Falling Harder

by W. H. Vega

  “Yeah,” I admit, “But so are you.”

  “I’m used to it,” he says, closing the space between us. “Come on. Let’s just curl up and go to sleep, OK? You want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

  I stand up and make my way to the closest couch, stretching out luxuriously. In the darkness, I can just make out Trace’s balanced, beautiful shape. The tension of our situation isn’t the only thing that’s evaporated with the help of this herbal remedy. My inhibitions seem to have faded away like the morning dew as well. I realize that Trace and I are utterly alone, and a new thought occurs to me.

  “Will you hold me, Trace?” I ask, opening my arms to him.

  “Of course,” he says, lowering himself onto the sofa beside me.

  There’s plenty of room for us, and he pulls me flush against his body. I rest my hands on the firm panes of his chest, pressing my body against his. We’ve been circling each other for months, now. And finally, the time seems right. Imploringly, I raise my lips to Trace’s. As ever, he accepts my kiss, opens himself to me. The tips of our tongue brush against each other, and I know exactly what it is I want.

  “Trace,” I breathe, pulling away from him just an inch, “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Of course,” he says, running his hand through my hair.

  “I...uh...the thing is,” I stammer, “I’m a...virgin.”

  The pause that follows my admission seems to stretch on for an eternity. Trace peers down at me, searching my face for meaning and intention.

  “I guessed that you were,” he says, “I mean...when would you have had the chance to...you know. I just figured, I guess.”

  “That doesn’t creep you out?” I ask.

  “No. Why would it—”

  “I don’t know. You’re a lot more experienced than I am,” I laugh nervously.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says, “Doesn’t change anything between us.”

  “Yeah, OK,” I smile.

  Trace takes my face in his hands and kisses me, deeply. I rake my fingers lightly through his sandy blonde hair savoring the taste of him. My head is light and empty, the only thought I can muster is that I want him.

  I stretch my body out against his, throwing a leg over his hip. His hands wander down my sides, memorizing the curves of me. A moan almost escapes my lips as I flatten myself against him, feel that telltale pressure that even I can’t mistake. He wants me as much as I want him—I know it.

  With trembling fingers, I reach for Trace’s belt and snap open the buckle. His body tenses instantly, and I feel his startled glance on my face.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  My face burns in the dim light. “I just...I thought maybe tonight was, you know. The night.”

  The pained expression that crosses his face is worse than any kind of rebuff or rejection. It’s like he feels sorry for me or something. I blink away tears as they threaten to spill down my flaming cheeks.

  “Nadia,” Trace says softly, “There’s nothing I want more in the world than to share that with you. To be the one who gets to show you...everything.”

  “But?” I prompt, embarrassed by my eagerness.

  “But I’m not going to let you lose your virginity on a dirty couch in a drunk’s basement, stoned out of your brilliant mind,” he tells me, “You deserve so much better than that.”

  “Why?” I scoff, “What makes me so fucking special?”

  “Nothing makes you special. You just are, Nadia,” Trace tells me, “When it happens between us, and it will...it’s going to be so much better than this. Trust me.”

  “OK...” I say, exhaustion rushing in to whisk me away. “I trust you, Trace.”

  “I’m so glad you do,” he tells me, kissing my forehead. “Now come here and rest, would you? We’ve got school in a couple of hours.”

  I snuggle against Trace’s tall form and let dreams rush in around me. My nighttime journeys are as addled by the pot as my waking world. Visions of explorers’ ships, and icebergs, and shattered glass, and looming figures all collide to create kaleidoscopic visions of pain and passion. But all the while, Traces me close. All the while, I know that I’m as safe as I’ve ever been in my life.

  Thirteen

  Trace

  Merry Christmas

  I’ve never been a big fan of Christmas, personally. Even setting aside the whole Baby Jesus thing, it’s not the sort of thing that appeals to me. Maybe I’d have a different opinion if I’d grown up in a different home, with parents who got a kick out of sleigh bells and cookie crumbs. In my house, any extra cash that might have gone toward buying me a baseball mitt or something tended to go straight into my parents’ veins.

  A lot of years, I wasn’t even with them for the yuletide festivities. Being a foster kid is always rough, but it’s even rougher when you’re the only kid in your second grade class who doesn’t have an answer to the “what did you get for Christmas this year?” question.

  But even with sixteen shitty Christmases at my back, even with a crumbling foster home and a psychotic drunk lording over me, I can’t help but feel a little excited about the whole thing this year. It’s ridiculous, I know, and I’d never admit it to anyone. But there’s something about having finally found Conway, and Garrick, and especially Nadia, that makes me think there might be something to this holiday thing. Maybe all that was missing for me all those years were people I loved.

  Conway almost faints when I suggest that we all chip in for a Christmas tree. The idea hits me on the way home from school, and slips right out of my mouth. We’ve just finished the last half day of school before winter break, so now’s the time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Conway so excited about anything. Nadia’s never celebrated a real holiday in her life, so she doesn’t get too worked up. Garrick thinks that I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

  “How the hell can you be thinking about home fucking decor at a time like this?” he asks me incredulously from the passenger seat.

  “Maybe it will boost morale or something?” I suggest.

  “I seriously doubt it, man,” he says, “You’re just making the same mistake that the rest of the country makes every year. People think that they can chase away their problems with Christmas carols and eggnog, bury them under a mountain of wrapping paper, and call it a day. Well, that’s not how it works, Trace. You know how many people kill themselves during the holidays? It’s a bunch of bullshit. You don’t even believe in god! What the hell do you want to do Christmas for?”

  “Stop being such a buzz kill,” I say, rerouting to the shabby Christmas tree stand that someone’s set up next to the gas station.

  “I’m just saying,” Garrick all but pouts, “It’s a stupid idea. And it’s not going to fix anything.”

  “What would you rather do?” Conway asks from the backseat, “Sit around all through winter break and trade notes about how miserable we are?”

  “It would be more honest,” Garrick says.

  “What do you think, Nadia?” I ask, “You’re awfully quiet back there.”

  “I’ve haven't had a Christmas tree in years,” she says, “Or a Christmas, for that matter. Maybe it would be fun?”

  “Majority rules,” I say to Garrick.

  “Ya’ll are a bunch of sentimental morons,” he grumbles.

  In retaliation, I switch the radio from Biggie to some horrible, generic Christmas music station. The tunes are saccharine and absurd, but we all get a laugh out of how much they make Garrick want to puke. I pull up to the patch of scraggly Christmas trees, and the four of us pile out onto the sidewalk. The miniature forest is being overseen by a bearded, nearly-spherical man in his fifties. He could pass for Santa himself, if Santa decided to ditch the red suit for a ratty parka and Chicago Cubs beanie.

  “Hi!” Conway says cheerfully, stepping up to the man, “We’re here to buy a Christmas tree!”

  “Oh goody,” he replies flatly, “Which one do you want?”

  “Oh god...I don’t know,” Co
nway says, deliberating over handful of options.

  “Just pick one so we can get on with this,” Garrick says.

  “Let her take her time,” Nadia says.

  “I want...this one,” Conway declares proudly, pointing to the largest and least-patchy tree on the block.

  “Whatever,” says the round man, “You want it on the hood, or what?”

  Garrick and I help him hoist the thing up onto my car and tie it down with twine. Conway’s excitement is starting to infect the rest of us. Nadia’s grinning by the time we set off for home, and even Garrick seems a little less sullen.

  I turn up the radio until our ears are ringing with all things merry and bright. It’s a ridiculous exercise, but it’s doing the trick. Maybe this year, Christmas won’t be the festering shit hole it usually turns out to be.

  Paul isn’t home when we get back with the tree, and all the better. It takes a little maneuvering to get the thing into the basement, and my hands get covered in sap and pointy needles. But after a couple of stubbed toes and a lot of cursing, we lean the thing up against the basement wall and take a collective gander.

  “What do we do with it now?” Nadia asks.

  Conway leaps up onto the couch and pulls down a string of Christmas lights from the ceiling. “We decorate it, of course!” she chirps.

  There are very few things I know for certain, in this world. But one thing that’s absolutely sure is that there’s never been a junkier Christmas tree than the one we've thrown together. The lights are jumbled and bunched, our ornaments are crushed beer cans and scraps of newsprint, and there’s a hockey helmet where an angel would otherwise be.

  It’s a total mess, but it’s our mess—and I can’t help but be a little proud of our effort. We may be in the middle of crisis, but damn it if we aren’t nailing this whole Christmas thing.

  “So, what happens next?” Garrick asks.

  “Well,” Conway says, “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We need to stock up. We need eggnog, and candy canes, and presents, and—”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Garrick says, “When have you ever even had a Christmas?”

  “I haven’t really,” Conway says, “I just watch a lot of made-for-TV movies.”

  “Right,” Garrick says, “Well, if we’re going to do this thing, I guess we might as well do it right.”

  “I can cook us a nice dinner,” Nadia offers, “What the hell do people eat on Christmas?”

  We trade glances and shrug. None of us have much experience with tradition, or any for that matter.

  “You know what sounds good?” I say, “Chinese food.” A chorus of agreement rises from the group.

  “We’re actually going to do this?” Conway asks, “You guys promise?”

  “Sure, kiddo,” Garrick says. He may act all tough, but he’s got a soft spot for Conway a mile wide.

  We all buzz around for the rest of the night, Christmas-ifying the joint. Part of me knows that this is just a desperate attempt to forget about our cluster fuck of a home life, but I try and ignore that part. I only have a few more months with these guys until I’m set free from foster care forever, and I plan to enjoy them come hell or high water.

  I’m not going to let that asshole Paul ruin what time I have left with my makeshift family. This is the last chance I’ve got to do the Christmas thing with people I care about, and I’m going to do it right for once. Besides, I think that we deserve at least one night where we all get to be happy. One night...is that so much to ask?

  As I watch Nadia arrange a bunch of action figures into a makeshift nativity scene, a thought occurs to me: I should get her a Christmas present. Her first Christmas present since she lost her parents. I imagine her eyes lighting up as I hand her a gift-wrapped box with a big-ass shiny bow on time. Hell, it’s the least I can do. She’s given me more in the few months I’ve known her than I could ever make up for.

  “I’ll go out on a grocery run,” I say to the group, “Be back in a few.”

  “Can I come?” Nadia asks, following me toward the stairs.

  “Nah, it’s OK,” I tell her. “I’ll be back in a second and a half. Besides, that nativity scene needs work.”

  “Screw you,” she grins, punching me lightly on the arm.

  “I can pick up some mistletoe on the way home too if you want,” I tease, resting a hand on her hip. She cocks her head at me playfully, and my heart skips a beat or two.

  “Mistletoe’s just for kissing,” she replies, her voice so low that only I can hear her.

  “True,” I say, “Do you have something else in mind?”

  “You know I do, Trace,” she says in all seriousness, “I’m ready, you know.”

  “I know,” I tell her, “I just...Things have been so shitty here lately. I want you to be happy when we...you know. I don’t want it to be another bad memory for you.”

  “Look around,” she says, smiling at our ridiculous tree, our little safe haven down here underground. “We’re pretty great at making good memories, despite all odds.”

  She’s right. Somehow, even with everything that’s gone wrong these past few months, we’ve managed to build something together that defies logic. I think back to all those nights just sitting in the park, or splitting cheese fries at the diner, or stealing a kiss in the basement when no one was around. We have made memories together, amazing memories, even while the rest of our worlds were absolute shit.

  An insistent throbbing starts up in the very core of me as I realize that we don’t have to wait, if we don’t want to. I’m not pressuring her, I don’t have to protect her from making her own decisions about what she does with her body. She wants me as much as I want her...which is a hell of a lot.

  I’ve been waiting for this, hoping for it, since the first time we kissed—even if I never admitted it to myself. With every other girl I’ve slept with, the very thought of sex seemed vulgar, detached, insignificant. But the thought of me and Nadia...it’s a whole other ballgame. It’s the real thing.

  I lock eyes with Nadia and take her hands in mine. “You’re positive?” I ask.

  “Absolutely,” she breathes. “I know it’s crazy to say this, with all the crap that’s happened lately, but I haven’t been this happy in years, Trace. Not since my parents...you know. Something terrible could happen tomorrow—we could get split up, Paul could throw us out, who knows—but right now we’ve still got everything we need. We’ve got each other, and Garrick, and Conway. We might as well enjoy ourselves while we can, don’t you think? Don’t you think we deserve that?”

  “I do,” I tell her intently, “You’re right. I’m more than ready if you are.”

  “Well, I’m not talking about right this second,” she laughs, “You have tinsel to buy or something. But...tonight? What do you say?”

  I don’t say anything. I simply close the space between our bodies and bring my lips to hers. Across the room, Garrick makes elaborate puking sounds—my best friend, ever the good old cock block.

  “Get a room, you two,” he says.

  “Fuck off,” I reply, sharing a private smile with Nadia. I turn away from her, tamping down the excitement that’s coming to a boil inside of me.

  Tonight. I can wait until tonight. One thing’s for sure, though. I need to find one hell of a present for Nadia. What the hell are you supposed to get a person as a Christmas/let’s make love for the first time gift?

  I’ll just have to improvise, I guess.

  ~~~

  I stride out to my car, not even bothering to disguise the spring in my step. I don’t know what I did to convince Nadia that I was worth a minute of her time, but Jesus am I glad she gave me a shot. As I take off on my quest for the right gift, I can’t help but let my imagination go a little haywire with thoughts of what might lie in store for the two of us, someday.

  Out of nowhere, images of Nadia and I in the future start to scroll through my head like a slideshow of what-if’s. I picture cheering at her college graduation, presenting her
with a huge bouquet of roses after she accepts her law degree from some Ivy League university.

  I imagine us finding an apartment in some nice-ish corner of the city, painting the walls whatever color we like, taking turns making dinner and washing the dishes. I think of what it would be like to pick out an engagement ring for her, where I’d propose, how gorgeous she would look in a white dress and veil.

  These are not the sort of things I ever dreamed would be a part of my life. I always assumed that I’d bounce from one chick to another for the rest of my days, because who would be crazy enough to fall in love with me? But somehow, I’ve hoodwinked this incredible person into keeping me around. I’m not going to fuck this up. I’m not going to run away from something just because it’s good. I’m going to be the best man I possibly can for Nadia, whatever it takes.

  I stop at a dozen shops, searching for something to give Nadia for Christmas. What do you give the least materialistic, most selfless person in the world? At a loss, I swing into a tiny thrift shop and hurry inside, hoping that I’ll find something here. I pick my way through racks of vintage clothes and kitschy doodads, but nothing jumps out at me. Nothing seems right.

  Just as I’m about to call it and try yet another store, something catches my eye in the glass case beneath the cash register. A tray of tiny golden charms sits there, all but forgotten among the other, flashier costume jewelry. I peer into the case, scanning the collection. There are horseshoes, stars—all the lucky charms in the world. But finally, I see it, the thing I’ve been looking for.

  It’s charm in the shape of a rolled-up map, nestled among the hearts and rainbows. I think of Nadia’s favorite necklace, the one she’s worn every day since I’ve known her. The little compass she wears over her heart could use a companion, I think.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the bored-looking clerk, “I know this might be a stretch, but...do you guys gift wrap?”

  Fourteen

  Nadia

  Trace's Gift

  “Are you kidding me?!” Conway squeals, clutching my hands in hers. We’re huddled together in the kitchen, away from Garrick’s perked-up ears.