Dreamily, I tumbled onto the couch next to that Dexx dude. He busied himself with a plate of goodies, perfectly content sitting by himself. I suddenly remembered we didn’t finish our conversation about Batman that we had started earlier.
“H-H-H-e-e-e-y, D-D-D-e-e-e-xx, ya-ya-ou . . .” My fingers raised to his shoulder, and wiggled around as I tapped him to get his attention.
Denver materialized, coming from the sliding glass door, with our puppy Dancer in her arms. Dancer barked happily. He jumped from her hold. He scattered his little, furry legs across the wood, and ran to me. Dancer greeted me with licks and kisses. I rubbed his ears. He wagged his body enthusiastically.
“H-H-H-e-e-e-y, l-l-l-i-i-i-ttle b-b-b-u-u-u-ddy,” I cried with joy.
“You have a puppy? I didn’t know that. He’s so adorable. What’s his name?” Dexx asked with a newfound attentiveness.
“Th-i-i-i-s i-i-i-s-s-s D-D-D-a-a-a-ncer,” my voice cracked as I goo-gooed my dog in falsetto. “Y-Y-Y-e-e-e-s ya-ya-ou a-a-a-r-r-r-e. D-D-D-o-o-o ya-ya-ou h-h-h-ave t-t-t-o-o-o g-g-g-o-o-o p-p-p-o-o-o-tty? D-D-D-o-o-o ya-ya-ou b-b-b-oy?”
Dancer hopped and wiggled, exited. He yipped and drooled, loving life. A sticky puddle coated in cookie crumbs formed near my feet.
“That’s hilarious!” Dexx clapped his hands together cackling. “Your family totally takes that ‘D’ theme to a new level. You must really love everything that starts with ‘D’s.”
I faced Dexx. My eyes shot up inside my head. I loved things that started with ‘D’? Well, I guessed that didn’t sound right to me. Poppy didn’t start with a ‘D.’ I definitely loved her first and foremost. Christmas didn’t start with a ‘D.’ I loved Christmas more than anything, accept for Poppy, and maybe Batman, who also didn’t start with a ‘D.’
“I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t g-g-g-e-e-e-t it,”
Dexx didn’t answer or explain. He slapped my back and laughed. I was confused.
Denver approached us. Dexx rose from his seat. He walked over to greet her. They whispered stuff to each other, and laughed. I wasn’t sure if I should be mad because they were laughing at me, or pleased that Denver finally found a new friend. Before I could contemplate the situation too much, Poppy galloped back to me, and plopped herself on the couch. She held two plates of food in her hands. She placed them down on the table. I grabbed her fingers in mine. They were chilly to the touch, so I blew on them to warm them. I gave them tiny kisses.
“I made you a s’more. One bite and you are going to burst into love and deliciousness.”
“I-I-I a-a-a-ll r-r-r-e-e-e-ady h-h-h-a-a-a-ve,” I purred. “And, and, and, I-I-I a-a-a-l-l-l-ready l-l-l-o-o-o-ve i-i-i-t-t-t!”
Chapter 16
Dexx
My head spun from the excitement. The sugar. The snow. The ice. The fire. The reverie. The company!
After helping the Davies clean up, Debbie applied a not so subtle hint to urge us upstairs to ready ourselves for bed. I marveled at how obediently Poppy and the Davies kids carried out Debbie’s wishes. And, they did it willingly, with verve and respect, like they were all eager to please the parents, giddy with holiday spirit. Debbie snapped her fingers. We thundered up the steps, full-on wildebeests in a furious herd. We trampled across the carpet to get to our rooms. Suddenly, I was eight again.
Declan stopped shy of his door. Comfortable in his own home, he removed his sweater. His T-shirt came off with it. As he undressed himself in the hallway, he revealed his crazy-whack of a washboard stomach, ripped arms, and impossible to obtain porcelain skin. Not even a small pimple, scar, cut, or bruise in sight. He stood there so oblivious to his own perfection, it was almost vulgar and offensive to the average shlub like myself. I was looking head on at a solar eclipse that might burn my eyes out if I stared too long.
“Holy of holy . . . holy . . . are you for real?” I cried, shading my eyes from this chiseled statue in the hall.
Peeking through the slits of my fingers I could see Declan looking down at his body. He poked his chest, and pinched his skin, checking to see if he was real. He shrugged in clueless wonder. His mouth gaped open confused.
“I-I-I a-a-a-m r-r-r-e-e-e-al. W-W-W-h-a-a-a-t a-a-a-r-r-r-e ya-ya-ou t-t-t-t-a-a-a-lking a-a-a-bout? I-I-I-s-s-s th-e-e-e-re s-s-s-o-o-o-mething o-o-o-n m-m-m-e-e-e?”
Declan turned his head. He checked his back. His muscles flexed as he searched his body, displaying even more of his fantastic vessel.
I slapped my forehead in awe. “It’s like you jumped right out of a magazine, airbrushed, photo-shopped, and ready to go.”
“J-J-J-u-u-u-mped o-o-o-ut o-o-o-f a-a-a magazine? I-I-I c-c-c-a-a-a-n’t a-a-a-ctually d-d-d-o-o-o th-a-a-a-t!” He frowned, disappointed.
This dude clearly suffered from an unfair, physically genetic advantage. It gave him skin so smooth and too perfect, inhuman muscle tone, and impossibly chiseled features only replicated by computer-aided-design in most men. No man could possibly look this amazing without photographical fiction.
“A-A-A-nd, w-w-w-h-e-e-e-re a-a-a-m I-I-I g-g-g-oing?” Declan searched the hall. His eyes lit up. “N-N-N-e-e-e-ver m-m-m-i-i-i-nd. I-I-I’m g-g-g-oing t-t-t-o f-f-f-i-i-i-nd P-o-o-o-ppy.”
I blocked his path. The boiling green goo of jealousy gurgled and sloshed between my ears. This boy had to cover up, stat. I gained tons of ground with Poppy during tonight’s dessert. I couldn’t suffer another setback by allowing her a glimpse of Mr. Adonis traipsing around half nude. Mr. Model might remind her why Declan trumps all in the body department. It would erase our moment together in her mind. I couldn’t win that way.
“Whoa, buddy, let’s put something on first,” I suggested.
Declan surely had to have the decency to walk around dressed more modestly.
“Th-a-a-a-t’s a-a-a-l-l-l-right, P-o-o-o-ppy h-h-h-a-a-a-s s-s-s-e-e-en m-m-m-e-e-e d-d-d-o-o-o sw-i-i-i-msuits, a-a-a-nd s-s-s-o-o-o h-h-h-a-a-a-s everyo-o-o-ne e-e-e-e-lse,” he reassured me with confidence, offering me a similar slobbery smile as Dancer.
“Okay, okay, dude, um, idea, here, forming in my head, uh . . . let’s do flannel wear this evening instead.” I couldn’t compete against Mr. Naked Chest.
“W-W-W-hat? A-a-a-re w-w-w-e-e-e d-d-d-oing a-a-a sh-o-o-o-w t-t-t-o-o-o-night?”
“No, never mind, buddy. But . . . you know what? I think if Batman ever met you, he would be jealous.”
Declan stopped. He hugged his balled up shirt and sweater. His brows furrowed. His jaw clenched, and his mouth jutted open and closed as he pondered my suggestion.
“I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t kn-o-o-o-w B-a-a-a-tman, b-b-b-u-u-u-t I-I-I w-w-w-i-i-i-sh I-I-I d-d-d-i-i-i-d. I-I-I’ve m-m-m-e-e-e-t s-s-s-o-o-o-me o-o-o-f th-e-e-e p-p-p-e-e-e-ople wh-o-o-o p-p-p-l-a-a-a-yed B-a-a-a-tman . . . H-H-H-e-e-e’s b-b-b-e-e-e-n around f-f-f-o-o-o-r over s-s-s-e-e-e-venty f-f-f-i-i-i-ve y-y-y-y-e-e-e-ars.”
“Dude, I bet if you knew how good you looked, you would be jealous of yourself too.”
“I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t u-u-u-nderst-a-a-a-nd wh-a-a-a-t ya-ya-ou m-m-m-e-e-e-an.”
I sensed that after a long night, the tension between us rose. Declan didn’t get me. He clenched his jaw in frustration. His eyes searched for meaning in our conversation. But, ever the gracious gentleman, his anxiety melted. It was replaced with a smile which reappeared on his face. He bowed, and waited silently for me to talk. I didn’t have anything else to say at that point.
“D-D-D-i-i-i-d I-I-I e-e-e-ver t-t-t-e-e-e-ll ya-ya-ou w-w-w-hy I-I-I like B-a-a-a-tman?” he asked after several awkward minutes.
“No.” I mustered.
“H-H-H-e-e-e and I-I-I sh-h-h-a-a-a-re s-s-s-i-i-i-milar t-t-t-r-a-a-a-its. W-W-W-e-e-e a-a-a-re the s-s-s-a-a-a-me. W-W-W-e-e-e b-b-b-oth c-c-c-ome f-f-f-rom w-w-w-ealthy p-p-p-a-a-arents, a-a-a-nd n-n-n-either o-o-o-f u-u-u-s-s-s h-a-a-a-ve a-a-a-ctu-u-u-al s-s-s-u-u-u-per-p-p-p-o-o-o-
wers. W-W-W-e-e-e b-b-b-oth h-h-h-a-a-a-ve s-s-s-ecret i-i-i-denties. H-H-H-e-e-e’s a-a-a s-s-s-u-u-u-per-h-e-e-e-ro, a-a-a-nd I-I-I’m a-a-a-a m-m-m-o-o-o-del, b-b-b-u-u-u-t n-n-n-o-o-o one kn-n-n-o-o-o-ws wh-o-o-o w-w-w-e-e-e really a-a-a-re. W-w-w-e-e-e are b-b-b-oth m-m-m-i-i-i-sunderstood, a-a-a-nd h-a-a-ave f-f-f-e-e-e-w f-f-f-r-r-r-i-i-i-iends b-b-b-e-e-e-s-s-s-ides th-e-e-e w-w-w-o-o-o-men w-w-w-e-e-e love. P-P-P-l-u-u-u-s, e-e-e-eryone a-a-a-s-s-s-u-u-u-mes w-w-w-e-e-e n-e-e-e-e-d taking c-c-c-a-a-a-re of. H-e-e-e h-a-a-a-s-s-s Alfr-e-e-e-d, a-a-a-nd I-I-I? I-I-I h-a-a-a-ve t-t-t-o-o-o-o m-m-m-a-a-a-ny!”
My eyes fell to my feet. After listening intently to his explanation, he was right. Declan was right. He was the real Batman. A dark figure who existed on the fringe, in the background, and fought for what is right. Someone who looked good at a party, but lived a solitary life in the darkness. The more I thought about it, the more I understood the attraction, the more I was correct to assume that perhaps Batman would be jealous of Declan. Declan was the righteous Batman.
From the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Poppy slinking away in the shadows with a triumphant smirk on her face, proud of her hero. Declan had his own, personal Catwoman. My brain fought my own personal battle of desire versus empathy. What was I doing here?
Declan stood on his toes, eager to hear my reaction to his explanation. I nodded, and grinned.
“You’re all right, dude. Like I said before, Batman would be jealous.”
“Really?” Declan’s hands flailed as he chuckled.
Taking leave, he bowed once more. I watched him retreat to his room. Poppy’s door shut softly behind her. I entered my beautiful suite, and took great pleasure in readying myself for bed. Probably too much pleasure. I soaked up all of the sick luxury.
My head sunk against the soft pillow on the king sized bed. My lids fluttered closed. A tiny snore escaped my lips. As my body relaxed against the cozy mattress, a light tap at my door stirred my slumber. My eyes shot open. My sleepy head swirled in a daze.
“Come in,” my voice croaked.
“Hi. It’s me,” Denver whispered. “Is it too late to talk?”
“No. Not at all,” I insisted.
I sat up and patted the comforter for her to sit down.
Denver strolled in with the poise of a ballerina. She wore a cream-colored satin pajama set decorated in tiny white pearls. Her hands swayed slowly like she was performing at Orchestra Hall. Her freshly brushed hair shimmered under the light, and trailed behind her back as if she wore a platinum wedding veil. Her fresh face, free of make-up, glowed. Like her brother, Denver’s beauty came naturally, and didn’t require a touch of make-up to prove how hot she was.
She perched timidly at the edge of the bed, then slunk her back down on the mattress and rested on her side. She ran her hands through her silky strands. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I replied in a husky voice.
“So . . .”
“So, from our conversation earlier, um . . . what’s, uh, what’s wrong with . . .”
“What’s wrong with my brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Honestly, Dexx, I thought you knew. Everyone knows. It’s been . . . it’s been, hard, you know? Cause, like . . . what isn’t wrong with him? It’s kinda difficult to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to. You seem like such a good listener. I can really open up to you. I haven’t had a friend I could open up to in a really long time. Not since . . .”
“Poppy?”
“Yeah, probably not since then. You see . . . my brother has . . . oh . . . the list is so long it’s like a never ending grocery list of diagnosis that you would never want. Well, my brother has autism, well, a form of it, he has Asperger’s, a milder form, but, unfortunately, that’s only the start. I bet you can tell he has quite a pronounced stutter, but with that he has Tourette’s. He ticks, a lot. He has also been diagnosed with OCD, bi-polar disorder, and depression, to name a few. It’s a lot to handle.”
Denver let out a huge sigh.
I pulled myself out from underneath the covers, and sat up straighter.
“Yep, that’s my brother.” Denver took in some air and slowly released it. “I never really talk about him with anyone. It’s hard to tell people. People judge so harshly.”
“I won’t judge.”
“I can tell that you won’t judge us, tonight. You’ve been so very sweet. People aren’t always so kind once he opens his mouth. I mean, kind? Ha! Try downright horrid and rude.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. She smiled, and laughed bitterly.
A bout of nausea worked its way up my belly. Heartburn from too many cookies churned in my chest. Was I honestly being sweet to them? Or did I react poorly earlier to a point where I was only making amends? Why was I here? My heart pulled me in two directions.
I would have to come clean about my intentions soon, but who would I tell? Every second I spent with Poppy proved to be more and more fantastic, and magical. But Denver? She wasn’t who I thought she was. She was vulnerable, and delightful. Then, there was Declan, who was the most generous, and kind of them all. So what about me? Sarcastic and rotten? I didn’t belong. I frowned at my behavior. Yet, I couldn’t leave. I dared not cause a scene during their celebration.
Denver’s eyes slowly opened. “You are such a sweetie. I better jam before my parents find me in here, and I get the two of us in trouble.”
She giggled, then hopped off the bed, and pranced away.
My head tossed around our conversation. But before I could analyze it too much, I was out.
Duality is Balance
Like any good relationship, baking relies heavily on temperature and timing. The key to this duality is balance.
When heating an oven, the desired outcome is to produce a properly baked cake. Fully cooked, yet moist. Nicely browned, yet not burnt. If your relationship gets too hot, too intense too quickly, it gets tough, it dries out and becomes brittle. It falls apart and you’re burnt in the end.
On the other hand, if the oven never reaches that optimum temperature, your cake doesn’t bake at all. The batter remains goopy. It doesn’t set. Liquid seeps out of it, and it falls apart, raw and potentially dangerous to your health. The kind of failure that makes you sick to your stomach. There are so many variables that determine how much heat to apply, solely based on the ingredients.
Then, there is flavor and consistency. The cake should taste sweet, but not too sweet. Light, but not so airy that it is composed of nothing substantial.
The results must be solid and reliable, able to withstand the heavy burden placed on top, all the while being delightful and delicious.
So . . . timing. Timing is the key that unlocks the success of perfection. If you remove the cake too fast, rush the process, the exterior looks finished, but the insides slide away to nothingness. But taking too long proves disastrous, charring the cake beyond repair.
As with any relationship, cakes need the poke test. Prod it a bit to assess the solidity and wellbeing. Assuming all is wonderful spells disaster. Attentive inquiry shows care and concern about the inside, and not simply judging how things look on the outside.
Here is the process. Take a toothpick and insert it in the middle. If it comes out clean, your cake is ready. If it is still coated with batter, bake it longer. But the most important step, once the cake has been removed from the oven, is to let it rest and cool, or everything you build upon the top will melt and fall away, or crumble to pieces. For balance, you need a steady foundation.
This entire process takes time and patience. Patience is very difficult. But, since I have devoted myself to time, I force myself to have patience, because the end product is worth it. And what is the end product but love?
Chapter 17
December 24th
Denver
Last night, once my head hit the pillow, a burst of relief expired from my chest. I’d released those difficult words aloud for the first time. I spent too many years living closed up, in denial, constructing a protective shell. The fortress I built prevented me from sharing my feelings about Declan. I was too mortified to open up to my friends. I stopped myself from growing too close, or too attached to anyone. I was afraid of what people would think, namely about me.
But speaking those words out loud, to the very person I feared the most, one Mr. DJ Dexx, the hippest guy at school, exhilarated me. I thought he would judge me, harshly, and leave me alone on Christmas. Instead, Dexx freed me from a lifetime of embarrassment.
I felt splendiferous to the core. I experienced the best night of sleep in my life, and woke up refreshed, and energized. My new life could begin. This was my year, my turn. I could finally achieve what Declan had, a career, a sweetheart, and a spotlight of my own. The underdog will at last have her day in the sun.
I leapt out of bed, and slid down the stairs. My hand glided across the railing. I was flying. I was free, a soaring bird high above, in the clouds, watching the magic of life happening below.
My parents meandered around the kitchen. They prepared a festive breakfast. After all, it was Declan’s favorite holiday. The two of them whipped up another fantastic feast for their dear boy, and our guests. My parents performed amazing feats. As busy as they were, both working fulltime careers, they still managed to pull off throwing outrageous holiday parties. They conceived wondrous festivities with little outside help. They performed these duties with awe-inspiring joy, cooking, baking, cleaning, decorating, crafting. Who were these people, and where did I come from?
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