Chapter Nineteen
I tried to heed Marlon’s advice when Ben gave me a big hug at the lunch buffet on Monday. I realized that Ben and I were kind
of acting like our teenaged campers. Communicating mostly in jokes and camaraderie, friendly flirting. My version of casual
was hate-banging Daniel in the trailer at work. It wasn’t that. Maybe this was a nicer version of it. Or maybe it was what
everyone on the internet talked about constantly: the slow, purposeful burn. Be friends first. Connect gradually. But I couldn’t
read Ben.
We had staff drinks at the pizza place on Tuesday that week and sat at opposite ends of the table, and I made sure not to
drink too much to drive home. When our goodbye hug lasted longer than most, he whispered “My favourite fake girlfriend” into
my ear in a way that made me shiver.
But I pulled back and looked him in the eye. The others were gathering their things and preparing to leave. I whispered, “Ben,
what’s really going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the flirt dance. The fake boyfriend. The not-fake make-outs.”
He offered a look of surprise, like I was silly for even asking.
“You, Elise, are so serious.” He actually booped me on the nose. This immediately made the top-five list of actions that deflate
any momentary attraction.
Allegra and Noah interrupted with pleas for us all to go see a showing of a new Canadian film at the Regent Theatre.
Sometimes the two of them together reminded me so much of the me before Christmas movies and the hustle, just pure artistic joy at even the idea of an independent film.
Allegra looked between Ben and I curiously, pulling on the right sleeve of the black cardigan she wore even in the warmest weather.
Ben squeezed my shoulder like a camper who needed reassurance.
Allegra handed me the local newspaper with the listing for the film—I’d seen it already.
The AD was someone I’d gone to school with and hated.
I opted out. Ben didn’t appear disappointed at all.
As I drove home, I realized I’d been as straightforward and honest with Ben as I could be. I asked him directly what he felt,
and he had sort of blown me off. He’d flirt and then pull back. We had some hot chemistry, but maybe that wouldn’t mean all
that much in the long run?
On Wednesday night, I went over to Dave’s to watch the second film in the Linklater trilogy. Dave was on the phone, pacing
around, so I brought Baby outside to throw a ball around. Dave came out, stretching up toward the sky. I could see his stomach
when he stretched. It made me blush.
“You OK?” I asked, as I whistled to Baby to join us back in the cabin.
“Yeah, just complicated sometimes with Julia. But I sorted it out.”
“Good,” I said, offering him a hug. He smelled a bit like forest, a bit like horses. A lovely summer smell. I debated telling
him that perfumers should bottle what he smells like because it was somehow the most masculine and sexy blend of scents I’d
ever encountered.
“You always smell amazing. What product do you use?” I asked, trying to save face by pretending I needed a new soap idea. Dumb. Inside, Okanagan was asleep on Dave’s couch.
“This is new,” I said. “Traitor cat.” He stretched one paw out and yawned, like Oh you again. I’ve tired of you.
“I think he doesn’t like your mom.”
“I know, he gets it.”
Dave laughed.
“Your mom isn’t so bad,” he said. “Yesterday she taught me about how to care for the boxwood trees.”
“She does have a lot of gardening knowledge,” I conceded. I wouldn’t be able to pick a boxwood out of a lineup of shrubs.
“Everyone loves my mom, because she’s been through a lot and become really community minded after being in jail. There’s always
a lady from AA knocking on her door at three a.m. and she takes everyone in. But I can really only see how she cares for others
so much and doesn’t offer me the same kind of thing. So I get it, other people’s parents always seem better.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I said, dying to stop talking about my mother, who had already invaded too much of my time lately. I
snuggled into a spot next to Okanagan. I decided I was going to be the opposite of Ben. I was going to be clear. An adult.
Say what I was feeling. When we got snuggled on the couch, now a full dog and cat between us, I said, “I looked forward to
this all day.”
Dave appeared delighted at this. He did not boop my nose. “Me too. You’ve been this wonderful surprise. For the second time
in my life.”
“Agreed.”
“It feels like, I don’t know, when you arrived at camp at a time when I had almost no one in my life I could count on, besides
maybe Nancy. And now you’re here again when I’m alone again. Sometimes I feel like it’s the universe being really overt, like
here you go, the person you need.”
“The person you need?” I could barely hear my voice over the pounding of my heart.
He blushed. “I don’t know. Is that weird to say? Even just watching movies with you, remembering this passion I used to have
about film that was so present in my life. I feel like myself again,” he said.
“I feel like that, too.”
I reached over across the dog and cat island to grab his hand. He squeezed it. I felt a hundred different zaps all the way
up my arm. He laced his fingers through mine, and I lightly brushed my thumb against his palm. This felt sexier than any hookup
with Daniel in the work trailer. We watched the movie this way, and eventually Okanagan went out for his nightly murder session,
and the dog got snoozy on his favourite rug, lying on his back with his paws curled up. And we moved toward each other until
his arm was around my neck, massaging my shoulder. I’d seen the movie a million times, but this time all the romance and feelings
of bad timing and whimsy hit me all the way through my body, as though we were on the couch experiencing our own scene in
our own movie.
When the credits rolled, we skipped the nightly debrief of shot lengths and cuts and flabby final acts, and instead sat beside
each other in almost unbearable silence as the music that ran through the credits died out and we stared at the blank screen.
An owl called out. A flicker of heat lightning flashed through the screen door. I didn’t want to make a move to get up, the
way I had the previous nights. But I also didn’t want to be the one to make a move.
“Goldy?” he whispered.
“Yeah?” I replied softly, still staring ahead at the mute screen.
I felt him move toward me, and I held my breath and closed my eyes until he kissed my neck, softly, the way he used to.
It felt just as amazing as it had when I was younger, only this time I knew exactly what to do.
When I turned toward him, we kissed, gently at first. His lips were so soft.
We were both tentative, slow, and then as thunder rolled outside, we became breathless, rougher, like we’d been holding ourselves back for years.
He put a hand on the small of my back and pulled me closer.
I looped my fingers through his beltloops and swung a leg up over him.
I pulled back and ran my hand along his jaw, both of us out of breath.
We had a conversation through our kissing, softly whispering, and then we were basically shouting at each other.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said.
“I have wanted to kiss you since I first saw you here,” he said, gripping my waist.
“When I was yelling at you for being loud?” I giggled, holding his shoulders tightly, my mouth against his ear.
“Yes, when I realized it was you, I just wanted to run to you like in a bad movie, you know? Slow motion, just like, kidnap
you and take you to my lair.” He laughed, flipping me over on my back. I pushed my hips into his and he let out a moan. We
kissed again and again, our bodies starting to press against each other so hard I wondered if we’d be bruised the next day.
“I don’t think you realize how much restraint I’ve been having to exercise, sitting beside you every night,” he said, breath
hot against my neck.
He pulled back and stared at me. “Is this OK?”
“Yes,” I exhaled, curling a leg around him and squeezing.
“I was so scared that maybe you didn’t like adult me,” I said, “or that you’d left me originally because I’d was very terrible
at canoe sex.”
He laughed. “I think about you in that canoe all the time. Compulsively, in fact. Sometimes I just get hard when I see any wooden watercraft.”
He kissed me again, rough and messy. When we were younger, he’d been so tentative, his hands shook and he blushed and fumbled.
This time he lifted my tank top up with his teeth and grinned, confidently, commanding, and then stopped, just stared at me.
“What?” I said, nervous. Aware that he could see me, my non-adolescent body with all of its imperfections. I wanted to pull
my shirt back down.
“I’ve just never seen a more beautiful person before in my entire life.” He pressed his mouth against my chest, cupping one
hand around me and mumbling, “You’re perfect, you’re just so perfect.”
Technically, at this point, we hadn’t gone as far as Ben and I had in that truck weeks ago, but it felt a thousand times more
thrilling to be lightly touched by this man I’d been dreaming of for years. We kissed some more, and his hand moved downward,
and he unzipped my jeans, slowly pulled off each leg. Then he ran a finger under the lacy elastic of my underwear, pulling
it to one side, and ran his tongue softly against me before grinning up at me again. If it was possible, I felt my entire
body pulse. Even my toes were tingling.
“I may have learned a thing or two since college, but how do you like it? Soft?” He demonstrated, and I moaned so loud I had
to put my fist in my mouth.
“Or hard?” He was good with more pressure, but soft was exquisite.