19. In Which Aiden Ponders the Human Inclination for Warmth
IN WHICH AIDEN PONDERS THE HUMAN INCLINATION FOR WARMTH
J uniper asks if we can make a stop on the way home from Tonya’s house in the Heights. At first I’m hesitant—I want to get out of these clothes—but when she specifies that she wants to visit her mom’s grave, I relent.
You can’t really refuse if someone asks to see their mother’s grave. That makes you a huge jerk, and I already have a lot working against me. I don’t need to add to the list.
“Hey,” I say now, because something she said earlier has been bothering me.
There’s still an ugly taste in my mouth from running into Lionel Astor, and even more so from his comments to Juniper.
“I know I said I didn’t like you that one time”—that one time when I swear we almost kissed—“but I just meant…you know. Romantically . You’re a fine roommate. I don’t mind living with you.”
It’s more or less true.
Apparently Juniper is skeptical too, because she snorts. “In over half of our conversations, you rub your temples like I’m giving you a headache.”
Okay, well, that’s definitely true.
“I’m headache prone,” I say. “It’s not personal.”
And we’re back to half truths.
I sigh. “Honestly, Juniper, I’m just used to being on my own.
Spending a lot of time around anyone is going to be an adjustment for me, much less someone so—” My voice falls away as I hunt for a word that’s neither offensive nor too revealing.
When I come up blank, I just gesture at her instead, hoping maybe she’ll understand what I mean.
“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m a lot. Too much sometimes.” She doesn’t look at me; she keeps her head turned, staring out the window so that all I can see of her is her hair, her ear, and the faint curve of her cheekbone.
“It’s not that. You’re not too much. I’m just—” But I break off once again. How do I explain that she’s not the problem—I am? “This is going to sound stupid. But it’s not you. It’s me.”
This, finally, is what gets her to look at me. She gasps dramatically, clutching her hand over her heart—over the tauntingly low neckline of her silky blouse. “Are you breaking up with me?”
I allow my smile to break through, little more than a twitch of my lips, and redirect my eyes back to the road. “No,” I say as we wind through the Heights. “I’m just trying to explain. We’re roommates, so it’s important that we avoid misunderstandings wherever possible. That’s all.”
“I understand,” she says, and her voice is back to that light, detached tone she’s been using. “You like me but not romantically, and you want to maintain a peaceful roommate relationship.”
“I—yeah. I guess. I think so.” Something about her assessment doesn’t sit quite right with me, but it all sounds okay, so I don’t say anything else.
The smile she gives me is bright, but her eyes don’t crinkle or squint. Maybe they always look like this, and I’m imagining things? “I understand,” she says again. “And I’m completely fine with that. I appreciate you speaking up. Communication is important when we’re living together.”
And once again, everything she’s saying sounds fine. It all sounds accurate. But…her words curdle in my stomach like sour milk, making me feel faintly sick.
“And you said you wanted to talk to me about something earlier…?” I say, because I don’t want to leave things like this.
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. She hesitates a few seconds too long before going on, “It was nothing.”
I just nod.
But that sick, sour feeling slithers further down into my gut, churning and squeezing. It continues to worsen as we drive to the little spot of land between Autumn Grove and Sunshine Springs where the cemetery is located. The miles pass in silence, and not the comfortable kind.
Strangely enough, it’s not even Juniper making things uncomfortable. She’s just looking out the window, glancing through the windshield every now and then.
It’s me. I’m the issue here. The quiet is torturous, and for the first time in probably my entire life, I’m desperate to say something—anything—just to fill it up.
A reckless, idiotic part of me wants to take back what I said, to tell her I was wrong.
But that doesn’t make sense; I’m pretty sure I meant what I told her.
Maybe I just want to say something that will get rid of that lukewarm expression on her face, the polite, distant, perfectly acceptable voice that somehow doesn’t suit her at all.
But who am I to decide what suits her? Who am I to tell her she can’t look at me like that?
So I bite my tongue and try to ignore the brewing discontent in my gut.
We arrive at the cemetery ten (painfully silent) minutes later.
It’s not big enough to be webbed throughout with any sort of road or street or trail; you park in the front and walk wherever you need to go.
The lot is lined with trees, all of them in the midst of their color change, and the grass is that unpleasant yellowish-brownish that comes from needing more rain than we actually get.
“Want to meet my mom?” Juniper says when we’ve pulled into a parking spot.
“Oh,” I say. It would probably be rude to say no, right? “Sure.” Then I look at her high heels. “Are you going to wear those?”
Juniper looks at the heels too, shrugging. “They’re the only shoes I’ve got right now. It will be fine.”
I personally think she’s going to sink right into the ground, but I guess a little extra aeration never hurt anybody.
“So,” I say as we get out of the car. “Lionel was a little creepy.”
“Ha,” she says, her voice dry. “He’s about what I expected, honestly. Taller, maybe. What he said was weird, though, I agree.”
“About seeing you again soon?” I say, looking around as I wait for her. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, and I don’t know where Nora Bean is buried.
“Yeah,” she says, setting off. “And how he knew my name.” Maybe I’m imagining things, but I swear I see her shiver at that.
She just pulls her blazer tighter around her slim frame and begins to walk.
I follow her across the parking lot until we reach the burial plots, and together we thread through the rows of headstones.
“Maybe he kept tabs on your mom,” I say, slowing my pace. As I anticipated, Juniper’s heels are a problem—they appear to be perforating the ground with every step she takes, something that’s never ideal, but especially in a cemetery.
“Maybe?” she says, and it’s clear she’s only partially paying attention to me; she’s frowning down at the shoes Caroline gave her. They make her legs look incredible, but they don’t seem very practical. “But I haven’t kept track of what my old high school crushes are up to,” she goes on.
“Me either,” I say, “but Rocco said Lionel had a thing for your mom. If the person you liked got pregnant while you liked them, you’d probably remember the name of the baby at very least.”
“Oh,” she says, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Duh. Of course. That’s a good point.” Then she turns her gaze back to her shoes.
I take pity on her just when it looks like she’s about to give up. She huffs a sigh that sends her pink hair flying out of her face, and her shoulders sag.
“Here,” I say then, turning around so that my back is to her. I reach around and pat myself awkwardly between my shoulder blades. “Hop on.”
“Are you sure?” she says after a second’s hesitation.
“Yeah,” I say, speaking over my shoulder to her. “It’s fine. It’s not far, is it?”
“No,” she says with a little shrug. “Okay. Thanks.”
I’m about to crouch down so she can reach better, but she leaps before I get the chance; her arms band around my neck, and instinctively I reach back to grab her legs as they wrap around me.
“That’s my butt?—”
“Yep. Sorry.” I adjust my grip and ignore the flush of heat rushing to my cheeks. And then we’re off again, her pointing the way and leading me like I’m her faithful steed.
And it’s strange that simple body heat should be so intoxicating. But then, I suppose, humanity is the creature that clawed its way through the ranks of evolution and stole its crown with the creation of fire. Our higher brains have been propelling us toward warmth literally since the dawn of time.
No fire I’ve ever sat next to has felt the way she feels, her citrus-scented hair a slash of pink in my periphery, her breath on my skin as she directs my path.
You don’t like her romantically, huh? a little voice in my head says.
I drop kick that little voice clear out of my mind.
We reach Nora’s plot only a minute or two later, and Juniper slides down the back of my body, taking all her body heat with her. I fold my arms across my chest to ward off the chill she leaves behind, watching as she approaches her mother’s grave.
“Hi,” she says to the small headstone. “I brought a friend. You want to meet him?” She turns and points at me, and I step closer, feeling unaccountably nervous.
I’ve never met a woman’s mom before.
“This is Aiden,” she says, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me closer once I enter her range of motion. I stumble into her, and she wobbles dangerously in her heels for a second. Her arms windmill and flail until I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her tight against me.
“Oof,” she says, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Thanks. Almost ate it there.” Then she turns back to her mom. “This is Aiden,” she repeats. She pats me on the chest. “He thinks I’m a good roommate, and he promised he won’t let me go hungry.”
I shift uncomfortably, my grip around her waist tightening, the silk of her top smooth beneath my fingertips.
Why is it that calling her a roommate sounds right but feels wrong?
And why does calling her more than a roommate sound wrong but feel right ?
“You’re hurting me,” she says, snapping me out my thoughts. She taps my hand. “Too tight.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, letting go of her as though I’ve been shocked. I back away a couple steps. “Sorry.”