The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “Then you’d be later still,” I point out. I love watching Gage’s eyes take me in. They look warm, even as the rest of him is probably about to freeze to death on my doorstep. I smile at him, glad we’re doing this even though I had to lie to my friends about it. Watching him watch me, I feel like someone just lit me up from the inside.

  Gage tosses his head back and bites his lip, a grin stealing onto his face. “So it looks like I’m screwed.”

  “You really are.” I pause for a few seconds, as though I’m thinking it all over. “Let me get my coat, at least then it will be only one of us with hypothermia.” I beckon him inside and pull my wool coat out of the closet.

  Seconds later we sit inside Gage’s car where he says, “I was thinking we could go to Kelsey’s, but whatever you’re in the mood for is fine with me.” He smiles again and reaches quickly into the back seat to pick up a scrap of newspaper. “I ripped out the movie listings. There are a couple of things that might be worth watching. See what you think.” He hands me the paper, shaking his head as I take it. “I don’t know why I’m giving you this now. You can wait and read it at the restaurant. Or maybe you already know what you want to watch.” He winds his left hand around the side of his neck, his smile slipping from his face. “Sorry, I’m not great at this.”

  “This?” I repeat.

  “First dates.” Gage’s hand massages his neck. “All the getting to know you and what should we do small talk.”

  If his show of nerves is an act it’s a good one. I’m starting to believe him. “We can pretend we’re just hanging out,” I tell him. “That we’ve known each other for years.”

  Gage tilts his head as he stares at me. “If we’ve known each other for years I already know that your last name is …” He stretches out the last word and prompts me with his eyes.

  “LeBlanc,” I tell him. I hope he’s telling the truth about not being great at first dates. I don’t want to find out at the end of this that I’ve been played.

  “LeBlanc,” he repeats slowly. “And that you’re …”

  I’m not sure what he’s looking for here. I stare quizzically back.

  “Okay.” Gage laughs. “It’s going to be really hard for me to pretend we’ve hung out before when I don’t know a thing about you besides your name and that you work at Total Drug Mart and believe in ghosts.”

  “That’s true. But you’ve got one up on me. I still don’t know your last name.”

  “It’s Cochrane.” He turns his key and starts the engine. “Why don’t you tell me where you want to go before we fill each other in on the rest? Otherwise we might never get out of your driveway.”

  “Kelsey’s is perfect.” I glance at the torn newspaper page in the dark. “We can look at the movie listings together later.”

  Gage waits until I’ve put my seat belt on to back out of the driveway. “There’s really not all that much to know about me,” he continues. “Right now I’m working at a warehouse, getting some money together. I guess you could say I’m at a point where I’m trying to figure out what to do with myself. I didn’t know what to do when I graduated so …” He shrugs. “I’m hoping it’ll fall into place, but I’m not in a hurry.”

  “I don’t know what to do with my life either,” I confess.

  “You’ll work it out,” Gage says confidently as he glances at me. “You’ve got time.”

  “A few years, I guess.”

  Gage’s eyes hang on me longer this time. “How old are you anyway?”

  Seeing as I just found out that he’s already graduated, “fifteen” doesn’t seem like it would be a popular answer. Why make things trickier than they have to be? I twirl my hair around my finger and quote him a number that will be true in three months.

  “Sixteen?” he repeats, surprise leaking into his voice. “I would’ve guessed seventeen or eighteen. You’re just a baby. You have all the time in the world. What are you, like, in eleventh grade?”

  “Eleventh grade,” I echo, fudging the truth imperceptibly. “Yep. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen. Eleventh grade seems like …” He exhales loudly. An expression I can’t decipher sweeps across his face. “Like a lifetime ago.”

  “Well, it would,” I tease. “You’re ancient. I mean, nineteen. Wow. I don’t see how you could even be interested in me with the big gap in our maturity levels and all.”

  “You’re a mid-life crisis date,” Gage jokes, his eyes crinkling up, and God, he looks so gorgeous when he smiles that I want to spend the rest of the night saying things that will make him break out in grins.

  Over dinner I do my best to make that happen repeatedly. The entrees don’t start at $21.95 but the restaurant’s nice just the same and we have a good time. I order salad and water, like I promised myself, and Gage cuts off a piece of his steak for me and drinks one beer and then 7-Up. He says he only ever has one beer if he’s driving. I also find out that he lives with his mom near the big rec centre on Laird.

  “I had swimming lessons there when I was younger,” I tell him. My mom used to love to swim. There was a time, when I was seven or eight, that we’d go to the public swim here together pretty regularly. The pride in her eyes when I showed off my newly learned diving skills courses through my memory, leaving muddy waves in its wake. I must’ve made her watch me three or four times in a row. She beamed at me every single time.

  “Me too,” Gage says. “Used to have hockey practice there too. They have everything at that place. There’s even a really good library just next door.”

  I’ve never heard any guy my age comment on the quality of a library before. Gage adds that he’s bigger into soccer than hockey these days and that the team he plays for will start up again in the spring. He’s a big Toronto FC supporter, even though “their midfield sucks.” I pretend to be interested and ask him follow-up questions about the team. He’s so enthusiastic that after a while it actually becomes a bit contagious, although I’ve never once watched a professional soccer match. “I can pick up a couple of tickets for us when the season starts,” he offers. “I mean, you know, if you like the idea and if we’re still hanging out.”

  For some reason the idea that we could still be hanging out in the spring makes my face tingle. We spend a long time talking about ghost-hunting and I tell him a bit about Clara. That gets Gage even more excited than the soccer and he asks me a ton of questions. I wish I could remember more for him. He says young kids seem to be more “sensitive” when it comes to ghost sightings.

  “I think maybe Clara even used to talk to me,” I say. The memo ries are so faded that I feel like I’m making them up but once upon a time I remember remembering the sound of her voice, hushed and lyrical, an accent probably.

  We’re still on the subject of the supernatural when we get to the movie theatre. Afterwards, walking to the car, we pick apart some of the stupider points of the thriller we’ve just seen. Then, out of the blue, as Gage is starting the car, he says, “I thought I saw my dad once. In the backyard of our old house about thirteen years ago.” Gage stares out the front window, blinking as he continues in a steady but quiet voice. “The sun was coming up. He smiled at me through the sliding door in the living room.”

  At first I don’t know what Gage is talking about. Then, in a lightning bolt moment, I get it and feel like an idiot. Gage is talking about seeing his father’s ghost. Gage’s dad is deceased. This is something I should’ve clued in to earlier in the evening. All along he just mentioned his mother and I never even thought to ask about his dad; I assumed his parents had split up and that his father wasn’t in the picture.

  “My mother said it was one of those things you imagine when you’re still half-asleep,” Gage continues. “And maybe it was.” He shrugs lightly. “Who knows?”

  The car’s moving now, and as we navigate our way out of the parking lot I feel a rush of sympathy for him. “Maybe it really
was him,” I say. “Maybe he was checking in on you.” I swallow the dryness at the back of my throat. “How long has he been gone?”

  “Since I was two,” Gage says. “Leukemia.”

  “I’m sorry.” My cheeks are heavy. I stare down at my lap.

  “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I mean, obviously I would’ve liked for him to be around, but I can’t really remember him. That time in the backyard — I only recognized him because of the photo and, well …” Gage nods a little. “It felt like him. I can’t really explain it.”

  I nod too. Then I notice we’re driving back exactly the way we came. Another few minutes and we’ll be on my street. “Are you taking me home?”

  Gage swings a look my way. “It’s late. Your parents will probably be waiting up.”

  Maybe. “I thought we could talk for a couple more minutes.” I don’t want to end the night on a sad note. Besides, Gage could be right about my folks and the possibility alone means we’ll barely be able to share a kiss in my driveway. Even if my parents aren’t waiting up they might hear us pull up to the house and feel some kind of legal guardian compulsion to peek out the window.

  We definitely need more time alone. Gage can’t just drop me off, leaving us both with this unfinished feeling. I gaze hopefully at him, trying to convey all that without seeming skanky.

  Gage blinks slowly back, the air in the car feeling spiky with expectation. “My place isn’t good,” he admits. I can see my disappointment reflected in his eyes. “We can get coffee somewhere,” he adds. “Or maybe …” Gage’s cheekbones tighten. He presses his lips together and stares at my legs. They’d be more tempting if they weren’t covered by thick grey tights but it’s nice to see him checking them out anyway.

  “Or maybe what?” My heart’s speeding. It feels good to be wanted again.

  “I know someplace close that we can talk for a while.” Gage looks me in the eye, a more intense look than I’ve seen on his face so far. “Somewhere no one will bother us. It’s deserted at night.”

  “Okay,” I tell him. My lungs feel like they’re expanding, like whatever oxygen I can take in won’t be enough for them. “That sounds good.”

  “You might not think so when you see it.” Gage laughs lightly. “Promise me you won’t be insulted. We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

  I take the fact that he’s offering me an out as a good sign. He doesn’t just want me with him; he wants me to want it too. He hasn’t touched me all night, unless you count our hands brushing against each other in the popcorn tub. The anticipation is starting to make me a little crazy. I want to sink my teeth into his neck like a vampire. He has beautiful lips. I can’t wait to find out how he kisses.

  Gage cruises into an industrial area, weaving his way casually through dimly lit streets like we’re stuck in a maze he’d know blindfolded. Finally we pull into the parking lot of what’s clearly an abandoned structure. A sign proclaims the narrow two-storey building “J.N. Malzar.” There’s a letter missing between the “l” and “z,” which I guess makes the defunct company something like Maltzar or Malezar. Crooked shutters are still hanging inside some of the windows, making the red brick building look even more dilapidated.

  “You’re creeped out,” Gage notes. “I knew we should’ve gone for coffee.” He taps the fingers of his right hand against the steering wheel. “Sorry, we’ll go somewhere we can get a decent cappuccino.”

  “No.” I reach out and touch his arm. “This place is pretty creepy, but you don’t have to be sorry. Just come here.” I unbuckle my seat belt and lean brazenly across the divide between our bucket seats, before either of us can lose our nerve.

  Unfortunately, Gage has no idea I’m planning on lunging for him and our teeth collide. The noise sounds like something you hear in a dental office. I’ve never knocked teeth with anyone before and it makes me feel like a complete amateur; I want to shrink into the space between our seats and disappear. Gage laughs at me. I recoil and frown into the fake fur of my coat, embarrassed.

  “Hey,” Gage says. He unbuckles his seat belt, his hand landing on my thigh and squeezing. “Hey, come back. Do I only get one shot?”

  “You’re laughing at me,” I point out. I feel like sulking, and it makes me wonder if I’m ready for any of this. Maybe I need longer to deprogram myself from Jacob and my fat-girl thought patterns.

  “I’m laughing because I’m an idiot,” Gage explains, his thumb stroking my thigh as his four fingers remain motionless. “I’m laughing because I’ve got a beautiful girl sitting in my car, in front of this sleazylooking dump of all places.” He motions over his shoulder at the remains of J.N. Malzar. “And she still wants to kiss me, but I can’t even do that right.

  “What else can I do but laugh at the idiocy of that, Serena?” He takes his hand off my leg and touches my hair where it spills over the shoulder of my jacket. “C’mon, I swear I won’t laugh this time, no matter what happens.” He leans closer towards me, his face so close that I imagine I can feel his breath. I let him press his lips softly against mine, softer than anyone has ever kissed me, the way you kiss someone in their sleep if you don’t want to wake them. He lets the kiss rest on my mouth for three long seconds before repeating it, his bottom lip dropping open a little. Our lips rub and catch, catch and rub, our tongues sliding cautiously out to explore. We’re teasing each other, giving just enough to make the other demand more.

  “Hold still,” I demand finally, impatience getting the better of me. I grab the back of his head and hold him there in front of me. His tongue slips into my mouth and he kisses me deep and long, exactly like I want. One of his hands rests on my neck. He strokes my hair, pulls it just enough to make me feel good but not enough to hurt.

  “Do you want to get in the back seat?” he whispers, his face still close to mine. “We’d have more room.”

  “Okay,” I whisper back. It doesn’t occur to me to step outside and open the back door; I climb over my chair and into the back seat. Gage gets out and slips into the back with me. The cold air from outside gusts in with him and makes me shiver.

  “I can leave the car running,” he says, about to swing his door open again.

  “No. Stay.” I grab the end of his jacket, helping him out of it. Then I press my hands against his shirt, feeling his heart beat under my palm. It’s running as fast as mine. I tell him that and lay his hand over my own heart to prove it. “See?”

  Gage nods and slowly shifts his hand, his eyes on mine as if to ask whether I’m okay with this. I’m perfectly okay. Better than okay. Gage scoops his hand around my breast, one of his fingers circling my nipple. We kiss hard, making ourselves comfortable in the back seat, his hands boomeranging back to my breasts every chance they get. My sweater’s only in the way and I yank it over my head, my cheeks stretching into a smile as Gage stares at my bra. “Does this open at the front?” he asks, his finger resting on the centre clasp.

  “Yeah,” I murmur, waiting for him to do it. What’s the holdup? I know he wants to. The feeling’s taking over his whole face.

  “Serena,” he says. His tone is almost stern, and I watch his jaw turn rigid and feel the dynamic between us start to shift. Maybe he doesn’t want this as much as I do after all and he’s already figured out that the next time he sees me he’ll want to pretend none of this happened.

  “What?” I ask. But if it’s something bad like that, I don’t really want to know. Everything’s gone pretty well so far tonight and I mean to keep it that way. I go for Gage’s pants before he can answer me. The zip slides down easy. The boxers are easy too. I find my way inside with no problem. I bend over him, my hair falling down around my face.

  “Serena,” Gage whispers. One of his hands lightly cups my head. I hear a shivery awe in his voice that I used to hear in Jacob’s. He tastes different and sounds different, but that tone, it’s almost identical.

  “
Serena,” Gage repeats. “Serena.” The urgency makes me think we’re almost finished.

  “Hey,” he says, removing his hand from my head. “Stop, Serena. Stop.”

  I’m so into what I’m doing that there’s a second delay as my brain translates the syllables. Stop? Why?

  “Stop,” he commands. “Stop!”

  I raise my head slowly, averting my eyes as he pushes his hard-on back into his boxers and zips up his jeans. Gage gets out of the back seat, slamming the door behind him like I’ve done something wrong. Then he stands outside with his shoulders hunched as though he’s waiting for me to follow his lead. I have no idea what I’ve done, but I pull my sweater on and open the back door, my throat scratchy with regret.

  Why did I think this time things would turn out right?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ~

  “I’m sorry,” Gage says once we’re both sitting in the front seat again. “This was a bad idea. I’m just going to take you home, okay?” He glances warily at me from the corner of his eye. I guess the prospect of facing me is too horrible to contemplate.

  “Whatever,” I tell him. I lost my cool there for a little but I’m not going to dissolve in front of his eyes. He doesn’t have to know how he’s rattled me.

  “Sorry,” Gage repeats. I wish he’d quit apologizing every two seconds. It obviously doesn’t mean anything.

  He called himself an idiot earlier, but I’m the real idiot, the grandmaster idiot. Thank God Genevieve and Nicole don’t have to know about this. No one at school does. It’ll be like tonight never happened.

  Gage’s car is quieter than any library. I reach out and turn on his stereo. Considering what I did earlier, I’m not worried that touching his car stereo could qualify as overstepping boundaries. On the radio Natasha Bedingfield’s grooving about her “Pocketful of Sunshine.” Meanwhile my throat’s on fire. Inside I’m waging an epic battle to convince myself that I’m not really upset and that Gage is the one with the problem here, not me. Never mind that he seemed nice earlier, guys under thirty are a lost cause, just like Genevieve said.