Chapter Seven Fireworks #2
My head jerks up, and I can’t help the instant smile that floods my face. A pack of little ones has spotted Andrea as she walks towards me. She’s in that clingy blue dress again, as if she knows that I’m already trying to wrangle carnal thoughts, and she wants to throw fuel on the fire.
What if she is trying to entice you? Did you think of that?
That’s nonsense.
What if she’s hoping to entice you just a little? Into a kiss?
That... that might be okay. But nothing more.
Parts of my body protest that decision, but it’s the way it has to be. Andrea clearly doesn’t know I’m a troll, and that’s fine for friendly companionship. For bedding? No.
For breeding?
Oh, damn it, that thought was never supposed to happen, and I try hard to shove it away. It’s not my fault that I imagine her hands on mine, and suddenly it’s my hands on her hips, and her hands on my shoulders, urging me to get closer. To do more than give her a simple kiss.
No, it is my fault. It’s something about the way she smiles at the children, and bends down to hug some of the littlest ones, and shakes their parents’ hands with so much warmth. It just shines out of her, and touches everyone.
And when she sees me?
Oh. That light and warmth seems to double. Triple. Her face breaks into the most beautiful, broadest smile, and she waves at me like I’m the main attraction, even in the midst of all this excitement.
She likes me.
I don’t think I’ve ever been liked before, not like this or anything near it.
“Hi!” Andrea pants, trotting over to me after struggling through a crowd of clinging kiddos.
“Hello.” I smile back and stick out my hand.
Andrea shakes it, and then leans into me with a grateful smile. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”
“Really?” I blink in shock. “Me? Did you miss the petting zoo? There are cute rabbits.”
Andrea laughs, a rippling, delighted sound. “Okay, the rabbits might be cuter and fluffier, but I’m still here to see you, Gordon. And believe me, I needed rescuing.”
I look Andrea up and down. She doesn’t seem scratched or singed. “Were you stuck in something?” I ask. “Or is the cat stuck?”
“I wasn’t stuck—unless you count being stuck with overbearing, hyper-reactive parents and a superior brother.”
“Your brother could not be superior to you,” I state, arms crossed.
“Tell my family that. He’s in med school and got a super prestigious internship, and he’s being a super saint right now, helping the poor and underserved with really gross medical problems. Treating them with dignity and compassion, I might add.
He’s a great guy. I’m just... I’m just...
I’m feeling like the ugly duckling this second,” she concludes with a sigh.
“You’re the most beautiful woman here. And you in no way resemble a duck,” I scan her outfit again, making sure I haven’t missed any feathered accessories.
“It’s an expression. From a fairytale?” Andrea cocks her head, a curious grin on her sweet lips.
I grunt and nod, making a note to go and read more fairytales later. I definitely don’t want to tell her that most fairy tales are based on something true. Twisted, perhaps, but true. “I might not know that one.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a little baby swan that gets raised with a bunch of ducks.
It’s way different than the rest. Like me.
My family is all buzzing around in each other’s space, all going into the same professions, and I struck out on my own.
I’m the only teacher. Not that it’s a bad career or something scandalous, it’s just different, and today I’m feeling it.
My parents called about me showing up to my aunt’s 4th of July party and—”
“It was earlier?”
“It’s now. In Jersey City.” Andrea tucks a loose curl of her hair back behind her ear. “I’m here. With you.”
“But you shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t be here if you are supposed to be with your family,” I say, honored and confused, and far too comfortable with the feeling of pride and pleasure in my heart that she picked me.
Because her family made her feel worse. Because by comparison, she is better than you. Because she can’t see what you are.
The negative voices hiss in my head, leaving dark, ugly clouds where Andrea’s sunshine smile just brightened.
“Oh, see, you can’t tell me that. I’m stubborn. I’m little but mighty,” Andrea sticks out her tongue, teasing me. “I wanted to be here with you.”
“Really?” I ask, my voice so quiet I’m afraid it’ll be lost in the cacophony of bellowing sheep and shouting kids.
“Yeah.” Her hand makes a tentative brush against my knuckles, her face bashful. “Do you have to stay here by the trucks, or can we go get hamburgers?”
“We can get food,” I say, and make a bold choice. I grab her little hand, and she doesn’t flinch. She beams, settles in beside me, and burrows up to my side as we walk around the makeshift 4th of July fair.
Gordon introduces me to pretty much every one of the thirty volunteer firefighters, who are all here with their families, along with so many of my students and their families.
It feels like a vastly better kind of cocktail hour, one with lemonade, burgers, and friendly people, instead of boring small talk with people who want to recruit you to something.
Loneliness melts off of me. There’s so much to do, in a bustling, busy way, but it also feels kind of relaxed.
There’s no pressure to do everything, or even one particular thing.
We play horseshoes (Gordon wins), pet rabbits (Chopin will be so jealous), and eat way too much.
At eight, Gordon steers us back to the firetruck, hesitates, and then pulls me up into the back with him.
There is room between the ladders to lie down, and Gordon does, only to belatedly realize that leaves me awkwardly scrunched up, perching on the side, kind of afraid to topple over.
“I’ll move,” he says.
“No. I don’t mind sitting up here.”
“You look like you do.” His eyes narrow, taking in my precarious perch.
“I should have brought a blanket. I used to love it when I was little, and we would spread out the beach towels in the park, and the whole family would watch the fireworks go off. That was before Tita Anna had a house with a yard and a grill,” I explain.
“You could lie down here. I’ll stand.”
I don’t know what makes me say it. I’ve been holding his hand all night, and his arm found its way around my shoulders a few times.
I know there may be things in his past that make him hesitant to touch others or be touched.
I guess the night has been so relaxed and perfect that I blurt it out.
“We could lie down together? I have an emergency blanket in my car. I could go back and get it.”
“I need to stay with the truck in case any embers cause a problem,” Gordon says.
“Oh, well, we could both—”
“I’m much bigger than you. You could sit on me?”
Every x-rated thought that I’ve ever had tries to escape. Gordon realizes what he’s said, or rather, what it might sound like, and he bolts upright.
“It’s okay. That’s... I mean, you are the size of a loveseat. In the best way. Your dad must have been pretty tall?” I make small talk, keeping things light while my heart is hammering in my throat. I tiptoe to the space between his feet and then stick my hand back. “Help me down?”
For a second, there’s silence between us, even though overhead, the first volley of bright red and gold sparks lights up the night. Everyone around us cheers.
Gordon takes my hand and guides me into his lap—and then puts his arm across my waist and pulls us both into a reclining position so we’re staring up at the stars.
“My parents were very tall. All of my brothers, too, except the youngest. Hugo. He’s still bigger than a—normal person. But he’s small compared to the rest of us.” I can feel him swallow. “I should have brought him with me when I left.”
“He didn’t want to go?”
“No. No, leaving was not acceptable in my family. He was too afraid to leave, but I think I should have persuaded him.”
“Oh.”
Gordon is rigid under me now. His muscles are like planks (but surprisingly comfy ones, like an ultra-firm, warm mattress), and he doesn’t move, except for his jaw. His arms are at his sides. No more hand holding.
“But you did it. You left.”
“Yes. I had to.”
I swallow. This isn’t the best time to ask, but my timing has been pretty sucky all summer, right? “Gordon? We don’t have to touch if you don’t want to. I was totally fine sitting in my own space. I don’t want to... I don’t want to bring up bad memories. Want me to move?”
“No.”
I bite my lip. This is so not the time to laugh, but he makes me want to. A whole paragraph of nervous chatter just came out of my trembling lips, and he said one word. I watch the red sparks in the sky turn to neon blue and ask, “No? Which part?”
His voice is low and deep, even more than usual.
Quiet, but penetrating, the kind of rumble you feel in your bones, especially when you’re lying on top of the one speaking.
“In my old life, touch meant pain. Fight. Hit. Touch in Pine Ridge is different. Save people. Pet the cat. Pet the rabbits.” He pauses. “Hold your hand. I like that the best.”
Well. That’s a clear indication of preference. I gently reach down and find his muscular arm, slide my fingers until I connect with his wrist, and then slowly drape his arm under my breasts, over my ribs, making sure the whole time that I feel his arm moving with me, willingly.