Chapter 7
“Ama, you’ve eaten less than Arkyn’s kitten.” Ivar pointed his fork toward Astra, who sat on Ama’s thigh like a queen on a throne, patiently waiting to be fed tender morsels of beef from her Juicy Lucy. “Are you sure you don’t want something else?”
“Tell him you’re starving but will only eat the last of the crab Rangoon he put on his plate.” Lin urged, a devilish grin on her face.
Ivar spread his arms and dipped his chin toward the fried treats. “I mean, you’re welcome to them… if you wanna fight me.”
Arkyn leaned his head closer as if sharing a secret. “He’s ticklish under the arm. Do it long enough and he’ll piss himself.”
“Fífl, that was one time. And I was six.” Ivar rolled his eyes and muttered as the rest of the table laughed.
Ama was in love with Arkyn’s entire family. The ping-pong conversation and mock insults bounced around the table so quickly she could barely keep up. If she attempted eating at the same time, she’d surely miss something important. And she didn’t dare miss anything; this night was a dream come true.
They all welcomed her as if she’d always been a guest at their family gatherings.
No wonder she adored Teddy so much. As a product of this family, of course he was awesome. Ama counted her lucky stars he was such a good friend to her. She made a silly face at him from where he sat on his father’s lap, gumming and drooling over the adult’s thumb. Teddy squealed, drool bubbling around his mouth and his arms pumping in excitement.
The table laughed at a funny childhood memory Ulrik shared, and Ama kicked herself for getting too distracted to listen.
Dinner had been rife with such stories, everyone laughing at their own foibles. The brothers teased one another mercilessly, but it was never mean. Ama felt it in her bones, how much these individuals loved each other. When their voices sounded distant and muffled, their words and tone were always encased in warmth. Even when those muffled voices teased Arkyn about his feelings toward her.
Even when he firmly denied all their gentle accusations.
“You’re officially one of us now, Ama” Eydís declared, reclining against Ulrik while he fed her bites of wild rice. “We’re sharing our weaknesses and dirty secrets with you; we can’t let you go now.”
“Welcome to the inner sanctum of the Drekison clan, Ama.” Lucia rested her chin on her hands tented over her plate. “So what’s your weakness?”
Ama rolled her straw between two fingers and shrugged. What wasn’t her weakness? “Well, animals and babies, for sure. And thinking in straight lines.”
“Hmmm. Well, Arkyn is the straightest line I know.” Ty clicked his tongue. “Sounds like he’s the perfect man for you.”
“Why are you working that angle?” Arkyn sat right next to her, but his voice once again sounded like it came from behind a thick wall. She turned to look at him and he smiled at her. “I’m perfectly capable, myself.”
His lips didn’t move. She must have imagined it. Must have imagined all those behind-a-wall conversations. But how would she have known what their voices sounded like? And if this was her imagination, why were the conversations so… normal?
“Yes, Arkyn is my opposite. But most people are, I guess.” She offered lamely to Ty. “I’m too different to have friends.”
A pause descended upon the table, everyone looking at her. Had she said something wrong? Had she veered left when everyone else went right? Probably, since that was the story of her life. She’d hoped she could avoid being her normal self for a few hours, but apparently not.
“Different is a word people use when they don’t care to take the time to understand someone.” Arkyn’s father— Jo?lnir—spoke softly from where he sat at the head of the table. But the unshakable truth of his wisdom settled over them like a snuggly blanket.
“Lazy people follow the flow of societal expectations. The truly brilliant forge their own path.” Fro?ja declared from the other end of the table, her silver streaks and eyes flashing. Where Jo?lnir was a calming influence, Fro?ja was a battle cry. “Steph is different from me. Or I’m different from her. Either way, we’re both different than all the other church pitch-in ladies. And if any of them care, that’s on them. Not us.”
“I used to think I was so different I was doomed to be alone my whole life.” Lin plucked at her mixed fruit with her chopsticks.
“I used to think I was different because of my size.” Lucia smiled at Ama. “In my hometown, everyone judged me by it, and told me I was worthless. Even my parents.”
That was a second-hand gut punch for Ama. She knew exactly how Lucia felt.
“I’m still different.” Eydís waved her hands in a tah-da move. “Always will be. And that’s okay.”
“Most of us are different from everyone else.” Bodil smiled before gently squeezing Fredrik’s shoulder. “So, you’re in good company, Ama.”
She looked around the table. Everyone smiled at her as if their admissions would change the world into accepting her as easily as they did. Only Arkyn was tense as he sat beside her. She couldn’t look at his face without turning awkwardly to the side and leaning back, but the conflict rolled off him like body heat. His family put such effort into making her feel welcome, yet did nothing to ease whatever had him so discontent.
“You all are so wonderful.” She smiled at them, but her lips quivered at the stark contrast between this amazing family and her own. “You may think you’re different, but you still manage to blend in with the world. I’m a completely different kind of different. And it’s not in a good way.”
Before anyone responded, she plucked Astra off her thigh and handed the little furball back to Arkyn. “I’ve had a delightful evening. Thank you for inviting me and being so kind and welcoming. But I’m going to leave now.”
A soft cry of denial sounded from behind that strange, distant wall, with calls to Arkyn to stop her from leaving. But it was Fro?ja who stood as she passed and stopped her with a hand to the shoulder.
“I was teasing when I dared you to leave our table hungry.” Her eyes and smile filled with patience and understanding, the older woman handed Ama the crumpled bag of chips she’d brought. “You are always welcome. No matter how different you think you are, we can handle it.”
Ama looked around at everyone again. Yes, they might feel different, but she knew in her gut she was different. Different in a way that meant she would never fit it. Something deep down inside of her kept her separate from society. More than her off-topic blurting and her strange fashion choices and lack of social skills. She was different as if her DNA was otherworldly. Maybe she was a space alien. That might explain so much.
Vague feelings of an implicit memory washed through her. Poignant moments from long ago that she couldn’t picture, but felt in her soul, when her differentness had been most obvious.
She tried to grab those memories to dissect them. To add muscle and sinew to them so she could see in her mind what exactly had happened to confirm she was different. Alien. Was there a spaceship that crash landed? Had she known any little green men? Was she wearing a skinsuit to hide her true extraterrestrial form?
Nothing. Only darkness and the knowledge that she was a different sort of different than anyone else could possibly be.
“Ama!” Arkyn’s desperate voice pulled her out of her head. She blinked, standing in front of her car, holding her half bag of chips, having been so deep inside the empty void of her mind that she didn’t remember walking there.
More proof she was different.
Large warm hands enveloped her shoulders and turned her. Arkyn’s myriad of earthly scents wafted over her and his proximity warmed her. His sky-blue eyes were filled with concern and… something else.
“Do you need me”—he cleared his throat—“do you want me to drive you home?”
“Homecoming football game.” Ama smiled at that particular memory wafting off of him.
His brows furrowed. “What? You want to go to the Homecoming game? Okay, but that’s months away.”
Her smile broadened. Her belly fluttered and a calm blanket of evening fireflies settled her nerves. Her voice was soft so she didn’t scare the fireflies away. “No. The plants need water.”
His hands moved to frame her face. He gazed at her like she was some riddle he couldn’t solve. Good luck to him; she couldn’t solve that riddle either.
His lips thinned in a line like he’d made a decision. “I’m going to kiss you, Ama. Blink twice if you don’t want that.”
She could only stare into his eyes.
Time paused for a breathless moment. His tongue peeked out to swipe along his lips as if he was nervous. Should she blink? Save them both from taking this path, for nothing would be the same if they journeyed it? This crossroad was treacherous. Choose the safe, straight, illuminated path and remain friends, enjoying the grounded sensation she felt whenever she was with him until he fell in love with another woman and pulled away from Ama completely. Or choose the twisting, brambled, overgrown path that veered quickly out of sight so she had no idea how long they’d have in each other’s arms before he found a woman better suited for him and he pulled away from Ama completely.
The end would be the same, the only unknown being the path to get there. And she was nothing if not a swirling vortex of unknown.
“Will your plants survive long enough for us to kiss?” Arkyn didn’t just want her to consciously refuse him. He wanted her to confirm her acceptance. How could she refuse a man who smelled like Fourth of July fireworks and apple pie?
“Feed me your lips, Arkyn.”
His lips and arms enveloped her. Heat and need crashed across her consciousness as his tongue lapped at the seam of her mouth before she opened and welcomed him in. He could stay as long as he wanted. He could move in. He could visit often and at any time. His lips, his tongue, his body… it was home. He was home, hearth, family. Roots stretching deep into the earth.
And she was a supernova. A volatile mix of stardust and heat and tinder that he sparked with the flint of his body rubbing against hers. His hands everywhere she needed him to be. His tongue pulling breathy moans and guttural sighs from her throat. His power, his desire, his care… Arkyn roped all her scattered bedlam together into an undulating, vibrating orb of desire focused everywhere his body touched hers, her intensity growing, igniting from that delicious friction so she detonated, crying out her pleasure into his welcoming mouth, his own pleasure echoing hers.
Ama blinked.
She reclined on her car’s hood, Arkyn’s body pressing her against the dusk-chilled metal. He gazed down at her, his mouth open as if in shock, gasping for air the same as she. Her legs were wrapped around him, her skirt hiked to her hips and his jeans resting open at the thick bulk of his thighs.
In slow, incremental shifts, they both followed the line of their flush bodies to where his pelvis met hers, his erection throbbing against her thrumming clit, their individual releases soaking through their underpants. Lost in the heat of their passion, they’d either forgotten to, or had the presence of mind not to, undress for penetration.
“I-I’m so sorry, Ama.” Arkyn shook his head and jerked upright, flipping her skirt over her thighs and yanking his pants up. “I-I only meant to kiss you. I didn’t expect to… I didn’t even ask… it’s no excuse…”
Ama pressed two fingers against his lips to still his dismembered thoughts. She slipped off the car’s hood and invaded his personal space, replacing her fingers with her lips and aligning their bodies as close as they had been while horizontal on the car. As she sensed their mutual desire coalesce from its fractured aftermath, she pulled away. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Arkyn. You have a family to return to.”
He searched her face for something. Then nodded, having either seen what he wanted or not seen what he feared, and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “And you have plants.”
Ama grabbed the mangled bag of chips that had dropped, forgotten, to the ground, and shot Arkyn a smile that felt as broad and orderly as the Drekison’s front yard. She opened her car door and waved to him with the hand still holding the chips. “And fried root vegetables.”