The Guardian (8 page)

I’m so stunned, I forget I’m dying of embarrassment. “Why would you want that?”

“Because—” Her voice is thick with frustration, harsher than normal. “It would mean you feel at home enough to break the rules!” Propelled forward by her emotions, all I can do is stare, dumfounded by her tirade. “You’ve lived with us for three months and you still haven’t unpacked or personalized your room. No matter what Steven and I do, you keep one foot out the door. We try and try, but you won’t let us in—not even the tiniest bit. I think I could live with that, if I knew you were letting someone—
anyone
—in. That boy, for instance. But I see the distance in your eyes. You’re unreachable.”

My eyes are wet as I stare fixedly at my toes. “Sorry.” My voice is so small I’m not sure she hears me.

After a moment, she replies in a tired voice, “You don’t need to apologize, Alex.”

“Are you going to take me back now?”

“Back where?”

“To The Children’s Center.” I should be expecting this—but the thought of going back hammers my chest like a sucker punch. My mind reels with all I’d be leaving: the Fosters, my new friends, the feeling of safety I’m becoming dependent upon, and mostly Gabriel. For the first time in my life, I have something to lose. Tears I refuse to shed distort my vision, stinging my eyes.

“Alex, look at me. You have a home. My home is your home.” She pauses, as thoughts flicker behind her chocolate eyes, “Is that what this is about? You’re afraid Steven and I will trade you in for a different model?” My head nods of its own volition, causing Kate’s breath to catch. “Oh honey, you are not an appliance. Steven and I—we—
chose you
. From that moment you were family to us, for better or worse.”

My head continues to bob in understanding as I stare at the ground, feeling lost and insignificant, like an ant in the middle of Times Square. “Why me?”

“The first time Steven and I saw you, we knew you were special.” I want to tell her I’m not, that I’m unworthy to be their choice. As if attuned to my thoughts, Kate says, “Just because you don’t believe me, doesn’t make it any less true.”

The multi-faceted feelings of relief and guilt do weird, indescribable things to my insides. Taking a couple of deep calming breaths, I tip my head up to meet Kate’s smiling one. With a tight smile of gratitude, I manage, “Just tell me what you want Kate, and I’ll do it.”

Kate’s champagne halo bubbles around her, warm and gentle. “All I want is for you to be yourself.”

Is that all?

“I’ve got a few more dresses to try.”

Like a coward, I retreat into the dressing room. All that’s left are the gowns I can hardly bear to look at, let alone model. The kind of garments worn by girls whose greatest worry is whether to wear their hair up or down. Sifting through the stack, stalling, I spy something unexpected, hidden between the folds of two brighter dresses.

A simple black dress, elegant and understated. For the first time since agreeing to go on this errand, I actually want to try something on. The soft, pliable fabric—crepe or chiffon or something—covers a black satin sheath. As I slip it over my head, I lose myself in the gossamer texture, a whisper against my skin. Double rows of spaghetti straps hug my slim shoulders, standing out in stark relief against my pale skin. The rounded neckline doesn’t display my chest, but still manages to accentuate curves I didn’t even realize I possessed.

Turning in the mirror, I marvel at how the dress fits my form, falling about my knees in filmy angles. The person I see before me isn’t Alexia, but somehow isn’t Alex either. The vision in the mirror’s just me.

As my huge eyes stare at the girl in the glass, a foreign feeling ripples through my body. Longing. I want this dress—and the life it promises—understated yet elegant. Self-possessed. Despite the fact I don’t have a name for the girl this dress represents, I long to be her, a more trusting self than Alex, more grounded than Alexia…

“Do I get to see this one? Please” Kate’s apologetic voice cuts through the spell, and the girl is gone. Suddenly I’m Alex again.

Fighting the urge to change and return the dress to its hiding place, I freeze. There’s something in the timbre of Kate’s plea that makes me hesitate. Although I’m afraid of my longing, of what the dress represents, I open the door, my hands shaking.

Kate’s breathy gasp of surprise fills my ears like a deafening roar. When she looks at me, her vivid brown eyes are swimming. There are tears in her smile, and for a moment I’m not sure if they’re the good kind or bad ones. A single delicate teardrop rolls down her cheek. “You look beautiful, Alex.”

My own eyes are full, threatening to overflow. My heart’s in my mouth and I’m unable to do much other than nod gravely. Kate’s fluttering hand reaches forward, fingering the filmy fabric. Her face is distant, existing in another space and time as she murmurs absently, “Every young woman should own the perfect black dress. It works for nearly every occasion.”

Although she has managed to keep her voice even, tears are flowing freely down her face. The occasion in her mind’s eye isn’t a happy one, and I can’t fathom how it must feel to lose someone you love, especially a child.

My voice is barely audible when I speak. “I don’t have to get this one. I don’t really need a dress at—”

“Nonsense!” Kate’s reply is firm, her face wet but smiling. “It’s your perfect dress—you don’t get to say no. Now change, please, so we can buy it.”

Later, we meet Steven at a downtown restaurant for dinner. The Fosters eat out every Saturday night, their weekend ritual. Tonight’s restaurant is dark, all teak and red cushions. Kate informs me the eatery’s Korean, but it doesn’t mean a whole lot, because I don’t have much experience with dining out, let alone ethnic foods.

As we enter, I do a quick assessment of the inside. The bar’s small and not meant for loitering—which is good because, in my limited observation, bars attract a disproportionate amount of dark halos.  The dining room’s awash in soft golden light of its occupants interrupted sporadically by faint gray smudges, but they’re isolated and of little concern to me.

Steven, in a daffodil-colored haze, waves us across the room to a table by the window, his face lighting up as he locks eyes with Kate. Anyone can see by looking at him, he adores his wife. He’s always touching her lightly on the arms or shoulders, or bringing her flowers. If he’s still grieving, he does so privately. For his wife, he’s a bastion of strength. I admire him for that, his selflessness.

But sometimes he’s too protective, too cautious, not in a controlling way but more of a heightened sensitivity sort of way. As if their life exists on top of a house of cards and could come crashing down the instant it gets emotionally off-balance.

As Kate kisses him, a peck of greeting, they exchange one of their non-verbal communications. Her wide smile is unrestrained, carefree in its abandon. Grinning at his wife, Steven visibly relaxes. The tension melts from his face and body as he takes his cue from her. The smile enhances the deep lines of his face, making him even more handsome.

So much resides in that look between them, but all he says is, “I take it dress shopping went well?” Somehow, I comprehend he’s talking about more than just clothing.

“I think so.” Kate glances down shyly, then turns to me. “Alex?”

I feel shy as well. Things are different between Kate and me, and I can barely comprehend the changes let alone vocalize them. “Yes.”

“Great.” Steven stares thoughtfully out the window while Kate busies herself by pouring tea from a steaming ceramic pot. Taking a cup of the hot, fragrant liquid, I inhale deeply before taking a sip. I’m savoring a mouthful of tea when Steven’s next words practically make it shoot out of my nose. “So when can we expect your young man over for dinner, Alex?”

Fighting the urge to spew across the table, I force down a rough swallow despite the choking spasms in my throat. My eyes feel like they’re bulging dangerously out of their sockets. Still sputtering, I grab my water and take small, controlled sips. A blush creeps up my neck, burning into my cheeks and I’m helpless to stop it.

When I finally find the courage to look up, Kate and Steven are smiling benignly at me, amusement sparkling in their eyes. The ever-present butterflies at the thought of Gabriel form a mosh pit in my stomach. Hastily returning my attention to my water glass, I ask, “When do you want him to come?”

When I peek through my lashes, I see Steven lean back in his seat, crossing his arms. There’s something playful and fatherly in his demeanor. “How about a week from tomorrow, for Sunday dinner?” With a hasty glance at Kate to secure her agreement, he declares, “We’ll expect him at four.”

“Okay.” I continue to blush into my drink until our food comes. Trying not to have a total meltdown at the thought of state-appointed custodians meeting  my significant—yet frustratingly undefined—“boy” friend. Is it too much to hope that one of Gabriel’s hidden flaws is parent-phobia? He might say “no.”

Right—and he just might sprout wings and fly while he’s at it.

*

Monday is dark, overcast and dreary. By midmorning, rain’s assaulting the city. The storm pounds against the walls of Midlands High, creating a confined, claustrophobic effect. The whole student body seems restless, like rats trapped at the start of a maze, waiting anxiously for something to happen. The pervasively gloomy atmosphere darkens the halos of those around me, and gives me an ill, edgy feeling. When the final bell of the day rings, the collective relief is palpable.

After school, Gabriel produces a giant red umbrella that instantly reminds me of one of those romantic black and white posters. The kind where you see two bodies close together—maybe the Eiffel Tower in the background—and the kissing’s implied but you can’t see it because a giant red umbrella is blocking the view.
Stop it.

Find Derry.
Avoid the darkness until I am no longer a minor. Keep control of my life.
D
o
not fall in love.
I repeat the things that matter, like a mantra.

As we start walking, the “Umbrella” song rolls around in my head. Not the bubble gum girl version, the techno one by Scott somebody. This gets me thinking about all the great bands that have covered the pop song, like Linkin’ Park, Plain White Ts, Manic Street Preachers, All Time Low, Biffy Cyclo, OneRepublic, and My Chemical Romance.

“Come on!” Suddenly the ache for music—and Derry, since the two are intertwined—has me clutching Gabriel’s arm. Ahead, I see the little shops with the cheerful, green awnings. Veering off course, I drag Gabriel across the street into the CD store.

Inside, while Gabriel closes up the red umbrella and carefully places it against the haphazard pile in the corner, I assess the occupants. Weak grays and yellows—I’m relieved to find no reason not to stay. Strangely Gabriel seems uncomfortable, so I smile reassuringly and taking his hand in mine, I lead him down a dark, narrow aisle flanked with overstuffed metal racks to a promising section label “Alternative.” There’s something so soothing about being in the shop, surrounded by music. Something centering.

Letting my fingers sift their way through the alphabet of bands, I ask, “What kind of music do you like?”

He shrugs, “All kinds, I guess. But I’m always looking to broaden my tastes. What do you like?”

“Everything.” As I continue sifting, I call out specific bands and albums: 311, blink182, Coldplay, Eels, Evanescence, the Fray, Garbage, Nickelback… Pausing at the Os, I gasp. “This,” I exclaim holding up Our Lady Peace’s
A Decade
, and waving it in front of his nose, “If you don’t have
this
, I’m getting it for you.”

Gabriel takes the case from me, his warm fingers brushing softly over mine. Flipping it over, he muses, “I don’t know this one.”

As I gaze at him my face cracks, the sensation of smiling now both familiar and pleasant. I’m happy to share this part of myself with him, even if it’s bittersweet because of my yearning for Derry. Gabriel’s luminous eyes drift from the CD back to me, and my thoughts, even the music and Derry, fade away. Not since our first meeting have I felt so engulfed by his presence.

In this moment, nothing exists except him. He devastates me with his radiance.

Like a scene in a movie, everything slows. The pupils of his eyes expand, swallowing up the vivid blue with desire. His smiling mouth opens, as his tongue darts between his lips causing them to glisten. Heat and the sweet scent of nature roll off him, filling my senses, intoxicating me. His halo blazes like a beacon.

Caught in his gravitational pull, an invisible force pulls me toward him. I’m leaning and he’s leaning. My skin prickles from my toes to my neck as Gabriel reaches for me. As his head tips forward, mine strains upward to meet him.

Less than a hair’s-breadth apart, Gabriel’s eyes widen and I know something’s wrong. The CD slips from his fingers landing on the floor with a jarring crash. His soft caress turns hard as he grips my arms, stopping my body from closing the distance between us. Time stops as he stares at me in horror.

He doesn’t want me.

I can’t breathe, can’t think. There’s a painful thumping in my chest and the roar of humiliation in my head is deafening.
I have to get out of here—away from him!
Before I can force myself to flee, Gabriel twirls us around so I’m at his back. Utterly disoriented, it takes me a moment to comprehend he’s not reacting to me, but to something
behind
me.