Love's Forbidden Flower (18 page)

“Bloody hell. I really better outdo meself.”

A week later, per Christopher's insistence, I watch out the den’s back window at sunrise. Very strict orders were given that I not do anything this morning that could possibly enable me to see any human being other than the ones in my family. Why am I doing this? With Christopher there's no telling. It could be something sweet and endearing, something silly and utterly ridiculous, or all of the above: Like a brass band could invade with him marching in the lead.

After a moment a ruckus is heard, like someone's trying to come over the fence and has fallen on his bum. It's followed by a mutter, “Bloody hell!” A cringe accompanies my chuckle as I brace myself for whatever antics may follow.

Christopher does his best to appear as if he's casually strolling through my yard when he sees me and detours to knock on my window. Apprehensively I open it to the passer by.

“Excuse me, miss. I wouldn’t happen to be the first gentleman you’ve seen today? Sans your father, of course.”

Should I really play along? “Why yes, kind sir. Actually you are.”

“Well, flukey bugger I am. Are you aware of the day?”

“I believe it's Valentine’s Day.” The display stymies me. Maybe that noise I heard was him cracking his skull.

“Right you are! And in case you haven’t been able to tell, I'm from England—Manchester, in fact. Did you know that in England when a lady looks out her window on Valentine’s Day it’s believed that the first man she sees is the one that's meant for her?”

“Why, no. I had no idea.” Just where is this going? For months he's made stronger attempts to convey his feelings for me, like they've become so deep he can no longer express them to his satisfaction.

“Well, you wouldn’t happen to be available for dinner tonight, would you?”

“Dinner sounds lovely. I should tell you that I do have a boyfriend. I think he is from someplace called Cockney, but that’s not as good as Manchester, is it?”

Christopher throws his arms in the air and my less refined love returns. “Oh, rubbish! You were doing so well!” With mock exasperation he concedes to handing me a brown paper lunch bag. “Here you go. I made you something.” Nestled in it is a box containing a very gauche looking chocolate cupcake with pink frosting and colored sprinkles. “I made it meself. Well, I had a little help from a box of mix and a can of icing, but I still made it. It might surprise you to know that I'm quite a disaster in the kitchen. I made two dozen of those buggers, and that's the one only that came out resembling something edible.”

His face glows in hopes that I'll like my gift. He never fails to completely move me. “Christopher, it's truly amazing that you did this for me. It's perfect and so incredibly thoughtful. I just love it. You can tell the Queen Mum that you won’t need rescuing. Come around front. I have a little surprise for you.”

I meet Christopher at the door with the intention of pulling him inside and giving him a Valentine’s greeting he'll remember for a lifetime, but he grabs me first. “Come out a moment. Step out on to the porch and follow my lead.” Slipping his arms around my waist, he turns me to face the street. “Nestle your head into my shoulder. Without looking up, follow the blue car across the way. I know this sounds daft, but someone's been watching since I left the house.”

By the time I process his words the car speeds off. “I couldn’t see who it was. Did you get a look at the driver?”

“All I saw was a baseball cap.” Realizing the insanity of the notion, Christopher tries to lighten the mood. “I must be going batty. Do you think it’s the lack of humidity?”

“Yeah, that must be it. Either that or you're bloody bonkers!” Lightly I smack his head before rustling my fingers through his hair.

“Thanks loads, luv.”

“It was probably a jealous member of your fan club. Then again, maybe we need to get you into a more humid space. No one else is home and our shower can get very steamy, very quickly. Come on.”

“Crikey!”

With damp hair and telltale grins plastered on our faces, we arrive at school unable to keep our lips off of each other.

When we finally pry ourselves apart, Christopher opens his locker, and a slip of paper drifts to the ground. He seems to think nothing of it as he picks it up and glances at it. But then the grin I hoped would never leave his face fades. After absorbing the note’s contents, he hands it to me.

If you don’t really love your girlfriend like everyone thinks you do, meet me outside the gym at 3:30 P.M.

His eyes plead for mercy as he unsuccessfully tries to speak. Who would possibly do this? One member of his fan club has really lost it.

“It’s fine. I know I’m the one you love.”

It’s not fine at all! How dare someone do this? It’s all part of the juvenility I despise about high school.

Over the last few months I’ve seen Christopher in a lot of stressful situations where his temper has remained even, so his anger is new to behold. “Unfortunately for her I have some place important to be, which is anywhere else in the world that my luv wants—preferably far from here!”

Slamming his locker door, he grabs my hand and drags me off. He always walks me to my first class, but now we are headed in a different direction. Upon reaching the door to his first class he makes a point of putting on a show with his affection. “Meet me here after class. From now on, you will know where I spend every moment!”

Often it seems he is about to finally confess his woes but words fail him. Just like now, his speech always begins the same way: “Lilyanna, do you remember on New Year’s Eve when I came back from Manchester and got all sentimental at your house? There's something I really need to tell you, although maybe you figured it out that night and that's why you left.”

Christopher’s pained expression foretells that a big bomb is about to go off. If his pattern holds, the next thing he'll do is say how much he loves me then get choked up and start stroking my ring finger.

“I don’t know if you realize how much I truly love you. I think I love you more than I should at this point in my life.”

So far he's right on cue, meaning he will next divert the subject. Except he doesn’t this time, which makes my heart go into my throat. Either he's about to burst out with something wretched or he'll soon be on one knee. I'm praying for a third option.

“When I was in Manchester, as good as it was to be home, I missed you terribly. I also did something that was maybe stupid. I couldn’t blame you if you hated me for not telling you, but, without my knowing, Dad arranged an audition with the Queen’s Academy of Music. He sort of threw it at me when I landed, and the audition was the next day. My performance was horrid. Logically, there was no way they'd accept me, but I found out today they did. Full scholarship and everything.”

The strangulation of the devastating news to come is already gripping. All I can do is watch my world crumble before me.

“I always planned to go to Queen’s Academy and now that I can, I don’t want to because I'd have to leave you. Thing is that I really don’t like living here. You’re the only good thing this country holds for me. I’ve been here almost a year, and I’m still on the outside. I don’t understand people here, and they certainly don’t get me.”

“What about your mom?” I can scarcely get out the words for the forming tears.

“Funny thing. Dad and Mum seem to be working things out, and I think he wants her to come home. If I go I know Mum will too. She won’t stay here alone. I'm afraid that if I don't Mum may not go back, and they'll never work this out. It’ll destroy her. You see how she’s been. She’s normally not like this at all. I feel it all rests on me. I can't possibly turn on her.

“Lilyanna, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I honestly didn’t think they'd take me, nor could I face the possibility that they would. I really buggered it. Me dad has a lot of influence. I’m certain he bought my way in. I don’t want to go this way, but if I had time to prepare they would have accepted me, so I’m torn.”

My understanding of the horrific strains of being torn does little to lessen my sorrow. There have been times it seemed that Christopher was sent to save me from a forbidden world into which I should never venture, but now it's as though the angels have betrayed me. I want to beg him to tell me this is all a bad joke, but his expression screams that this is as real as it gets. How could he possibly keep this from me?

Feeling buried under layers of truth and guilt, words burst forth that he may need to hear as much as I do. “I don’t know if I would have done it differently myself. Sometimes people need to keep things private while they figure out what to do. I've most certainly had my share of experiences being torn—but oh God, Christopher, this is completely devastating.”

He pulls up my chin so he can squarely face my eyes that are filled with heartbreak. “Lilyanna, I'm going to tell you something incredibly important, and I need you to understand every word exactly how I mean it. I have to return home. I’m leaving in June, and if you decide to come with I'd be the happiest bloke on earth. I won’t ask because that would be as unfair to you as it would be to me if you asked me to stay. I want to do right by you. I even thought about proposing, but we both know that would be a mistake. My parents got married very young for a rushed reason, and their lives have been a mess. Please know that the sentiment is there though. If you come with me, I am certain we’d marry in time, but I can’t make the same errors. Do you understand?”

Words dart out of my mouth from a source so foreign I don't even recognize my own voice. “If I think that going is a realistic option, then we’ll talk about living arrangements and all that?”

Christopher seems taken by surprise. He’s not the only one.

“If you seriously consider it then yes, I’d be open to any arrangement you're interested in.” Taking both my hands in his he eagerly kisses them, obviously very excited about the possibility of being home and being with me—like I have the power to make all of his dreams come true.

Upon arriving home, the gravity of the situation sinks in. I've been so engulfed in my attempts to forget what disturbs me and enjoying my blessings, that I forgot my world will soon change and decisions are required. Now my options are far more complex than anticipated.

I've genuinely fallen in love with Christopher and the thought of saying goodbye sends shards of glass into my heart. It's far different than when Donovan left. I needed distance and knew I'd see him again. Christopher, however, may be about to leave my life forever. That may seem overly dramatic, but how often do long distance relationships work? Donovan can’t even be bothered drive an hour and a half to come home for Thanksgiving dinner.

The vastness of my love for Christopher has always been a bit of an enigma. I've forced myself to dodge the reality of my emotions for him because they're essentially the same as those I feel for Donovan. So either I am truly in love with them both, a thought which my mind can’t process, or not with either, which my heart knows not to be true. Either way, there is no more hiding. I love Christopher far deeper than I ever imagined possible.

Though my resolution is known in my heart, I need to never look back questioning if the situation was properly deliberated. My sanest approach is to list all of the items for consideration before finalizing my decision and possibly braving the courage to beg Dad to pay for school abroad.

1. Do I love Christopher enough to marry him?

2. Where is the closest school worth attending?

3. Am I willing to leave my friends and family?

4. England, do I want to be there?

5.

Including the final point is ridiculous. Why should I ruminate Donovan if he's not considering me in his decisions? I don't even know his challenges. The glaring fact that he's my brother never crosses my mind anymore. To my heart he's a lost love that won't come back yet doesn't have the nerve to go away.

5. Donovan

“Let’s force ourselves to pick something. If we don’t, I’m going to start crying all over again,” I reply, snuggling closer.

“Sure, luv. Enjoy what we’ve got for tomorrow never knows. Let’s start ruling them out, shall we? I insist it be funny, or what you Yanks think is funny.”

“You mean like how you Brits think your food is good?”

“Ouch! You hit me right in the bread sack with that one.” He giggles and tickles my waist. “Play nice.”

“Okay. Nothing romantic. Nothing sad. How about a kid’s film?”

“Like a cartoon? Sounds bloody awful. All right then! We’ll sit in the back and make a laugh of it.”

Christopher was right. The movie was indeed bloody awful, and the worse it got, the more we heckled. We were obnoxious enough, but when Christopher exclaimed “Blow me!” rather loudly—forgetting the phrase has a completely different connotation in America—I reacted by accidentally spraying the water in my mouth all over the back of the family in front of us. The ridiculousness of our actions, along with the humor we found in being ejected from the theatre, being exactly what I need. Or maybe it's exactly what I don’t need. This would be so much easier if life with Christopher didn't make me so carefree.

After the movie Christopher drags me to the only fish and chips place near town. As we approach the restaurant, he grabs my arm and pulls me around the back. Every chance he gets he's doing something goofy to make me smile, as if proving how happy I'd be with him. With a giggle he pins me to the wall and kisses me, giggles again, and follows with another kiss.