The next morning, pale light streamed through the crack in my cream-colored curtains, waking me before my alarm went off. I hit the switch to beat the beeping noise and flopped back on my fluffy pillow. The breaking dawn threw sunbeams across the room, kissing the lilac walls, making them glow.
I glanced around, loving the antique furniture, thanks to Carrie’s mom’s generosity. It was almost like you had stepped back into a simpler time. Almost. Except for my computer was like a big black dot in the corner of a beautiful Victorian painting, but that was okay. Sometimes necessity outranked the things we preferred, like pretending to live in a different era.
I hopped out of bed, went to the bathroom, and then headed to the kitchen to make some coffee. I was virtually useless without my java in the morning, and it had to be strong, not that weak, diluted crap a lot of people drank. My mom was one of them. Colored water is what I called it.
A few minutes later the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Paige, it’s Mom.”
“Hi, I was just thinking about you. Carrie told me you’re coming home tomorrow.”
“I was, but there’s been a change of plans.”
This wasn’t unusual for her, but I still really wanted to see her. I folded my arms on the counter and rested my head on them.
“I’m sorry, honey, but the flu is going around here, and they’re short handed at the hospital.”
“I understand.” I should have known she’d bail out on me.
“I knew you would. You’re such a good daughter. How are your grades?”
“You should know. You can pull them up on your computer, or call my teachers.”
“I know, but I want to hear it from you.”
That’s right, whatever you want is all that matters.
“Are you still there?”
“My grades are perfect like always,” I grumbled.
She sighed into the phone. “I know you’re angry with me, but I’m doing the best I can. Things are the way they are for a reason.”
“I know.”
“Carrie told me about a boy you’re dating,” she said, changing the subject.
“Yeah.” I snickered. She was going to crap if she ever did meet Nathan because he was far from being a boy.
“Please do yourself a favor, honey.”
“What’s that?”
“I know you’re almost eighteen, and it’s none of my business, but if you’re going to have sex, please use protection. I know you’re already on birth control to help regulate your periods. At least, I hope that’s the only reason why you’re on it, and–”
“Mom,” I said, horrified. “I’m still a virgin. Okay? And I already know about that stuff, so don’t worry.” Silently, I hoped she’d drop the subject. I so didn’t want to go there with her.
“Oh, that’s good to hear. I don’t want you to get pregnant at such a young age, because you still have a whole life ahead of you.”
“I agree.” I knew she meant well, but she was seriously getting on my nerves.
“Listen, my break is over. I have to run. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I love you, too.”
I hung up the phone and finished making the coffee. This was the story of my life, my mom breaking plans. She used to work at the hospital here in town, until two years ago when she discovered she could make a lot more money being a traveling nurse. She then started taking jobs within a half day drive to where we lived, so she could be nearby and have weekends off. But as soon as I got my driver’s license and car, she accepted jobs farther away and would stay gone for months at a time. Carrie’s mom kept an eye on me, and I was used to Mom’s absence, but even though I tried not to allow it to bother me, it still did. I mean, I was her daughter, why wouldn’t she want to be around me?
I thought about my father and the few pictures we had of him, thanks to Mom. When I was younger, I’d ask her why we didn’t have pictures of Daddy in the house, and she told me it was too painful for her. She wouldn’t tell me where they were and when I persisted, her eyes would fill with tears, and she’d leave the room. But one day, when I was bored and alone, I decided to look for the pictures. I had a feeling they were in the attic since Mom wasn’t that inventive, and after searching for a while, I found a square Christmas tin in a box of trinkets. I rocked it back and forth and felt something sliding inside it.
My throat tightened.
I sat on a wooden crate, ignoring the thick coat of dust covering it. My fingers shook as I pried the lid off with my fingernails, not sure what would be inside, and when I popped the lid off, my heart about jumped out of my chest.
I found the pictures.
There were only three, which made me angry that Mom had kept so few of Dad.
The first one was of a young guy smiling with his hands above his head and a small child in the air. He was throwing me in the air and had an expression of pure joy on his face.
I stared at the photo for a while until a tear fell on top of his face. I quickly wiped it off and set it aside, determined to keep it.
The next photo was of Mom and Dad. They were standing in front of a huge waterfall, somewhere tropical, smiling.
And the last one was only of my dad, sitting on a Triumph motorcycle, looking like James Dean in his leather jacket, dark sunglasses, and his tousled auburn hair. He had a charming smile, and I could see why he captured Mom’s heart.
I took that picture as well and put back the one of my parents. She could keep that one, but the others were mine. I had told myself if she ever found out, I’d tell her keeping them from me was wrong and she couldn’t have them back.
Those two photos were now stashed in an antique jewelry box Carrie’s mom had given me on my birthday one year. It had a false bottom, and that was where I kept them, just in case Mom decided to snoop in my room. And from time to time, I pulled them out when I wanted to have a good cry.
Now, as I got dressed, I wondered if there were more stuff of his Mom had kept from me. I did search the entire house and found nothing. But strangely, my dad’s existence always seemed like a mystery to me. I never understood why Mom never wanted to talk about him, and the only thing she ever said was they were very much in love, he was a wonderful, doting father, and we meant the world to him. And when it came to his family, well, he had none. He grew up in foster homes in Phoenix and met Mom at ASU, where they became college sweethearts. But that was all I knew, which was so unfair.
After deciding on wearing a white hooded sweater and brown cargo pants, I pulled my hair into a loose braid, then applied make-up to give my face some color. I went downstairs to wait for Nathan while I finished my coffee.
The house reminded me of a cave with everything shut–dark and confining. I went to the front window and pulled back the curtains. Where sunlight had slanted in from the east earlier, the window framed a gray cloudy sky. A thick fog crept out of the black forest, like fingers through steel bars. Little eddies of dirt and leaves whirled in the desolate street, and the trees were swaying. I imagined the wind carrying a biting chill and hugged myself.
The acute silence pressed down upon me. It was as if the world had been abandoned, not only by the sun, but by humans as well, all but one.
Me.
And then I saw that guy’s face in my mind, and in its reflection, I saw several things in systematic order: the sneer on his gaunt, pale face, mouthing my name, and the beam of light swiping across his black eyes. I had no idea how he knew my name, why he looked at me the way he did, and why his eyes did that? And I stood there for a while contemplating the whole experience.
But there were no answers, only a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wondered if I should tell Nathan, but quickly decided against it. He knew enough about me and didn’t need to know this. Maybe someday I’d tell him, but not now. What happened last night would have to be filed away in my repository with the rest of my unanswered questions.
Nathan’s pickup pulled up in front of the house, and my
heart lurched in excitement. I hurried to the door and flung it open, astonished to see him there because he wasn’t even out of his pickup a few seconds ago.
“Hi,” he said, smiling.
Without thinking, I pulled him in the house and somehow ended up in his arms. I didn’t want to let go, and he smelled so good, like wood smoke in cold mountain air. I was beginning to question my decision to take some time away from him to think.
“I could stay like this forever.” I sighed against his orange hooded sweatshirt.
“Fine with me,” he said. “But eventually one of us is going to have to go… You know.”
“Go pee, or take a dump. Is that what you were implying?”
He laughed, and pulled back to look at me. “Yes, but I’m not one to speak of such filth in front of a lady,” he said in a British accent.
I pushed his arm back. “Get out. I’m not a lady, so you can speak filthy words to me, because I will do the opposite of what Polonius said to Laertes, which is I will not give thought to thy tongue with trivial words.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You read Shakespeare?”
I pursed my lips and pompously lifted my chin. “But of course.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “You amaze me.”
“Because I read Shakespeare?”
“Because not only are you beautiful, you’re intelligent, and you are you.” He cradled my face in his cool hands and brushed his soft lips against mine.
I pressed my mouth to his, feeling a fire ignite inside my belly. Our tongues connected and moved in synchronicity. I softly moaned in response to the heat and intensity of his deep kiss and slid my hand under his sweatshirt. His skin was smooth, tight against hard muscles.
He immediately stepped back and looked away. I could hear him breathing through his nose like he did yesterday.
“I’m sorry, but we must not go there yet.” His voice was deep with frustration.
“It’s okay. I want to,” I said, still feeling the heat between us. “We don’t have to go all the way,” I added, and remembered what Carrie had said, I could have Nathan whenever I wanted to. I guess she was wrong about that.
His eyes flicked to my lips, then to my face, and they appeared to be getting a little brighter. There was an internal battle going on inside him, and I knew if I pushed a little further, he’d cave. But when I reached out to touch him, he turned his back on me. I dropped my hand and stared at his slouched shoulders, surprised at his rejection.
“I’m sorry, Paige. I can’t do this right now,” he said, still frustrated.
“Don’t you want me?” My voice was barely audible.
“That’s the problem,” he said through clenched teeth. “I want you too much.”
“Then I don’t–”
“Understand,” he said, finishing my sentence. “I know, but I promise in time you will. But for now, we need to try and refrain from kissing like that because I don’t think I can stop myself next time.” His voice was low with forced constraint.
“You know, I appreciate you being honorable and all, but it’s my decision too. You can’t make the decision for both of us.” My annoyance shook each word.
A laugh barked out of him.
“What’s so funny?” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared.
“Carrie was right. You are stubborn.” He turned and some of the brightness and desire he felt lingered in his eyes, but there was also humor in them, which pissed me off.
I squished my face up. “Whatever.” I couldn’t believe he was using my stubbornness against me.
He looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you please be patient with me?” He lifted his gaze, his expression strained.
“All right,” I said, feeling bad now because he looked genuinely upset.
“I promise, we’ll have that moment, but for now, we should be good,” he said, placing his hands on my shoulders, lightly squeezing them.
I didn’t say anything.
He kissed my forehead and asked where I wanted to go eat. I had totally forgotten about breakfast, but now that he mentioned it, I was hungry. “Do you like pancakes?”
He lowered his eyelids and peeked at me. “Of course.”
He was so damn cute. I wanted to grab him. Oh, but we had to be good. That was how the hormonal side of me thought, but the other side of me thought it was sweet he was being a gentleman.
“There’s this place downtown called Pancake Heaven. They have any kind of pancake you can think of, and they’re yummy.” I patted my belly for emphasis.
“Then Pancake Heaven it is.” He stepped aside and swept his arm in the air toward the door, ushering me forward with a stately bow. “After you, madam,” he said in a silly French accent.
“Why thank you, sir. Be sure to have Jeffrey pull the Rolls Royce around,” I said, using a British voice, walking past him to get my jacket and purse. “But do let me pay.”
He took my jacket and slipped it on me. “No,” he objected, back to his normal, sexy voice. “I invited you, so it’s my treat.”
“Fine,” I said, stepping outside. “Then I’ll get the tip.”
He shook his head and smiled mischievously.