by Tamar Sloan
I practically jump out of my seat. “I’ll help you.”
Tara giggles from besides Mitch and I throw her a mock glare. She covers her mouth with her hand, but another burst escapes from between her fingers.
I follow Eden across the timbered floor, knowing Mitch and Tara are watching us.
“Er, I’ll just put the popcorn in.”
She puts the bag in the stainless steel contraption that’s hidden behind a cupboard door. Without the hustle and bustle of school, it feels a little too quiet, more intimate. I step out of the way when she moves over to the fridge, getting four cans of soda. I step forward again, feeling a little empty-handed. She turns from the fridge and we bump and brush, bumbling and blushing. I clear my throat. From the corner of my eye, I notice the glasses hanging above the bench, so I grab four. I turn to find Eden, the popcorn now in a bowl, trapped between me and the counter. We’re not quite touching, but her warmth and scent pulls me in. Her eyes, wide with surprise, call to me.
“Do you think we were like that in the beginning?” Tara whispers to Mitch, knowing full well my sensitive new ears can hear. I scowl at her; I can just feel Mitch trying to contain his laughter. Eden notices the exchange and blushes. Good thing she couldn’t hear the peanut gallery. She slips past, grabbing the popcorn and two of the drinks.
I follow Eden back to the seating area, juggling the remaining drinks and glasses. Eden comes to the couch and looks down at Caesar. He drops his head onto his paws, canine eyes sliding to the floor. She quirks her brows, and after a moment, he jumps off the sofa. I realize Eden just cleared a space for me. She sits on one side, Caesar curled at her feet, and looks up at me, once again biting her lip. How can she doubt that I want to be near her?
I plonk myself beside her, with a smile that would make the Cheshire cat very, very jealous. I watch in fascination as her bottom lip slips from the hold of her teeth, and along with its upper half, tips up in a smile. Once again, her warmth and scent envelop me. I’ve lost count of the things that I love about being around this girl.
“Right, that Design Tech assignment.” Mitch pulls his laptop out of his bag, looking like he’s about to eat our mother’s cooking. He’s been avoiding this one for days.
We all take his cue and retrieve our own. I open mine up, looking for the document I’ve started for English.
Tara opens hers. “Could someone proof my lit review for history?”
“Sure.” Eden reaches over, and Tara passes her laptop. When she returns, she sits back, crossing her legs. Her knee comes to rest on my thigh. Her fingers stall on the keyboard and I see her look at me from the corner of my eye. I feel my lips twitch, wondering what she’ll do, silently daring her to keep it there. I practically feel her chest rise and fall, and the knee relaxes, its heat flowing into my leg. A little burst of joy jolts through my chest. I resist the urge to reach over and give it a squeeze.
I don’t know why, but I sense each of these touches are a milestone for Eden. A micro-step forward. An expression of trust. Maybe I’m just looking to justify the feeling of elation and significance I experience every single time we touch. Every. Single. Time.
Admittedly, it does make it a little difficult to concentrate. That pinpoint of heat rapidly spreads up my leg, reaching my chest in no time. It ramps up my breathing. Accelerates my heart rate. Amps up my senses.
But I have my twin, a childhood friend, and Edgar Allan Poe to keep me grounded. It’s not long before Tara is wishing she had the ability to know exactly when to use a semicolon and Mitch curses loudly when his computer freezes. Even Eden joins in the lively debate about whether eyebrows are considered facial hair.
So we plow through upcoming assignments. It’s only when my stomach grumbles that I realize a good couple of hours have been spent studying, laughing, touching. Time seems to do weird quantum physics when I’m with Eden. Some seconds lasting a breathless lifetime, while other times, hours pass without my awareness. Mitch’s stomach joins in symphony.
Eden and Tara look at each other, rolling their eyes in tandem. Eden gets up, my leg feeling the coolness of her absence. “I’ll order something.”
“Oh, don’t do that!” Tara exclaims.
“It’s no problem. There’s not much in our cupboards anyway.”
I stop myself from frowning. What family has no food in their cupboards? Especially one that’s quite obviously well off. I picture a large, immaculately clean pantry, a lonely jar of peanut butter sitting on the shelf. With nothing but a fellow jar of jelly to keep it company.
“We eat down at the restaurant most days. I’ll see if Tony can do us a couple of pizzas.”
Tara looks impressed. “You eat out most days?”
Eden’s face is the polar opposite. “Believe me, it’s not as cool as it sounds.”
She heads over to the phone, a sleek digital one, and dials a single number.
“Hi, Tony. I was just seeing if you could do some pizzas for me.” She smiles, turning her back a little. “Yes, more than one. Just the usual for me, then a selection for the other guys.”
She blushes, completely turning her back. “Three—two guys, one girl. Two more should be enough?” A male voice can be heard laughing over the line, followed by a few words I can’t decipher.
“Fine then, four more.” She glances over at me, green eyes questioning. I give her a thumbs up.
“That would be great, Tony. I appreciate it.”
Why do I get the feeling Tony doesn’t mind one bit? I imagine a young up-and-coming chef, a guy who gets to cook for Eden every night. Knowing ‘her usual’.
Eden hangs up the phone but, before she can sit, Tara pipes up.
“So, where’s the little girls’ room?”
“Right this way.” And they disappear down the hallway leading from the kitchen.
Mitch leans back, two arms stretched out across the back of the leather lounge. “So, your girlfriend is loaded, huh?”
I shrug. “Who knew?” It’s surprising, considering Eden’s complete lack of pretentiousness. But I don’t see how it makes a difference.
Tara’s voice carries down the hallway. “Eden, how many people can you fit in this spa?”
“Ah, six I think.”
“Do you know what I’m thinking?”
“No. And I don’t want to.” I can just imagine Eden’s crimson blush.
Tara huffs as she comes down the corridor. “Spoilsport.”
They return, and we go about clearing the coffee table of empty cans, bowls, and laptops. Within a few minutes the doorbell rings.
Eden opens the door and it’s filled by a large, middle-aged man, his white shirt stretched around a belly that hangs over chef pants. He enters, swaying on a slight limp.
“You didn’t have to bring them Tony. It’s getting cold out.”
“I don’t mind doing it for you, Eden.”
She peers at him. “How’s the leg?”
“Aw, Eden, no need to fuss over me. You got company.” He glances into the lounge, where we’re all sitting, his gaze passing over each one of us. Eden introduces us and we wave, calling out a chorus of hello’s. Tony hands her a stack of pizza boxes, two wrapped packages sitting on top. He leans in to whisper, unaware we can hear every word.
“I packed a couple of extra treats.”
“You didn’t need to do that, Tony.” But Eden is smiling broadly.
“It’s nice to see you relaxed, having fun, sweetheart.” Sweetheart?
Eden thanks him again and sees him out the door. She spreads the pizzas on the coffee table, and we pile around. She reads the lids, “Philly steak, Middle Eastern lamb, prawn and pesto, duck ragu, and, if you’re feeling adventurous, mine is the sweet potato, feta, and pine nut.”
Mitch peers at it. “It’s got green bits on it.”
“That would be the garnish of baby spinach.”
“Right.” Mitch heads to the lamb pizza. He takes a bite and lets out a low groan.
Tara goes for the duck.
“Son-of-a-biscuit-eater, this is really good.”
Eden ducks her head. “Tony is an amazing chef.”
Feeling like I should, I take a piece of the vegetarian. Eden’s eyes go wide. “You don’t have to—”
I bite into the meatless slice. And my own eyes widen. “It’s really good.”
She nods her head smugly. “Told you.”
We all hoe in, exclaiming about each and every pizza. Tara jokes that she may have to marry Tony. Mitch doesn’t laugh.
Mitch grabs another slice. “So have you talked to Eden about the Phelan barbeque this weekend?”
Eden’s slice of pizza stills on the way to her mouth. I duck my head. I was working up to it. “Not yet.”
She picks at a piece of feta on her slice. “That’s okay, I have stuff on.”
She thinks I haven’t asked because I don’t want her there? I throw a split second scowl at Mitch. He grins around his pizza slice.
“I was going to ask you tomorrow.” I look meaningfully at the other two. “When we were alone.”
“Oh.”
Tara pipes up. “It’s great fun. All the Phelans get together, and us Channons gate-crash every year.”
Eden looks at me, not looking terribly convinced.
“It’s not bad, despite all of the oldies.” I pause. “And I’d love for you to come.”
She nibbles her lower lip for a moment. I wait, breath held. “I’d like that.”
I resist pulling her in for a victory dance. Just. “Great.”
Tara claps her hands, doing a little jump on the spot. “We’ll talk deets tomorrow!”
Eden looks at the empty pizza boxes, even the vegetarian one. “Wow, you guys really wolfed that down!”
Eden’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide and round above it. There’s a short pause of silence as I register her shock, and growing discomfort. Puzzled, her statement goes through my mind again.
I burst out laughing, with Mitch and Tara not far behind. Eden’s lips twitch, then she’s laughing along with us.
Mitch flops back into the sofa. “Why, I’m practically howling with laughter.” Tara elbows him in the ribs.
“What? You always said you loved my wolfish grin.” Just when I thought the puns couldn’t get any worse.
Tara is holding her sides, rolling on the sofa next to Mitch. “I’m going to get a stomachache.”
And I can’t help myself. “Must’ve been someone you ate!”
Eden’s laughter sings through the lounge room, through my body. She’s laughing so hard she collapses against me, her soft curves melding against my side. I can feel the laughter shake her lean frame. Almost unconsciously, my arm goes around her shoulders. She looks up at me, happiness sparkling in her eyes. I lean forward, drawn to those twinkling green oceans.
We’re so caught up in the ridiculous moment that we don’t immediately notice the extra person in the room. It’s only once heels rap, rap, rap across the lounge room that we all pause.
Eden immediately sit ups, ramrod straight. My arm falls beside me. I turn to see a woman standing by a chair. Black hair brushes her chin, which has jutted to the side ever so slightly. She’s slim, like Eden, but not as tall. She’s wearing some sort of wrap dress, in black and red. Jewelry sparkles from her neck, ears, wrists. I’m guessing this is Eden’s mother.
“I didn’t know we were having company.”
Eden’s smile is gone. “Guys, this is my mother, Alexis St, James. This is Mitch, Tara.” Her gaze brushes over to me, but doesn’t quite meet mine. “And Noah.”
Alexis smiles. “Nice to meet you all. You’re all from Jacksonville High?”
Huh, Eden hasn’t mentioned us? Or me? I’m not sure what to make of that. “Yes ma’am. We were just working on assignments.”
“Great to see. Keeping grades up for college applications?”
“That’s the plan. I’m applying for Criminal Justice at Wyoming State.”
Alexis nods. “Wyoming State has an excellent reputation.” She’s looking at Eden as she says this.
Beside me, Eden shifts a little, the movement moving her toward the other side of the lounge. I sit up a little straighter.
“I’m looking at elementary teaching, while Mitch plans on doing an apprenticeship in carpentry,” Tara volunteers.
Alexis smiles again. “What a great idea to study together. It’s so…refreshing to see she has made some friends.”
Eden gets up from the sofa, her usual grace gone as she stiffly stands.
Alexis glances at the pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table. “Ah, I see you’ve been introduced to my chef’s cooking.”
“Thank you, it was amazing.”
Another smile stretches across Alexis’s face. “My pleasure. I could order dessert? He’s been experimenting with some wonderful cheesecakes.”
Tara stands up, Mitch along with her. “Thank you Mrs. St. James, but we’d better get going. We’ve still got school tomorrow.”
I join them. “It was lovely meeting you Mrs. St. James.”
We pack up our belongings and head for the door. Eden follows us, still practically mute.
“Come again anytime,” Mrs. St. James calls from the lounge.
Tara is the only one that’s brought a jacket, keeping up the pretense that we feel the cold.
“Thanks for the food, Eden. It was great.” Tara gives her an impulsive hug. Eden never gets a chance to reciprocate before Tara releases her and heads for the door.
“Thank you for the popcorn,” she says in a small voice.
“Seeya, Eden.” Mitch looks at me, holding his hand out. “My turn to drive?”
I fish the keys out of my pocket and hand them over.
I turn to Eden, countless questions running through my mind. She looks at me, eyes troubled, mouth firm and flat.
I lean in to whisper, ever so quietly, in her ear. “What’s the difference between a Werewolf and a swallow?”
Her mouth relaxes around the edges. “What?”
“Swallows don’t Werewolf people.”
And her shoulders quiver, a smile splitting across her face, as she gives me a little shove. “That’s terrible.”
I wiggle my brows. “I’ve got worse.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
During the drive home, it’s my turn to stare out the window, head resting on the cool glass. I can see where Eden gets her beauty from. Although Alexis’s matches that of the Inn, cultured and costly, as opposed to Eden’s natural, earthy looks. Her mother had been polite, gracious. But something is niggling me, and I’m not sure what. It wasn’t the makeup or the bling. Or Eden’s shut down.
I push my head away from the window, sitting up straight, realizing what it was.
Alexis never once said Eden’s name.
17
Eden
Why in the world did I agree to this?
A family barbeque. I’ve never been to a family barbeque. Let alone with a pack of Werewolves.
I don’t know what to say, do, bring. What to wear!
I scan my wardrobe. It has two distinct sections. A smaller, modest part with clothes I’ve bought myself, using my over-inflated weekly allowance. It boasts sensible denims and comfortable cottons. Safe, practical, and unobtrusive.
The larger portion on my right, my mother has bought for me. Bags subtly embossed with designer labels left on my bed for me to find. The ones I had to wear if she held dinner parties, cocktail parties, tea parties. Although I stopped attending them as soon as I was old enough to consider defiance, it hasn’t deterred her from keeping up the pretence that she provides for me. It’s crammed with blouses, skirts, and dresses. In cashmere, angora, the odd slip of silk. Pretty, impractical, and impersonal.
I stand there, feet growing roots into the floor. I want to look my best, keep up Noah’s misconception that I’m pretty as long as possible. But I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, or get it irr
evocably wrong.
I decide on jeans—warm and comfortable, but a dark blue pair that I bought on a whim because I liked the way they fitted, then never wore. They were too different from my usual faded familiarity. I never did anything that would get me noticed at Boston High.
I take a cautious step to the right. To my mother’s purchases. I nibble on my lower lip as my hand comes up to brush over the jewel colors. Should I?
A soft cashmere blouse in emerald green catches my eye, and I lift the hanger out. The material falling from a scoop neckline is so fine it would be sheer if it didn’t crisscross over the front. A designer tag hangs from the sleeve, a name I’ve always rejected. Just because it’s so important to my mother. Could I?
I slip it on before I slide back into dithering uncertainty and step before the mirror. The green blouse flows over the dark blue denim, the intersecting hem framing my hips. My fingers brush over my exposed collarbones, the hint of shoulder. I pull at the material softly molding to my chest and waist. It’s a little…clingy. But I think I like what I see.
I briefly consider braiding my hair. But I’ve had enough of stepping outside my comfort zone for one day, and default to my usual knot. I take one last look in the mirror, trying to see what Noah might see. A plain girl trying to be something she’s not stares back at me.
Caesar thumps his tail from the bed, barking once. I lean over to pat him. “Thanks, boy, I need any vote of confidence I can get.” He licks my hand, his head nuzzling my palm.
In the kitchen I grab the bowl of salad from the fridge. Tony’s amazing quinoa, feta, and pomegranate mix. I have my hand on the door when it opens. I jump back, surprised. My mother’s equally surprised face halts its momentum through the doorway. I quickly step back, uncomfortable with the close proximity.
My mother steps through, briefcase in tow. Her eyes scan me from head to toe. “Where are you off to?” Her tone is as sharp as her gaze.
“Family barbecue.” I hold the bowl a little tighter. “The guys you met the other night.”
“With Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think this is a good idea?”
