Continuum (27 page)

My smile falters, “I really don't see how that's possible though considering I have no social life for her to kill.”

“Well, you know how she can get.  She really hates you now and is plotting your slow and painful demise.”

“That's unfortunate.”

His eyes glaze over, playing a scenario in his mind.  “Wow.  You and Mackenzie.  At war.  They should put it on pay-per-view.  A fight for the ages.  It would be so epic.”

I elbow him in the ribs to bring him back to reality, “There will be no war.  Thanks for the intel, Sam.  But I harbor no ill will toward her.  See you in English,” I say with finality as I spot Ethan walking into the cafeteria.

Ethan

My mom dropped me off on her way to yoga this morning.  I shake the rain out of my hair from my short run from the curb to the front door as my eyes start scanning for Fallon.  She is at her locker, talking to Sam.  He is grinning like a fool and she is wearing an uncomfortable smile.  She elbows him playfully and he pretends to wince.  

Fallon spots me and says something to Sam whose eyes also turn in my direction.  She slams her locker door shut and starts to walk toward me but Sam is much faster.  He strides toward me, smiling knowingly.  Right before he walks past me, he winks and slaps me on the shoulder not giving anything away. 
What the hell were they talking about?

Fallon reaches me in the next second, that beautiful shy smile spreading across her lips, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I reply, a bit sulkily.  I want to wrap my arms around her and let her body warm the sudden chill I feel.  But my hoodie is wet so I give her a light kiss on the lips before pulling her hand into mine.  Hands intertwined, we walk into the cafeteria and sit at our usual table.

Still brooding, I stare at our reflection in the window, “What were you and Sam smiling about?”

She replies teasingly, “Oh, just Sam declaring his undying love for me.”

My eyebrows feel like they’re going to shoot right off my forehead but she continues before I can respond.

“And people say I don’t have a sense of humor.  Sam was warning me.  Something about my imminent social assassination by one Mackenzie Brooks.  I guess the Fat Tony’s incident did not sit so well with her.”

Of course, Sam was just being a good friend to Fallon.  I feel a bit embarrassed at my reaction and try to reassemble my shocked expression to one of disgust, “Ugh.  High school.”

“Ugh.  Mean girls.”

“How much damage can one girl inflict?”

“Ha!  I guess you really don't know her very well,” she mutters darkly.

“Well, I'll protect you.  Don't worry about her.”  

She juts her chin out defensively, “I don’t.”

“Very well then.  I have some news, sorta.”  I really didn’t want to spring this on her right after the Mackenzie thing.  I run my hand through my mostly dry hair, trying to formulate how I am going to present my news.  It’s hard because I never know how she’s going to react to these sorts of things.  “So my dad and I were Skyping yesterday.  He wants me to come visit him in London for a couple weeks over winter break.  To meet his new girlfriend.  But that’s not the news... I convinced him to let me bring you to London.  You can meet Scott finally too.  He’s curious about you.”

Her silence seems to stretch for an eternity and then her perfectly calm facade crumbles, “You want me to go to London with you?  On a plane?  I don't even have a passport.  Why would he be curious about me?  What have you told him about me?”  She knots her fingers together, her eyes wide with panic.  I gently unwind her fingers and clasp her hands in mine so she’s forced to focus on me.

“Don’t worry, Scott doesn’t know
everything
.  Flying is statistically safer than driving.  And I can help you get a passport.”

“London, wow.  Are you sure you this isn’t a bit soon?  You really want me to go all the way to London to meet your family?”

I smile guiltily, “Well you wouldn’t be meeting my whole family in London... After I my dad agreed to fly you out to London, I couldn’t let my mom hear about you from him.  She wants to meet you, too.  She wants you to come over for dinner Thursday.”

Fallon starts chewing on her bottom lip, I can practically see the wheels spinning in her mind as she frets, “This Thursday?  For dinner?  As in Thanksgiving?  Thanksgiving dinner?  Meeting your mom on a national holiday?”  

“Don't look so worried.  I told my mom about your dad being away all the time and she couldn't bear for you to be alone during the holidays.  She's really interesting and cool as moms go.  You'll love her.”  The bell rings, putting an end to our conversation.  Fallon is so distracted that she doesn’t notice all the stares and whispers as we walk hand-in-hand to European History.

We spend lunch in the art room as usual, but Fallon is still gravely silent from this morning.  I can tell she’s stewing about Thanksgiving.  And about meeting my mom.  And about flying to London.  And about meeting my dad and brother.  I had given her a lot to stew over.  I try to relax her by laying everything out so she doesn’t have to worry about the details.

“I'll come by around 5 o'clock to pick you up.  You aren't allergic to anything are you?  I forgot to ask.  I think my mom's making Italian.  We're not really into the whole turkey-and-pumpkin-pie thing.  Do you like Italian food, Fallon?  Fallon?”

She blinks at me a couple times before responding, “Huh?  Yup.  Sounds great.”  Her voice is nervous, on the edge of petrified.

I set down my pencil onto the drafting table and walk over to where she is sitting.  The sheet of paper in front of her is completely blank, a pencil dangling in her hand.  I lean her against my chest and wrap my arms around her shoulders.  “I don’t want to overwhelm you, Fallon.  Is this too much too soon?  I can cancel.  They’ll understand.”

“No, no.  It's just that... I've never met a boy's parents before.  Well I knew Sam’s parents from when I was a kid but never a formal ‘hi-I’m-your-son’s-girlfriend’ type of meeting.  And I’ve definitely never been to another family’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.  I don't really know how to act.  And I am grade A excellent at making a fool of myself in social situations.  What if your mom hates me?”

“It's okay, Fallon.  We didn't really have a big Thanksgiving since sometimes we weren't living in the States. I've never brought a girl home to meet my parents before.  Holiday or otherwise.  But I really like you, Fallon.  My mom will think you’re wonderful.  You've shared so much with me.  I just want to do the same.”

Fallon lets out a gust of air like she’s been holding her breath as I was talking, “I just don't want to embarrass you.”

“Are you kidding?  You’re so smart and funny.  Everyone will adore you as much as I do.  How can they not?  So no more fretting.”  I continue before she can object again, “Now show me what you're going to be working on next.”

Fallon

My week flies by and before I know it, Thursday afternoon has arrived.  I'm sitting on the floor of my closet in my bathrobe with my wet hair secured in a towel.  Ethan has been very good at... distracting me this week.  But when I'm alone, I start feeling anxious about meeting his family again.  I’m out of practice pretending to be normal.

Do I go dressy casual?  Casual dressy?  Skirt?  Definitely, a skirt occasion if there was one.  But Ethan is picking me up.  On his motorcycle.  Do I own dressy pants?  I settle on a pair of dressy, dark wash, boot cut jeans with a lavender chiffon blouse that I wore once to a graduation party and a light gray cardigan.  I spend 20 minutes carefully straightening my hair and another 10 minutes putting on some concealer, eye liner, mascara, and lip gloss.  Now I'm standing at the front door closet, stuck on choice of footwear.  I only own two kinds of shoes, boots or sneakers.  I immediately rule out all my sneakers and I look over the select of motorcycle, combat, and riding boots in the closet.  As I fret over footwear, I hear Ethan pulling up the driveway.  

I fling open the front door and stand on the porch in my socked feet, watching him park his motorcycle and then remove his helmet.  And as soon as I see his handsome face, my anxiety lifts.  A smile spreads automatically across my face as he walks up the stairs.

“Hey,” he pulls me toward him and wraps his arms tightly around me.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m better now that you’re here.”  

His fingers dance along the length of my spine sending a shiver down to my toes, “You look beautiful.  You should wear color more often.”

“Oh thanks, I didn't think boys noticed things like that.  I'm almost ready.  Just need to pick out shoes and a coat.”  

He releases me and pulls me into the house.  Ethan's wearing his usual uniform of worn in jeans speckled with clay and paint.  He has added a navy crew neck sweater over a white button down shirt and his black motorcycle jacket.  I go to the closet and pick out my favorite black motorcycle boots.  Next I put on my dark green anorak and a thick, gray cable knit scarf to cover my face from the wind.

I turn to him, fully dressed now, “I’m ready.”  

Ethan looks at me appraisingly and then takes a step forward.  He picks up one end of the scarf and unfurls it from around my face before lifting his hands.  For a moment he just cradles my face and I can feel my heartbeat speed up as his blue eyes bore into mine.  Then, very gently, he leans down and presses his lips to mine.  My hands automatically wind around him, pulling myself closer against him.  His stubble rasps against my chin as my lips move hungrily against his.  When he pulls away, an impatient noise escapes my lips and he laughs softly, a wonderful sound in my ears.  I feel slightly unsteady on my feet.

He picks up the scarf and wraps it around my neck, “Okay, let's go.”

Ethan pulls up to a tidy beige brick house with a dark green door with a beautiful stained glass panel.  My sigh of relief doesn’t go unnoticed and he smiles as he helps me off the bike.  My hands are shaky as I slide off the helmet.  I’m not sure if it’s from the trip over on his motorcycle or if it’s from nerves.  

“Are you ready?  How are you feeling?” he asks me again, his voice is even but his eyes show a hint of anxiety.  All I can do is nod in response, too nervous to form words.  He lifts my hand up and brushes his lips against my knuckles.

We walk up the driveway to the front door, flanked by two stone lions wearing Christmas wreaths despite the fact that Thanksgiving isn't even over yet.  We enter the living room and Ethan helps me take off my jacket and then hangs it in the front hall closet.  The layout of his house is similar to the one I live in, as are most houses in the area.  Everything else couldn't be more different.

His mom calls out from the kitchen,  “Honey, I'm in here.  Be out in a second, just finishing the salad and the Bolognese!  Why don't you show Fallon around the house?”

“Ahh, the grand tour.  Mademoiselle?”  He offers me the crook of his elbow and I place my arm in his.  “This is the grand foyer.”  He says this jokingly, but he is quite on mark.  Two massive Marie Antoinette style, tufted, navy velvet covered couches sit facing each other on dainty, curved white legs.  There are mirrored end tables on either side of the couches with round, off white lamps.  Between the couches is a Persian rug beneath a marble coffee table containing a crystal vase of pale pink peonies and overflowing with books of various topics from art to trains to ancient civilizations.  The walls are covered in a gray damask wallpaper with paintings of various size from various periods arranged neatly.  An ornately carved silver mirror faces the paintings taking up most of the opposite wall.  The windows are covered in light blue drapes embroidered with silver vines and leaves.  The remaining wall has floor to ceiling built-in bookshelves are filled to the brim with books and various trinkets.

He takes me into the dining room which is stark white except for the wall facing us which is covered with a black on black patterned wallpaper.  The solid wood table is aged artfully with matching benches on either side.  At either end of the long table are tufted chairs in a light gray linen.  Down the length of the table are three bouquets of snow white roses, pale green hydrangeas and lush succulents sitting in identical blue and white porcelain vases.  Between the vases are matte silver platters holding ivory candles in various lengths and sizes.  A glossy white buffet sits in the corner scatted with crystal decanters half full of different colored liquids.  In the opposite corner, there's a bust of a naked woman whose arms are reaching for the sky but instead of fingers, there are branches reaching up.  In the center of the wall, a low fire is burning in the white stone fireplace.  There are so many things to look at in here.  But the centerpiece of the room is a low hanging chandelier that runs nearly the length of the table with layer upon layer of dangling crystal and silver.  The light dances off the shards highlighting the patterns on the black wall.

We walk pass the modern marble and steel kitchen and a half bathroom, before heading upstairs to the bedrooms.  He points out the door leading to his mom's room and the bathroom down the hall before stopping in front of his bedroom door.  “It's a bit messy so don't judge me.”

I hold up my right hand and say solemnly, “Scout's honor.”

Ethan ushers me inside his room.  His room has less of that museum quality than the rest of his house.  The light blue walls are plastered with posters of bands I’ve never heard of.  His bed is pushed against the far wall by the window, a navy comforter crumpled at the foot of the bed.  His laptop sits on the simple wooden nightstand next to his bed, along with some serious looking headphones.  A rack is mounted to the wall holding a neat row of guitars with amps sitting underneath.  In the corner by the closet sits a bookshelf full of books with trophies sitting on top and ribbons hanging from a hook.  Intrigued, I immediately go up to inspect them.  Rowing, baseball, judo.

Picking up a track trophy, I turn to Ethan, “I didn't know you were so competitive.”

His laugh is easy and carefree, “I have participated in a tournament once or twice in my life.”