His lips dance on mine, soft as the moonlight, but he has stolen the sunshine's heat to share it with me. The feelings that rise inside me are inflating me like a balloon. I am not the strongest one anymore, I can only receive, gratefully, letting him write his demure passion with his tongue as it caresses my mouth. He is so hesitant and trembling. Doesn't he know he's taking control of me? Doesn't he feel the weight of my heart in his delicate hands? He stops too soon and I can feel the hole he's carved in my soul, that only his touch can fill now.
He is a shivering leaf under my lips, accepting and yet to respectful he barely moves. I want him to be less protective and a little more aggressive, but I know, as it is etched in my body too, that what he witnessed before, the desolation, the pain that I went through, are still fresh in his mind. I sit back, his hand trapped in mine, that I will keep against the world and I look at this stranger that I want as mine.
He's like a puzzle and I only have few pieces in my fingers. His loyalty, his kindness, his assertive manners. But I need more, I need to know what he dreams at night and what his eyes have beheld. I have tasted him but now I need much more. I need to ask him questions.
The world of business swarms around us, peopled with children zooming in and out, and efficient parents preparing the celebrations. And here we are, in the center, safe in a castle of water, in an abode created by our joint stares. We are seated as mirrors, legs crossed underneath, talking as fast as we can, in turns, fastening the bond that our bodies and hearts have created. The more we do, the more I'm amazed. He has so much to share, he is so rich inside. How could he ever had doubted himself? How could he have wanted to deny the world all what he is? I was so close never to know, never to find out, only to grieve. I feel like the guardian of a treasure, of ocean eyes and musical thoughts. I feel humbled by his enthusiasm. He quizzes me on the trips I took and I want to go back and show him all, see him feed on the world's wonders, repair his confidence by expanding his view. I feel greedy of time with him. His eyes are opening wide at what I'm telling. His hand presses my knee, gently, reminding us that this is not two friends emerging, but a sole identity, part me, part him, stronger that both of us, in which we'll find shelter.
Lucas sits on the armchair, with a bowl of chips. Will sees him first and turns to him, slowly. His father looks embarrassed but smiling "So, Sonny, are you a student like Will?" I can feel the relief washing over Will, as it ripples through me too. We've won another parent. Now the mothers are left and they're the fiercest. Yet, with Will next to me, I'm confident.
We're asked to help and Sonny has to join in the kitchen. According to his dad, he's the best at cooking. I grab Marlena's arm and I don't let go until she's made me busy too. I'm back at her car, to look for something that must have slid at the back of the trunk. I'm bent over, my hand exploring and I've just found it when I hear "You'll take him down. He doesn't deserve it. He's a happy, bright young man and you're fighting your own life. How can you think this could work?"
If I hadn't pushed him back, twice already, I might have listened, I might have doubted. I stand up straight and I look straight into her eyes. There's something of him in here. She created him, she cared after him. I'm grateful. And angry "Adrienne, I care for Sonny. I don't know him well enough to be sure of anything but for one thing: I won't hurt him. I can't, I owe him too much. But right now, if I left, if I tried to heal on my own without his help, then he would be hurt, horribly. He's my reason to check myself, to make efforts, to be extra careful. Thanks to you, he exists and I won't put that in jeopardy in any way. I'm sad you don't see that but I understand." Her smile is shallow but it's still there, so for now I have made my point.
He brings back the lost can of olives. His steps are lighter, faster. His voice is louder, I can hear it from where I'm seated and it feels good. It's still soft as velvet, the music that he loves so much peering into it, turning his simple words to his grandmother into a ballad. I'm yearning to kiss him but he's gone again, to take back the kids. They all come in the house, bringing the smells of the sea and the laughs they gathered there. Will looks younger and I remember that he's not my age, that I must be cautious in handling him, let him unfold slowly, into the beautiful, smiling adult that I can see in him. Our eyes meet and the smile gets wide and transparent, real and ethereal, as spontaneous as the old ones were forced and hollow. I have won this authenticity and I'm proud.