Chapter 11
I am rudely awakened on my very first day of winter break a week before Christmas by a deranged lunatic bouncing up and down on my bed, "Kat it snowed last night! Kat it's a snow day! Kat get up! GET UP!" he yells.
"Josh, what time is it?"
"9.30am. Get up and come out and play in the snow with me."
Ugh. "What don't you understand about sleeping in on your vacation?"
"But it snowed last night. I haven't seen snow in seven years Kat. Come on, get up, and come play with me."
He is NOT guilt tripping me in my own room on my first day of vacation. I pry open one eye to find him kneeling on the floor at the very edge of my bed with his nose about an inch from mine. Ugh.
"How much snow is there?"
"Ew morning breath. Um, there's a couple inches, you can still see the tips of the grass in some places," he told me.
"Geez Josh, that's not snow. That's barely a dusting! Go back to bed already."
I pull the covers over my head.
I hear knuckles cracking, "ok Kat, I didn't want to have to do this, but you should probably know that I did make a snowball with my bare hands on my way over to your house just now. Hmmm, I wonder if Kat sleeps with her socks on? Let's find out shall we?" Then he proceeds to dive his hands under the covers at the bottom of my bed seeking out my defenseless, un-socked feet.
"HOLY CRAP JOSH! THAT'S FREEZING!!! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" I scream kicking at him.
He bolts for the door laughing his ass off and pauses for a second turning back to me, "so I'll see you outside in a few minutes right, or do I need to check to see if you wear pajama bottoms too?" He ducks and my pillow sails past his head landing harmlessly on the hallway floor.
A few minutes later I'm outside making the most pathetically sad, itty-bitty snowmen with him for an hour before I come in to thaw out. Josh on the other hand can't get enough of the snow. He offers to shovel the driveway and sidewalk.
Like Dad's going to turn down free labor?
I hear Josh come in the front door a little later after shoveling the driveway and front walkway. He comes back into the kitchen to find my parents dancing to an iPod shuffle on the counter while making lunch. I’m sitting at the counter sketching big blossoms on some printer paper with a few colored pencils spread out on the counter in front of me.
“Wow, those are amazing Kat. What are they?" he asks me.
"Hibiscus blossoms. They're tropical and they're my favorite flower."
"They look like I should lean in and smell them they look so real,” he said with admiration.
His compliment makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. It's nice to share my drawing with him now. I kind of wish I'd done it sooner, “thanks.”
“Are your parents dancing to Taylor Swift?” he asks taking off his gloves and hanging up his coat.
“Please don’t say it out loud. It’s embarrassing enough.”
Then the music shifts to a heavy island drum beat. Caribbean music. That’s better, but not much. They’re still all over each other dancing back and forth across the floor on the other side of the island counter laughing and giggling.
“How come you’re not dancing?” Josh asks coming back to the counter to stand next to me.
“Simple. I don’t dance.”
“Yes you do. You said you only dance in your kitchen.”
I turn my head to catch a weird look on his face, “what you have a photographic memory now? I meant when I’m alone in my kitchen.”
He smirks and takes my hand in his, “come on it’s easy. I’ll show you.”
My reluctance is more than obvious as I slide off the counter stool. I put my arms around his neck, but when he puts his hands on my waist I involuntary suck in my breath that makes him snap his head up searching my eyes for a solid couple of seconds before he gives me a reassuring half smile.
“Don’t worry I have had a few lessons.”
He proceeds to tell me to look down and watch his feet.
“See if I step forward with my right, you take a step back with your left.
I copy his simple movements without tripping. I count this as a major success.
“Then if I take a step back, you step forward. Good. Good that’s it. Back and forth. You’re doing great.”
I’m smiling in spite of my inherent fear of stumbling and looking like an ass. The drumbeat of the music makes a steady rhythm that’s easy to follow as the next island song comes on.
“You’ve got your footwork down, now you just need to put your hips into it a little bit,” he said applying a little pressure with both his hands rocking my hips back and forth in time to the music. I can feel the color start to creep up my neck, and I bite my lip as Josh takes a step closer to me.
The warmth in his voice could melt a foot of snow in a split second, “you’re doing great Kat. You're a natural.”
“Keep those hands where we can see them Mister Dance Instructor.”
“DAD! For crying out loud! Seriously?” Beet red face over here.
“You know it, Sir!” Josh said as we all burst out laughing.
Dad comes around the counter tapping Josh on the shoulder, “look out, cutting in son,” he grabs me from Josh and starts to dance me around the room. I laugh even harder when Dad starts singing along. I look over to see Josh twirling Mom by the sink.
“Hey I didn’t get to twirl!”
“That’s lesson two!” he yells back over the music.
I get in a few minutes of what I’d call not tripping more than I would call it dancing with my Dad.
“Switch partners! I’m going to need my best gal pal for this next one coming up,” Dad hollers, when the slow opening notes to a new song starts to come on. He races over to Mom who is now giggling uncontrollably with a very mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Not a problem,” Josh said as he comes back to me sporting a grin and a sparkle in his eye that nearly matches Mom’s.
My breath catches in my throat as he starts to take me in his arms, but my face falls as the song beat kicks up with a set of horns and I recognize what’s coming next.
“What’s wrong Kat?”
“We have to go,” I tell him.
“Why? I’m having a blast. Aren’t you?” he asks, his face full of concern.
“Yes. No. I mean, you don’t understand what’s coming. We have to leave. Like now,” I insist.
We barely grab our coats and make it out the back door before my Dad yells, “muy caliente mamacita!” and starts dirty dancing all over the kitchen to the heavy salsa rhythms, grabbing my Mom in places a Mom should not be grabbed in front of her child. CERTAINLY not in front of her child’s friend!
“Whew that was close,” I say as we climb up the ladder to the sanctity of our fort.
“I had no idea your Mom could kick her leg that high over your Dad's shoulder. Quite impressive.”
“Don’t you dare start. It’s bad enough when they act like that,” I try to warn him, but the amusement in his voice is contagious.
“Come on. What’s so embarrassing about your Dad calling your Mom a ‘very hot babe’ and then groping her in front of your friends? What else are parents for?” he manages to say between spurts of laughter.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” I say curling up onto my half of the oversized beanbag, “they act like this all the time. It’s just so ridiculous sometimes. I guess it comes from having parents who aren’t even 40 years old yet. I hope they grow up and start acting their age soon.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he told me lowering the flap over the doorway to block out the wind, crawling over to the beanbag, “my parents are only about five years older than yours. Maybe they would have had an easier time in their marriage if they acted a little more like yours from time-to-time.”
As Josh settles in stretching out on his side of the beanbag, we both sink down together meeting in the middle settling in close next to each other.
I try to suppress a shive
r, “I should have grabbed my hat and gloves as we ran out. Even with all the insulation, it’s still a little chilly in here today.”
Josh lifts up his arms opening his winter coat saying, “come here, put your hands inside my coat, it’s down filling, it’ll keep you warm.”
I snuggle in to steal some of his body warmth, resting my head on his chest and close my eyes. For once I’m not letting my brain over think. I’m cold and I’m just doing it.
“Holy cow your hands really are cold!”
“Sorry, but you did offer.”
We lay there like that for a little while snuggling together against the December chill. It’s the most relaxed and content I can ever remember being.
“You don’t talk about your parents that often do you?” I ask him tentatively.
“Not much to talk about,” his voice rumbles from deep in his chest.
I can feel his heart beating under my ear.
“Why did you leave all those years ago Josh?” my voice is barely a whisper now.
He doesn't answer right away, but after a few minutes he said, “Dad left us. Mom moved us in with her parents in North Carolina. That’s about all I remember,” his voice goes softer at the end.
"Was anything about the move good?" I ask him softly.
He's quiet for another minute before saying, "my grandpa. He didn't try to talk to me or get me to talk. He was a little tough on the outside. He used to box when he was in the navy. One day he found me in the backyard just after we got there. I'd been crying and he told me to get up and try to keep up with him, and then he just started running. I didn't know what to do so I started running down the street after him. We started running every day after school. Then one afternoon about a month later, he took me in the garage and showed me how to punch a heavy bag. He said every time I felt mad, or sad, or helpless to punch right here where he made a big X with a marker."
I feel Josh take a deep breath in that expands his chest raising my head up then lowering it slowly as he exhales, "he's the one who taught me to box and run. I didn't really take to the boxing, but I love running."
He's quiet again so I figure he's done talking. It was the most he's ever shared about when he left.
I hug him a little tighter. He squeezes me back resting his chin on the top of my head.
A few more heartbeats pass before he said, “Kat, there’s something I really need to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?”
"I need to tell you….it's…it's snowing out Kat. Look."
I open my eyes without lifting my head off Josh's chest. Looking through the fort window out over the yard I see big fluffy chunks of snow starting to fall fast and thick. This will give him the kind of snow he's been wanting.
I burrow in a little closer to him, and he lets me closing his arms pulling me in even tighter so I'm almost lying on top of his whole body along one side.
We lay still like that watching the snowfall for a while.
His voice is softer than the snow gently falling on the other side of the window, "this is the happiest I have ever been in my entire life Kat. Here right now, with you."
"Me too."
"These last few months…" he starts.
"I know. Me too."
“Josh? Katie? Come on back in, if you stay up there much longer, we'll have to call out the snow rescue team to get you down. We’re getting ready to make hot cocoa!”
Geez, Mom. Someone really needs to have a word with her about her timing.
“I guess we should head back in. You’re probably freezing by now,” Josh said his voice back to normal.
“Not so much.”
“Are you guys coming?” she calls to us and I finally pull myself away from him to sit up so I can answer her.
His eyes seem darker green as he looks up at me. Maybe we should head back in. And fast.
I open the window to shout out, “WE’RE NOT COMING IN UNTIL YOU SWEAR THE SALSA PORTION OF THE DAY IS DONE!”
“We’re done! Promise. Now get in here before you turn into popsicles! I’m making the cocoa with extra marshmallows and whipped cream just the way Josh liked it when he was little.”
“SWEAR! SWEAR ON YOUR FIRST BORN OR WE’RE NOT SETTING FOOT BACK IN THAT KITCHEN YOU DANCING MANIACS!” I vow. A big part of me wants to stay here, just the two of us, and curl back up on the beanbag even if it drops to twenty below zero outside.
“I SWEAR!”
“Well, looks like the coast is clear for us to head back in for a sugar rush,” I tell him.
Josh pauses for a minute still watching me closely before he smiles, “sounds good.”
After we climb down, it registers in the back of my mind that we just walked back across the yard into the house holding hands.
I try not to think about what that means.
We open the back door welcomed by the smells of homemade chicken noodle soup and hot chocolate.
During lunch Dad announces that snow days are made for baking and everyone has to pick something to make. I choose cherry empanadas.
"It's a fancy name for cherry turnovers," I tell Josh.
He looks at me still confused.
"Mini cherry pies."
"Oh! I’m totally on board. Can I be on your team?" he said with a smile.
The rest of the afternoon is spent laughing, mixing, baking, being playful, and overall trashing my kitchen.
"Are you sneaking cookie dough? Hello? Raw eggs. You’ll get sick," I tell Josh.
"Live life on the edge baby," he told me with a grin, licking another scoop off the spoon giving me butterflies in my stomach.
We're all laughing now. Even Dad can’t hold onto the grumpy Dad look he's had around Josh lately, so I think he’s forgiven him, but he keeps a close eye on us like he’s not going to forget any time soon either.
Mom’s not a baker, but luckily my Dad is. I take this opportunity try to soften him up a little.
"Dad made the pumpkin and pecan pies we had at Thanksgiving,” I tell Josh
“Really? They were delicious, I actually wolfed down the rest of the pecan pie that night before bed,” he said with surprise and admiration.
“The kitchen may traditionally be women’s territory, but it takes a real man to crack an egg properly,” Dad informs us with a straight face and a touch of pride in his voice.
Mom kisses him on the cheek as she passes him to take a mixing bowl to the sink, and he leaves a flour handprint when he lightly smacks her on the ass as she walks by. I am beyond embarrassed.
“Parental Units! We have a guest. Would you please act your age for once?”
“Josh isn’t a guest. He’s…he’s just Josh,” Mom said laughing aloud.
Another outbreak of laughter all around before a flour-fight of epic proportions ensues leaving the entire kitchen, and everyone in it, coated with a thin dusting of white.
We tell them we’ll clean up the kitchen so Mom and Dad can leave to deliver cookies to some of the neighbors and visit with their friends for a while.
"We'll be back in a couple of hours and don't try to do everything, we'll finish what you don’t get," Mom said closing the front door behind her.
“Last one to touch the sink has to mop the floor!” I yell and bolt around the corner of the island counter with a good two-second head start on track boy, but almost miss the sink sliding in the flour on the tile.
He quickly races around the other side of the island getting to the sink just a millisecond after I do.
“Oh, no! Not fast enough varsity. Better luck next time!” I laugh hopping up on the counter swinging my legs over the edge to give him an unobstructed path to sweep. And, yes, maybe to rub it in a little bit too.
As he takes two slow deliberate steps over to stand in front of me at the counter, I briefly consider that my throaty little suppressed victory giggle might have been just a bit too much. But I don't have more than a second to consider it before he grabs my legs by the knees pulling me forward to the edge where h
e’s at, so now he’s standing there in front of me with my legs around him and he presses both of his palms on the counter on either side of me.
I stopped laughing the second he grabbed my legs. When I see the look that flashes in his eyes my breathing quickens.
His voice is low and sends little shivers up my spine, “you’re pretty cocky for someone covered nearly head-to-toe in flour and sugar you know.”
“Well I did just outrun a member of the varsity track team, so I think I’ve earned it,” I tease cocking one eyebrow and adding a smirk like he does.
His little head tilt told me he's fully in the game even before his words do.
“Do you now? What do I get for coming in second place?” he asks watching me so intensely now, I just know he’s waiting for me to blink. Our competitive streaks are both a mile wide, and worse, we both know it.
“What do you want?”
This game of cat and mouse is getting dangerous, but I like it. I want to see how far we’ll go before one of us bails.
“How about a taste as a consolation prize?” Josh said and before I can figure out what he means by that, he dips his head down and takes a quick little lick up the side of my neck. A jolt of electricity shoots through me making me give a little cry aloud as I grab his arms. I close my eyes sliding my hands up around his neck to run my fingers through the back of his hair. He pulls me closer taking his sweet time to suck and nip on my neck in a tender area just above my collar bone for a few minutes before taking a slower lick up all the way up to my ear working his way over to my mouth.
My head is spinning and my body is trembling.
“Josh,” I sigh. I think I have forgotten how to breathe when his lips finally reach the very edge of my mouth. I can hear him breathing hard but when he moves again it is not toward my lips, it’s to turn his head away and swear under his breath.
I am full on shaking by now and I can’t think straight but instead of getting closer, Josh takes a few steps back out of my arms to lean against the opposite counter gripping tightly to the edge. When he finally lifts his head to look at me, the burning intensity of his gaze makes my heartbeat twice as fast. I don’t understand what he’s doing all the way over there. Did I do something wrong?
He swallows hard and runs his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, “I…I have to go Kat. I don’t want to, but I have to.”
He turns to leave and stops for a second at the end of the counter looking back at me like he’s about to say something important but changes his mind at the last second, “I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”
Then he leaves and I’m left with more than one mess to clean up on my own.
Josh doesn’t call all the next day after our encounter in my kitchen. I wander around the house feeling dazed and clueless about what happened last night. More importantly, why what I thought was about to happen didn’t.
“I could use some help with the dishes,” Mom calls to Dad who’s squirreled away in the library again after dinner.
“Can’t tonight honey. Big Scrabble tournament. All four of us are finally free at the same time,” he told her. I swear since my Dad discovered he could play Scrabble on his iPad the two of them are inseparable. Mom doesn’t always take it well. I think she’s jealous.
“But I’m naked, holding nothing but your favorite glass of wine,” she sings back.
Ew. So gross. So so gross.
“Mom! I’m sitting right here with my innocent impressionable ears,” I put my hands over my ears for extra dramatic emphasis, but my giggling gives me away.
“Oh chill, I may be your Mom, but I’m not foolish enough to think you’re that innocent Katie Marie.”
“Ok then the visual you’re burning into my brain will do permanent damage and seriously jeopardize my chances at getting into a good college.”
“Oh please, it wasn’t that long ago I was a hormonal 17 year old. I have been watching you and don’t think I don’t know a hickey when I see one,” she said gesturing to the left side of my neck.
Double Ew. I do not like where this conversation is heading. I feel a lecture opportunity coming so I make a mental plan to exit the kitchen stage right when Mom turns to grab for a towel drying her hands. She keeps me on my stool telling me, “you’d be surprised how fast friendship turns to passion which turns to love.”
“Mom, please. Don’t start. My guy friends are all harmless including Josh.”
“Katie, please,” I hate when Moms get that mocking tone when they mimic you. There should be a parent law against it.
“You didn’t have that mark on your neck when we left last night, but it was there this morning. You expect me to believe you were attacked by a vampire in the middle of the night?” Sarcasm is extremely unflattering on my Mom.
“I have seen how you and Josh are together when he's here. How he looked at you at Thanksgiving and when he’s been over this month when he thought you weren’t looking at him.”
What? Looks how? How did he look? I’m glued to my seat now as she slowly folds the dishtowel laying it on the counter. She knows she has my attention, and she’s going to punish me for being flippant earlier by making me wait to finish her sentence.
“When I was in high school…”
“About a hundred years ago…” the sarcastic mocking apple doesn’t fall far from the tree Mom. I zip it when she gives me one of her rare, but patented, I’m-being-serious-you-need-to-pay-attention-now looks, and begins again.
“There was a boy who, let’s just say, made my heartbeat jump to about a thousand beats a minute from the first time I saw him.”
“Lust at first sight? Mom, I’m shocked.”
“Hush. But, yes, that was pretty much the case. When I looked at him, I felt…fireworks. Red-hot fireworks just exploding inside me. There’s no better way to describe it.”
“Mom!”
“What? He was tall with dark curly hair, and an amazing laugh that just made everyone around him smile. We were friends of friends sort of. We all hung out in a big group, but one day, I realized I was taking every chance I could to see just him, talk to him a few times here and there, catch his eye, and touch his arm. I became so obsessed. It was really really bad,” she chuckles to herself and chews on her bottom lip. I think she’s remembering a high school moment she’s not ready to share in detail. Thankfully.
“You were a stalker in high school Mom? So freaky.”
“No,” she said laughing, “it wasn’t like that. I was just so crazy for the boy I’d known since, probably the 8th grade. There was just something about him that I could not stop thinking about him no matter what.”
“So what happened?” She’s hooked me. I give up and prop my elbows on the counter resting my chin on my hands. I have to find out how much of a boy-crazy stalker my Mom was. I may need ammunition for an argument sometime my senior year.
“I finally figured out that he was having just as hard a time around me as I was around him. He’d show up in my check out line every time I was on register at the drug store I worked at afterschool. He’d ‘accidentally’ be going the same way I was for a class. We were always seeing each other in the hallways.”
“Just the hallways? Didn’t you have any classes or lunch together?”
“No. I was a junior and he was a senior so we had different schedules and different classes. But then I found out he paid the kid who had the locker next to me $40 bucks to trade with him.”
“Wow. A whole $40 dollars?”
“Don’t laugh. That was a lot of money to a teenager in the late 80s. I thought it was a very romantic gesture.”
“So then what happened with you and this hot guy? Did he ask you out?”
Did my Mom just blush? Oh My God. Her face is bright red. I have never seen my Mom blush. What memory is she recalling? Wait, I don’t think I want to know.
“Let’s just say things got very intense very fast after that.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I feel like a con
spirator and lower my voice so Dad can’t hear how she’s talking about this hot mystery guy that can still make her blush 20 years later. “Mom! Oh my gosh. Are you telling me you…did it...your junior year in high school with some random guy?!?”
Holy cow. This is huge.
“No! God no. That was much later. But...we certainly came darn close quite a few times. It was hot and heavy all through that winter and into spring. Just fireworks. For the record, he wasn’t some random guy. He was a friend, that I became intensely physically and emotionally attracted to and what I’m trying to explain to you is that friendship changes just that fast at 17,” she said snapping her fingers in front of my face for emphasis and it makes me blink, “snap. In a blink. Just like that Katie.”
I’m absolutely floored. My Mom. Hot and heavy with some guy. I can’t process. She’s my Mom. I cannot picture her making out with some guy and almost….I’m going to have to wash my brain with bleach.
“Katie,” she said coming around the counter to stand in front of me taking my face in both her hands. I can smell the lavender from the dish soap she was using. She always has lavender in the house. It’s her favorite scent. I think I’ll always associate it with my Mom.
“You may think you’re in control all the time, but sometimes, your heart and your body don’t always do what you want them to. Boys struggle with the same exact conflict. You’re not five years old anymore Katie. You are a smart, beautiful, and talented young woman. I just want you to be careful, ok? With your body and your heart.”
Mom looks so serious and a little worried now it compels me to reassure her. “I will,” I tell her, and I mean it.
She smiles letting go of my face and turns toward the library.
“Wait, what happened to the senior you were so hot and heavy with in high school? Did you ever look him up online? If you let me have my own Facebook account I can look him up for you. What’s he doing now?”
Mom stops, turns to me with a wickedly naughty grin that surprises the heck out of me, winks and said, “he’s about to have his Scrabble game seriously interrupted.”
In my now shocked and confused state, I totally forget to ask her how she thought Josh looked at me at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I don't see Josh for a couple days. We have a few quick phone calls checking in with each other, but neither of us talks about what happened that night in the kitchen.
I'm in the living room, curled up under a blanket having the daylights scared out of me with my latest novel when the phone rings, "Hey, you busy?"
"Absolutely. Having an affair with a madman named Stephen King," I tell him.
"Can I come over for a few minutes?" Josh asks.
"Looking for a kinky threesome?" I smile into the phone.
"Uh, that would be a no."
"What's up?"
"Nothing, I just have something for you. Couldn't get away yesterday and…I want to see you that's all," he said.
"I'm here. Come over whenever."
Whenever is exactly 12 minutes later. That boy can certainly run fast when he wants to, even on ice and snow that showed up unexpectedly last night. He must be part polar bear. He’s certainly big enough.
"Hey."
I open the door to a very chilly gust of wind and a very bundled up Josh. He's covered head to toe in winter gear but I can see those green eyes shining through the break between his hat and his scarf, "Hi. Merry belated Christmas you, get in here before you freeze to death," I tell him.
He steps inside after stomping his boots on the porch.
"Man is it cold."
"Missing your North Carolina tropics yet?" I ask him.
"Not a bit," he said giving me a quick hug, "you guys doing anything for New Year's Eve?" he asks as he sets down a small bag and starts shedding layers.
"Nah, my parents talked about going out for a fancy dinner or something but I'll probably just pass out watching that stupid glittery ball drop in New York. Laurel's actually going to be there this year with her family. Can you imagine? Laurel, in Times Square on New Year's Eve," I ask him shaking my head.
"Laurel in a throng of fashion forward New Yorkers, screaming at their favorite bands in 30 degree weather for six hours…yep sounds about right," he laughs.
"If One Direction is performing they better call in extra security, because she's insane for those British boys. You heard anything from either of the guys?" I ask him.
"Nothing from Jaxon, but Player's having fun in St. Tropez."
"How do you know he's having fun?" I ask.
"He texted me a selfie last night of him standing in the middle of about five girls in very skimpy bikinis saying 'eat your heart out'," he laughs.
"Sounds about right. C'mon upstairs," I tell him asking, "you have plans for New Year's?"
"Parents are making me go to this party for families at my Dad's firm."
"You sound thrilled."
"They're making me wear a suit and tie Kat. A CHRISTMAS tie," he said.
"What? T-shirts and running shorts weren't acceptable formal evening attire?" I tease him as we climb the stairs.
The first floorboard creaks and I hear Mom call from the library, "Doors Katie!"
"MOM!"
"What did she say?" he asks.
I'm so embarrassed I can't even turn around to look at him, "Nothing. Just Mom being a mom. Let's go," I say.
We get to my room (I leave the door open) and I retrieve his present from my desk drawer. It's not the best wrapping job, but it's not the worst either. On the other hand, the gift Josh pulls from the bag looks as if Christmas elves wrapped the present, lots of curly ribbons and perfectly crisp corners on shiny red paper.
"Geez I know you're competitive Josh, but seriously," I say looking back and forth between our two presents, "are you trying to make me feel bad?" I ask.
He laughs a great warm laugh that just wraps itself around you like a hug, "Sorry, my Mom REALLY likes Christmas; ranks at the top of her list of favorite holidays. Right after Thanksgiving she devotes an entire guest room just to wrapping," he explains, "and I told her I wanted yours to look really nice."
He gives a shy smile in response to mine, and we trade gifts at the same time and he starts to open mine sucking in his breath as his eyes open wide.
"Unbelievable! Kat, how did you get this? How did you know?" he exclaims holding the book about a famous Olympic runner he mentioned was his favorite.
I'm so happy that he likes it, and he hasn't even seen the best part yet, I can hardly wait, "open it, look at the inside cover," I tell him holding my breath.
He reads it out loud, "Every athlete is nervous - any athlete who told you they're not nervous isn't telling you the truth. Be prepared. --C Lewis Oh My God! Kat! It's an inscription? Signed by him? Oh my God! I love it! Thank you so much!" then he gives me a huge crushing hug.
"Did you know he started his sprint events in high school like me?" he said his voice filled with awe, "How in the world did you get this? It's been out of print for years and with the inscription? Holy cow!"
"We literary geeks have our ways," I smile proudly, "I didn't know about the inscription until it came in the mail last week. The description said there was an autograph but that was all. I'm so glad you like it."
"No, I love it! Open yours," he said with an eager smile.
I gently peel the tape back.
"Kat come on already!"
"You opened yours the way you want, I'll open mine my way thank you very much," I say laughing then I see it's killing him so I tear into it but I save the curled ribbons. When I see what's inside, I stop laughing.
"Oh Josh."
"You like it?"
"I don't know what to say," words fail me as I look down at the box overflowing with professional drawing supplies: sketchpad, pencils, acrylics and charcoals, watercolors. Everything I could ever want or need, "they're beautiful," I whisper.
"What's this?" I ask him picking up a smaller box at the bottom of the supplies
.
"I wasn't sure if you'd like it," he said hesitantly, "it's a digital artist drawing pad, it has all these built in features that are super sensitive and you can use the stylus or even your finger to create and blend then you can save your art and download it to your computer to print it. I thought maybe if you were somewhere, you couldn't carry all your supplies you could use this to sketch out ideas before you got home. If you don't like it I can take it back."
"NO! I love it!" I say clutching it to my chest, "all of it. It's…amazing. Thank you."
I give him a thank you hug, a really really long hug. We both smile when we lean back, and he asks how I found the book. We talk for a little while longer and he shows me how the software downloads for the digital sketchpad before heading home.
Unfortunately for Josh, his walk back home was even longer because he slips on the ice and twists his right ankle something fierce. He calls me later telling me he had to get X-rays, nothing looks broken thankfully, just a wrapped ankle and bed rest for the last four days of winter break and he misses the first day back of school.
Mr. MacGregor asks me if I can bring Josh his Algebra homework along with some work his other teachers have collected. I tell him sure not realizing that his books, plus my books equal a ton so I dump my half and head straight over to his house before I pull a muscle carrying the bag.
His Dad opens the door and told me Josh is upstairs resting and to go on up. Unfortunately, Josh wasn't exactly resting I realize as I walk in on him walking out of his bathroom with just a towel around his waist, “geez Kat. Ever heard of knocking?”
“Sorry. Your Dad said I could come up. He didn’t say you were in the shower," I practically yelp.
“Give me a minute will you?” he asks stepping backwards into the bathroom closing the door while I’m left with the visual of his bare chest, arms and long hairy muscular legs burned into my brain. I turn around taking the opportunity to check out his room. Books and knick-knacks line three shelves along the wall over his bed. Not going to look directly at his bed though, nope.
Josh usually hangs out at my house, so this is my first time visiting his house and his room. So weird being in a guy’s room. I thought it would be messier, but I’m disappointed. There are no dirty clothes or porn lying around. Just some empty dishes and a glass on his desk, CDs, a laptop, and a beautiful green and brown quilt neatly folded at the end of his bed. Disappointingly, normal.
“That’s better,” he said coming out of the bathroom.
I turn back around to find him towel drying his wet hair with his half grin, fully dressed in jeans and a long sleeve hoodie.
Now, back to the business of dropping off his homework, and getting the heck out of here.
“Your books weigh a ton. How do you carry these around all day?”
“That’s mostly the AP Biology. It’s hefty. I bench press it after school.”
Bench press, great words. Just makes me look at his muscled arms and broad chest again. He reaches up to hang his wet towel on a hook on the door and it lifts the bottom of his shirt flashing me a clear shot of his tight stomach muscles.
Josh starts walking toward me for the bag when something on his bathroom sink catches my eye.
It’s a tall, plastic bottle half-filled with a bright red liquid. Deep in my mind, there’s a click.
I squinted my eyes, as if that would help me figure out the click. Instead, without even thinking, I drop the tote bag to cross the room in three steps pushing past him into the bathroom. I don’t know why, but I desperately have to see what’s in that bottle. I don’t realize my hand has started shaking until I consciously make it stop so I can read the label.
Cinnamon mouthwash.
Cinnamon.
Oh God…Cinnamon…..Hard stomach muscles….Cinnamon….
Cinnamon!
My mind is reeling and I feel like I just took a swift kick to the gut that’s going to make me puke any second. I try to swallow but I’m breathing in these short fast gasps that are making my lungs start to burn. I’m going to hyperventilate and pass out if I don’t calm down. The sink edge is cool and solid when I grab it with my other hand to steady myself.
Deep breaths Katie. Deep, slow breaths. It can’t be. Tons of people use cinnamon mouthwash right?
Josh can’t be the mystery guy who kissed you on Halloween--the explosive, Earth-shattering kiss you haven’t been able to stop thinking about for the last two months; the one that left you burning for more.
He can’t. He just can’t be.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, more clicks are happening as the pieces of a puzzle start fitting together too neatly and I know. I just know.
Before I even turn around to see the guilt and shock all over his face confirming it, I know.
I can’t remember ever being this furious in my life. I’m shaking so bad now I’m not one-step out of the bathroom doorway before I hurl the mouthwash bottle right at his head. He ducks to the side right before the bottle hits a shelf above his head knocking a shoebox to the floor.
“IT WAS YOU! YOU’RE THE MYSTERY GUY! THE GUY FROM HALLOWEEN!” I scream.
“Kat calm down. I can explain,” he’s not denying it. How could he?
“EXPLAIN?! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? You’ve had two months to explain!”
Then my eyes fly wide open as I’m blindsided remembering all the times he’s sat with us at lunch and after school since that night; all those times when Laurel brought up Halloween and we talked about the kiss. When I was delirious with a high fever telling him how amazing the guy's mouth was.
All the dozens and dozens of times we've been alone together in the fort, and he knew. HE KNEW!
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! I’m so embarrassed I can feel my face burning up. All those times talking about lightning and fireworks and his amazing lips. I turn my back on him throwing my hands over my face trying to block it all out. Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop! Don’t cry! Don’t cry!
How could he do this? HOW?
I can’t stop shaking. With anger or humiliation, I don’t know. Moreover, I don’t care.
Suddenly I feel him behind me, the weight of his hands on my shoulders, “Kat I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant to lie to you. I tried to tell you so many times. I just--”
I drop my hands from my face wheeling on him with fury radiating off me now in waves. “YOU TRIED TO TELL ME? WHEN?”
He’s either too shocked at my outburst or too stupid to say anything and takes a step back away from me.
“When did you try to tell me Josh? When I was sick back in November telling you about this amazing kiss I had with this strange guy at a party? Or, how about all the times when you heard me and Laurel talking at lunch trying to figure out who the mystery guy was?”
I advance on him another step. The only things I feel are my burning anger and my nails digging into my palms from balling my hands so tightly into fists at my sides, “oh, maybe it was when you were walking me home from that Halloween party, you remember, ABOUT FIVE MINUTES AFTER YOU WERE GROPING ME IN THE DARK?”
"It wasn't like that Kat and you know it!"
"I KNOW? I KNOW? TELL ME WHAT THE HELL I KNOW JOSH?"
He stumbles back another step almost crushing the shoebox I knocked off the wall. It makes us both look down at it.
The guilt on his face turns to fear when he looks back at me then scrambles to grab something from the carpet with one hand, and pick up the box and cover it with the lid with his other hand. But, he’s not fast enough. There was something familiar about what I saw him grab and I want to see it. I’m still furious and burning but my brain has gone into overdrive trying to access old memories.
“Stop! What is that?” I demand pointing at his hand. He’s gripping it so tightly his knuckles are turning white.
I run over to take it from him, ready to force his fingers open if I have to, but he just stands there with his face a frozen mask of fear and uncertainty. He opens h
is hand showing me his palm. The past comes flooding back like a tsunami washing over me replacing my anger with shock.
Lying in the palm of his hand I recognize the tiny smiley face staring up at me from the little round clay tile I made for him in 3nd grade. Without turning it over, I remember that our initials are together on the other side of the tile. The design matching our initials that like he carved for us on the tree in our fort.
At some point in the past 7 years, he made a hole at the top of the tile. There’s a black cord looped through it now that is tangled in his fingers. I look at the box on the floor to see a small pile of pink envelopes. The big sloppy cursive letters on the top envelope aren’t immediately recognizable, but, instinctively I know they’re mine. The shoebox is full of the letters I wrote to him after my parents finally told me he moved to North Carolina in the fourth grade. He never wrote back. Not once, but he kept all my letters.
The small envelopes look more worn than I think they should after being in a box for seven years. The edges are worn and the paper is wrinkled like the covers and pages of my favorite paperback books that I have read over and over. Is that what he did? Did he read my letters repeatedly all these years? Then why did he never write back? Why did he ignore me?
This is too much for me to handle. Memories aren’t the only things that flood back; all the pain and fear and loneliness that my ten-year-old self felt and pushed down deep come bubbling up to the surface like a massive volcano and I explode all over again.
“Do you have any idea how horrible that whole summer was for me and all of 5th grade the next year?” I yell at him pointing at the box he set on the nightstand.
“I cried every week. My Mom and Dad were out of their minds about how to help me. They made me see a therapist for Christ’s sake.”
I watch him wince like I slapped him and the thought to do just that has crossed my mind more than once in the last five minutes since my world shattered into what feels like a million pieces.
His face changes lightning fast as he takes one-step to close the two feet that were separating us and grabs me by the arms.
“It was no picnic for me either Kat. My whole entire world fell apart. I was nine Kat. Nine! I was just a little kid. My Dad was gone. I had to pack every stupid little thing I owned, practically overnight. Leave my school. Leave my friends,” he lets go of my arms to start pacing his room like a restless tiger, back and forth across the room from one wall to the other. My eyes track his movements without blinking.
“I had to finish 4th grade over the summer with tutors at my grandparent’s house where we moved. And my Mom. Oh my God! My Mom, Kat. She cried all the time. Never in front of me, but I’d hear her in her room every night. It was as if I lost her too. She stopped laughing and joking around. She didn’t make me snacks afterschool or dinner anymore. I had to walk home through a strange neighborhood all alone and it was my grandma who met me afterschool not her. When I did see my Mom, it was as if it wasn’t even her. She was just some robot walking around the house, doing laundry, making stupid small talk in the car driving me to a new school where I didn’t know a single soul. You still had friends here,” he said pointing at me accusingly.
“You knew people still. I didn’t know anyone at school or at home. You cried all of 5th grade? Well, I barely said a word in 5th grade. To anyone. My whole life turned inside out upside down and I didn’t know why! No one would ever tell me why!”
He chokes out those last words through trembling lips and tries to sit on the edge of his bed but just collapses down onto it. His head rests on his fists for a second then he drops his hands between his knees taking in big shaky gulps of air. He won’t look at me but I can see his eyes are all glossy, filled with tears that just haven’t spilled over yet like mine that are running down both sides of my face.
I totally forget how mad I was at him. Now all I can do is sit on the bed next to him. This time I don’t hesitate like I did at Thanksgiving. This time I throw my arms around his shoulders and squeeze my first best friend as hard as I can, as if I’ll never let him go. His arms snake around my waist fast as he buries his face in my hair squeezing me tight like he’s holding on for dear life.
I don’t know how long we stay like that on the edge of his bed just holding each other, rocking gently back and forth taking turns sobbing into each other’s shoulders. Eventually we’re sitting side-by-side holding hands. I shift so I can rest my cheek against his shoulder. He moves his arm around my shoulder and rests his chin on the top of my head.
Our breathing goes back to normal. I’m all cried out, have about a thousand knots in my stomach, and feel exhausted but I don’t want to break whatever spell we’re both under by being the first one to speak. Not to mention I have no idea what I would say. My brain is completely offline at this point. Josh saves me the trouble.
“Well…I think that was a long time coming,” he said in a gravelly voice that is as raw as my emotions feel.
“Yeah.”
“Kat…I…I have no idea what to say next.”
“Me neither.”
“It's all just…”
“I know.”
I did. He was just as lost and confused as I was, maybe more. Right then, holding onto each other would have to be enough to keep our friendship intact for now. We’re both too raw to really think or talk about anything else coherently. I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to leave. My emotions spent. Feelings raw. I needed space.
“I better go.”
He gives my shoulder a last gentle squeeze, kisses the top of my head, and drops his arm. When I stand up he’s still holding my hand, but I can only look at the floor. I don’t think I have any more tears left in me, but I’m worried if I looked at him, I might start balling all over again and my jacket sleeve is already totally soaked from wiping my nose.
“Josh,” I say giving my hand the tiniest tug.
“Kat.”
His voice is made of nothing but sadness and regret. My eyes start tearing up again. Are you kidding me? How am I not dehydrated already? I sniff and risk the smallest glance at him. His head is bent down. He can’t look at me either. This time when I pull at my hand he lets go. I walk to the door without another word. It feels like the longest, hardest walk of my life.
When I open his bedroom door to leave, I gasp.
Standing there in front of me looking like they’ve seen a ghost are both of Josh’s parents. They’re holding onto each other leaning against the hallway wall across from his room.
Seeing both of their blotchy, tear stained faces it hits me—they heard everything.
We’re all just standing there, nobody daring to say a word for what feels like hours until his Dad asks me, “Katie…would you like a ride home?”
All I can do is give my head the tiniest little shake no. Then I follow his Mom’s eyes to where she’s trying to peek past me to see Josh. That’s when I finally turn to look at him. His eyes are all puffy and red but he’s sitting there still as a statue, looking like that frightened, hurt nine year old little boy from so long ago.
His eyes meet mine and I mentally ask him if he wants me to stay. I feel protective of my friend now. I don’t want anyone else to hurt him. He must have caught the question in my eyes because he gives me a tight-lipped smile and the barest nod of his head that it’s ok. I can go.
I give him a small smile in return and walk out the door. At the top of the stairs, I stop to look back down the hallway and see both his parents take a hesitant step together into his room.
I fight down the urge to run back in there, instead I say a quick prayer that he’ll be ok and then I run all the way home as fast as I can until my lungs are burning like they're on fire.
Mom and Dad meet me at the door. They were a little anxious not knowing where I’d been. I told them I was heading over to Josh’s to drop off his homework, but that was 2.5 hours ago. I must look a mess from all the crying earlier and I was gasping to fill my burning lungs with
air after the run (which is now officially not my sport) but still, they don’t nag me or ask a lot of questions; guess they can tell I’m not in the mood to talk. Dad gives me a quick hug and kiss on the forehead then disappears into the library while Mom warms me up a plate from dinner and brings it to my room while I hop in the shower.
I eat fast then crash into bed. Exhausted to be sure, but three hours later and I still can’t shut my brain down or stop thinking about everything that had happened tonight. Josh kept all my letters and the tile I made him when I was eight, but never wrote or called me even though he knew I was here the whole time. I replay everything he said over and over in my head. He was so hurt. So abandoned. My heart is breaking all over again for how lonely we both were when we were little.
I’m about to start a fresh round of crying when my phone buzzes on my nightstand with a new text. Laurel’s grounded for the week and lost her phone privileges again. No one else but Jaxon and Player ever really calls or texts me, and I don't recognize the number so I have no idea who it could be.
Hey
Weird area code. Who’s this?
Me. Josh.
For a brief second, I feel my heart stop. How did he get my cell number?
How’d you get my #?
A long pause on the phone isn’t good. Means the person on the other end either is a slow typist or is thinking of how to abbreviate a lie.
Don’t b mad ok?
Ur so not the best person to ask that right now u know
Ugh. Want me 2 leave u alone?
Ok, a possible third option for a long pause is because the dork on the other end doesn’t know what she wants to say………no
:)
Ok, so how’d you get my #
Laurel
Oh she is so dead! She knows she’s not supposed to give out my number. That’s like BFF rule one. She’s going to have some huge explaining to do first thing in the morning or I’m going to plaster her cell number on a billboard off the highway.
Kat u ok?
Yeah. wondering same about u
These long pauses are twisting my stomach into pretzel knots again. He texted me. Why isn’t he talking?
Been better
Ditto
Want me to call?
NO! I type back too fast and all caps. Not cool Katie. No take backs once you hit Send dummy.
OK!
Sorry. I just mean. I just need some space. a lot to take in 2night. Need 2 process
I understand
Thx. I wonder where he’s at. I glance at the clock, 11.08pm. Probably in his room. In his bed. Whoa. Brain do not go there. Especially while you’re in your PJs in your bed. Josh was the guy that night. His lips and his hands. Josh's lips. Josh's hands.
Holy shit. What the hell happens now? I am so screwed.
Kat? Geez Louise. His text buzz almost made me drop my phone. Am I going to be jumpy forever now when it comes to him?
Yeah? Spit it out already Josh. What?
I’m sorry. 100000x
For what? He has a pretty good list going of things to apologize to me for. I may feel sorry for him, but I’m also still angry though I’m not 100% sure about what anymore. Now that he’s not holding me and crying, I’m back to being mad. A little bit.
Almost Everything.
Ha! Nice try Josh. No blanket apologies accepted. All formal admissions of guilt must be spelled out in detail. I think about how to make him squirm now, but I quickly lose my train of thought with a huge yawn that makes me realize I’m too tired and drained to be mad right now. Maybe tomorrow.
Kat??
Still here. Just really tired. Looooong day
I should let u sleep
S’ok Wait. I read back over his texts. ALMOST everything? What exactly is he not sorry for? He should be apologizing for everything he did.
What do u mean ALMOST?
???
You said you were sorry for ALMOST everything. What AREN’T you sorry for? He’s taking way too long to reply. I already know he’s not a slow typer because he was texting fast back and forth fast several times already. So now I have to decide is he figuring out how to lie or trying to figure out what he wants to say.
Josh?
Yeah
What aren’t u sorry 4?? The waiting is killing me, “ANSWER ALREADY!” I yell at my phone.
Kissing you
NOW I really can’t breathe. All I can do was stare at those two words until my phone light blinked off and I had to tap it again to get the light to come back on. His words are still there in blue. He’s not sorry for kissing me.
Kissing you
Kissing you
Kissing you
I can’t stop staring at his text, and faster than I can snap my fingers I’m right back in that dark room last October feeling his hand trailing fire up and down my back under my t-shirt, pulling me hard against his body, his fingers are in my hair, his lips are practically devouring mine, cinnamon, and his tongue. Oh God. And last week in the kitchen after we made cookies. Oh dear God.
My bedroom suddenly feels way too small and about a thousand degrees hotter than a moment ago. I squeeze my eyes tight and try to get a grip. When my phone rings I actually let out a small yelp and drop it on my bedspread. The weird area code is now lighting up my screen with the Answer/Decline buttons blinking.
It’s Josh.
Holy crap. No freaking way I can talk to him right now. I press and hold the power button until the screen goes black. Way to be the cowardly lion Katie. You blocked him out now, but what are you going to do tomorrow morning?