Every Rose (17 page)

I curl up and start reading, surreptitiously stealing as many peeks of his profile as I can. He catches me several times and finally laughs at me. He’s laughing, thank goodness! “What?” I pout. “I enjoy looking at you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Were you always this beautiful?”

“Um…I don’t know about that, but you were impervious to all my charms back then,” he complains.

I tsk, “I was somewhat. I had my moments of weakness, though.”

He turns to focus on me, “Really?” he asks disbelievingly.

“Yep, do you remember the night I stayed over at Corrine’s?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what was supposed to happen that night?”

“Yes.” He pins me with a look.

I narrow my eyes at him. “So why didn’t you show up?”

He runs his hands through his hair, crosses his arms in front of him, and leans his hip into the counter. “Well, that’s hard to say.”

“Why don’t you give it a shot? I was there, waiting for you. I felt like such an idiot. I planned to…to take our relationship to a new level, and you left me standing there. All the other girls’ boyfriends showed up. But not Michael.” I cringe at the memory.

His face registers his shock. “You were upset?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes, I had decided that, if you showed up, I would kiss you. You were supposed to be my first kiss. Instead, I ended up kissing Brian Gates on the merry-go-round at the ballpark a few weeks later.”

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he replies mockingly.

“Yeah, no problem.” I admit, “Yours was the first kiss I really enjoyed, though.”

“Yeah?”

              “Yeah, and I think we’re making up for lost time now. No pun intended,” I laugh.

“I think so too,” he agrees with a smile.

“OK. Deflection averted. Why didn’t you show?”

He turns back around and busies himself with his cooking, “I knew if I showed that’s exactly what would happen, and I worried about the consequences.”

I let this sink in a minute. “You were saving me from myself?”

“Well, I didn’t see it that way. I just knew I would put you in a compromising position. I’m just happy my fifteen-year-old horny self was able to see through the haze of my hormone clouded brain.”

My face reddens. “You were horny?! For me?!” I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this.

“Are you kidding me? So horny. All the time. And I wanted you so badly,” his breath hitches. He glances over at me, finally. His gaze is heated, predatory. “Not much has changed on that front.” He finally releases me from his stare.

This line of conversation might offend other girls, but I’m so turned on right now. I grab my book and try to grasp the words on the page. I can’t respond because I know I will be truthful, which will alert him to the fact that I’m, all of the sudden, a pervert where he is concerned.

It doesn’t help distract me, so I decide to read him a little
Wuthering Heights
aloud.

“Are you a Brontë fan?” I ask him.

“Charlotte, Emily, or Anne?”

Of course, he knows all the Sisters Brontë. “Emily, in this instance.”

“She’s my favorite Brontë.”

“I have a hard time deciding between her and Charlotte. I love them both so much.”

“Really?” he asks sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I laugh him off and begin reading, “‘May she wake in torment!” he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden par
oxysm of ungovernable passion. 'Why, she's a liar to the end' Where is she? Not there—not in heaven—not perished—where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable!—’”

Michael cuts me off and finishes for me, “‘I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’”

I’ve read this passage so many times that I could repeat it from memory too. It’s one of the most painful, most truthful moments of the book. It never fails to bring tears to my eyes. I look at him and his tears mirror mine. “What a pair we are,” I mumble, aloud this time, and grin a secret smile.

Chapter Twenty-two

I Must Have Been a Very Good Girl

My time spent with Michael has made me more agreeable because I end up spending a pleasant evening with my family. It’s a quiet one. Just my mom, step-dad, and brothers. We had a nice dinner that my mom prepared and then watched
A Christmas Story
, which is my mom’s favorite Christmas movie. After that, we argued about when we should exchange gifts. I opted for tonight. Why wait? We’re all adults. I prevailed, and we ended up exchanging presents. Everyone seemed happy with their gifts that I bought them with my very limited budget. My mom bought me a new camera in hopes that I would take more pictures. I even got some new pajamas from my “brothers”. Ha! I would love to see them set foot inside a store and buy their sister something to sleep in!

I end up in the kitchen doing the dishes. My mom has a dishwasher but refuses to use it or even buy soap for it. So, here I am, volunteering my services. Michael and I did dishes together while I was at his house, I muse. I didn’t mind so much then. I think about how playful he was. It took twice as long as it should’ve to wash the few dishes we dirtied.

My brother surprises me by nudging my shoulder and mumbling, “Move over.”

“Um…OK. Thanks!” I reply, stealing a sideways glance at Jerome. He’s looking good these days. I marvel at how dark his hair and skin are. Everyone in my family is dark like this with the exception of an aunt and a cousin or two. They love to give me a hard time about my questionable parentage. My mom gets angry and says I’m what our ancestors call a throwback, one of a litter who doesn’t seem to fit in with the others and carries the genes of a bygone generation. I smirk as I realize that term could be applied to me in so many areas of my life.

We wash dishes in silence for a couple of minutes. I’m the first to break the silence. “Mamma told me that you’re going to try welding school. Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I guess. Good way to make a little money. I want to get my own place. I think Weldon and I will move in together.”

“Hmm…Do you think it’s a good idea for Weldon to move in with you while he’s still in school? It’s only his junior year.”

He looks over his shoulder and surveys the room quickly. He looks back at me and states, “He’s droppin’ out. Mamma doesn’t know yet.”

“Oh, no! Why?” Jerome hated school, wasn’t cut out for it. It was disappointing when he dropped out, but Weldon—Weldon always did so well. I didn’t see this coming.

“You know he pretty serious with Mariah Johnson, right?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” I mumble. I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know much of anything about what my brothers do or don’t do.

“Yeah, well, he and her started skipping school a lot, hangin’ out at her house during the day while her parents were at work. Bing. Bang. Boom. She’s pregnant.”

I feel as though I was just punched squarely in the gut. “No,” I whisper.

“Yep. So, he needs to work full-time, and Mamma and Joe are probably gonna kick him out when they find out.” I knew exactly how disappointed Mamma would be.

“Does he have any idea how hard things are going to be on him? I mean, does he even know her well enough to have a child with her?”

“There’s evidence suggestin’ he knows her real well,” he kids.

I splash dishwater at him and tell him that’s not funny.

He looks over his shoulder again, conspiratorially. I wonder what other shocking news he has to impart. “Is it true about you and Mike Bang?”

My eyes widen with alarm. I’m not ready for my family to know about this yet. I narrow my eyes and feign innocence. “What do you mean? What about us?”

“Some of the guys told me that you were at that going away party for his cousin. They asked if ya’ll were together. Ya know, some of them are still hoping for a shot with you.”

“What? Nobody hopes for anything with me,” I deny.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, how ‘bout you and Mike?” he persists.

“I just happened to run into him at that party. So there’s no me and Mike; we’re just old friends. He’s always hoped for more, as you know; but I just don’t see it happening. We’re hanging out but only as friends. I think he’s finally accepted that.”

“Well, that’s probably better. He’s a good guy and all, but he can’t seem to stay outta trouble.”

“You just described about every male I know,” I reply cynically.

“True,” he concedes.

………………………………………………………

As much as I didn’t want to leave Michael, I’m glad to have some time alone to work on his Christmas present. I purchased a leather journal, which was all the money I could spare to spend. I decided that I would make him a present. He’ll understand that whole starving student thing better than anyone. Besides, I know that Michael will appreciate the sentiment. He’s incredibly sentimental like I used to be, am trying to be again.

I bought myself a fancy fountain pen to accomplish my little project. In the journal, I plan to write down all of our teenage memories and the memories we’ve made recently, making a copy of my own journal. I hope that he will add to the journal as our relationship develops. It would be very interesting to see his thoughts on the subject.

I start with inscribing our full names on the title page. I laugh as I remember how revelatory he thought our initials were. I’ll have to add that memory in as well. As I glance through and prepare to copy them down, I notice again that I’ve written, all but the first memory, in present tense. I take a moment to ponder this. The inadvertent use of present tense has allowed me to relive each of these moments as though they are currently happening. Each time I’ve reread them, they’ve been so fresh, so powerful, so overwhelming. Who knew that tense choice could be such a powerful thing? Now, I get why. I decide that all of his should be in present tense as well so as to have that same unpredictable, therefore provocative, side effect.

I work long into the night, copying each memory in my best handwriting. I write my memory on one side of the page, leaving room for his on the other to create a mirror of sorts. I have a moment of doubt about this being a wise present, but my instincts tell me that he will love it. I wrap the journal with the leather tie and immediately fall asleep.

That night I dream of a young boy with shaggy black hair and copper skin. I can’t remember much of it when I wake, but I do remember him assuring me that all of my dreams were about to come true.

……………………………………………………....

I spend almost the entire Christmas Day with family I haven’t seen in years. It’s nice, but I’m dying to get back to Michael. The only thing that keeps me from flying out of here and to him is the fact that I know he’s with his family too. I hope that is going well. He and his dad still don’t get along, but Michael tries very hard to keep his cool around him for his mother’s sake. He has older siblings whom I’ve never met, but he speaks fondly of them. I pray he had a good day.

When I get back to my house, I quickly go into my room to grab my already packed bag. I double-check that Michael’s present is there. I stick my head in my mom’s room and tell her that I’m headed to Ginny’s and I’ll see her tomorrow.

Before I can make my exit, she stops me with what I can tell might develop into an argument. “Do you think that’s a good idea? You’ve been staying over there a good bit. You don’t have long to visit with us, ya know?”

Crap! Busted. I turn around and purse my lips. “Well, I really don’t have any friends in Oxford. So I guess I’m just getting my friend fix,” I venture. That might do it. My mom is a huge proponent of friendships.

“Is that all it is? You’re not avoiding something?”

“What would I be avoiding?” Ironic that she question me about my avoidance tendencies. I learned from the best.

She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Well, it’s nothing like that. I’m just enjoying being with a good friend who I’ve missed incredibly. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m glad that you have a good friend like that.”

I walk back to her and give her a hug. “Me too, Mamma. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

That was close. Lying comes very naturally to me, always has. But I do hate lying to her. She just wouldn’t understand right now, so that’s the way it has to be because I have to be with him.

………………………………………………………

Christmas evening with Michael is nothing short of amazing. He brought leftovers from his mom’s so that we don’t have to worry about being distracted by mundane matters such as sustenance. I wanted to give him my gift as soon as I arrived, but I suddenly feel very shy. My memories are making me feel very exposed and vulnerable. I know that I can trust him and, of course, he experienced them. It just seems strange to have them there in black and white for him to ponder over. Besides that, the memories are weaved in with my internal dialogue, which he has never been privy to.