Stir Me Up

by Sabrina Elkins

  “No. I couldn’t.” Julian’s voice is so quiet I can barely hear him.

  “You will. When you’re ready.”

  Julian shakes his head no. So I just hold him and try—through kisses and caresses—to reach those dark places inside him and fill them with light.

  * * *

  It’s difficult to leave a moment that’s so beautiful. We both wind up pulling gradually away from it. Julian moves away first; my legs right themselves. But still it’s too soon. We wind up lost again in each other’s arms, and I breathe in and the air is fresh and sweet and the forest has taken hold of me as much as Julian has, and suddenly, I’m sad—because I don’t want this to end.

  “Hey,” Julian says, seeing my chin tremble. “What is it?”

  “Back to real life now.”

  “It’s okay. There’s no rush.”

  “I just worry about you and our lives and what’s ahead and...”

  “Shhh...” He holds me, lowers his head to my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Yes, I promise. Please don’t worry.” His arms tighten around me. “Remember what you said to your father after he walked in on us?”

  I hesitate. He hasn’t mentioned this until now, and I know it had an impact on him.

  “Yes.”

  “I love you, too. I should have said it sooner. I love you so much, Cami.”

  Our embrace feels boundless. We kiss and hold each and then slowly, very slowly, break apart, come back to ourselves and get dressed. Julian picks bits of tree out of my hair and then we finish our walk. I think he’ll want to stay at the house and rest awhile, but for some reason he wants to head straight back to Brandon and Claire’s, I think so we can be alone.

  “Are you okay?” I ask as I drive. “Sore at all?”

  He shrugs. He isn’t talking much.

  “Hi,” Brandon greets us when we walk in. “You guys have dinner yet?”

  “Not hungry.” Julian goes straight for the guest room and I give Brandon an apologetic look and trail along after him.

  “Julian, are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Julian reaches up inside his baggy jeans, removes his prosthesis and left shoe, and lies back on the bed. His eyes close.

  “I can get you something—pills, a heating pad. You know, it’s okay with me if you admit you’re sore. Maybe it’s not just the hike, maybe it’s all the stairs here. Dad might let you move back home now that he’s not still so mad at you...” I turn—and see he’s falling asleep. I find a blanket, cover him, and sneak back out to the living room where Brandon and Claire are making dinner.

  “Hey,” Brandon says. “He need something?”

  “He zonked out.”

  “Come have spaghetti,” he offers.

  “Sure, thanks. I like how Julian calls you his brother, by the way.”

  “That’s what I call him.” Brandon hands a glass to me. “You make him very happy, you know.”

  “That works both ways.”

  “Good,” he says with a smile.

  Thankfully, he seems far more fine with it than Dad and Estella do. “You don’t mind it then?” I ask Brandon.

  He’s starting in on making the salad. “Mind what?”

  “You know. That I’m with Julian even though your mom is with my dad.”

  “Why would that bother me? I’m not dating you.”

  Claire rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him. Brandon grins. “Hey, who do you think’s been telling Julian to go for you?”

  “What?” I say, surprised.

  “Oh, sure. He was hot for you from the first. He was like, ‘and then there’s what’s-her-name, your new stepsister.’” Brandon grins.

  Oh my God... “I had a boyfriend then.”

  “I know. Believe me. Okay, we’re ready, dinner’s served.”

  We all head to the table. I’m blown away by this revelation. I mean, Julian explained why he was so surly to me at first. But somehow it’s still surprising to hear he was so aware of it he’d told Brandon, particularly so early on.

  “He wasn’t exactly a prince at first,” I comment. Just curious what they’ll say.

  “He was always a prince,” Claire says with a smile. “Don’t kid yourself.”

  Okay, she has a point there. I can’t help but smile back.

  “You two have been playing matchmaker then?”

  “Just a little,” Claire says. “Hope you don’t mind. Did you ever catch him working out in the gym?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  She grins. “That was my idea.”

  At least they’ve supported us from the beginning. “Were you two behind this idea of his that we each do whatever we want next year, make our plans independently and not really tell each other?”

  “No, that’s him,” says Brandon, slurping noodles and then chewing them down. “I think he just wants to make sure you’re not influenced by what he’s planning. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s hemming you in.”

  “So, I’m supposed to go off without him?”

  Brandon twirls some more pasta on his fork. “He’s got enough money to fly out to see you.”

  The light starts to dawn. “He’s done more than mention this plan to you.”

  “I think he’s right. It’s good for both of you to not limit each other. Just do your thing and try not to worry.”

  “And if he goes back to Afghanistan?” I ask.

  Brandon looks at me. “That won’t happen.”

  I hope he’s right. We finish dinner and do dishes and then I thank them and go in to check on Julian. He’s still sleeping. I touch his cheek and he stirs. “Cami?”

  “What?”

  “I think today may have been too much.”

  Oh shit. “Why? On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?”

  He doesn’t answer at first. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Maybe a five.”

  This from a man who’d probably say losing his leg was an eight. Great, our walk left him in near agony.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “No, wait. It’s not that bad.”

  Yeah right, Julian. I go out into the apartment and catch Brandon sorting the mail. “Bran,” I say.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you have a heating pad? Maybe two?”

  He frowns. “Shit.”

  “It’s my fault. We went for a long hike today.” And mind-blowing detour, I think to myself.

  “Come on. The stuff’s in here.”

  I return to the room carrying two heating pads, muscle cream and aspirin.

  “No,” Julian says. “I don’t need all that stuff.”

  “Too bad. Lie back on the pillows.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Be good or I won’t give you the extra bonus at the end of the visit.”

  “Extra bonus?” he says with obvious interest.

  “Yes. Now, lie back like a good patient.”

  He does—very grudgingly. “I don’t like you nursing me all the time.”

  “All the time? I’ve never done it before.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “So grouchy.” I rub the muscle cream into his left leg while the heating pads get warm. “I seem to remember you taking care of me when I fell and hurt myself.”

  He doesn’t answer. Which means he knows I’m right. I give him the aspirin and some water. Then I put the heating pads over his left leg—thigh and calf. Julian sighs and closes his eyes.

  While he’s not watching me, I peek at his half leg to see if it’s all right, and see the end of it is covered in blisters. I wince. Walking on that must have been terrible.

  “Don’t look at it,” he says.

  “Too late.”

  “Don’t touch it.”

  “I’ll just put some cream on it.”

  He says nothing, but his eyes track my movements as I put the
ointment on the blisters and then rub muscle cream into the rest of his half leg. “There.”

  “Okay, now leave it,” Julian says, still obviously worried. I cover his legs up again and stretch out beside him. He turns to me slightly and runs his fingers through my hair. “Thank you. It feels much better.”

  “Good. Do you want more room?”

  “No, I want less.”

  I move so I’m mostly on top of him and then rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

  “Now you’re really repulsed,” he murmurs.

  “Now I really love you. More than I even thought possible.”

  He considers this. “Why, because I admitted I was in pain?”

  “Yes. And you let me take care of you.”

  “Girls... Aren’t you going to undress?”

  “Eager much?” I ask, smiling.

  “Hey, I’m still waiting for that extra bonus you mentioned.”

  My smile widens. “Extra bonus? I don’t remember anything about an extra bonus.”

  He holds me close. “Cheater.”

  “Now that you’re up and around you’ll run off and leave me.”

  His arms tighten around me. He pushes against my lower back, so I’ll fit more snugly in against him. I was kidding with what I said, but it actually does worry me a little. “I couldn’t,” he says. “You’d chase after me and dice me into a fine julienne.”

  Hah... “I would. Absolutely a fine julienne. Nice big chef word, by the way.”

  “Besides, when I run, it’ll be with you. Would you do a 5k with me at some point?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “We can do it for charity. Breast cancer.”

  Because of his mother, I realize. “Sure.”

  “Mmm,” he sighs. “Maybe next year. In about a year, you know? Maybe we’ll do more than a 5k, maybe we’ll do a 10k. I wonder if I could do that—run a 10k again someday.”

  “Of course you could,” I say. I’m so crazy in love with him. “With prosthetics the way they are now? Please. We’ll fit you with one of those bionic running blades.”

  He grins.

  “Seriously—you name it and we’ll make it happen.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Taryn cries as soon as the curtain lifts on opening night of our last high school musical. The thing is, I don’t know if she’s crying because it’s our last or because she’s not in it. Probably both. I grasp her hand as Les Mis comes to life in front of us, thanks to the chorus teacher who’s been a mentor to Taryn and to all of her closest friends except me.

  “They’re doing great,” she says—kind of miserably.

  When it comes time, early on, for Fantine’s big song, the one she’d have sung herself, Taryn moves forward in her seat to listen to the version this girl Amelia Brookhouse does in her place.

  “She’s nowhere near as good as you,” I whisper to Taryn, though in truth Amelia isn’t all that bad. Taryn knows this; she’s intensely insecure at heart and I can see her ruminating over each note, debating in her head if her acting talents surpass her work as a vocalist, which they do. “She doesn’t even look the part,” I point out.

  Taryn shrugs the comment aside and then sits even more forward in her chair to watch Amelia do all the acting—Fantine’s descent into prostitution.

  Taryn sits back in her seat. “They didn’t even need me.”

  I squeeze her hand. “Hollywood does.”

  “Yeah, as long as they don’t delay shooting indefinitely or write me out of the script.”

  “SHHH!” people around us say.

  We watch the rest of the musical. They had a difficult time rounding up enough boys to do this one. It’s the only real flaw I can see. I had no idea our school could take on a musical like this, but actually they do a fairly respectable job of it. Everyone gives them a standing ovation of course, seeing as how almost all the people in the audience are friends or relatives of cast members. “Should we go backstage and say hi?” Taryn asks.

  Sure, why not. We head backstage where the cast is still in full costume and being swamped by people, many of whom have flowers. It takes more than an hour for us to work through the crowd, find out where the party will be and make it back to my car. Now, we know, we have a good two hours or so to kill before the party gets up to full swing. “I suppose you want to go get Julian,” Taryn says unhappily.

  This, actually, is Taryn’s night. She’s seemed kind of down lately, so I told Julian I wanted to take her to the show myself. He was fine with it—guess missing the musical wasn’t all that heartbreaking to him.

  “Nah,” I say. “Let’s get something to eat instead. I haven’t had anything since lunch.”

  “Sure.” Taryn brightens. “Where should we go? Good? Or bad?”

  “French fries are bad, right?”

  “Oh yeah!”

  We head over to Louie’s, this cheeseburger joint in town. Taryn gets cheese melted on our fries, which strictly speaking isn’t on the menu, but she somehow always manages to get them to make it for us anyway.

  “You know, Cami,” she says, chomping on a cheese-fry. “I think I’m jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of you and Julian. I mean, you’re so crazy about him, and he’s so crazy about you and before that Luke was pretty fine, too. I just don’t have long-term staying power with guys. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No one seems to stick.”

  She’s right, her relationships usually are very short-term, just a few months. But Taryn has a movie deal and wild popularity. “That’s just because you just haven’t found a guy you feel strongly about yet.”

  “I know! I need to find him, like now. Like, here I am. I’m ready. I’m waiting.”

  “Would he have a chiseled jaw and blond hair?”

  “Um...what?” Taryn turns and looks at the two men I’m watching who just walked in the door. They’re complete strangers, probably tourists up for the sugaring season. “Ayy-ahh,” she says. “He’s looking over here. What should I do?”

  “Drop something?”

  Taryn drops her purse onto the floor—only when she does the contents spill out. “Shit!” she says, genuinely, as a lipstick goes rolling away from us. She scrambles to get it—and mister blond and chiseled picks it up for her. “Here you go.”

  They eye each other. “Thanks.”

  “Do you live around here?” he asks.

  “Yes, do you?”

  “We’re just tourists,” he says with a smile. Then they both start speaking at the same time: “Would you like to join us?” “Would you mind if we joined you?”

  Oh brother... They both smile. “Sure. My name’s Taryn.”

  “I’m Aaron.”

  Okay, wait—Taryn and Aaron?

  He and his less-hot friend come and sit at our table. “Hi,” I say. “I’m Cami.”

  The other one, the friend, is very quiet, which is fine with me. I just sit and eat my fries.

  Turns out Aaron’s about to go abroad to teach English in Haiti. I wonder what Taryn’s thinking she’ll accomplish with a grad student from Boston who’s shipping out to Haiti in a few weeks. This has one-nighter written all over it.

  “Are we still going to the cast party?” I ask her.

  She eyes me, like to tell me to shut up. I watch her flirt like crazy with Aaron for what feels like an eternity. Apparently his hobby is oil painting. “I’d love to see your work,” Taryn says. Batting her eyes.

  “I have a few canvasses with me,” says Romeo. “But they’re back in my hotel room.”

  “Oh, well...”

  “Can I see you in the bathroom a minute?” I say to Taryn.

  Now she’s clearly annoyed. “Sure.” She follows me into the women’s room. “What?”

  “This guy is leaving the country soon.”

  “So?” She glowers at me. “Does that mean I can’t see his work?”

  “Like that’s all you’re interested in. You and I both know you’re setting yourself
up to have a one-nighter with this guy. Now, why don’t you just tell him it was nice to meet him and let’s go to the party.”

  “But...”

  “No. You know I’m right. Make good choices.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “He’ll screw you and ditch you. You’ll be lucky to ever see him again. Is that what you want? One night with Mister Gorgeous and Gone?”

  She looks ambivalent.

  “No, Taryn. The answer is no.”

  “Easy for you to say, sleeping with Julian all the time.”

  “He’s leaving! Even if he likes you it won’t work out. And his name rhymes with your name. It sounds stupid together. Taryn and Aaron?”

  “Fine, you win! Anything but two names that rhyme together.”

  She leaves the bathroom and goes back to the table. “We actually really have to be going,” she says. “But I hope you have a wonderful experience in Haiti.”

  “Oh,” says Aaron, all disappointed. “Are you sure you have to leave?”

  “Yes,” I say. “We’re due at a party and we’re late already.”

  I hurry Taryn out the door.

  She is sullen the whole ride over to the party, but her spirits do lift once she’s there. I watch her—watchdog her—for the rest of the night and stay sober myself so I can drive home.

  THANKS, she texts me later. YOU PAIN IN THE ASS ;)

  Yeah, like I don’t feel the exact same way about her at the moment. “So,” Dad says when he sees me. “You figure out what your plan is yet? Where you’ll go? What you’ll do?”

  “No,” I say—and head for my room.

  I have no plan for my life, I text Julian. I’m screwed.

  My phone beeps a minute later.

  Think about what you want to do more than anything else. Except be with me, of course ;) What is it you dream about? Being a great chef? Seeing the world? Exploring new types of cuisine? Owning your own restaurant? A chain of restaurants? Starting your own cooking show?

  How about all of the above? I text. I’m kidding. But his list really is very interesting, and I suspect he’s thought about some of the things he’s mentioned. I scroll back to his text and re-read it, wondering if any of those options are dreams that might be mine.