Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mila
“You’re in a good mood today,” my mother remarks in a suspicious tone. It’s Wednesday afternoon, and she’s drinking coffee and watching me water her plants. “What’s that about?”
I decide to be honest. “I’m seeing Everett later.”
“Oh.” Her expression grows sullen. “You’re abandoning me to run around with your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and I’m not abandoning you.”
“I thought you said you and Everett weren’t dating.”
“It’s casual,” I say, although my feelings for him are about as casual as a sequined ball gown. “I volunteered to help him with Founder’s Day this weekend.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Mila.” She sniffs. “I hope you’re at least being careful.”
“About what?”
“About everything.” She takes a sip of tea. “Given your tendency to get carried away, you should protect yourself.”
My gut instinct is to get defensive, but then I recall a technique Hugo told me about called the gray rock method, which involves giving only neutral, unemotional responses. Nothing she can use to provoke an emotional reaction. “All good,” I say, my tone casual.
“You can’t depend on a man to be responsible.”
“Mm.” I go to the kitchen to refill the pitcher.
She falls silent, probably annoyed that I didn’t give her anything to work with. A sense of triumph has me smiling at the sink, even while it grates my nerves that she can’t let me enjoy myself away from her.
“So what are you going to do when you leave town?” my mother asks when I return to the room.
“We haven’t talked about it.”
“Well, you’d better. There’s nothing worse than thinking you’re on the same page as someone and discovering you were wrong all along. And you have a tendency to be wrong about these things.”
Pressing my lips together, I refuse to give her the satisfaction of an argument. When I’m done watering the plants, I grab the dust mop and run it around the living room’s wood floor.
My mother continues to observe me. “What time are you leaving tonight?”
“Around six.”
“And where are you going?”
“Not sure.”
“Well, how long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know.”
More silence.
“What about dinner?”
“Leftovers are in the fridge.”
“Are you having dinner out?”
“Maybe.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I haven’t decided.”
She huffs, frustrated that I’m not dancing to her little tune. “You’re not being very forthcoming, Mila. It’s not helpful at all, and frankly, it’s rude.”
Saying nothing, I leave the room and take the dust mop back to the basement, where it hangs from a peg at the bottom of the stairs.
While I’m down there, I switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer and take a moment to celebrate this victory—this wall that I managed to put up between her words and my feelings.
That’s when I spot the orchid drawings in the cardboard box, and an idea takes shape in my head.
When I pull up at the cabin, it’s just after six. The sun hangs low on the horizon, bathing everything with warm, red-gold light. I jump out of the car just as Everett comes out the front door, and we meet halfway between the car and house.
The way we rush toward each other, you’d think we’ve been separated by war, uncertain we’d ever meet again. In reality, it’s only been three days since we had the cabin quickie.
I laugh as he scoops me up and swings me around, my feet in the air. When he sets me down, our mouths come together, and I feel his kiss ricochet through me, bouncing off every molecule in my body.
When we take a second to catch our breath, he buries his face in my neck. “God, you smell good. I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
Eventually, he pulls his upper body back, keeping his arms locked around my waist and his hips pressed to mine. His brown eyes tour every part of my face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Warmth expands in my chest as I look up at him, and for a moment it’s like my heart can’t contain all the things I’m asking it to hold—joy, gratitude, awe, trust, hope. I lace my fingers at the back of his neck. “You got a haircut.”
“My mom gave me shit about my shaggy hair over the weekend.”
I laugh and ruffle it with my fingers the way I used to dream about doing. All around us, sunrays slant through the gaps between the trees, dust motes dancing in the glow. I feel as weightless as those particles, as radiant as the shimmering light. Has any moment of my life ever been this perfect?
Not far from us is a certain sycamore. Over his shoulder, I see its branches swaying against the sky. “I cannot believe I tried to climb that tree.”
Everett pivots and squints as he looks toward the top. “You guys got pretty high up.”
“Yeah. Even Gabi panicked, and we started yelling for help.”
“It was pure luck I was nearby. I remember I came running just in time to see Gabi jump to the ground, and I was terrified she’d broken an ankle or something. But she was fine.”
“And I was still hanging there, convinced I was going to die.”
“I remember standing beneath you, telling you to let go, and you wouldn’t. You just kept saying you were afraid to fall.”
“And you kept saying you were right there, and you wouldn’t let me get hurt. So I let go.”
He turns to face me. “You let go? I thought you lost your grip.”
“No. I let go. You were so sure you could catch me.”
“Want to know the truth?” He gives me his lopsided smile. “I wasn’t sure at all. But then suddenly you were flying toward me, and somehow I managed to get my arms around you. I must have timed it just right.”
“My feet never hit the ground,” I confirm.
He moves to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulders, then starts walking me toward the porch. As we go, he drops a kiss on my temple. “I was just glad you weren’t hurt.”
“Then you made us promise two things. First, that we’d never tell any adults about it.”
“I didn’t want Gabi to get in trouble.”
“And second, that we’d never do it again.”
“I didn’t want you to fall if I wasn’t there to catch you.”
“Everett.” The autumn breeze whispers over my skin. “Would you still catch me?”
He holds me tightly and puts his lips at my ear. “Every fucking time.”
We’re almost inside when I remember the large brown paper bag in my car. I jog back for it, then follow Everett into the cabin.
“I hope that’s not dinner,” Everett says, shutting the door behind me. “I got pizza for us.”
“It’s not dinner.” Once he slips off his boots, I instruct him to shut his eyes.
He does as he’s told. “Are you taking your clothes off?”
“Not yet.” Pulling the framed orchids from their wrappings, I prop them up on the kitchen counter against the backsplash. Merlin wanders over to say hello, and I give him some attention.
“Can I open?”
“No. Just wait.” I take him by the arm, leading him to the counter. “Okay. Now.”
He opens his eyes and stares at the drawings. Leans closer. “Holy shit. Are these yours?”
“I drew them, yes. But they’re yours now.”
He glances at me. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Do you like them?”
“They’re beautiful, Mila. I love them.” He admires the orchids again, and I feel proud of the delicate veins on the leaves, the shades of purple in the petals, from lavender to plum, the graceful curve of the stems. Even the spidery roots have their own beauty.
He shakes his head. “My walls are not worthy.” Then he pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I rest my cheek on his chest. “Full disclosure, I took these from my mom’s house. I drew them for her last Christmas, had them framed and everything. Then I found them in a box in the basement the weekend I got home.”
“I’m sorry.” His arms tighten around me, like he wants to shield me from the hurt.
“I hope you don’t mind that they’re sort of a second-hand gift.”
“I don’t mind at all.” He kisses my temple. My cheek. My chin. My neck.
“Do you want to hang them up?”
“Can we do that later?” His hands trace the curves of my ass. “I’ve got another activity in mind. One that involves fucking you with my tongue. Probably my hand. And definitely my cock.” He puts his mouth at my ear. “I want you like a fiend.”
I rub my palm over the bulge in his jeans. “Show me.”
“I told Hugo about you.” I lick some tomato sauce off my finger. We’re sitting on the bed with the pizza box between us. I have on the T-shirt Everett stripped off as we stumbled into his room, and he’s wearing only his navy boxer briefs.
“Who’s Hugo again?” Everett finishes his first slice and picks up a second.
“My therapist.”
“Oh.” His expression is a mix of pleasure and surprise. “What did he say?”
“He was glad actually. Hugo wasn’t in favor of the no-dating rule because he says avoiding relationships isn’t the same as learning to navigate one in a healthy way.” After one last bite, I put my crust in the box.
He glances down. “You don’t eat the crust?”
“Never.”
He picks up the crust and bites into it. “See, this is why it could work out for us.”
I laugh and wipe my hands on a napkin. “Because I don’t like pizza crust and you do?”
“Not just that. You cook, I do dishes. You draw the art, I hang it up. You get cold at night, I like providing the body heat that keeps you warm.”
“Hmm. That does make us sound very compatible. But it’s not quite enough.” I lean back on my hands. “Butter on movie popcorn?”
He shakes his head. “Just salt.”
“Which end do you peel a banana from?”
“Um, the end with the stem. Don’t you?”
“No. Not since I learned that monkeys peel from the other end because it’s easier. You literally just pinch and open.”
“Interesting.”
“Okay, we’re one for two. Now for the big one.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and walk out of the room.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to check something in your bathroom.”
“What?”
I flip on the light and open the top right drawer of his vanity. Lying there is a tube of Colgate. Smiling, I swipe it and return to the bedroom. “You passed the test,” I say, holding it up. “The tube is properly squeezed from the bottom, not the middle. And the cap was on.”
He laughs. “If it wasn’t, were you going to go home?”