by K. S. Thomas
“Bodhi!”
I peek with one eye. But only because she yelled.
Then both eyes. Wide ass open eyes. “Holy shit! It’s whipped cream!”
“Sure looks like it. Now stop whisking before you wind up with butter,” she orders, and my arm goes limp instantly. I didn’t even know I had the power to make butter. “Ready to find out if you pass your test?”
I glance down at my bowl again, reveling in my success and no longer caring that I can’t feel my arm. “Can’t I just enjoy this and call it good?”
She shrugs. “You can.” But it’s obviously not the course of action she’s hoping for.
I sigh. “Fine. What’s the test?”
Instantly, her face lights up again. “Oh, yay! I’m glad you’re going to do it. It’s a fun one!”
“Like, for me? Or for you?”
Her eyes dart sideways. “That depends on whether you pass or not.”
Kind of saw that coming. “Alright. Give it to me.”
“Okay. It’s easy. All you gotta do is take the bowl in both hands.”
“Yeah.” That part is done.
“Hold it over your head.”
“Um...k.” It’s weird, but I’m doing it.
“And now...flip it over.”
“What?” Not doing that. Absolutely not.
“You heard me. Flip it upside down.”
“And risk losing all the hard-earned fruits of my painful labor?” I don’t even care about winding up covered in whipped cream. I’m just not willing to sacrifice all my work.
“Just do it! It’s the only way to know if you did it right,” she insists.
“That is total bullshit. I know nothing about cooking, and even I can tell you’re making shit up now.”
Her eyes go wide and she clasps her chest dramatically. “You don’t trust me?”
I can see now there’s no winning here. Not with the whipped cream test anyway. So, I focus on the big picture. And, I flip the damn bowl upside down. Right above my head.
“Wait.” I dare to lean back and stare upward, straight into the stiff peaks of cream pointing right down at me. Not moving. Perfectly still. “Nothing happened.”
“You passed.” She moves her pot of hot cocoa to a cork cooling pad on the counter and walks over to examine my whipped cream situation up close. “You look surprised.”
With her verbal confirmation officially declaring me a whipped cream maker, I go ahead and lower the bowl again, turning it right side up as I go. No need to take any unnecessary risks now.
“I am,” I admit, setting the bowl on the counter beside her line up of mugs.
“What did you think was going to happen?” she asks, moving in closer beside me. “This?”
Before I can get past how damn good she smells or how her skin brushing against mine sends a euphoric rush of chills through my entire body, she swipes a finger through the whipped cream and plops the dollop right on my nose.
“You did not just do that.”
She stares up at me, eyes sparkling, lips twitching in anticipation. “I’m a little shocked myself.” Then she curls over giggling. I catch her by the waist just as she tries to break away, gain some distance from the whipped cream and my imminent retaliation.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I growl, holding her steady with one arm while reaching out with the other and dipping my finger in the bowl. “You wanna play? Let’s play.”
She squirms at my side, trying to wriggle her way free, giggling furiously as she attempts to escape. “Not fair. I was not holding you down and smothering you in whipped cream,” she squeals.
“You ambushed me!”
“I can’t help that I have the pouncing skills of a lioness!’
She’s moving so damn much it’s hard to get a clear aim. Finally, I give up and just swish the whipped cream straight across her face, let it stick where it can.
Then, and only then, do I release her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LILAN
For a moment, I’m caught up in a whirl of chaos. Bodhi has me by the waist and I’m doing everything I can to get away and escape the threat of having cream smeared all over me. I’m laughing so hard, I can barely catch my breath, and with all the wiggling around I’m doing, my hair is engaging in its own natural disaster, surrounding my head like a freaking hurricane. I’ve got hair in my eyes and my mouth and I don’t even have time to deal with either one of those issues because my brain is still on Bodhi’s free hand and the way it’s reaching for the bowl on the counter.
Then. It happens. Whipped cream splashes me from one cheek to the other and the grip he had on me is suddenly absent. I’m free.
Stillness follows. Both of us stand here, inches from each other. Neither of us moving. Neither of us saying a word.
I wonder if the whipped cream looks as enticing on me as it does on him. Because all I can think, as I stare at his face and the way the sweet cream has spread from his nose to his mouth and down to his chin, is how no man has ever looked more delicious. And how I can’t remember the last time I wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss Bodhi. And how even though I’d love to, I can’t even blame my desires on the sweet whipped cream I would taste if I did.
Maybe he can read my mind, hear my thoughts, because his tongue slips through the corner of his mouth, licking some whipped cream from it. I’ve never been so jealous of a tongue in all my life.
Our feet don’t move, but I can feel us getting closer, both of us leaning our bodies in, drawn to each other as if by some sort of magnetic force. My heart pounds in my chest, each thump screaming in my ears how crazy this is, but I don’t care. I want to be crazy. Just this once, I want to forget all the possible consequences and just be...kissed.
Temptation reaches an aching all-time high, and my lids sink, preparing to let me fall blindly into the pleasure I know awaits, when suddenly –
“I can smell hot chocolate,” Mona announces, just seconds before I hear her feet scramble into the room. “Is it almost done? Ew. Why do you have stuff all over your face?”
I’m so flustered, I almost push Bodhi just to get away from him. “Uh, we had a little accident with the whipped cream,” I mumble. “We were just about to clean it up.” Even as I say the words, I feel guilty about lying.
“It’s my fault,” Bodhi jumps in. “Your mom was teaching me how to make whipped cream, and I got a little carried away.”
“Oh, okay.” Mona shrugs, apparently satisfied with the explanation. “Do we have mini-marshmallows too?”
“Check the bag over on the kitchen table,” I instruct her. “And see if Grandma remembered to pack candy canes while you’re at it.”
“Candy canes?” Bodhi asks. “With hot chocolate?”
Mona stops her search to look back at him. “Duh! It’s only the best, most proper holiday way to have hot chocolate.”
“She’s not wrong,” I tell him, then I glare back at her. “Though her tone could use some adjusting.”
“Oops.” She giggles, returning her attention to the bag. Only takes a few seconds before she comes running back to the counter, triumphant in her findings. “Here!” She scoots in between me and Bodhi. “Can I add my own marshmallows?”
“Can you control yourself while you do it?”
“Define control.”
“I think you just answered my question. And yours.” I bump her playfully with my hip. “But you can add the candy canes to all the mugs.”
She accepts, and quickly moves to a clear part of the counter where she begins to unwrap the canes.
As soon as she’s moved onto working on her own project, Bodhi begins to close in on me again. I’m about to gesture for him to back up, because what the hell is he thinking with Mona in the room, when he reaches up, damp towel in hand, and gently begins to wipe my cheek.
“Guess we got a little carried away,” his deep voice rumbles softly so only I can hear.
“Guess so.” It’s bittersweet, this moment. Real
izing how close I came to kissing him, how much part of me still wants to, and also finding out that I’m relieved it didn’t happen. Nothing done I can’t undo. No regrets or second thoughts twisting my thoughts and stealing me away from the present. Me. Mona. All of us here, enjoying a beautiful end to a wonderful day.
I smile at Bodhi and take the towel from his hand. “I think I can take it from here,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
He nods graciously and steps back. He’s patient. I’m learning that about him, watching and listening, really tuning in to the way he treats me. Coming close when I’m comfortable, retreating when I’m not. But always there, just beyond my boundaries. Without complaints or attempts to pressure me. Just there. Waiting to be invited in again.
“Do you like peppermint or cinnamon?” Mona asks, breaking my train of though and thus saving me from getting lost in the soft pink haze that seems to be taking up more and more space inside my brain the longer I’m around Bodhi.
“Are you asking me?”
“No.” She frowns. “I know you like peppermint. I was asking Bodhi.”
Meanwhile, he’s been busy wiping some whipped cream from his shirt, and only now realizes he’s being spoken to. “What?”
Mona takes a step toward him, two candy canes at the ready, one in each hand. “I said, do you like mint or cinnamon.” Then, when he still stares at her blankly, she adds, “In your hot chocolate. We have two kinds of candy canes. Peppermint.” She wiggles her left hand for him to see. “Or Cinnamon.” She wiggles her right. Then, holds both out toward him so he can choose.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never had either,” he says, squatting down to be more at her level. “Which is your favorite?”
“Hm.” She tilts her head, eyes cast toward the ceiling, thinking. “It depends. Sometimes, I like the hot taste of cinnamon in my mouth, especially when it’s been raining out and it’s all dark and gloomy. But, other times, I like the icy peppermint best. Like, today, playing in the snow and going sledding and making snow angels and stuff? That was totally a peppermint day. I mean, don’t you think so, Mama?”
“Every day is peppermint day in my world, Mona,” I remind her. Cinnamon lost its appeal somewhere around the time Marc decided Fireball shots were made for Friday nights.
“I know. But isn’t today an extra peppermint day?” she insists. And really, who can argue with her logic?
“Yes. Snow. Peppermint. Totally the perfect combo.”
She looks to Bodhi, smug in her satisfaction of being told she’s right. “See? I know what I’m talking about.”
“I never doubted you for a second.” He taps the candy cane in her left hand and smiles. “I’ll have peppermint, please.”
“Excellent choice,” she commends him, turning back toward the mugs, which I’ve been busy filling all throughout the peppermint – cinnamon discussion. “Can I start adding them now?”
“Did you want to ask anyone else which flavor they want?” I ask, topping off the last of the cups.
She shrugs. “No. Not really. I already unwrapped four of each, so almost everyone out there is getting cinnamon.”
Bodhi laughs, but hurries to muffle the sound with the back of his hand when I shoot him a stern look. “Sorry,” he says, still trying to suppress a grin as he stands up at full height again. “But she’s funny.” He turns back toward the bowl of whipped cream, still sitting on the counter untouched. Well, untouched outside of the two times we literally stuck our fingers in it and touched it. “Also, when is it whipped cream time?”
Mona’s about halfway through adding her candy canes already.
“Now.” I hand him a spoon. “A hefty dollop in each, please.”
“I’m on it.” And he is.
I can’t deny how much fun I’m having, watching them both add the finishing touches together. Mona’s had so many wonderful people show up for her over the course of her life, and most of the time, I never worry that she’s missing out in growing up with just one parent. But seeing her stand at the counter beside Bodhi, it becomes glaringly clear that most of the wonderful people in her world are women. Outside of her Uncle Jimmy, who adores her, but rarely has the time to truly devote to being a steady figure in her life, Mona doesn’t have a lot of men around. And until this very moment, I never wondered what she might be missing out on learning because of it.
None of the sexist crap that dads are supposed to teach their kids, but the real stuff. The important things, like trusting a man. Feeling safe around one. And learning that it’s okay to depend on one.
Those are things I can’t teach her. If anything, intentional or not, I’ve been teaching her the exact opposite.
Bodhi
THE REST OF THE NIGHT passes in quiet comfort. Outside of the brief sugar high compliments of hot cocoa, it doesn’t take long before everyone starts winding down after the long day of playing outdoors. Because of this, we don’t drive home in the same cars we drove out in. Rather than have to go first to Lilan’s and then carry on to Hannah’s, we split up according to destination, leaving me to drive home with Kaleaha and no Lilan.
“Those two are getting to be a little gross,” Kaleaha mutters, observing Teran and Hannah in the rearview mirror.
I’m afraid to look. “Are they making out or something?”
“Worse.” She grins. “They’re both passed out and snuggling.”
“Oh.” I turn back to see for myself. Hard as it is to believe, it’s true. Both of them are sound asleep, which ordinarily wouldn’t be too shocking, except of course, that Hannah is snoozing away with her head against his chest, while Teran’s arm is wrapped around her, holding her close, his own head, resting on top of hers.
“You’re right,” I agree, turning back around to the front. “They’re totally disgusting.”
She laughs quietly, probably to keep from waking sleeping beauty and company in the back. “It’s a good thing Hannah can’t see herself right now. She’d be mortified.”
“Should we take a picture?”
“Yes. Most definitely.”
I’m already getting myself into position. “I’m getting video, too. I know Hannah, she’ll claim I photoshopped things.”
“Good call.”
I wait until I have at least thirty seconds of footage and snap at least seven different pictures of them at varying angles and a multitude of zoom levels, before I settle back into my seat, belt in place and facing the front.
“You and I are on the cusp of a very promising friendship, Bodhi James.” She nods approvingly, and even with her face pointed at the road I can see the half-smirk creeping in on her mouth.
“Will it be solely based on fucking with my brother and Hannah?” I ask jokingly “Because I could totally use more friends like that.”
“Oh, that will absolutely be the foundation from which we build,” Kaleaha says. “Though I should give you fair warning, I will be no kinder when it’s you and Lilan.”
Suddenly, I’m not in the mood to be funny anymore. “You really think that could happen? Me and Lilan?” I must have gone back and forth on the possibility a million times today. But no matter how much progress I think I make; I seem to always wind back at square one with her.
“Depends.” She shrugs, still facing the road. I can’t tell if she’s just a super focused driver or if she deems our conversation to be a super casual one. It’s not.
“On?”
“Honestly? A million different things.” She sighs. “Lilan doesn’t date. Ever. So, you know, you and every other dude have that going against you. And, you’re not exactly every other dude, are you?! No, you’re Bodhi James, which means she not only doesn’t date you, she’s also really scared of dating you. Because you come with a limelight, and Lilan, she’s gotten so much bad press for so many years, she wants no part of being dragged back under that spotlight.” She stops and I briefly allow myself to believe her list of reasons Lilan will never give me a chance has come to an end, and that a million little things turn
ed out to be just two. Then her mouth opens, and she starts all over again. “Now, those are just the basic points, your front and center obstacles. Then you’ve got all the behind the scenes shit. Like Mona, and Marc dying...and Marc putting her through hell...and Marc just generally disappointing her on every level. It’s a shit-show to behold, my friend. And there are non-stop replays. Sometimes back to back showings.”
“But?” I’m not sensing a but. I’m just kind of forcing her to come up with one.
“There’s no but.” Or not.
“Kaleaha.” I pause, closing my eyes and running my hands over my face just to thwart the frustration aching to break free in the form of a rant of swear words. “You literally said the words, you and Lilan. You implied you believed there could be a me and Lilan. I heard you. And then, you said it was possible. You can’t just go and take it all back now.” I slap my knee releasing the last of my exasperation, and it fucking hurts. “There’s gotta be a but. And I want it. Now where is it?”
“I don’t use the word but,” she says flatly. “I feel that using yes and is more empowering.”
I’m lost. I’m tired and fried and maybe hanging out with so many women in one day has stretched me beyond my mental and emotional capabilities. All these years, I thought Hannah had prepared me well for the female complexities of women’s unique and mystical nature. I was wrong. Obviously. “Kaleaha, I’m starting to think our potential friendship could be detrimental to my psychological wellbeing.”
“Yes, and,” she says, with a weird amount to flair, “it could also be beneficial to your love life.”
“So,” I start, trying to follow her current path of reason. “You’re saying yes to both. My psychological detriment and my improved love life.”
“Look, I’m not naïve about what I bring to the table.” She laughs. “You want to partake of what I have to offer; you have to sit through the whole meal.”
I stare at her, somewhat dumbstruck. “Hannah always presents you as the sane one in this trio.”