18 Things (20 page)

“Well, your parents won’t be able to prevent you for long.” He hooked a finger under my chin and tilted it toward him, and I prayed he didn’t feel the sheen of sweat forming there from his touch. “You’ve got a birthday making you legal soon.”

“True.” I couldn’t muster a better response, and even with that one little word, my voice cracked.

Nate opened the oven door, slipped on a blue and white-stripped mitt, then took out a shallow glass dish.

“So, I suppose this casserole isn’t complicated either?” I asked.

“Nope. You mix some Cream of Mushroom Soup, milk, pepper, green beans, and French Fried Onions together, then bake it for thirty minutes. We’ll let this cool while I show you how to bake the cobbler.”

Nate removed a kitchen gadget thingy from a drawer, and my eyes widened.

“What is that?”

Wrapping his arms around his stomach, he hooted with laughter. “You’ve seriously never seen an apple slicer?”

I leaned against the counter, taking a long, therapeutic breath. “My mom is very controlling about everything in our house. Nobody steps in the kitchen when she’s cooking. So, that’s an apple slicer?”

He nodded, grabbing some apples out of a basket on the counter.

“Well, it looks like a torture device from the middle ages.”

He waved the slicer around. “It’s not exactly horror flick material.”

I pat his broad shoulder. “Famous last words.”

Putting a hand on my arm, he asked, “When is the last time you saw some vixen sliding up against a wall, cowering in fear from an apple slicer?”

Straightening, I thrust my hands in my pockets. “Actually, just before I came over, I saw a preview for a Halloween movie showing that exact thing. Yeah, they were in the kitchen. The villain brought the apple slicer over the woman’s hand, then cut off three of her fingers. In fact, if you read the warning on the side, it probably cautions against that little scenario.”

Squinting, he said, “Now I know you’re lying. You came from work, so you couldn’t have been watching tv.”

“Yes, I could.” I shook my head, hair falling into my eyes. “I’m a total slacker. And there’s a television in the break room.”

As if I exasperated him, he sucked in a deep breath. “Stop it, silly. You’re going to do this. I’ve used the slicer a million times, and I’m fine.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Maybe, but you put one of those in my hands, and suddenly it becomes a killing machine.”

He placed the slicer in my hands anyway, stretching his hands around my wrists. “I’ll help you. The initial push is always the hardest.”

We pressed down, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “That’s what she said.”

His head snapped back in laughter, losing what little control he had over the situation. Nothing protected my index finger when the sharp edge sliced through my skin. Blood flowed everywhere.

Nate yelped. “Ah, I’m so sorry!” He grabbed a wad of paper towels, then pressed them over my finger while leading me to the kitchen table to sit.

“I’ll be right back.” He headed out of the kitchen to the right, I assumed toward the bathroom. A minute later, he returned with a Band-Aid and Neosporin and set them on the counter, flipping on the faucet. “Come rinse your wound with soap and water first.”

Fittingly, the soap dispenser was shaped like an apple, its little leaf squirting liquid into my hands. I faux whimpered.

“Again, I’m so sorry.”

I let out a shaky little laugh. “Well, I hate to tell you I told you so, but you should learn now I’m always right.”

He handed me a fresh paper towel. “Should we go to the hospital? This looks like you may need stitches.”

My nerve endings crackled at the word hospital. “No, I’m fine.”

A weak smile let me know he understood. He applied the cream to my cut, wrapped the Band-Aid around my finger, then kissed it.

I blushed and wished he were the one blushing sometimes, too.

Rubbing his fingers over mine, he smiled. “That’s what my mom always did when I got injured. Figured it couldn’t hurt, right?”

This was one of those moments where I should’ve nodded in agreement, remembering all the times my mother did the same thing. But my mind was a total blank. “My mom was never that nurturing, but whatever you say.”

“Okay, that’s just sad.” He still held my hand and led me back to the chair. “You relax. Want some ice?”

I half-closed my eyes, searching for pain, but none existed. “Nah. I know it looks bad, but it actually doesn’t even hurt.”

“If you say so.”

Nate sliced four apples with no problem and arranging them in a baking dish, pouring a can of cinnamon spice apple pie filling and a package of yellow cake mix over the apples. Then from the fridge he retrieved a stick of butter and cut it up before placing the margarine all around the pan. He sprinkled chopped walnuts on top of the cobbler. For some reason, I found all of this fascinating.

My stomach grumbled, and I licked my glossy lips. “When Cantankerous Monkey Squad is famous, I’ll be able to say I knew Nate Barca when he still cooked his own food.”

After arranging two plates of fried chicken and green bean casserole, he walked them to the table. “Whatever. I don’t want our fans to buy into the whole rock star image. I didn’t join this band with the mindset of becoming big. I’d be just fine with doing acoustic versions in small clubs my whole life.”

While I shoved a mouthful of green beans into my mouth, I idly traced the patterns on the plastic tablecloth with my free hand. “No sold out pretty boy rocker for you, then.”

“Nuh-uh,” he answered around tiny bites of chicken.

A long, low sigh escaped from my lips. “So, should I keep helping the band get a record deal on my list?”

In the center of the table a stack of napkins piled high, and he reached for some. Nate’s fingers brushed my fingers as he handed me one, and I pulled back. This time, I didn’t mean to shut him out, not like I did with my parents and so many others around me. Even more sad, Nate didn’t seem surprised by my actions, like he expected the cold shoulder routine. I could tell by the way he grabbed the salt and responded to my question rhythmically, never missing a beat.

“It’s up to you. I mean a record deal wouldn’t suck, so if you think you can help us get one, then by all means do.”

“Yeah. Well, don’t hold your breath. I don’t have any ideas for that one yet.”

He frowned. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

We ate in silence for several minutes, the voice of the local news anchor still blaring from the living room.

“This meal is fantastic.” I lifted my water glass. “Cheers to the chef.”

Clinking his drink against mine, he said, “The company is what made it so great. Thanks for coming.”

When the oven timer buzzed, letting us know the cobbler was done, our dinner dishes looked like we had licked them clean.

“Have you ever seen
Citizen Kane
? I thought we could watch it in my room until the meteorite shower starts.”

I cleared my throat. “No, but that’s one on my list of movies to watch.”

Nate flipped his hair out of his face. “I figured, especially with the newspaper ties to it.”

We loaded the plates in the dishwasher, scooped out a helping of the cobbler, then brought our bowls with us to his room, where it smelled like incense. “What have you been doing in here?”

“Yoga.”

“Really?”

He furrowed his brow. “Yeah. Denise Austin is da bomb. You ever try it?”

“Um, no.” I flipped my index finger at him. “And you can’t make me. I already have eighteen new things to try this year.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

To the left of the doorway a flat screen tv, a Blu-ray player, a PlayStation 3, and a massive pile of CD’s cluttered his sticker-encrusted desk. After hitting a button on the remote, he popped in the movie. On the opposite wall clothes covered a black futon. He cleared away enough of them for a load of laundry.

“Shall we?”

I nodded and sat down, then balanced the bowl of apple cobbler on my knees and took a bite. Of course, this, too, tasted delicious.

A breeze drifted in through the open window behind us, and I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. I distracted my nerves by looking around his room while the previews played. The shelves to my right were stacked with books on world history, religion, philosophy, and most of all, Greek mythology. Miscellaneous items like a wallet, keys, a half-burned candle, alarm clock, and Conner’s old song notebook peppered the dresser.

For some reason, only one wallet-sized photo graced the mirror above the dresser. My fall school picture.

Curious
. He must’ve hung it up right before I arrived—as a joke. Sticky notes featuring song lyrics covered the rest of his mirror, making a clear reflection almost impossible.
I like a man who’s not into appearances.
I did not know where that thought came from, but I felt dizzy, strange too, entirely too strange. Desserts make everything better, so I scooped another bite of cobbler and ice cream into my mouth.

The movie began to play, and Nate stood on his futon and pulled the string to turn off the light but left on the fan. After a while, the wind from the fan and open window made me shiver.

Nate put his arm around my shoulders.

I shivered again, but not from the cold. I didn’t dare look at him though, and it was difficult to concentrate on the movie.

Two hours later, I swept crumbs from my second helping of apple cobbler off the futon. As we watched the final scene in the movie, with the workers throwing Kane’s sled, Rosebud, into the furnace, I rolled my eyes at Nate. “So, his last dying word, R-O-S-E-B-U-D, was about a childhood sled?”

Nate shut off the movie, plunging the room into darkness. He stood on his futon again and pulled the light cord. “You don’t really think it was about a sled, do you? The sled was meant to represent the innocence of childhood. It was something he lost too early through a bad experience, like most of us. And most of us spend our entire lives looking to regain hope we had as a child but can never really seek it out because life always gets in the way.”

Tumbling my hands through the air in a faux bow, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Philosophy.”

“It’s what I want to get my degree in. Can you tell?” He nodded to all the books on his shelf.

I ruffled his shaggy hair. “Might as well. You’ve been majoring in BS ever since I’ve known you.”

“Hardy har-har.” He meandered to his closet, then retrieved two sleeping bags and a pair of massive flashlights. “You ready?”

Following him through the back door, I carefully kept to the stepping stones past the fish pond to the edge of his yard where a telescope was already set up. The brilliance of the stars outshone the moon, like a million flashlights of the gods on this cloudless night. Each twinkling star made me wonder about the universe and my place in it. I studied Nate’s relaxed disposition. Somehow I knew this was the only place I wanted to be in this moment.

He coated his arms with bug spray, then handed the can to me and asked, “So, what do you know about constellations?”

I smiled. “I can point out a few. There’s the Big Dipper, four stars making up the bowl and three for the handle. The Little Dipper’s there, a smaller version of the same thing. The really bright star in the Little Dipper is Polaris, also known as the North Star, which is at the end of the handle. Polaris isn’t the brightest in the sky but shines directly above the North Pole, and as Earth rotates, all the stars appear to us like they whirl around it. There’s Orion, also known as The Hunter. He has a human figure, and you can best spot him by his belt. Over there is Leo, the bright stars forming the outline of a lion. Then there’s Scorpio, named for the insect. The constellation that looks like a cross is called the Crux—”

“Okay. I get it. There’s no use trying to show off for you.”

When he fell silent for a few minutes, I felt bad. I wasn’t trying to steal his thunder, just teasing him.

“Wow! What’s that?” I shouted after a piece of yellow brightness decorated the sky.

“The meteor shower.” He lit up his watch and laughed a little. “Yep, it’s after midnight. Right on schedule.”

I turned a full-watt smile on him. “But it was so big, so bright! Will all of them be like that?”

Shrugging, he said, “The news said we should see ten, fifteen, maybe even twenty meteors every hour. But that one was the brightest one I’ve ever seen, which is weird since it’s a full moon. That usually makes them seem dimmer.”

My shoulders fell as I looked up at the sky. “So we just wait?”

“We wait.”

Both of us spread out our sleeping bags, then took a seat.

I pointed to a short lattice fence covered by netting to the right. “Who does that belong to?”

The garden was the only neatly kept area of their front or back yard.

“Mine. I planted raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries this summer. I’m gonna dig up my potatoes tomorrow. It’s the envy of all the kids on the block.”

For some reason, I melted at the thought of Farmer Nate digging around in his garden. “You, Nate Barca, are a complete mystery to me.” My body felt like Jell-O, probably just a strange side effect of the meteorites.

Nate chuckled, and it sounded too loud in the quiet darkness. “I like to keep the ladies guessing.”

Through his telescope, we took turns watching another meteorite shoot across the black sky, and it seemed so close, as if I could reach up and touch it. “Ya know, I had a new dream last night that meteors were falling from the sky, like crashing into Earth.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“Well, one hit me, and I woke up.”

“Where’d it hit you?”

“Right here.” I pointed to my big forehead.

He leaned in and kissed my fake owey. When he pulled back, I knew my eyes were wide. “Kissing makes everything better, remember?”

My breathing was suddenly rushed.
Oh my gosh! This is a date, isn’t it?

“It’s kind of funny because you know how we always talk about how dreams have meanings? I read when they involve meteors, it symbolizes a truth which wasn’t realized at first, something you just couldn’t imagine before but then suddenly hits you.”