Continuum (26 page)

“I hadn't noticed them.  My attention has been occupied elsewhere.”  Ethan scoots closer to me in the booth and pulls my hand up to his lips.  “You have very delicate hands.  Graceful like a dancer.  Did you ever dance?”

I start giggling uncontrollably, “I did.”

“And what’s so funny about that?”

I gulp in air but my laughter keeps bubbling up, “I was beyond horrible at it.  I started ballet lessons when I was 4.  I was pretty hopeless.  We were just standing at the barre, practicing angling our feet.  Even though we were gripping the barre, I somehow managed to trip myself up.  I lost my balance and fell and knocked over the girl in front of me, who knocked over the girl in front of her... Since I was so bad, my teacher always put me in the back.  Unfortunately that meant that I took down the whole class that day.  It was mortifying.  I was really only in it for the tutu and the toe shoes.”

He carefully flips my hand palm side up and slowly traces the lines of my palm with his finger, making my hand tingle.  “Such deceptive hands,” he says teasingly.

I turn the tables on him and flip his hand over, running my fingertips over his hand.  “Your fingertips are calloused.  Wait, let me guess.  I'm guessing you learned to play jazz acoustic bass that you perfected in New Orleans.”

Laughing, Ethan shakes his head, “Nice try, but no, I play guitar.  I did have a guitar teacher when we lived in New York and another one briefly when we were in California, but I'm mostly self-taught.  The internet.”

“How resourceful.”

Megan returns with a huge steaming pizza balanced precariously on one hand above her shoulder.  She carefully sets it down between us, “Is there anything else I can get you guys?”

“No, thanks.  I think we're good,” he replies and she smiles and leaves us to our feast.  He turns to me a serious expression on his face, spatula in hand, “So one or two to start off with?”

“One.”

Shaking his head somberly, “Such weak enthusiasm.  Do you even like pizza?”

“Fine, fine.  Two.”

“Thatta girl!”  Ethan enthusiastically places two pieces of piece on a plate and hands it to me.  They cover the whole plate and hang intimidatingly over the sides.  He places two more slices on a plate for himself.  Then he gets to work carefully layering parmesan, then oregano, and finally some hot chili flakes onto the pizza.  “Shall we?”

I pick up my fork and knife and start cutting my pizza into bite size pieces.  Ethan is watching as I work the knife into the crust,  “What?  How am I supposed to eat with you looking at me like that?”

“Seriously, Fallon?  Pizza is meant to be eaten with your hands.  Trust me, I pride myself for being a pizza connoisseur.”

Rolling my eyes, I set down my utensils and pick up a slice with both my hands and take a small bite, “Better?  Now stop criticizing my eating habits and eat you pizza.”

With an obedient smile and nod, Ethan begins to devour his pizza.  Now my mouth is slack with shock as I watch him work his way through his first two slices of pizza.  “What?  Do I have sauce on my chin?”

I can't help but smile, “Watching you eat is like watching a snake swallow a baby pig.  It's mesmerizing.”

“Whose criticizing whose eating habits now?” he mutters through a mouthful of pizza.

“Sorry, resume gorging absent my judgement.”  In the time it takes me to finish two slices, Ethan has made quick work of the rest of the pizza.

“That really hit the spot.  I was starving.”  Ethan places his hand on his stomach and groans dramatically.

I carefully dab the corners of my mouth with a napkin.  “We might not be Italy or Chicago, but Fat Tony knows his pizza.”

Ethan rolls his eyes, “Come on, let's get out of here.  I want to spend some time together without the audience.”  He stands, stretching his arms over his head to put his jacket back on.  His t-shirt inches up, revealing his stomach which is somehow still perfectly flat after all the pizza he just devoured.  I slide out of the booth and he offers his hand to help me stand.  Ethan and I walk up to the counter to pay.  

Mackenzie saunters up as we're waiting in line and wedges herself between us.  “Ethan.  I didn't see you here.  Do you want to come sit down with us?”  She points to her table by our booth where Emma, Sophia, and Chloe are sitting.  They smile and wave on cue when Ethan looks over.  He nods curtly in their direction, returning their greeting.

“No.  Fallon and I just finished a very enjoyable dinner.  You know Fallon Pierce right?  The girl standing right next to you.”

She turns slightly, giving me a tight smile that looks more like a grimace.  I wave my hand sarcastically but she turns her back and ignores me, continuing, “Oh, that's too bad.  This is a good place to come hang out with your friends.  Have you been to Il Fiume yet?  It’s this intimate little Italian place...”

Ethan cuts her off, his voice curt,  “Fallon and I aren’t hanging out as friends.”

Mackenzie makes a big show of being surprised and apologetic, gripping Ethan's elbow with both hands.  “Of course!  I am so sorry.  You must be so embarrassed that I thought you guys were friends.  Is she tutoring you?”

Through gritted teeth, Ethan replies emphasizing each word like she’s slow, “No, she isn't my tutor.  Fallon is my girlfriend.”  She whips her head back to look at me and I get a clear view of her eyebrows shooting into her forehead and her mouth dropping open.  I feel equally surprised at the title but hopefully I mask it better.  “If you'll excuse us, we have to get going.  Have a good evening.”  

Ethan walks around Mackenzie and I can practically see the steam coming from her ears as Ethan grabs me by the hand and in my half dazed state, he has to drag me to the register.  He is bristling with annoyance and I hear him mutter something that sounds like, “Unbelievable.”  

As we step outside into the crisp night air, I turn to Ethan in awe.  “I can die now.  The expression on Mackenzie’s face was priceless.  It will forever be etched in my brain.”  

“Everything is forever etched in your brain.  I feel bad.  Kinda.  Sorta.  Maybe an iota.  But it really irritates me that Mackenzie thinks she can treat people the way she does.  Like we’re all pawns in her little game.”  He pulls my helmet off the back of the bike and hands it to me before putting his own helmet on.  “Hop on.  I told my mom I was going to be up all night studying, but I have something else in mind.”  My heart rate picks up at the implication in his tone.  “You and I are paying a visit to the attic.”

We are back at my house, going through boxes in the attic.  Every inch of the floor is covered with boxes stacked two to three boxes high.  Boxes of clothing and shoes from my mother's bedroom.  Boxes of antique globes and glass lamps from my Grandpa Carl's home office.  Boxes of framed photos and other trinkets from my old home.  

As I pull each object out, I feel a twinge in my chest.  When I moved to this house, I never thought I would see what was inside these boxes again.  I couldn't bear the thought of throwing these things out, but I couldn't bear seeing them everyday either.

The thin layer of dust covering the attic was proof of their neglect.  Ethan and I are sitting on a navy blue velvet chaise lounge that was used to be in my mother's bedroom, opening up boxes of my old paintings and sketchbooks.  Each box we unearth is full of memories.  He unpacks a brown leather bound sketchbook, its spine is cracked from the extra bulk of loose leaf sheets of paper stuffed inside the pages.  He flips open to the first page, a portrait done in red ball point pen.

“This one is of my Grandpa Carl.  When he was reading his daily newspaper, he would sit so perfectly still.  He was the perfect model.  Not that I needed him to be.”  My voice cracks as I say this.  I haven't looked at any of these in such a long time.  Each drawing is filled with so many buried emotions, I feel overwhelmed by the onslaught.  I’m surprised when a drop of moisture falls from my eye and onto the page.  

Ethan reaches over and squeezes my hand, “Let's go downstairs.  It's late and I don't want to binge on all your art at once.”

I place the sketchbook back in its box and we head downstairs hand in hand.  Outside my bedroom door, he tugs on my hand so that I stop short.  My usually well contained emotions have failed me and tears fall freely down my face.  Ethan places his hands on either side of my face, trapping me as I try to turn away.  I don’t want him to see me like this.

“Hey, it’s okay Fallon.  You don’t have to hide from me, remember?”  Very gently, he kisses each of my tear stained cheeks before pressing his lips against mine.  I melt against his touch and the last vestiges of my wall crumble away.  

My lips are urgent and my hands wind their way around his waist, holding myself as close as possible.  His lips are equally insistent and I have to pull away, my tears have ceased but my breathing is still uneven.  His lips don’t leave my skin, just traveling from my lips to my jaw.  My breath hitches and I flush, everywhere it feels like.  

As we haven’t had the intimacy conversation yet, I freeze as his lips find my neck.  Ethan feels me stiffen and he pulls back immediately.  His smile is full of reassurance, but I detect a hint of rejection in his eyes and it is like a dagger through me.  “Ethan, I don’t know if I’m ready to be that... physical with you.”

He reaches out and strokes my cheek, “It’s okay.  We need to talk about it.  But it can wait.  Come to bed, I want to hear about your grandfather.”

We spend the rest of the night laying in my bed, talking in the dark until we both trail off from exhaustion.  Ethan curls around me and I sleep through the night for the first time in recent memory.

When I awake, its still dark out.  I glance at the alarm clock next to my bed, it's nearly 10:00AM.  I never sleep that late.  I gently roll out from Ethan's arms and slide off the bed.  Quietly tiptoeing to the window, I pull back the shade and the sky is thick with dark gray clouds.  

Ethan moans quietly behind me.  He murmurs sleepily, “Noon.  Please tell me it's at least noon.  Otherwise, get back here.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and ruffle his hair, “No, it is not noon.  But it is morning and your mom probably expects you home eventually.  If you get up, I will ply you with eggs and bacon and copious amounts of caffeine.  I have an espresso maker.”

Ethan grunts in response and rolls over onto his back, blinking sleepily up at me.  “Sleeping beauty requires a kiss to wake.”

“Conceited much?”  He ignores me and continues to lay there with his eyes half closed.  Cautiously, I slide closer to Ethan and lean over so that my body is suspended over his.  Slowly, I lower myself and with the lightest touch possible, I kiss his lips.  I feel his hands slide down my arms and then snaking around the small of my back, pulling me closer against his chest.  Soon, we are not kissing so lightly.  Our lips move against each other hungrily, our tongues dancing together in a frenzied pace.  When I pull away, we're both breathless.  

My arms have turned to gelatin and I don’t have the strength to push myself back up.  I rest my cheek against his shoulder, my body rising each time his chest expands as he inhales deeply.  The warmth of his body and the rhythm of his breathing almost lull me back to sleep.  But then I can feel him grinning against my hair as he murmurs into my ear,  “I feel much more awake now.  I believe I was promised breakfast?”

After our leisurely breakfast, Ethan has been tasked to help his mom refinish an antique dresser which turns into an all day project.  He sends me text messages periodically, but I’ll drive myself mad if I don’t keep occupied.  I attempt to complete the Sunday crossword, but give up after half the boxes are blackened with cross outs.  I half-heartedly work on some school work but I finish my Calculus homework in less than 15 minutes and don’t need to study for European History.

I wander into the kitchen, thinking I could whip up some chocolate chip cookies.  That should occupy an hour of my time.  But when I open the refrigerator, I remember I haven’t been to the grocery store in a week and I’m out of butter.  I don’t really like the idea of walking a mile and a half in the rain to replenish my supply, but I dutifully tug on my coat and boots checking the time before I head out.  3:17 PM.  For once, I am looking forward to Monday morning.

The rain still hasn’t let up from last night.  It alternates between a light misting and a torrential downpour on my walk to school.  With my hood drawn up to keep out the wet and the cold, I plow right into Sam as I enter the cafeteria.  Of course, it’s like running into a solid brick wall and I bounce off, sliding backwards on the wet linoleum.  I almost topple over but he reaches out and steadies me by the elbow just in time.  I’ll probably have a nasty bruise, but better my arm than my ego.  

Sam is smiling at me expectantly, looking cheery despite the gloom outside, “Good morning, Fallon.”  

“Hi, Sam.  Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.  Thanks for not letting me fall.”  

I walk to my locker and am surprised to see Sam when I look up from putting in my combination.  He leans against the locker next to mine, watching as I hang up my damp jacket.  “Uhm, is there an English exam or something that I forgot about?”

He rolls his eyes, “You never forget anything.  Can't a friend come by for a chat?”  

I raise my eyebrows in response. 

“So rumor has it, you and Ethan were spotted at Fat Tony’s on Saturday,” his grin stretching even wider than I thought was possible.

The curse of living in a small town-- everyone knew your business.  My instinct is to tell Sam to butt out, but he has always been so unerringly nice to me even when I didn’t deserve it.  Especially when I didn’t deserve it.  I shrug, hoping to appear casual, “Indeed, we dined there.”

“God, Fallon!  Don’t be so serious all the time!  I’m happy for you guys.”  

My lips curl up, an involuntary response to his teasing grin, “Thanks, Sam.  You’re a really good friend.”

“I also wanted to warn you.  The other word on the street is that Mackenzie is going to kill you.  In the social sense.”  Without turning his head, he shifts his eyes toward Mackenzie’s table in the cafeteria.