by Lisa Sorbe
—we will never be more than friends, and to give in to this now will only make things a thousand times more difficult tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the next…
A snowflake’s kiss is all I get, though, because Gabe starts to whine.
Adair sighs, lifting his chin to place the kiss that I’ve been waiting for my entire life onto the tip of my nose before leaning his forehead against mine. We pull apart, the heat from our breath silvering the space between us.
My body is on fire; I don’t feel the snow, the wind, the cold…
But Gabe does, because his whine turns into a high-pitched bark that finally shocks me back to my senses. He’s standing on two legs, one front and one rear, his little body shivering as he shifts back and forth between the two.
“Oh, my goodness,” I moan, bending down and picking him up. “I’m so sorry, little guy. What horrible people we are, huh?” I hug him to my chest and nuzzle his soft head while Adair checks his paws.
“He’s fine. But let’s get him inside. I can barely feel my own toes and I’m wearing boots.” He flashes me a crooked smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning toward the house. I follow, wading through drifts that seem to have doubled in the short time we’ve been out here and feeling like a complete idiot.
Because what the heck was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking.
I was listening to my heart instead of my head.
And that’s the problem.
Fourth of July – 14 Years Old
I awoke the second time that night to the feeling of being under water. Like I’d been beneath the surface too long and my head, my lungs were going to burst.
Did I pass out?
I must have passed out.
Maybe I’d simply fallen asleep. Just a little cat nap, like the ones my dad took after work and right before dinner.
That’s right. I fell asleep. I fell asleep, and I was dreaming, dreaming…
Then why did I ache? Why did every bone in my body feel twisted and bruised?
I peeled my sticky eyes open. Felt the muscles along the back of my neck protest as I lifted my head off the pillow.
The room seemed to glow. Where before it was as black as any twisted pathway to Hell, now it was luminous. Light from the moon radiated in through the room’s only window, stretching across the carpet like a celestial doorway to another realm.
I closed my eyes and wished I could walk through it. Right through it. Out of this life and into another.
Because something happened. Something I could name but didn’t want to.
But I felt it. In every inch of my body, I felt it.
“Do you really think all the women I date are floozies?”
Adair sounds truly concerned, and I can’t help but chuckle as I peel off a piece of butter roll, swirl it through the remaining gravy on my plate, and pop it in my mouth. I make him wait while I chew, pretending to think. “Yep. No, wait,” I say, holding up a sticky finger. “Lila. She was normal. Well, normal-ish.”
Adair makes a face as he chews. We’re eating leftovers from the giant basket of food my mother sent home with us last night and, from the looks of it, we’ll be eating turkey with all the trimmings for the next several days.
Which is just fine, because we are completely snowed in.
I haven’t been outside yet, but the snow drifts are piled halfway past the kitchen windows, and Adair had to shovel a path in the snow leading from the edge of the back door to a little patch of grass so Gabe could go to the bathroom. “The wee guy would have fallen straight through the drifts and we wouldn’t have been able to find him ‘til next Spring,” he informed me when I stumbled into the kitchen earlier this morning looking for coffee and saw him brushing enough snow off his coat to build an indoor snowman.
“Did you fall in, too?” I muttered back, reaching for the pot and pouring myself a cup. I raised a brow as I took a sip, he flipped me off, and just like that last night never happened.
Except it did.
And I sort of want it to happen again.
The kissing part, not the fighting part.
No, that cannot happen again.
I watch Adair while he eats, cheek plopped in my hand and forgetting my plate in front of me.
He swallows and frowns, scraping his fork around on his own plate. “Now, I don’t think it’s fair to bunch everyone…” His eyes meet mine, and he scrunches his brow. “What’s with you?”
“Um, nothing.” I move my gaze past his shoulder and shake my head. “I thought I saw a spider on the wall.”
Adair twists in his seat, and I drop my forehead to my palm, feeling like a nerd. When he turns back, I pop up, smiling.
“I think you need your eyesight checked, doll.”
I tear off another piece of bread. “I’ve just been wearing my contacts too much. Whenever I do that, my eyes dry out and I can’t see.”
The rest of breakfast passes in silence, and it’s not until I’ve washed the last dish and slid it into the drying rack that Adair comes up behind me and clears his throat.
I have a flashback of last night, and my body tingles.
Only now I’m decked out in an old Flaming Lips concert tee, holey leggings, and a ratty bathrobe, my morning breath mingled with coffee and turkey. Mascara flakes dot the skin under my eyes, and my hair would look perfect if this was the 1985 and I was a backup singer for Cindy Lauper.
I mean, I already have the pink hair.
“What’s up?” I ask without turning. Instead I pull one of the plates I’ve already washed from the rack and pretend to scrape away a piece of invisible food. I bite my lip, wanting him to both go away and move closer.
These contradicting feelings are getting old. But it’s the damn heart waging war with the head, you know? And I’m just stuck somewhere in the middle.
“I have something for you.” Adair tweaks the belt on my robe. “But you kind of need to turn around so I can give it to you.”
Give it to you. Lord, the images that phrase conjures up…
I take my time placing the dish back in the rack before turning slowly, lips pressed together in a stupid grin, my frog smile firmly place.
Adair reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “I was going to give this to you last night, actually. But, you know… Since I kind of ruined the moment, I figured I’d best wait.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about—
surely he’s not talking about the kiss, that kiss, the almost kiss
—when I look down and see him holding a package in his hand.
And no, not that package, for crying out loud. Head, meet gutter.
It’s the present I noticed under the tree on Christmas Eve. The one that looked like it had been wrapped in too much paper and taped with too much tape. I assumed then that it was something for Whatshername and wondered what she’d think of the sad wrap job. Personally, I thought it was adorable, although I doubted very much she’d see the same sentiment in the gesture that I did.
The fact that he got me a Christmas present isn’t what’s throwing me for a loop. We get each other corny little gifts each year. Last year, he got me a Steve Buscemi bobble head that I currently have sitting on my desk at work. I, in return, got him Betty White sheets for his bed.
It’s just, after last night, it seems weird to be doing this right now.
But maybe it’s what we need to get back on track. To truly put what almost happened to rest.
Despite all this, I can’t help it when that stupid frog grin turns into a real smile. I hold up a finger. “Wait a sec, ‘kay? I have something for you, too.”
I rush off to my room, and when I return, robe flapping in my haste, I find Adair in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the tree, fire roaring and every twinkling Christmas light lit. Falling into a sit across from him, I curl my legs under me and hold out his gift. “Mine first.”
&nbs
p; He takes it, eyes shining, and gives it a shake. “Well now. What have we got here?” He smiles at me as he opens it, laughs a deep, rolling laugh when he lifts the lid of the box. “Now how did you know?”
I shrug, snorting back a laugh as he holds the elephant boxers up, the “trunk” part swinging between the legs. “I thought Whatshername would find those sexy. Don’t you think?”
Adair flips the shorts, studies them one more time before folding them into a pile at his side. “Whatshername,” he says, lifting a brow and pinning me with his stare, “won’t be seeing them.”
I arch a brow. “What? Really?” A weird combination of elation and guilt floods through me. I know they argued my first night here, but since Adair hadn’t mentioned it since and I didn’t want to bring it up, I just shoved it to the back of my mind. Needless to say, I’m shocked. Woman don’t break up with Adair. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? She broke up with you because you’re letting me stay here and I ruined the whole holiday-party-for-two-thing you guys had planned. God, I’m so sorry. I…”
He holds up a hand, silencing me. “Now don’t worry your head. It wasn’t your doing. I…” He takes a deep breath, blows it out with a huff. “I ended things with her.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the loose belt on my robe and nod. That makes more sense. Adair never stays coupled up for long. Not that he really does a relationship so much as the women just sort of cling to him. “So,” I say, trying to joke, “how’d she take it? Because from what I heard the other night, she has quite the temper. I can’t imagine it went smooth.”
“Yeah, she was looking to hop on, though I don’t know why. She knew we were casual.”
My laugh is a cackle. “Really, Adair? Really?”
His eyes are wide. “What? I didn’t lie. I made it clear right from the start that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. And she agreed. Said the same, actually.”
I just shake my head. “Of course she agreed. It’s why every woman you’ve ever dated agrees with you in the beginning. They’ll say whatever they think you want to hear so they can get a foot in the door. Or an ass in your bed, I should say.”
Adair just grumbles something about my bum being out of the window and, even though I have no idea what the heck it means, I’m pretty sure it’s an insult.
I roll my eyes. “Grumble at me all you want, but you know I’m right. You totally lead them on, too.”
“Now that,” he says, pointing at me, “is a bunch of rubbish.”
“Don’t be mad.” I bat my eyelashes and make a swoony face, dropping my voice to reflect a southern lilt. “It’s just your way, what with that charming personality you have! Why, you’ve even managed to make little old me weak in the knees a time or two, sugar.” I snicker, holding the back of my hand to my forehead and pretending to fan my face.
When Adair doesn’t laugh, just looks at me in that intense way he did last night, I realize my joke wasn’t so funny, after all.
Because it wasn’t a joke. And we both know it.
I clear my throat. Look down and fiddle with my belt again. “Time to move on then, huh?”
“Actually, I was thinking of taking a break.”
I bite my lip. Consider his words.
When I look up, his gaze is resting on my mouth.
I press my lips together and he immediately looks away. “There’s more in that box,” I say, a little too loudly.
“There is?” Adair rifles through the tissue paper, releasing a laugh that sounds more like a pent-up exhalation when he pulls out the buffalo plaid trappers hat. Gus always looks so ridiculous yet endearing in his and watching him done the silly-looking hat over the last two months gave me the idea to get one for Adair. Lord knows he can use it in this climate.
He immediately pulls it over his head, strawberry blonde locks poking out from under the wool-lined material, and flashes me a dopey grin. One ear flap is up and the other is cocked out to the side, and he looks like a dork. A hot, sexy, dork, albeit.
I slap my hand over my mouth and giggle. “You look like a dork.”
“Well,” he drawls, “considering dork is your brand of sexy, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I scrunch up a piece of discarded wrapping paper that’s sitting between us and chuck it at him. He bats it away easily.
“I love it, really.” He strikes a pose. “Sexy lumberjack, yeah?”
I laugh even harder. “You wish.”
He smirks and plucks the hat off. “This thing really locks in the heat, huh?” he says, swiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
I smile, pleased. “That’s the point. Now I don’t have to worry about you succumbing to pneumonia because you aren’t wearing a hat when you’re outside shoveling in below zero temps.”
He clutches his chest and pretends to tear up. “She likes me. She really likes me.”
I just stare at him, pretending to be unamused.
“Fine, ya fun hater.” He nudges my gift my way. “Your turn.”
I grab the gift, the wrapping paper bulky beneath my palms. “I can only imagine,” I say, fingering the sloppy tape job. It’s surprisingly heavy. “I’m guessing… Severus Snape candle holder? Saved By The Bell box DVD set? Dean Winchester leggings and matching sweatshirt?”
Adair leans back on his hands, kicks his legs out, and crosses one foot over the other. “Open it and see.”
There’s something in his voice, a vibration that I can feel in my fingertips. I laugh it off, ripping layer after layer of wrapping to get to the box. “Jesus, Adair. What’d you do? Roll the box around in the…” The words die on my lips.
I’m speechless. Not because I can’t think of anything to say—I can think of plenty of things to say—but because my heart just jumped up in my throat, blocking my airway and making it difficult to breathe.
So I sit here, cross-legged on the floor, the open present clutched in my sweaty grip, and count the breathless seconds in my head like I did back when I was on the swim team and we all tried to see who could stay under water the longest.
“Bets?”
The concern in Adair’s voice shakes me out of my stupor, and I’m finally able to pull a breath past the hammering beat of my heart. “What’s this?” Reality is waging war with disbelief right now, and my words come out in a croaky whisper.
He frowns, confused, and laughs a shaky laugh. Because I’m sure I’m scaring him.
But I don’t care, because right now he’s scaring the hell out of me.
“What do you mean?” His brows needle together, concern etched in the lines of his face. “Did I get the wrong one? If I did, I can exchange it. I asked around, and everyone said this was the best of the best.”
It is the best of the best. The very best of the best. And that’s what’s freaking me out.
“Adair, seriously. I… I can’t accept this.” I hold it out to him, my hands shaking just enough to make the box tremble. “It’s too much.”
Adair sits up, crosses his legs, and leans toward me, his lips turning down at the edges. “What? Why? I thought you needed one.”
“I did. I mean, I do… But this?” I swallow hard, gently placing the gift down between us like it’s a bomb or something. “It’s too much.”
In reality, it’s twenty-six hundred dollars too much.
That’s right. The man spent over two thousand, five hundred dollars on my Christmas gift—while I spent fifty on his. And the item I’m holding in my hands is no gag gift.
It’s a camera. Adair bought me a camera. And not just any camera, but the newest in the Canon 5D series. It puts my current style, an old Canon 60D, to shame.
I mean, this thing is choice. It’s so choice.
But still.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Adair takes the box and, pretending like I’m not scooting away and shaking my head, starts to open it. “Let’s see here,” he says, clearly having fun. “What have we got?” He starts to pull the styrofoam protector out, the squeak of the materi
al faint as it slides against the cardboard.
I feel a strange pull in the pit of my stomach, like a phantom thread that’s tugging me in the opposite direction. If I really give in to it, it would pull me right out of this house and back to my mess of an apartment, water damage be damned. Back to the known, the comfortable, the safe. When I roll to my knees and lift my chin so I can see what he’s doing from my spot halfway across the room, he notices and amps up the show. He oohs and ahhs as he pulls the camera from its protective casing, slides the camera strap from the plastic wrap, and thumbs through the instruction manual. When he looks over at me, he smirks and holds the camera body up, gently stroking it like a pet.
“You’re a nerd,” I quip. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. I’m not a kid.”
Adair shakes his head. “Well, you may not be a kid, but you’re sure as shit acting like one.” He says this with a smile, though, and beckons me with a tilt of his head. “C’mon. Get your damn arse over here and play with your new toy. You know you want to.”
There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and before I know it I’m smiling right back.
Yes, Betsy. There really is a Santa Clause.
Fourth of July – 14 Years Old
My body felt like everything in it had been scooped out and replaced with lead.
Just pushing myself up and off the bed took a tremendous amount of effort. Although, thankfully, the room had stopped spinning.
My jean shorts sat bunched in a crumpled pile on the floor, and just the sight of them made the breath that had been, up until now, stuck in my throat start sputtering in quick, shuddering gasps. As I bent over to pick them up—not even remembering how they got there but knowing why they were there—my stomach rebelled. A night light in an adjacent bathroom caught my attention, and I stumbled toward it, hand pressed against my mouth in an attempt to keep what was inside from getting out. I made it to the toilet just in time, clutching the stool with one hand and holding back my hair with the other. I briefly wondered where Taffy was—weren’t friends supposed to be here during times like these so you didn’t have to hold your own hair? That’s what I’d always heard, anyway. But then I remembered that we weren’t friends. Just cousins, only cousins, bound by blood and nothing else. And blood, in my family, had never seemed to count for much.