad turned to the coffee machine and stood there for a minute, fiddling with the various buttons and knobs. I perched myself on the bar stool, watching curiously. This wasn't how his morning was supposed to go! He had coffee from JJ Bean every morning, not homemade! Why was he screwing his routine up so much today?
After several more minutes of watching dad, who obviously had no clue what he was doing, I felt bad. “Need any help with that?” I offered, standing up and waiting for the initial fierce pounding in my head to settle to a dull roar before I walked over to where dad was standing.
Dad turned around to look at me, a sheepish look on his face. “Oh, yeah, sure. I can't quite figure out how to work this,” he said, also sounding like he couldn't quite believe that I knew how to work it.
I walked over to the coffee machine, pressed the required buttons and made my dad a fresh, steaming cup of coffee.
“Here you go,” I said affably, trying not to yell 'in your face' as I handed him the mug.
“Thanks, son,” he said, taking the mug, which was good because I would have dropped it.
Did he just call me son? He hasn't done that in- ever!
An awkward silence ensued as I resumed my seat on the bar stool, taking a sip of my juice. Dad came to join me, sitting down opposite me as he nursed his java. His eyes fell on Shane's old notebook and he picked it up like the nosy bugger that he is.
“What's this?” he asked.
See, I said it. Nosy as hell.
“It's my bucket list,” I replied, deciding not to queer the deal by saying something along the lines of 'none of your business'. It was obvious that, for whatever reason, dad was trying his best to be nice to me today. The least I could do was return the favor. Dad rarely showed an interest in what I had to say or do, so this was all new to me.
Snorting derisively, dad's eyes flickered across the page. “Are you still on that? Doesn't the fact that I've got the best Neurosurgeon in America to operate on you mean anything to you?”
To my surprise, he sounded hurt, like I had insulted him in some way by continuing to work on my list even though I had Dr. Khan taking care of my health.
“It does mean a lot,” I said with feeling, swallowing. “I just- I want to be prepared for whatever happens.”
Dad's eyes flicked up to my face. “You're not going to die, if that’s what you're trying to say,” he told me, sounding gruff.
I shrugged, not wanting to get in to a fight by asking him how he could be so sure. I knew the mortality rates for aneurysms, and they weren't really that promising. But this was the exact kind of negativity that I didn't want to deal with, especially this early in the morning.
“If that's true, at least I'll have done a lot of the things I've been wanting to do for a long time,” I replied carefully, not wanting to rock the boat.
Dad grunted again, reading my list more carefully. Suddenly, he chuckled as I stared in surprise. Holy shit, he was starting to freak me out. Looking up at me, he waved the notebook. “Mile high club, huh?” Was that a glimmer of respect I saw in his eyes? “I guess you really are my son, after all.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from saying 'was that ever in question'?
Of course it had been in question, according to my grandmother on dad’s side (she had been pretty much the only member of the Astor family who didn't act like I was invisible) dad had been gunning for a DNA test as soon as I was born.
“I guess,” I muttered, staring at my hands. There he went again, always making a snide comment here, a mean remark there. Just like Ahmed. Negativity ruled their lives. Well, I had my positive little star, a star called CiCi, and I didn't want any part of their negative energy.
“Is your friend still helping you with your 'bucket list'?” dad asked, making air quotes as he said the words bucket list. Like he thought it was a joke to me, instead of being the most serious thing I'd tackled my whole life.
“Yeah.”
Dad rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “So what’s the deal with Miss Sawyer anyway?” he asked curiously. “She your new conquest or what?”
I stared at him, running a hand through my uncombed hair. “She's not a conquest,” I replied shortly.
“Then why the hell would you go from Joanna to her?” dad asked, sounding as though he really had to know. “I mean, Lord knows she's a looker, but despite that, isn't she a downgrade?”
Great, now he was going to pull out the snob card and start bashing her coz she didn't come from money.
Putting on my blank face, I asked, “Why? Because she's poor?”
Dad blinked. Looking uncertain for the first time in years, he finally replied “Okay, yes. That's what I meant to say, I suppose. You should know that Astor's don't usually date people of such – low class.”
I shrugged. “Maybe the Astor's are about to get less shallow.”
Well, it had to start sometime, right? Hopefully Faith would follow that route and stay humble instead of turning into a shallow airhead like some of my cousins.
Snickering, dad said, “Are you talking about you?” He seemed amazed and I glowered darkly at the granite table top. “Since when did you turn into Mr. Humanitarian?”
Evenly, my voice not betraying the anger sweeping through me, I said, “Since never. I just used to be closed minded. Now I'm not.”
Dad gave me an assessing look, then bared his teeth in a knowing grin. “You're just hanging out with her to piss me off, aren't you?” he exclaimed, amused. I shook my head no, frowning as he continued. “Yes you are, but it'll get old. Everything does with you, Luke. You have a short attention span. Must be a gift from your mother, because you sure didn't get it from me.”
He laughed at his own wit as my hands clenched in my lap. When was he going to understand that anything I did didn't revolve around him?
“Not in this case.”
Dad stood up, picking up his newspaper. “Mark my words,” he intoned, shaking the paper dangerously close to my face, “I know you pretty well.”
“Not as well as you might think,” I muttered, feeling heated as dad strode out of the kitchen and on his merry way. Guess he wasn't truly satisfied until he managed to ruin my mood and get under my skin. Taking a deep breath, I stretched. I just needed to relax. He was just bullshitting, that much was obvious. And he must not really know me that well, because I wasn't hanging out with CiCi to piss him or anyone else off. I was hanging with her because she was understanding, kind and had the most kissable lips. The last one wasn't a great reason to be spending time with anyone, but it was true.
Feeling defiant, I picked up my cell phone and dialed her number.
“Hey Luke! What's up?”
I leaned back against the table, closing my eyes and letting CiCi's sweet voice wash over me. “Nothing much. What you getting up to today?” I asked, hoping against ho
pe that she would say nothing and I'd have her all to myself for the entire day.
“I have to go to work today,” CiCi replied. The disappointment that ran through my body was palpable.
Running a hand through my hair, I said, “Oh. Okay.”
“Why, what are you planning on doing today?” CiCi asked curiously.
I shrugged, my list thrown carelessly to the side. Working on things without CiCi wasn't that much fun. When she wasn't around I missed the way she shivered when I touched her by accident, the way she made up little bits of information then acted like it was the gospel truth, the way she giggled when I said something funny- I just missed her, period.
“I just wanted to finish up with the time capsule,” I said without much enthusiasm.
CiCi gasped. “Luke Astor, you better not be working on burying that time capsule without me! I've always wanted to send a message in a bottle,” she said wistfully. “This is my only chance to do something like this!”
“Well, you said you're working today, so...”
My voice trailed off.
“So?” CiCi sounded indignant. “I only work until 1pm! If you can wait till then, I'd really love to be a part of this.”
Now that was what I liked to hear.
“Why didn't you tell me you only worked till 1?” I griped playfully, my good mood restored.
CiCi giggled. “You didn't ask. So, can I bring something to put in the time capsule?”
Nodding, I replied, “More than one thing, if you want. Like maybe a favorite t-shirt, memento, a keepsake. You know, something that means a lot to you that you'll look at when we open the capsule in a few years and remember the memories associated with it.”
“Gotcha. Do you have your memento's ready?”
I could hear a laugh in her voice, like she was trying not to make fun of me for using that word.
“Hey, I'm bringing the word memento back,” I protested, a grin on my face.
“I'm not doubting that,” CiCi snickered.
“I've pretty much got everything I want to put in the capsule ready and waiting,” I continued. “Oh, wait a second. You know what?”
CiCi giggled again. “Sounds like the start of one of your crazy schemes,” she said.
I snorted. “I don't do crazy schemes.”
“Luke. You took the P.A. Room hostage. You're certifiable.”
Switching the phone to my other ear, I grinned ruefully. “Okay, so maybe I do go a little overboard sometimes-.”
“Cough- ten detentions- cough!”
Obviously CiCi was just trying to be perverse.
“CiCi...” I groaned.
“Fine, I'm done teasing you.” Her voice turned faux attentive. “What should we do, oh wise one?”
Her message in a bottle comment had caught my attention and I leaned forward, eager to tell her my plan.
“We should write letters to each other, seal them and put them in the capsule.”
There was a pause. “Like homework?” CiCi asked finally.
“Well, no.”
“Sounds like homework to me.” She didn't sound too enthralled by the notion. “What kind of letters?”
“You know, what you think of me now, how you'll remember me in the years to come, stuff you think I should change, that kind of thing,” I explained, warming to the idea. “It'll be fun!”
And so, thankfully, did CiCi. Or maybe she just heard the excitement in my voice and didn't want to burst my bubble.
“Let’s do it!” Her voice turned sly. “I can think of a lot that I can say about you.”
My interest piqued. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“You'll have to find out when we open the capsule,” CiCi replied primly.
“Tease.”
***
I met up with a shivering CiCi a block away from Nino's Deli. A brisk wind was blowing, yet she was only wearing a thin sweater.
“My winter jacket's in the wash,” she explained, trembling in my arms as I gave her a long hug. I didn't like to mention the fact that I had only ever seen her wear one jacket the entire time I'd been hanging out with her. She probably didn't think I noticed these things but like I believe I'd once told her, I notice everything. Well, okay, maybe not every little damn thing, but I knew for damn sure that CiCi only had one winter jacket and that made me feel some kind of way.
Ignoring her protests, I immediately pulled off my hoodie and draped it across her shoulders.
“Put it on,” I commanded, yanking the small shopping bag from her cold fingers so she could put her arms through the sleeves of the hoodie.
“Luke, you'll freeze,” she exclaimed, staring aghast at me in my long sleeved t-shirt. I grinned slightly. How could I freeze when I wasn't even cold?
“No I won't,” I assured her, miming zip up motions as I stood in front of her. “You need it more than I do and I was brought up to be a gentleman so zip up and shut up.”
CiCi hid her smile with her hand as she reluctantly zipped up my hoodie. “My, how gallant,” she said sarcastically. I smirked at her as she continued. “If I see even a single goosebump on your skin I'm taking this jacket off and giving it back to you.”
“But how will you know it’s from the cold, considering I get goose bumps when I touch you?” I asked jokingly, wrapping my arms around her neck and staring into her gorgeous eyes.
“Um...” she said nervously. I grinned wider.
“Don't worry, I'm good,” I told her. “And if I do get cold, all I have to do is kiss you, really. That'll get my blood circulating in no time.”
“Huh.” CiCi gave me an uncertain look, not sure if I was joking or not, so I decided to show her what I meant.
Cupping her face in my rather chilly hands, I said, “See? My hands are cold as ice.”
“Okay, but I don't get-,” CiCi started, right before I softly pressed my lips against hers. Man, I just loved kissing her in mid-sentence. And I just loved kissing her period. Her body tensed for an instant, then relaxed as she wrapped her arms loosely around my neck, kissing me back as we stood in the middle of the sidewalk.
Gently, I pulled back, grinning at the dazed look on CiCi's face. “See? Now my hands are warm.”
***
We decided to make a pit stop at a local diner to sort our goodies out and get some grub. I was starving. Well, can you blame me? I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast (a bowl of fruit loops 'made' by Faith). And I knew CiCi was always down for some food, which was why I was surprised when she ordered salad and water from the surly waitress who took our order.
“Really?” I asked her as the waitress popped her gum impatiently.
Flushing slightly, CiCi said, “I'm not really hungry, Luke. I had a sub at Nino's.”
She was lying, that much I knew. I could tell from the way she had carefully scrutinized the menu before ordering the cheapest item on it. Maybe she thought she was going to have to pay for it and she didn't have much money? Even though thinking that way made me feel like an asshole, I was probably right. CiCi was just independent like that. It made me feel like an unthinking jerk. For me, money wasn't a thing. I could just charge everything to my credit card. I always forgot that there were some people who had to watch every penny they spent and CiCi happened to be one of them.
The waitress barked out, “Is that everything for you?”
I looked up at her scowling face. “Um, can I get two burgers, two large fries with cheese dip and two strawberry milkshakes? No salad or water. I don't think any of us are on a diet.”
“No, Luke, I'm fine with the water and salad,” CiCi said hastily.
“Relax, CiCi. It's on me,” I said soothingly, placing my hands over hers. She shot me an apprehensive look which I pretended not to see.
Rolling her eyes heavenward, the waitress made a grand sow of scratching out CiCi's order on her notepad.
“So two burgers, two large fries, cheese dip, two strawberry shakes. Any other changes?” she asked, borderline rudely.
I
exchanged a quizzical glance with CiCi. Somebody was obviously in a grumpy mood. I guess working in a place like this didn't really help matters. The diner was filled with old, drunk, pervy guys who kept pinching their respective waitresses butts.
“No. Thanks, though,” I said politely.
As she stomped off, I'm quite sure she muttered, “Whatever.”
“Quite the charmer, isn't she?” I joked, grinning at CiCi. She didn't smile back, fixing me with an upset look instead.
“Luke,” she started wearily. I had an inkling of what was coming, but I decided to play dumb. “You didn't have to get me the fries. Or the burger. I told you, I'm not that hungry. The salad would have been enough.”
“And I told you that it’s on me. Don't worry about it. Besides,” I said, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles, “what kind of guy would I be if I took a pretty girl on a date and expected her to pay?”
With her mouth half open, CiCi stared at me, wide eyed. It always made me laugh whenever I managed to render her speechless because I could practically see her mind whirling, trying to come up with a response.
“But if this was a date, you would have your arm around me,” she breathed finally.
Grinning at her, I scooted around in the booth till I was sitting next to her, put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her against me.
“Better?” I whispered, kissing her forehead.
Smiling sweetly up at me, CiCi murmured, “Much. And thank you.”
“No problem.” I snickered. “I just can't believe you ordered water! Girls are so complex!”
“And guys aren't?” CiCi asked, pursing up her lips. “You know, Luke, science has proved that-.”
As soon as CiCi pursed up her lips to give me a little nugget of info that she no doubt made up herself, I grabbed my reusable bag from across the table, opened it and pulled out the time capsule.
“And here's the capsule,” I announced, stopping CiCi in mid-sentence.
“Ooh, it’s so cool!” she enthused. “It looks exactly like a rock! I guess that’s the point, huh?”