(FYI, there are some changes to this chapter and the previous two chapters. So, you might want to read the three again, even if you already have, or some things might not make sense.)
Chapter 30…'Round Midnight…
"Are you guys like a thing now? I saw you holding hands, but it didn't really register because I was too preoccupied with unveiling your grandfather's little surprise." This is what Bea wakes up saying just before we pull in front of our building; like that thought came directly from her sleeping subconscious and went directly out of her big mouth.
I turn to her in the backseat where she'd fallen asleep with Petal within seconds of leaving Henry's new place. "We really need to see about getting you on some meds." My eyes sweep over Leif's profile as I face the road again, his expression unreadable. I leap out of the car the second he shifts the gear into park.
"No, really." Bea pivots in the back seat to face Leif and me now both at the open hatchback. "He could be a good first boyfriend. He fits in well with the weird little band of ruffians we call a family." I'm guessing, being in the kitchen, she missed the whole fight club segment of our earlier conversation, or she might not have said that. She abhors any form of physical confrontation, even covering her eyes when a remotely violent scene comes on in a movie.
Oh, can this weekend just be over already?
"Lithium, do you think?" the beautiful voice says next to me, throwing me a new kind of lifeline—a humorous one.
Bea beams a huge smile at us. "And he jokes! The joking sea god, who would've thought?"
I've never addressed the whole sea god thing with him and I'm not about to do it now. I lift out Megan's three wrapped art pieces—they are not small, I have to jostle them in my arms to carry them all—sure that even my toes are bright red right about now.
"I'm thinking more along the lines of a bludgeon to the head," I mutter, taking them to our building's door, wishing I'd thought to leave James' and Leif's artworks with Henry; I'll just have to bring them back up on Tuesday.
"Oh look, you two even have a shtick! I love it!" Bea booms in her radio voice as she climbs out of the car to join me at our front door, unlocking it. "I left Petal for you to walk after you park. Her leash is in the backseat."
"Here, take this stuff upstairs, and just…Go!" I hiss at her before handing her the parcels and shoving her in the door. Leif places my bag, and his, in the vestibule.
"Where do you want me?" Leif asks in what might be, for me, the most loaded question of all time. I gaze up at him now standing expectantly in the front hallway of The Rambler with both our bags over his shoulders. For a moment, I forget all the revelations of today, even my most recent Bea-induced mortification. I don't know what he sees in my face, because then he asks, "Or is that a loaded question?"
"Quit reading my mind!"
"Ahh…the question now is…Why is that a loaded question?" His blue eyes light up and a slow smile creeps up his face as he leans in. He's enjoying this.
Because you're a walking dichotomy, all disdainful jerk, and sweet savior, you push me away and then turn around and pull me close? Because even though I've met people all over the world from all walks of life and culture, you're the most intriguing—and vexing and perplexing—man on the planet and I can't figure you out and then you add on what I've seen of you in your element these last few days and what Vick said last night and what Megan's husband Thomas said today and that girl and your relationship with my grandfather, who clearly likes you so much and I'm at a loss and you're upending my life and in a matter of days you are so incredibly important to me? Because I missed sleeping next to you last night because I was actually asleep and I'm wondering what it would be like to sleep next to you, but be fully awake where I could study you in repose all night? And I'm not even going to get started on the fact that you kissed me and I kissed you and even though both were quick and with closed mouths, it's like your sculpted lips are lingering on mine and I can't look at you without wondering what a real kiss would feel like and why did you kiss me anyway, was it just to bring me out of that strange shocked place I was in and why does the air between us seem to crackle with alive, unseen possibility sometimes, all the time, is it just me or…
"No reason," I shrug, looking away. "How about you take your favorite room?"
He raises one eyebrow. "But that's your room."
"What makes you think it's mine?"
His eyebrows knit in puzzlement. "I came to find you the first night I stayed here. To check on you after…" Oh, so he did watch me sleep that night. Luckily, he didn't catch me doing the same to him.
I shake my head, taking my bag off his shoulder to put it on mine "It's not my room, I just stayed in it that one night. There's an en suite bathroom and an alarm clock in that room, which you'll need for tomorrow." I pick up the three art pieces where Bea set them against the wall. She was sprawled asleep on her sofa when we got back from parking, thank heavens. I put Petal in her apartment and firmly shut her door.
"Those are rather large. Don't you need help carrying?" Curiosity burns in his eyes about his gift and for a second, he looks like an eager little boy.
"I've got this. Go!" I say, turning to go to my room before I wrap myself around him.
"Who's going to tuck me in?"
I stop, but don't dare turn toward him again. That voice. Merde. "Cute. But you're still not getting your gift until Tuesday!" I call out over my shoulder and it almost hurts to walk away from him.
I hear him whisper behind me what might be, "Not a ploy."
Once in my room I change into some short silk pajama bottoms and a tank top to sleep in, but I can't settle myself; my exhaustion has turned to straight up wired.
So I don't forget for dinner on Tuesday, I text Em Henry's new address saying that I'll explain in person why he moved. Who's going to tuck me in? I unpack my weekend bag and the presents from my messenger bag that will be from Henry for James and Leif. I pulled Granddad aside before we left so I could show them to him. He spent an especially long time looking at Leif's gift. It is a beautifully-embossed leather three-ring notebook/diary. The front cover of it has a traditional Japanese wave embossed on it. The back cover is of a traditional Japanese mountain at the edge of the sea with one huge cherry blossom tree on it. The closure for the notebook is a metal button with the Japanese kanji for ai, which translates to love. If you open the notebook up fully, you can see that the branches of the tree and the tendrils of the wave almost meet right on the spine of it; like they're reaching for each other and just about to touch. Megan had showed it to me in the back room of the shop on Saturday, her uncle having just finished it the night before. She'd said that he'd been inspired from a series of antique Japanese paintings they'd bought at an estate sale recently. I had to have it for Leif, even though I know in this modern digital age he might not actually use it. When I showed it to Henry, he had reverently pronounced it "more perfect than you could know." The notebook is a blue-green color, almost the exact shade of the room where Leif is right now.
That is what decides something for me. Who's going to tuck me in? I put the notebook away to wrap tomorrow, grab my gift to Leif, and tie one of those red ribbons around the intertwined blue ribbon and jute string that Megan and Thomas had put on it.
He is opening his door as I raise my hand to knock on it.
"I was just coming to find you," he says.
"Why?" I ask as he eyes what's in my hand and I eye the fact that he is in loose grey cotton drawstring pajama bottoms and nothing else. He was coming to find me like that? With the bare chest that is all sculpted planes and angles that make me want to run my hands along each individual line, playing it like a lyre, a harp? Shameless! Sure, this is how he was in Philly, only in jeans, but it didn't fully register. Now it does, every flexure of it. Not to mention that little trail of hair that snakes down under his waistband. This expanse of skin is as unfair as his full-on megawatt smile.
"Oh, no." He ushers me inside. "Ladies first."
"Yes, because we've established that you are always a perfect gentleman to the ladies," I smirk, in direct defense against his bare chest. Leif does not seem to find this funny; in fact, it seems to sting him a little. I walk in the door.
This room is finished except that there are no curtains on the windows or furniture in here but for the king-sized bed and two antique trunks, used as nightstands. My grandmother had said that I should be the one to choose whatever other furniture I wanted from the rest of the apartment to move into this room, but I never had.
Leif sits on the bed, stretching out his long legs and it occurs to me only now that the top of the white upholstered headboard, studded with nailheads, sort of looks like a wave. Although maybe it's just that the sea god is now leaning against it. He pats the bed next to him, and I go around to the other side to sit facing him.
"I figured I'd put you out of your misery." Which is my creative translation for "I'm feeling guilty for my behavior and I lectured you earlier and you handled what Bea said with such good nature and I'm certainly not bringing it up if you don't, but mostly it's that I can't stay away since, Who's going to tuck me in? got lodged in my stupid mind." I put the gift on his lap. It is roughly three feet by two feet.
He stares at it, then me, then it. He lifts up his knees so the gift is almost upright, then reaches his hand out to touch the red ribbon first, almost leisurely, sexily, pulling it out of its bow. He tries to pull it entirely off the blue and jute ribbon as I try not to notice what that does to his chest.
"I can't get it off," he says.
"I thought you were Invincible. Are you going to let one little red ribbon best you?"
"I think it already has," he mutters, glancing at me darkly.
"The more you struggle, the more you just make the knot tighter." Yeah, I'm having fun with this. I put on my most simpering voice, "Do you need some help?"
"From a little thing like you? I don't think so." We're both playing with each other now. Why does this seem to make the air sizzle between us? He grasps the jute and blue ribbon and pulls at it and I'm almost sure he's making his muscles flex on purpose now, ruthlessly giving me a show. The other breaks, but not the red ribbon. He sets it aside, giving me one eyebrow raised in a smirking triumph before he tears at the paper. Underneath the brown paper are clouds of white tissue paper to cushion it.
I watch his face as he finally unwraps it fully, tilting it into the light of the one lamp that's on, catching his first glimpse.
His eyes rove over it. His fingers trace over the glass that protects the drawing, then the frame. When he looks over at me, his face is shocked, stripped of its covering. Pained.
Oh no! "Do you not like it?" I ask, pained myself. I thought it was perfect.
He shakes his head. "No," he whispers. "I love it."
And I see it is not pain on his face, but raw vulnerability. I let out a breath, dissolving into relief as he says, "Come here. Tell me how you did this."
Leif lifts up his arm, and I scoot over to nestle into his side, facing the drawing. He clasps his arm around me, holding me tightly to him. Everything about this feels so right.
"I happened upon the most amazing artist and artisans," I start.
Megan had taken all the photos I sent her and created beautiful, masterful drawings out of them, somehow integrating the individuals into one perfect whole. I point to the center drawing, the largest. "This is from the photo I took this morning of you in front of that Peace sign sculpture in your cap and gown." Gosh, was it only a matter of hours ago? It feels like this morning was weeks ago! "I sent it to the artist and she drew this from it so quickly."
The actual drawing Megan did integrated both the Peace sign sculpture on the college green, and also the Love sculpture drawn behind it, in red and blue, although we didn't get over there to take an actual photo.
I point to a smaller drawing, near the main one. "And this is from a photo I took yesterday of the house you and James lived in—see the turret?—and the artist, Megan is her name, drew you both onto the stairs of the front porch from the photo I took of you and James sitting on the Ben Franklin bench. That's Ben, right there, on the stoop next to you two." I point to another part of the drawing. "And this is of that Plunger sculpture that's in front of the Penn fitness center, only made to look like you. Particularly appropriate, huh?" That bronze sculpture is of a man just about to take a dive into a body of water. "And this is you rowing a boat, only not a modern one, but what looks like one of those old Norse boats, which fits with you, doesn't it, and see the flag on it? It's funny, but I didn't know you were the Marshall for the 'L' Cohort Group, but the artist drew it in anyway, probably because it's the initial of your first name and it looks just like the flag you carried at graduation." I point to something else. "And this is from that Wave Forms sculpture, also appropriate for you. I didn't get a photo of that either, but she drew it in. And see how the tendrils from the Wave Form bells branch out and become the red and blue ribbons that connect the whole drawing? With the interspersed cherry blossoms that are all over Philadelphia? Did you know that Japan gifted the city with thousands of cherry blossom trees years ago? My grandmother told me that one time and…there's the Penn motto in Latin—'Laws without morals are useless.'" Dios mio, I'm rambling again. "And at the bottom it has your name and graduation date and then Philadelphia written in Greek letters which translates directly to 'love of brother,' the city's motto."
I feel him take a shuddering breath.
"And the blue and red matting for Penn's colors and the wood frame has carved cherry blossoms and open books and peace signs and liberty bells, aren't they intricate? And it all signifies your time at Penn and what I hope for you after graduation, for your life—love and beauty and peace and freedom and learning and…I'm sorry, I can't seem to shut up." I finally stop, taking several deep breaths. We both stare at the drawing.
Leif runs his fingers over the frame and it's then I notice that on each of the four sides of it, there is one small carving of a closed fist amidst the blossoms and bells and such. Megan's husband and great-uncle both worked on the frame. Thomas must've added those and I hadn't noticed it when Megan showed it to me at the store. Nothing to be done about it now and it kind of fits anyway. I stare at each of those four fists until Leif lifts it from his knees setting it on the floor next to the nightstand on his side.
"Do you mind if I keep it here, though? I don't want it to get messed up on the boat and it just doesn't seem to belong in James' and my dark little basement apartment. It's too precious."
I nod eagerly as an idea comes to me. I am going to make this his room. I'll find some perfect furniture to move in here. And some perfect art. I almost can't wait to start on it.
"Of course you can leave it here. I'm so glad you like it. It's beautiful, right?" I ask, hopefully.
Leif stretches his legs out, turning to face me, resting his head on the pillow. I do the same. "Beautiful doesn't cover it," he says huskily.
I can't contain my smile and practically beam at him. As he gazes at me, that wide open vulnerability is back on his face. I study him, wanting to run my fingers over his jaw, currently sporting a sexy five-o'clock shadow. His lashes are so black and long. I want to trace one finger over each of his thick black eyebrows and down his straight nose and across those broad fine cheekbones. This level of beauty is really, truly, not fair. But it's not just that, it's the man behind it, the whole of him. Part sweet light boy and part fierce darkness. Both Yin and Yang encased in one complicated man.
Oh dear God, I'm staring.
I come back to myself to see he's staring, too, tracing my face with his eyes and it's as if I can feel it, like he's running his hands over my jaw and eyebrows and cheeks. I watch as he seems to come back to himself, meeting my eyes.
"I can't understand why you would give me such a thoughtful gift, when I…How did you know?" I understand instantly what he's asking.
"I wondered about some things said last night at the bar, but I doubt I would've put it together on my own because I didn't know that even existed. It's funny, well, maybe funny is not the right word, but I've been all over the world and seen all kinds of crazy things you can't imagine and yet I didn't know there were real fight clubs here in America." I shake my head. "Anyway…the artist's husband is Thomas Sadler. He told me. He works at her family's shop now, not far from where you used to live. Megan's great uncle is teaching him old school craftsmanship."
Leif closes his eyes. "Tolliver's."
"You know it?" He nods. "Want to talk about what happened?" He shakes his head. "Will you anyway?" He keeps his eyes closed and makes no indication.
"What do you think about it?" he whispers. I think I know what he's asking.
"As far as the fighting goes, it's not like you beat up some guy in the street." I want to ease the instant tension I feel in him so I continue. "Henry was right, everyone made a choice to get in that ring."
"That's not what I was asking. I want to know what you think. After you know all this. What you feel about all of it…" He swallows hard and I can see this is difficult for him. "…about me."
This, right here, is the true definition of a loaded question. But before I can settle on an answer, there's something else that I want to know, something I started thinking about on the latter part of the drive back. His eyes blink open when I don't answer immediately and I have to look away to be able to concentrate.
"You didn't explain to that girl why or how she wronged you; you were content to let her think you were…" A heartless, unfeeling ass who used her, then threw her away? "…whatever she thought. Nor did you explain it to James when you had the chance, but then you also know he'll forgive you, he always does. Let me take a flying leap here to say he's had plenty of practice in it, with you." My eyes briefly glance over his to see him shoot me one of his patented smirk-smiles. "Okay, so…you don't care what she thinks, clearly. But you do care about James' good opinion. So if you took the brunt of his yelling at you, when an explanation might've sufficed, there must be something more important to you as regards this situation, than what James thinks of your behavior." His bewildered face is almost funny. "What? I'm trying to put together the structure of this." Of you, and me…together. "I normally don't verbalize the process; it's usually—and probably always should be—internal. Bear with me."
"By all means," he says sardonically, but it seems as if he's bracing himself.
"In the car, you did explain your behavior to me, obliquely, in the barest outline. So another leap—this one smaller—would say that this knowledge would cause James pain." I pause to see if he'll elaborate further, now that we're alone, but nothing is forthcoming—shocker, that. "So, now we come sort of full cycle back to your question to me that brings up a question to you. In short…"
"This is the short version?"
"No need to be rude. In short…Why do you care what I think?"
"I didn't say I did. I was just curious. Mildly," he shrugs, those deep pools guarded.
"Under fifty percent," I mutter. Alright, fine. I can drop it for now. "Okay, then. And I'm curious how it started. The fighting?"
I watch him wrestle with what or maybe if to share. He turns onto his back, putting his hands under his head. I bend my elbow to prop my head up on my hand so I can see his face, but am distracted by that lean expanse of bare skin. I put my head back on the pillow. I wait. And wait.
Finally…"It was actually James' idea when he found out about…the ring. He said I might as well put my pugilistic tendencies to good use." Leif stares at the ceiling. "So we did it once and the money was a lot better than with the races—thousands of dollars as opposed to hundreds with swimming and rowing. And we won. And kept winning."
"We?"
"It was sort of a joint effort, James and I. We split the winnings fifty-fifty, even though he didn't actually climb in the ring, of course. His contribution was he ended up standardizing the betting for everyone, though; gave it structure and formulized the procedure, the vetting of the entrants, everything."
"That's so wonderful he could put that Ivy League business education to such good use." He glances over at me.
"Once again, you're hilarious," he deadpans. "But it wasn't anything he learned in college, it's natural to him, that whole actuarial, analytical thing."
"Is fighting natural to you?" He stares up at the ceiling again. No answer, which I take as a resounding yes. "Henry could've told me, but he didn't. He wouldn't. That's why you didn't want to go to the bar last night. You didn't want me to know." I think back to what I witnessed. "And then you steered the conversation away from the fighting as much as you could while I was listening." I run the events over in my head some more. "Well, it does explain why those guys are a little scared of you, some of them a lot scared of you."
His eyebrows pull together. "Are you scared…of me?"
"Terrified!" There's a smile in my voice, but honestly, sometimes it's the truth. Just not how he probably thinks.
"Me, too," he whispers.
"Pffft…of me? Ha! Now who's the one being hilarious?" I scoff. But he didn't sound like he was joking and what James said tracks through my mind. Maybe I do scare him. Maybe he really does care what I think of him, although I can't really imagine it. I try to lighten things up further. "And it also explains how you can afford such ridiculously expensive boots." He turns on his side to face me again. "Although nothing could explain the why of it," I add wryly.
"You pay a lot of attention to my boots."
"Those boots are worth paying attention to," I parrot his words back to him, loving the fact that we now have inside jokes between us. I am rewarded with an open easy smile from him, which I return. This could become my new purpose in life—getting open easy smiles from one Leif Vincent. They are sunlight and air.
Another thought crosses my mind and Leif must see it on my face because his eyes become one big question. "It's nothing," I say.
"Tell me anyway," he commands.
"Okay that dinner, remember? Well…almost dinner at The Gotham, none of us actually ate, but…" Why did I bring up that embarrassing spectacle again? "Anyway, I was worried about the prices on the menu thinking you might be a starving college student and that maybe you had student loans to pay for, or something. So I decided to order the least expensive thing on the menu, which was a goat cheese salad and even that was kind of expensive, so I was determined to pay my share. I guess I shouldn't have worried, what with all your betting money, but I spent the whole time fretting about it." Well, that's not precisely true. Mostly, I spent that time freaking out over him. The sea god. I squinch my eyes shut at the memory and when I open them again, Leif is gazing at me with that raw pained look that almost breaks my heart.
"Did you listen to the music I played on the drive back?" he asks softly.
"What about it?" Still, with everything, I'm going to make him work for it.
"You're going to make me work for it, aren't you?" His smile is wistful. "I guess I deserve that. The songs…the whole playlist? I'm so sorry for everything—today, last night…before. What must you think of me? That's why I was coming to find you; I couldn't let this night go by without apologizing." This seems hard for him to say; I don't think he's used to it. "I was wrong about so much. I said you worry about people so you don't have to face your own fears, but that's not true and I knew it at the time. You worry about people because you're good and you love them and care about them. And they, you."
"Then why did you say it?" I ask.
He seems to wrestle with what he's thinking. "To push you away. To keep you in your place."
"What is my place?" I whisper.
Another flash of panic crosses his face and for one moment, it's as if I can see into him and there is so much pain, and yes, fear, there. He closes his eyes, shutting that porthole.
I think I know one thing that does scare him—opening himself up to anyone. Entiendo. He keeps virtually everyone away and I want to make it easier for him to let me in. I want to be safe for him; I find I don't mind it at all when I think of it in this way.
"Leif, now it's my turn. To say I'm sorry. I want to apologize profusely." His eyes blink open. "I said last night that I wanted to know you and tonight I wielded that knowledge like a weapon against you. I'm so sorry. I was just so scared when my granddad wasn't…He's the last family I have and then, talking about the accident and it was all just all too much, but that's no excuse. Can you forgive me?" Why is he looking at me like I'm crazy?
"There's nothing to forgive," he is almost fiercely emphatic. "Nothing." He waits until he sees some acquiescence on my face.
"Yes there is, but okay then. Here's how I would answer your original question about what I think of…all this". Of you. "I would say that I hope I never do anything that is unforgivable in your eyes, but if I do, that you'll forgive me anyway, or try to at least. Because getting cut out would hurt. Maybe especially if I didn't know why. And I would say that I'm honored with whatever you choose to share with me—even the dark bits—and hope you continue to do so and I will continue to accept them, accept you. And I would say that hearing about you, from you, is so much better than hearing it from someone else or trying to figure it out for myself. That's how I would answer that question." I pour all the compassion I can find into my gaze and see emotion flicker across his face until he settles on what I think is acceptance.
"Fair enough," he says quietly. "And speaking of sharing, I need you to know that at work, I'm going to have to treat you a little differently, keep some distance. I told Captain Gray you were a family friend, but I won't share it with anyone else unless I absolutely have to. I interned at Falk last summer, but no one really knows anything about me there, except for Captain Gray, a little, and I'd like to keep it that way, keep work separate. To that aim, I need you to do something for me. I really need you to call me Vince, not Leif. Can you do that?" I nod, remembering the patch on his uniform that I saw in the elevator when I first met him. "But even there, for you, I will strive to be better, to be a good man, even…"
"But you are a good man, Leif!" I implore. "I can see it, even through all your other crap. You've got such kindness in you, but you cover it up. You seem to want to hide the best part of yourself from people. You've seen me at my worst, several times now, in a way that no one else has and you didn't shy away from that. By all rights you should've run screaming seeing me all weird and out-of-sorts. How can you handle that?"
"I don't scare that easily," he scoffs, then adds gently as he puts his arms around me again, "I was glad to be there when you needed me."
"And I thanked you by turning my anger onto you tonight."
"Yeah, but I understood it. Too well. Besides, as far as getting angry goes, you're still an amateur compared to me. It was almost cute," he smiles. "I can handle it."
"But you shouldn't have to. Not from me! Not when you helped me…not when you…Why did you kiss me?"
He licks his lips before answering. "I didn't know what else to do. You were drifting away. I did it to bring you back."
A picture comes into my mind and a small giggle escapes me as Leif looks at me questioningly. "We seem to be cycling through our own whacked version of all the fairy tales. First Cinderella, and now..." I watch his puzzled eyes. "Where the prince kisses…Forget it. We've already established you're not a fairy tale kind of guy."
He asks quickly, "That was the Yoruba language you were speaking tonight?"
"I guess. But I don't have any memory of learning it. Or speaking it, really, even tonight. If you asked me to translate a simple phrase into Yoruba, I don't think I could."
He contemplates this. "What does it feel like, that drifting? Where do you go?"
"I'm not sure, but it's been getting worse, since…" Since I met you, it seems, or maybe just since I've been back in New York or Henry's been sick, who knows? "It's like an avalanche of darkness and terror and immobility and I just leave my body. And I feel such incredible guilt and...defeat… " A shudder runs through me.
"Do you mind my asking?"
I'm surprised at my own answer. "Not right now. I feel safe with you. It's like your arms are my personal lifeline." I look up at him now.
Whoa.
This is the exact moment that I become fully aware that I am lying in his bed. With his arms around me. And the ions in the air are alive and oscillating, and maybe I don't feel quite so safe anymore. Not unsafe from him, but from this…this…desire that I feel well up in me, overwhelming me. My body is responding to his nearness in a brand new way for me. I can't look at his face anymore, but my eyes land on his bare chest inches away from me and that's no better. Because all I want to do is kiss every inch of that warm golden skin.
A hand is at my chin, lifting my head up, which is a good thing, because I think I was about to do just that.
"What?" he says, as my eyes meet his.
How can I tell him that I now have at least a partial answer for a question I had of myself. Watching the graduation, I mentally claimed not to know the full scope of what I was feeling for Leif. But I know that was just the musings of some silly girl who wasn't quite ready to accept, fully, what was already there; what was always there, from my side, at least. I may not know all of it, but I do know I am so drawn to him mentally, emotionally…physically. Instantly, I don't feel like a girl anymore, but a woman. Who wants this man. Who is right here, gazing down at me, searching my face for… something. And I don't feel awkward or embarrassed because it just feels like every kind of right. If I were to answer that question of What is my place? I might say, right here. With you.
He must find whatever it is he's searching for because a slow smile spreads over his beautiful face.
"What? What are you thinking?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "You first."
I have an idea. "There's a family tradition, a kind of game, called a Throw Down, where everyone says whatever it is they're thinking, all at the same time. Normally, it's yelled, but we can just whisper-shout it. And you don't have to explain it if you don't want to. So…I'll Throw Down what I'm thinking if you Throw Down what you're thinking."
"Deal," he says with a wry smile.
"On the count of three, okay? One. Two. Three!" And I don't know where this comes from, but I say, "Mo ni ife ti o!"
And he says…Nothing at all.
"You cheater!" I exclaim. "We made a deal!"
He laughs unabashedly. "Well you spoke in a foreign language, so that's like cheating."
"I didn't mean to, it just came out. But you never intended to say anything!"
"What does it mean?"
"I have no idea," I answer truthfully. "But I think it was Yoruba again. It was just there, spilling out of my mouth." Maybe like with everything else, it's echoing from behind those crumbling walls in my mind.
Leif watches me for a while, smiling, before he says, "Time for sleep. It's near midnight and we can't have you turning into a pumpkin."
"Hey, do you know where that common saying about the pumpkin comes from? From Cinderella. So at least some small part of one fairy tale has entered your consciousness."
He smirk-smiles before reaching one arm behind him to turn off the lamp, bathing the room in a darkness that is so absolutely alive. Then he pulls me close. Closer.
Right! Like I'm going to be able to sleep now when my body is sizzling with this new desire and now that I can't see, my other senses come fully awake and all that clean sea scent of his is washing over me and the warmth emanating from him is a siren's call and is it possible to actually hear skin? Taste a heartbeat? Because it sure seems like it.
In the darkness, that voice whispers, "I might've said those were the best kisses I've ever had." These words themselves are like a kiss, or a lick. A promise.
"Then I might say you're forgiven for cheating," I whisper before reaching my lips the couple inches forward and kissing his chest right over his heart. Just once. He pulls back, almost in a jerk, but not before I feel his body responding to my kiss.
I whisper again, "Mo ni ife ti o."
I still don't know what the words mean, but they seem right.
I fight it, I do, but somehow I eventually drift off to sleep, elated that maybe, just maybe, he does find me attractive, he does want me, too.
Oh, why does this odyssey of a weekend have to be over so soon!
