Burn With Me: New Adult Romance (Take Me Home Book 1) (Take Me Home Series)

by SJ Cavaletti

  Only one last item remained in the box. Taking it up in my fingers, I read it. How could I have guessed this small item, which lay completely ignored, at the bottom of his pail until the penultimate day, would be more important than the others put together?

  Now the pressure was on. Could I? Would I? Should I give it to the only person I’d met this week who might honor it?

  22

  When I was ten, my Mom and Grandma threw me a surprise party. I literally had no clue. No suspicion that anything special would happen that day. I knew we’d have my favorite dinner: lasagne and garlic bread. And I was sure they got me some kind of present. But I had no idea they had been putting together a party for me for the previous weeks.

  I can still remember, almost twenty years later, every last detail. My Grandma said my Mom had to work that afternoon and asked me if I wanted to get a slice of lemon meringue pie at Dodo’s, one of my favorite restaurants. It was my birthday, after all. She convinced me having dessert before dinner was a great way to make the day different.

  After we ate, chatted and took the long way home, we walked into a dark house where the lights switched on in an instant and my Mom, and six friends from school, shouted, “Surprise!”

  That party, that moment of sheer joy and childish delight, was the best present that anyone had ever given me. A surprise. Surprises are rare. Rarer than diamonds. And I hadn’t had one since.

  Until Maeve.

  I had met my fair share of women. I had a high school sweetheart, a cheerleader. Nice girl. Wrong one for me. I had a couple girlfriends and a vast number of flings in my twenties. Again, nice, but not for me. I wanted what didn’t seem to exist.

  A deep woman, worldly, maybe one that thinks too much for her own good. Over the years I’ve had to learn to calm my own wild mind and felt I could complement a woman like that, but I wouldn’t be able to enjoy one that didn’t enjoy processing the world at all.

  I hoped for a woman who was motivated. So that she might understand my motivation and we could push each other, support each other. Smart. Sassy. Yes, sexy, too. A partner.

  I wasn’t far from seeing out my twenties, and I never met a lady that even remotely hit this description. Not even close. I only stayed in my couple relationships because the women were nice and I knew I’d see them cry when I broke it off.

  I had always avoided tears. Especially of the female kind. It reminded me of the times when I’d listened to my Mom crying behind the bathroom door, trying to be silent, but I could hear her sniffles. It was a pain that hit me deep. It made me feel helpless. Seeing a woman’s tears took me right back to the other side of that bathroom door.

  Maeve. She seemed to be all the things I had ever wanted. And strangely, with her, seeing her cry didn’t have the same effect on me. I didn’t want to run away. I wanted to stay and offer her my shoulder until it was soaked with her sorrow, then give her the other one if she still needed it.

  Maeve was all kinds of different. And had bonuses I hadn’t dared to ask for. Her family sounded tight and her Mom was strong like mine. She loved the same kind of music I liked. She came to Uyu. My friends loved her. She was cool as shit but could just let that Pulp Fiction hair down and go with the flow, even if it something wasn’t her style. She looked beautiful with or without makeup. And she rumbled my bed like an AC/DC concert.

  So basically, on paper, she was perfect.

  Maeve was the surprise to trump all surprises. People say love and relationships are about compromise, but I sure didn’t feel like that right now. Call me naïve. Call it a vacation romance. Sue me. Whatever. The girl was perfect.

  I smoothed last touches of pomade through some spiteful strands of hair sticking out like barbed wire.

  “Knock, knock,” El pushed open my door, not waiting for an answer.

  “Hey dude,” I said, not looking away from the mirror.

  “You going to hang out with Maeve today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you told her how you feel yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “You going to?”

  “Not directly. But yeah.”

  I looked at El. He processed what that might mean. Like I said, I surrounded myself with people who process.

  “She’s really cool,” he said. Not able to give this up. Wanting me to tell him more.

  “She is.”

  “She’s the kind of girl I could see you with.”

  “El? We’ve been through this already.”

  “You know me. I just… I lost out. Don’t want to see the same thing happen to you.”

  He scratched his arm, but in a way that I didn’t believe he actually had an itch.

  “I’m sure you’ll meet another one, Doc.”

  “I tried. I need therapy,” he joked.

  “Yeah well, ayahuasca in Brazil isn’t therapy.”

  “It is though…”

  “Yeah, I heard it all.” I sat down and threw on my boots. “I have a plan, dude. I paid attention to your cautionary tale. Don’t worry.”

  And I wasn’t placating him. El was like a big brother. I looked up to him. I listened to his advice and even took most of it. But I had a date and right now just wanted to get out the door. Time wasn’t really a thing at Uyu, but when it came to Maeve, I operated in ASAP.

  “Okay. No regrets is all I’m saying. Also,” he went into the kitchen area and took something out of a cupboard, “Give this to Maeve. For tonight.”

  He threw a small wooden box type thing at me.

  “My gift to her for the ceremony.”

  I gave the item a small once over, knowing what it was. My eyes met El’s and I couldn’t have admired him and loved him more. His gift was considerate. Perfect. And in true El fashion, very necessary. He’d never let a person lack an essential.

  I lifted the gift in my hand. “Thanks, man. That’s really good of you.”

  Untying one of the friendship bracelets from around my wrist, I handed it to Maeve. We stood in front of our last sculpture of the day before we’d head back to get change for the ceremony tonight. The art was two giant hands, reaching out from the ground.

  Each hand must have been at least twelve feet high. They reached from the grey earth as if in praise, or offering. Outstretched to the sky.

  My idea had been better in theory than in practice. Most of the art, it was hard to leave anything on as it wasn’t a sure thing that the bracelet would be found by the artist, and not blow away on the wind instead, contravening one of the most serious festival rules of pack in pack out. But we, mostly Maeve, made the most of this symbolic gesture, and regardless of being able to leave a bracelet there or not, said some words about what her Dad would have liked about that art, or maybe just a general story.

  In doing this with Maeve, I got to scuba dive in her sunken treasure. I learned what lessons she had been told to live by, fun experiences and memories she held on to. Her life had been miles away from my experience and yet somehow, the same.

  Me, growing up with a white Mom, but definitely not being white myself. Me, a poor boy. Me, having barely left the State apart from a road trip to Yosemite and Uyu.

  Maeve. The product of a Boston boy and a Southern Belle. Maeve, worldly both inside and out. Maeve, who lived in a mansion and had never wanted for anything.

  We had taken two different roads but ended up at a singular destination. We dreamed the same dreams.

  I gave her a bracelet, and on this piece of art, constructed much like a giant balsa model I did as a kid, had tubes of lighting wrapped around, so that it would illuminate in the night. There were a lot of places to safely tie the bracelet.

  “What would you call this one?” I asked her. “Unearthed Prayer?”

  Her smile. Her approving, accepting, I get you smile. I loved it. And I had seen it many times today.

  “If I didn’t know you were a lyricist, I would guess you to be a poet. You got those titles down pat. Yeah, not sure I can do better than Unearthed Prayer. But it
kind of looks like an offering, too…”

  She stopped to think. Another expression of hers that made me want to tackle her to the ground and kiss her. She puckered her lips and cocked them to the side. Put a finger to her mouth, furrowing her brows. Then, she loosened it all and bit her nail, just before the thought would come to her dramatic red lips.

  “From Dust I Rise.”

  And then she smiled one of her other smiles. A smile that originated from deep within. Emerging from her memories. It told me her Dad would have loved this one. Not taking her eyes off the enormous hands, some flash of a souvenir played across her eyes.

  From her stories, I knew he was one of the good guys. Maeve was living proof he had been one heck of a dude. It was an honor to get to know him this way, through the art of Uyu. Through his daughter’s stories.

  Maeve tied the bracelet to one of the light tubes.

  “I never asked,” I said, moving closer to her, putting my arm around her waist, “What’s your Dad’s name?”

  She looked up, having finished a double knot, looking content with herself, “Mitch.”

  I offered her my arm like a gentleman and walked her between the enormous hands. I sat down, leaning against the wrist of one, she against the wrist of the other. We touched our feet together.

  “I’m so glad you had a dad like Mitch,” I said.

  Instead of talking about him again, she asked, “It must have been hard? Growing up without a Dad?”

  “Most of the time it just felt normal. I didn’t know anything else. But yeah. Like when I wanted to learn to play football, don’t get me wrong my Mom was out there trying to throw me a perfect spiral, but you know, I noticed then. And a few other times.”

  “Our Moms sound kinda similar. Not that mine would be into throwing a football, she’s not sporty unless it involves Lululemon at the gym with her girlfriends, but in that they are both tenacious.”

  “Tenacious… yeah. That is definitely my Mom.”

  Maeve shook her head and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for our Moms to meet.

  “She did a good job with you,” Maeve said.

  I leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “Thanks. I’ll let her know you said so.”

  “Do.”

  Crawling onto all fours, I leaned closer to Maeve to steal a kiss. This day… it got it all flowing. We didn’t need alcohol or the night to justify us kissing. I grabbed her waist and pulled her onto my lap. It all worked today. Working the way a relationship works when both parties realize that they’ll for sure be talking tomorrow.

  Only that was the part we weren’t sure about. Perhaps we just chose to ignore it. She still hadn’t brought up seeing each other after Uyu, and neither had I.

  It was hard not to let some insecurity creep in at her not talking about it. For me, I didn’t want to look like a creep. Pushing up on a beautiful woman in a vulnerable moment, like I was trying to take advantage of her grief. I knew guys that prowled around bars at two am looking for girls that couldn’t stand anymore. Not my style.

  I needed her to know that my offer of the song, that my support, it was out of genuine human connection, not just wanting to get in her pants.

  But her? Why didn’t she ask me about Seattle? Why didn’t she mention the other side of Uyu? Home? I could only think it was because she didn’t want it. She was a lawyer. She had it all. Maybe she didn’t think a starving artist on her couch was how she wanted to kick off adulting.

  Maeve stood up, and I followed suit.

  “One thing I’m really grateful for,” I said, planting a seed, “From my mom, is work ethic.”

  “Yeah? I bet she was a hard worker. Raising you on her own and just doing life alone can be hard.”

  “Mmm. But also just watching her, and her telling me that nothing in life comes free, it made me unafraid of work. Industry. Getting my hands dirty and rolling up my sleeves. I know nothing in life gets done without grit.”

  There. Now she knew I wasn’t some bum. Not that she ever made me feel like one. Not that she couldn’t love one.

  The real problem, maybe, was whether Maeve was willing to love.

  23

  Will this guy ever ask me to visit him in Seattle or say how much he’s always wanted to visit L.A.? Because that was the only goddamn thing missing from this whole equation. He didn’t. And I couldn’t figure out why.

  We had a total connection. I knew chemistry when I felt it. And this kind? It was a better reaction than what I had felt with anyone before. Hell, Drake and I would have been able to last at least a few months, if not years, on this explosion. Not baking powder and vinegar stuff. Like helium and fire.

  We walked back to our bikes after an incredible day on the Plain.

  “It’s getting late,” Drake said, pointing to the sun.

  “Think you’re right, Sundial.”

  His dimple liked my little joke.

  “Yeah, guess I should get back and change,” I said “Drag parade is at sunset…”

  A crow’s claw strangled my throat. It was tight and scratchy. But that was no surprise. It was nearly the moment of truth.

  Drake slung his backpack around to his front. “Before you go… El asked me to give this to you.”

  In his outstretched hand was a beautifully rounded jewelry box made of polished wood. I took it and looked more closely. The lid was inset with some polished swirly, marbly looking stone. It looked handcrafted and special.

  I looked up at Drake, my eyes questioning. “What? Why?”

  “El didn’t think you’d want to be bringing the entire urn out tonight. Obviously not practical, among other things. He thought you might use this. For a smaller amount of ashes.”

  I traced my finger around the circular inlay.

  “He brought it back from one of his trips to Brazil.”

  “It’s… just… perfect.”

  “He said it’s cedar and Brazilian agate. I’m telling you this because El says that cedar is supposed to represent eternal life. The Egyptians used to use the resin to mummify. And agate is supposed to balance the mind, body and soul.”

  I took a deliberate inhale to stop my emotions from running away. “El is deep.”

  “Yeah. More than you know. Anyway, he thought it was…”

  “Perfect. Something for me. Something for Dad.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Drake took the trinket box from my hands. “Thing is, El isn’t as practical as you might expect a doctor to be,” Drake dug around in his backpack again, “So I brought these, too. Asked Jasmine if I could have some.”

  The wooden box didn’t have a sealed lid. Drake had taken some elastic hair bands and showed me how I could wrap them around the box to keep it safely closed. Then he handed it back to me.

  “That should work?”

  “Drake…”

  I wanted to tell him he was perfect. From end to end, he had to be the most considerate and perfect guy I had ever met. He deserved my love for all the love he gave to me.

  “I don’t know what’s better,” I said, “The box, or the fact that you made it, you know, work.”

  I paused and looked at it again, ran my fingers across the smooth surface, pretending to be casual, “Are you like this all the time? So thoughtful?”

  I wanted him to tell me I was special. But wouldn’t have been surprised if he said it was just his nature. He smoothed some hair behind my ear and lifted my chin.

  “I am,” he gazed into my eyes, “For the people I care about.”

  “So you care about me, huh?”

  Narrow eyes.

  A couple blinks.

  Lips wanting to but refusing to smile.

  Damn, he was cute.

  He licked his lips and through pouty lips said, “Something like that.”

  Later in the afternoon, I knew I’d be running late. It was a drag your feet kind of process. Getting ready for a funeral.

  I put on my most respectful looking outfit. I didn’t know why i
t mattered, but I wore a gown that Peaches had made me for a previous year. A one-sided long black dress. Half black silk, half black see through mesh. It was about as appropriate as I could think of for such an event.

  Thinking again that my Mom could see me through a crystal ball, she would have dropped dead herself if she saw me in a bikini tossing my Dad in the air. At least I could replicate the mood she would have wanted. No one would have dared touch his ashes and scatter them with a hemline above their knee. Not in front of Dixie.

  My dress on, lipstick painted, I took the trinket box El had given me to my car and took my Dad’s urn from its safe spot in the trunk. Then, I went inside my Prius and closed the door. The constant buzz of Uyu had become so familiar over the week that the silence of my car felt eerie, like being in outer space. Or on land after a day long boat trip. Unnatural.

  And my body had used that hum to get through the grief. It used the white noise as a distraction. That, and Drake.

  Holding that urn in my hands again, I felt a million miles away from the first day, stroking the hard object like a teddy bear on my blow up mattress, crying. It had been hard to unwrap my fingers from him that night and now, I was about to embark on something more intimate than ever.

  Somehow, I needed to get a small amount of Dad into this jewelry box. What was I to do? The hole of the urn wasn’t big enough for me to dip it in like a ladle. I’d have to use my hands? But would the bacteria from my hands eventually rot the remaining ashes? Suddenly, I felt paralyzed, not knowing if I would cause permanent damage to the situation.

  I caught myself biting my lower lip so hard it cracked. They weren’t so resilient in this dry desert air.

  Dry desert air. That was it. That was the saving grace. Things get ruined by moisture. Dad would be fine. At least that’s what I told myself as I put my hand into the urn. For once in my life, I appreciated being small. I didn’t know if a normal sized human could reach in there.