Fuel the Fire (21 page)

Connor says, “I never celebrated holidays with my mother. She found them pointless. I understand that fictional creatures can make you feel better, but we shouldn’t have to construct a lie just for that emotion. Jane will be comforted with the knowledge that Santa
isn’t
real and everyone else is living in fantasy.” He values the power that his mother gave him, able to see the world from the “real” viewpoint.

 Loren sighs now. “Come on, man. Being a kid means getting to
believe
in the impossible. It means believing that fairies exist along with spells and magic, and that on your eleventh birthday you’ll receive a letter from Hogwarts. It means thinking your presents arrived from a workshop in the North Pole and not the store down the street. And Connor…” Lo’s face twists at a thought. “I’m really sorry your mom took that shit from you. If you had even a semblance of it growing up, you would realize how special it is. Don’t take that away from Jane.”

I balk at the idea of taking something from Jane, anything at all. Naturally, I want to give her everything and more—all the things that I never had. Like a sympathetic mother, not a controlling, overbearing one.

I look at Connor while he mulls over Loren’s speech. “You know,” I say, “we can see who figures out the truth first: Moffy or Jane.” This may entice him to keep the charade for Jane, so she can believe in magic too.

Lily crinkles her nose. “That’s evil.”

“Well, it is coming from the devil,” Lo says, breaking some of the tension. He flashes a half-smile at the video camera. “And Jane, if you’re watching this when you’re older, just know it comes from a place of love.” He can barely say that with a straight face.

I clap. “You’re so convincing that my heart is starting to unthaw.”

“You have a heart?” Lo quips.

“Did someone gift me something sharp for Christmas?” I ask, a threatening gleam in my eye.

Lo shoots everyone a look like
whoever gave her a weapon is goddamn crazy.
Then he lands back on me. “Stay away from my balls.”

“You have balls?” I snap, not as good at sarcasm as him.

“You’re mixing your dreams with reality. You haven’t cut them off yet.”

Ryke pulls Daisy closer to his chest, watching everything through the video camera screen with her. “This is the most fucked up baby’s first Christmas video,” he mutters.

“Okay,” Connor suddenly says, a hush falling upon the room. Jane prattles a few soft syllables and looks up at her dad. He tells her, “Tu seras magnifiquement naïve.”
You will be beautifully naïve.
I know that he’s at peace with this concept when his lips rise in a genuine smile. Lo must’ve convinced him.

Daisy whispers to Ryke, “Is this good?”

He can translate for everyone, but instead of reiterating word by word, he nods. “Yeah. He’s going to let them believe.”

“Thanks, man,” Lo says, his son sounding out noises while he whacks the action figure on the rug.

Connor nods. “I think you all still have my presents left to unwrap.”

Daisy stands to hand them out, passing the video camera to Ryke. While she works on finding his gifts beneath the tree, I return to the crossword and find twelve boxes, horizontal and using the
“p”
from a two-box word:
DP
.

A nearly perfect word comes to mind, but it’s slightly tainted by its definition—which may cause Connor to arch a
what the fuck
brow.

“Stumped?” he asks, staring over my shoulder at the giant inkblot beside
Fornication
and no progress on my end.

“No,” I snap. Stumped. I’ll stump
him
. I lick my bottom lip and neatly write the letters: s-c-o-p-t-o-p-h-i-l-i-a.
Scoptophilia
.

A fetish for looking at erotic photography or watching sexual acts. Like through mirrors. Or with sex tapes.

He reads my new answer as I pass him the paper and collect Jane off his lap, hugging her with two inflexible, solid arms. My little gremlin hardly cares that I suck at hugging—she still smiles. I couldn’t love her any more than I do. My heart is full.

When I steal a glance at Connor, both of his brows are raised in confusion and intrigue. We’ve never watched those tapes together. Hell, we could barely
talk
about them until Scott returned. They’ve been this toxic stain in our relationship that we’ve covered with a rug instead of removed with bleach.

We’ve finally begun scrubbing at it.

His fingers brush my neck, questioning in the electric stroke. My hairs prickle, and we lock eyes. I can’t say whether or not I’d want to watch them—if they’d just stir something worse. I can’t know because we’ve never tried.

I hear Lily whisper something to Lo like
mind reading
—which is ridiculous, albeit a cute thought. Connor can’t read my mind, but maybe he can read my wants and desires and insecurities. Anyone who knows me well enough can, and Connor, of everyone, understands me the most.

“Here you go.” Daisy plops a package beside me, a heavy square object perfectly wrapped in light blue paper. We peel our gazes off each other.

Connor skims the crossword. “You should all open them at the same time.” He’s already filling in the crossword. Really?

Daisy hands the last present to Ryke, and we all begin to tear at the smooth, crisp creases. I open presents like I plan to save the wrapping paper for later, but every year, someone (Loren Hale) throws away my stack of neatly folded pieces. It’s extremely rude. His defense is always:
I’m saving you from becoming a hoarder.

So I’m the slowest to reach the present.

Everyone is already shouting exclamations.

“What the fuck?” Ryke says. He hasn’t unwrapped the present all the way, so I can’t see.

Lo laughs and looks to Connor. “If you hated it, love, you could’ve just told me.” Moffy’s empty bouncer is in my damn view of Lo’s gift.

“Huh?” Lily holds her hefty set of
The Chronicles of Narnia
.

I gape. No, he didn’t. That was the present Lily gave him last year for Christmas. He asked all of us to give him presents that we enjoyed. We chose books as the overall theme.

“You re-gifted?” I ask him in distaste.

Loren must have
A Song of Fire and Ice
beside him, a stack of five books. Daisy is holding
The Iron King
by Julie Kagawa, a young adult fairy novel, I believe.

I haven’t even finished peeling off the paper of mine, but I’m certain a vintage copy of Shakespeare’s
The Tempest
lies beneath, my present to Connor last year.

“Open them,” Connor says, unconcerned. He spins his pen in his left hand.

When I finally unearth
The Tempest
I flip open the cover. Sticky notes lie inside the margins. Dozens of them, his neat scrawl in blue ink. I thumb through the pages, my heart racing. He annotated it.

Shakespeare’s words:
I would not wish any companion in the world but you.

Connor’s annotation:
Nothing is truer.

His lips to my ear, he whispers, “‘Hear my soul speak.’” I feel his grin against my cheek.

Those four words are on this page too. He didn’t highlight them, but he drew an arrow to the line on top of a yellow sticky note.

It’s beautiful. My favorite play with his real thoughts combined.

My eyes lift from my book to Loren and Lily. They flip through them keenly, smiles expanding with each new page turned. I notice writing along the margin of the paper instead of sticky notes like mine.

“Yours is vintage,” Connor explains. “I didn’t want to write on the pages.” He knows me well.

“Thank you,” I breathe. Right then, Jane tugs on my hair. My head knocks into Connor’s from the sudden momentum.
This is a sign.

He recovers before I do, and he places his hand on my forehead, which took the impact and wells with pain.

“This is what happens when I say something nice to you,” I tell Connor, the pressure of his hand stopping my forehead from throbbing. “The universe rebels.”

“You just equated our daughter to the entire universe, and
I’m
the conceited one?” He laughs once, inspecting the bump on my head. “You’re okay. Do you need ice?”

“Yes, for your ego.”

“My ego isn’t bruised. You must’ve really hit your head hard if you think it can be.” He winks. He
winks
—I huff, glare, and poke him with a finger, hoping my manicured nail digs into him.

He smiles more. “Yes?”

“Wait, what the hell did he get you?” Lo’s loud, edged voice cuts into my hot streak, his question directed to his older brother.

 I now just notice the small, leather-bound journal in Ryke’s hands. Ryke really cheated last year. Connor wanted to learn more about everyone by reading our favorites, and Ryke handed him a blank journal—basically saying
fuck you
in a present.

I have no idea what Connor did to that journal. No one does but Ryke, and he barely flips through it. “It’s just the same thing I gave him.” Ryke clears his throat some, which means that Connor did write in it—but instead of sharing, he slides the journal into the back of his pants, like one would a handgun.

“Right where I love my gifts.” Connor smiles.

Ryke flips him off, putting his middle finger in
front
of the video camera lens.

“Your kids are going to love that someday,” Lo says.

Ryke gives him a look. “What kids?”

Daisy tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and then stands. “Anyone need coffee refills?” She collects her mug and mine.

“I’ll come with you,” Lily says, climbing to her feet and carrying Moffy. She disappears into the kitchen with Daisy, leaving me with the three guys.

 Connor passes me the crossword. “C’est à votre tour.”
Your turn.

“Dude,” Ryke snaps at his brother, propping the camera on the armrest. “I’d chuck a fucking pillow at you right now, but I don’t want to hit your kid.”

“Pillow fighting this early?” Connor banters.

He can’t slice through the frothing intensity. “I said
someday
,” Lo retorts. “Don’t get so bent out of shape over it.”

Ryke rubs his eyes wearily. “Sorry. It’s just everything—the surgery, I don’t fucking know.” He has to be nervous, regardless if the success rate is high or not. Once he comes out of surgery, the waiting game finished, he’ll be better. I have faith that he will be.

“You’re not dying,” Lo says adamantly. “Okay? You can’t die.”

“We all die sooner or later,” Connor muses.

I swat him with the newspaper, which is not as satisfying as poking him with my nail. He simply arches a brow
.
I scowl and return to the crossword.

The new word on the paper:
Osculate

I…

I don’t know this word. I hesitate to reach for my phone and do a quick dictionary search in front of Connor.
Osculate.
I bet it’s slang for anal or maybe some kinky position that I’ve never heard of before.

Osculate
, my brain repeats the word. Curiosity prevails and I procure my phone, bringing up a dictionary app. Out of my peripheral, Connor wears the most conceited, self-satisfied grin. He knows I’m confused.

“It better not mean anal,” I say tensely under my breath. I don’t think I’m ready for him to put
anything
in my ass.

“You’ll see.”

I almost recoil at his words. It’s worse than anal sex. What’s worse than that?

The definition pops on screen:
1. [mathematics] a curve or surface touching another curve or surface, having a common tangent point of contact.

What?

2. a kiss

I freeze.
A kiss.

“The Latin word for kiss is
Osculum
,” he explains and then kisses the top of Jane’s head, his lips pulling higher, eyes right on me.

I do something out of the ordinary, unlike me, my heart blazing with fire. When he raises his head, I make the first move and kiss
him
on the lips, his surprise touching me for a split moment, not long enough for me to waver. His shock vanishes as he nips my lip and then kisses
me
harder, stronger—

Jane pulls my hair again, abruptly separating us. I try to remove her grasp and distract her with the lion, my neck heating at Connor’s silence.

“Say something,” I whisper to him.

He cups my face, lifting my gaze to his. His thumb strokes my cheek, his eyes soulfully blue. “I know I’ve married the right person when words turn you on as much as they do me.”

I read deeper into that, as I should.

Translation:
I could only ever be with you, Rose. 

[ 19 ]

ROSE COBALT

While I clean the wrapping paper after presents, I notice Lily suspiciously sneak upstairs, cautiously checking over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching her. Somehow she misses my beady, narrowed eyes.

I’ve been preoccupied this past week staging two scenes with Connor for
Celebrity Crush
—one of which was Connor kissing me against a brick wall, right outside of Lucky’s Diner.

We almost never kiss in public, so it was a front-page headline.

I worry I’ve been out of the loop concerning my sisters. Connor, dressed in khakis and a navy sweater, barely bats an eye as he passes her on the stairs, finished putting Jane in her crib for a nap.

“That wasn’t weird to you?” I ask him.

He doesn’t glance back at her. “Your sister is always weird to me,” he says. “She speaks in fragments and uses words like OTP and shipper.” Before my spine arches in defense, he adds, “I like weird. It’s better than normal.”

I drop the trash bag. “Well I think she’s up to something.”
And I plan to find out.
I march towards the staircase, realizing that he’s not following. I look back, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. He’s acting suspicious too. “Are you joining me?”