by Susan Fodor
"I was about to ask you the same thing," he shot back heatedly.
"I'm not a cave woman that you can carry off!" I yelled, frustrated.
"Well, you could have fooled me," he snapped, running his hand through his golden curls. "What was all that about?”
"Nothing!" I defended myself indignantly. "He was drunk; I appreciate you saving me, but I don’t appreciate the manhandling."
"Why don't you like me?" he yelled, still angry. "We were supposed to come here together, then you’re not at your house and I find you with that creep. What's he got that I don't? .... Don't answer that… he’s rich and attractive… I just don't get it. Don't you have any feelings for me?"
John’s anger only aggravated me further. "Of course I do!" I shouted in response. "I like you heaps; I like you more than I should."
"Then what's the problem?" he asked, his frustration dropping significantly. The tone of his voice tugged at my heart. "Why don't you want to be with me?"
My face flushed, and my heart rate accelerated exponentially. They were the words that I wanted to hear, but was not ready for.
"Who said I don't want to be with you?" I asked, crossing my arms across my chest to protect my heart, still angry.
"You did, like two minutes ago, in front of that baboon." He exhaled, running his fingers through his hair again. "Why aren't you my girlfriend already?"
"You never asked." I stood my ground, but I was weakening. He actually liked me, maybe more than liked me. That realization was toying with my emotions in the most pleasant and unpleasant ways. My chest swelled with emotion.
"You'd knock me back if I did." He sighed, defeated.
Seeing him hang his head made me cross the room and take his arm to drag him to a mirror hanging across from the luxury bed. The room was decorated like a hotel in Dubai, with its crisp slate sheets and an opulent mirror hanging over a low black chest of drawers.
“Look at you; look at me,” I replied logically, motioning between us. “You’re going to get your memory back, and you’re going to remember that you’re dating a supermodel… You’ll break my heart.” I couldn’t disguise the tremor in my voice.
The curly-haired girl with the flawless skin and rocking dress in the mirror looked bereft as she looked at the blonde Thor, who stood beside her.
John turned my body to face him. "If I get my memory back and I had a supermodel girlfriend in my former life, I promise I will dump her bony-boy butt for you. All there is for me, is you," John said, taking my face in his hands. "Now, will you please be my girlfriend?"
His cold hands on my face set my heart racing. I was setting myself up for heartbreak, but looking into his genuine eyes filled me with courage. "OK, yes, fine, I'll be your girlfriend."
John let his fingers trace along my cheekbone and brush lightly against my lower lip, making my breath catch with anticipation. His eyes were filled with affection unleashed by my accepting him. He licked his lips slightly before leaning down and brushing his lips gently against mine in a whisper of a kiss. My knees literally felt weak from the rush of his lips touching mine. His lips were cool and salty. My head was swimming in a sea of ecstasy.
"Finally." He laughed, pulling me into a bear hug.
"Are you guys OK in there?" Miranda yelled, beating on the door.
"Get lost, Miranda," John yelled. "I'm kissing my girlfriend."
The pounding party music and Miranda’s designer house all disappeared as John brushed his lips along my jaw and trailed kisses down my neck. My nerves were working overtime. I kept still worried that I’d do something embarrassing. Then I worried that I was being too stiff and let my hand wander shakily up John’s back.
What if I kissed sloppily or if I did something to embarrass myself so that he wouldn’t like me. Then his lips claimed mine, his confidence stole my jitters; he’d clearly done this before.
Miranda knocked forcefully on the door. "I don't want people upstairs," she screamed.
John pulled back, glancing at the door. "This is great, but Miranda is really killing the mood."
“Just a few minutes more,” I argued, pulling him into another kiss. My eagerness ignited a new round of kisses.
Miranda began kicking the door adding an unwelcome pounding to my first make-out session.
John pulled away and laughed when I refused to relinquish my grasp; his eyes asked me to follow his lead.
I let go reluctantly. "Fine," I agreed, belligerent, "but you owe me."
"I always will," he joked, but before I could ascertain his meaning he'd dragged me to the door.
Miranda stood in the doorway pouting like a spoiled child. "Can I talk to you?" she asked, fixing me with an angry look.
John answered for me. "No, Miranda, it's our night. We're going to dance. You might want to start being nicer to your friends."
John pushed past Miranda, pulling me behind him. We left her with her arms crossed and a look that should have killed me.
John and I joined Jaimie, Tim and Tammy in the living room. Despite being surrounded by my friends all I could see was John. Our bodies moved rhythmically to the music, our foreheads joined when our lips weren’t. I felt like Cinderella at the ball dancing with her handsome prince. Even when the music was fast we managed to kiss.
I occasionally glanced at Miranda giving me death stares. When that didn’t work she began dancing with Dylan. Miranda could feel the tides changing. I felt sorry for her as she cavorted with her ex-boyfriend, never taking her eyes off John.
“You are such a tool!” screamed a familiar voice. My eyes found Jaimie; her eyes were teary as she stumbled toward me.
“Can you take me home?” she sobbed.
“Sure,” I agreed. It was not the first drunken fight that I had to help Jaimie flee. John was overly supportive unaware that these disputes happened at every other party.
John agreed to follow us to Tammy’s house to ensure we were safe. I kept glancing in the rear vision mirror, grinning like an idiot at the thought of John’s cold lips pressed against mine. Tammy comforted Jaimie in the car and I tried to keep my face serious as Jaimie poured out Tim’s list of sins. I made the right comments at the right times, but my mind was with the demigod following us in the Blue Bomb.
Tammy and I helped Jaimie out of the car. She was drunker than I thought, and I was glad when John picked her up and carried her inside. When she was seated comfortably, Jaimie repeated the car conversation with added expletives and detail. John held my hand as I continued to comfort Jaimie. Having John so close made it difficult for me to concentrate as much as I usually would. I suddenly understood why Jaimie had become so involved with Tim; boys required a lot of brain space.
Tammy sprawled across a luxury lounge opposite us, as Jaimie unloaded her drunken diatribe. It was an alcohol-fueled argument rather than an actual problem; sleep and sobering up would cure it. So after commiserating the fifth time I encouraged Jaimie to bed. I was so keen to be alone with John I just about tucked Jaimie and Tammy into their respective beds. After making sure they both had water and buckets, I descended the stairs with my heart on my sleeve. I hoped that he hadn’t changed his mind about me, but when I entered the room his smile told me that we were a couple.
John sat on the wine-colored suede lounge his arms resting across the top. The room was silent except for a clock ticking above the huge television, and the gentle waves lapping at the shore outside. He rose confidently, crossing the room to meet me.
“Finally alone,” John said, putting his hands on my hips and kissing me gently. “How about we move this into your room.”
“Don’t you have to go home?” I asked, taken off guard.
“Tammy said I could stay; her parents are away tonight,” he replied confidently. “I called my guardians, and they’re fine with me crashing at a mate’s place.”
“Okkkayyy,” I replied, uncertain. John’s kisses were experienced, and I began to worry that his experience extended beyond kissing; I wasn’t ready for that
.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be safe; I brought something,” John reassured, digging into his bag.
My heart began to pound like a drum. I’d just had my first kiss, and I wasn’t ready to go further then some serious kissing. The mature thing to do would be to speak about it, but would that scare him away?
I grappled with what to say when John pulled a copy of New Moon from his backpack. “I’m backing the bloodsucker.”
I laughed. “Fine, I’ll kiss you every time she mentions him.”
The time we spent together felt like it was in fast forward, while time apart dragged like broken slow motion.
A couple of days later John became a permanent fixture at our house.
house guest
Mum invited John to dinner on Sunday night, peppering us with subtle questions to probe the extent of our blossoming romance. As dinner came to an end, John dropped his question on all of us.
“Can I stay tonight? Things are kind of hectic at my house,” John asked, sheepishly.
Mum stopped clearing the plates for a moment and eyed us suspiciously. She was happy with us dating, but she was kinda old fashioned when it came to sex before marriage. Mum was confident that I wasn’t going to become a sex fiend overnight, but John’s question worried her.
“I guess you could sleep on the couch,” Mum said tentatively, “or the guest room…”
“You can stay,” Dad declared seriously, leaning forward so that the chair squeaked. “But you sex my daughter and I will shoot you.”
"Dad!" I complained mortified, looking to Mum for support.
"What? My house, my rules," Dad responded. Mum tried to stifle her laughter as she carried the plates into the kitchen.
“Do you have a gun?” John asked concerned, glancing around the house for where a gun might be hidden. The hutch behind Dad, as well as the piano in the living room, were likely gun-stowing areas.
“I know where to get one, and I know where to shoot you to cause you the most pain,” Dad replied humorlessly, wiping his salt-and-pepper mustache with a white serviette.
“No funny business,” John promised, crossing his heart solemnly.
Dad was content with John’s oath and retreated to the couch to watch the news, while I helped John make up the bed in the guest room.
"What's going on?" I asked when we were alone.
Everything in our house looked dilapidated beside Tammy and Miranda's house. None of the bedding matched, the sheets and pillowcases all hand-me-downs from my parents’ wealthy friends. Dad was a “waste not, want not” man, so we would often inherit friends unwanted furniture. Nothing in our house matched, but it was homely and comfortable, without a hint of pretension, much like my family.
"Tom and Megan just need some time to themselves," John shrugged. I suspected there was more to the story but I was so happy to have him staying over without the pressure of sex---I wasn’t going to push him.
I kissed him impulsively.
"What was that for?" He laughed.
"I just like you." I smiled, all doughy.
"I like you too," he replied, genuinely.
John pulled me close, kissing me gently. I put my arms around his neck and pressed myself against him. My stomach filled with flutters.
“Door open!” Dad announced gruffly, swinging the door open as he made his way to the bathroom.
“Thanks, Dad,” I called after him sarcastically, a tremor in my voice.
Kissing John felt like running a marathon, it made my body shaky and my heartbeat erratically. John and I stepped away from each other despite Dad already having locked himself in the bathroom.
After I returned to my room, I heard Dad’s feet padding up and down the hall sporadically checking on us. John kept his word; there was no sneaking into each other’s rooms.
We spent most of the following day kissing and watching TV. Dad offered John to stay the night again if he wanted. Our adherence to Dad’s rules had earned us some extra credit. John’s silence about his foster parents and his eagerness to stay away from them made me suspicious. While I loved having him so close, I wanted to know what was going on.
"Why don't you want to go home?" I pushed, after my parents had gone to bed the second night. We were sitting on the couch, the television glare turning the room an unearthly blue. I turned my body to look at John, willing him to tell me the truth.
"Everything is fine." He shrugged, but his tone and body language suggested otherwise.
"My parents are far from perfect, but they are always honest with each other," I told him seriously. "I value that. I promise to always tell you the truth." I squeezed his cold hand in mine.
"I promise too," he agreed reluctantly, tracing the lines of our intertwined hands with his forefinger.
John sighed, anxiously looking up at the ceiling. "Megan and Tom don't need space; I do. My biological parents want me back."
reunion
"That's great!" I enthused. Hitting the mute button on the television.
He gave me a look to convey the opposite, as he burrowed into our overstuffed couch. He took the remote turning on the volume and channel surfing, as though the conversation had concluded.
"Did you remember them?" I asked, excited that John had discovered his identity.
"They didn't come and see me." He exhaled heavily, keeping his eyes on the television. "They sent a rat-faced doctor for a paternity test."
"Well, that's thorough," I mumbled, wondering what kind of parents would ignore their son and then send for a paternity test without seeing him.
"I don't want you to put a positive spin on it," He said looking at me. I wriggled down beside him ingratiatingly till he pulled me closer, so that my head was on his shoulder and his arms were around me. "I just want them to go away. I have a life here; I have you. I don't want all that to change."
"It doesn't have to," I assured, instinctively clinging to him, "but they're still your parents; the paternity test was positive, right?"
"Yes," he agreed, his chin bobbing against my hair gently.
"So meet them," I encouraged. "They're probably crazy worried."
"Come with me," he begged, turning my face to look into his eyes.
I nodded. John put his hand on my cheek and drew my lips to his. We held each other till it was much too late, and Mum did a shuffle-by-warning. I struggled to sleep as I imagined what kind of parents would leave their son for months unclaimed.
The next morning John drove along The Esplanade watching the crystal autumn day unfold. Corio Bay glittered with golden sunlight.
In the distance ominous clouds gathered, samples of what winter had to offer. John parked outside the Four Points by Sheraton hotel that overlooked picturesque Corio Bay. I'd been past it hundreds of times without ever imagining a need to enter its auspicious doors. The pristine cement edifice felt like a warning to the financially bereft, "Go no further."
I stopped in front of the glass doors, regretting the decision to wear jeans and a hoodie. I envisioned security guards dragging me from the building for being dressed like a drifter.
"We don't have to go in," John said relieved, as he turned to lead me away from the hotel.
"Yes we do," I insisted, pulling him inside. "I just wish you'd told me which hotel it was. I wouldn't have dressed like such a vagabond."
"You look beautiful." He smiled, kissing me.
We meandered into the lobby, and stopped at the reception desk. The high ceilings and marble floor felt like I’d stepped into a palace.
"Would you like a room?" asked the prim receptionist behind the big marble desk. "The honeymoon suit?"
"We're not married," I clarified.
She beamed at John hopefully. "Not yet," he replied, making the receptionist’s face fall. I ignored the suggestion of marriage, knowing that we were both way too young.
"We're here to visit someone in room 109," John informed.
"The Point Henry Suite," she intoned with reverence. Her face filled with
renewed longing, as she gave us directions to the room.
We rode the elevator to the top floor, which seemed abandoned and quiet in an unearthly way. I’d expected a fancy hotel to have red carpets and gold trim, but the carpets were boring blue with a regal diamond pattern. Everything about the hotel was understated elegance; I began to think that the more money people had, the less they flaunted it. Though I really had no point of comparison, so I focused on the task at hand. John stood at the door, a mixture of anxiety and frustration. I held his cold hand till it warmed through.
"I guess the quicker I do this, the quicker I can leave, right?" he said, licking his dry lips and knocking firmly.
A middle-aged woman answered the door with the same golden curls and tan skin as her son. Her turquoise eyes filled with tears as she fiercely hugged him. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"Here I am," was John's lackluster reply.
"Stop crowding him," a polished male voice instructed. A handsome grey-haired man, presumably John's father, approached us from the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the bay.
"You know he can't remember us," he chided his wife.
"You," John responded, pointing to his father, "not really, but Mum, you're like déjà vu, but I can't place the details."
"I told you he'd remember," she cried, letting the tears create rivers in her foundation.
John’s father laughed; the sound was deep and resonant, like a duke laughing at a ball. I liked him despite his pomp.
"I guess that'll teach me for working so much," he said, fondly patting John on the back.
"Thank you for bringing him back to us, Mya," his mum said, grabbing me in a hug.
"You're welcome," I replied, awkwardly.
"How rude of us," she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm Sophia, and this is George Esso; we read all about you in the newspapers."
"As in Esso oil?" I asked, my mouth dropping open.
"You've heard of it?" George asked, surprised. "I thought you youngsters spent all your time with your iPods and vulgar music."
