When Jem pulls away he doesn’t go far. Our foreheads are practically touching, and the hand he used to turn my face toward him is still resting on the side of my neck. With anyone else I would find such a hand placement intensely uncomfortable, but now it’s…oddly tolerable.
“Willa?”
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Or do I return the gesture? Some reaction is due, obviously, I just don’t know what.
“Um.” I close my eyes, trying to pick one thought from among the dozen ideas swarming around my head like bees. Jem takes my closed eyes as an invitation and leans in to kiss me again.
There’s heat behind it this time. I don’t know if it’s him leaning in or me leaning back, but soon my shoulders come up against the front door. Jem sighs against me and brushes his thumb along my jaw line in a slow, appreciative way, like he’s studying me. His right hand finds mine and laces our fingers together. My other hand drops my keys. Aw hell, this actually feels good.
And that’s when it hits me that I’m kissing Jem Harper pressed up against the door of my brother’s house. It’s like looking down on myself from above, watching this moment, and wondering where the real me went. Pushed up against the door? What is this, some crappy rom-com?
I wrap my arms around his neck and push him right back. Jem’s hands go to my waist like he’s trying to catch me, and we take two steps back—far enough for his hips to come up against the porch rail. His hands fist around the sides of my sweater, pulling me closer. I expect him to grab my ass, but he doesn’t. I could get used to this whole gentleman thing.
I’m not sure if it’s the drugs in him or what, but his kisses leave a strange heat behind on my skin when he moves his lips. He sort of pecks when he kisses, closing his lips around mine, drawing his lower lip across my mouth with just a hint of suction before pulling away, tight-lipped, and coming back for another. I take his lower lip between mine before he can pull away and suck on it gently.
He gives a soft sigh and grabs me tighter.
I slowly unwind my arms from around his neck, coming down around his shoulders to his front. Suddenly Jem breaks away and yanks my right hand off his chest.
“What?” He doesn’t immediately answer. His lips are a little swollen and he’s out of breath. I get it before he has to explain: my hand came close to touching his central line.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Jem looks at me searchingly, waiting, no doubt, for disgust or hesitancy. I twist my hand out of his grip and place it on his waist instead of his chest.
“Maybe we should stop,” he says.
“You want to?”
Jem hesitates over that one, biting his lower lip. He wants to keep going, even if he thinks he should stop. I regret touching his chest now. I shouldn’t have spooked him like that.
“Or we could stop talking and continue,” I offer. And for the first time since I’ve known Jem, he doesn’t argue with my suggestion.
*
Frank is still up when I get inside. He looks me up and down with a suspicious eye and asks how my evening went.
“It was nice. We went to a vegan place in Ottawa.”
“Vegan?” My meat-eating, fish-catching, deer-hunting brother makes the term ‘vegan’ sound like a horrible swear word. “Are you turning vegan?” I can see he’s worried what my cooking would turn into if I did decide to change my diet.
“No, I was just trying something new.”
Frank grunts in a gesture of both suspicion and acceptance, and asks if I’m in for the night. I tell him that I am and excuse myself to take a shower.
When I get upstairs I study myself in the mirror while the water heats up. My lips are a little red, but not enough to explain the strange tingling sensation. It’s lessened since I stopped kissing Jem, but still noticeable. It doesn’t taste like morphine, which feels sort of numbing. He has long since finished chemo, so it shouldn’t burn. I don’t know his other drugs well enough to speculate about them. Those meds are probably for his transplant, and I have no experience in that area.
I step into the shower and stand with my face directly under the spray, holding my breath until I can’t anymore. The water isn’t even that warm yet, but my skin feels hot and sticky, the way it used to after spending time outdoors in summer. I’m too pale to feel so sun-soaked.
I try to imagine what school will be like on Monday, but I can’t. Before we said goodbye, Jem said he wanted to make plans again. I should have said no, but instead I said I knew a place where we could go on Wednesday. It’s a little place that Frank used to take me when I was a kid, but I should have thought things through before I invited Jem there—before I invited him to think that we’re somehow dating.
I’m still drying off when my phone rings and Jem smirks up at me from the screen.
“Did you forget something?”
“No.” I can hear him smiling. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”
I thought we said goodnight on the porch? “Oh. Goodnight then.”
“I had fun tonight.”
“I’m glad.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah, I did.” As weird as it was, no single moment stands out as painful or unpleasant—even if I am panicking a little about seeing him at school on Monday.
“Can I take you out again sometime?”
“We already made plans for Wednesday.”
“Yeah, but I mean—”
“Jem,” I tell him firmly, “you’re doing that thing where you try to monopolize me.”
“Sorry. Wednesday.”
“Sleep well.”
“You too.”
I hang up and set my phone aside. I can’t decide if Jem is cute or just desperately needy. Most people wait longer than thirty minutes to call back after a date. Er, a non-date.
I go to turn out the lights and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above my dresser. My face is red. Shit. I flick the light off so I don’t have to look at myself and crawl under the covers.
I have a feeling that space is going to become an issue between Jem and I, but it doesn’t worry me as much as it used to. We’ve negotiated this already. We’ll deal when it comes up again. Two months ago I would never have thought this of him, but I actually enjoy his company when he loses the sarcastic veneer of bullshit and bitterness. He’s most beautiful when he allows himself to be.
Sunday
When I go downstairs for breakfast I find Frank at the dining room table. I guess he’s skipping a Sunday with Doug for once. He gestures to a pot on the stove and says there’s oatmeal if I want it, but upon inspection it just looks like a clump of burnt oats. I can see why he ordered so much pizza before I moved in.
“Uh, thanks, but I’ll just have cereal.”
“Something wrong with my cooking?”
“No, not at all. I just, you know, want to live.”
I pour myself a bowl of cereal while Frank stubbornly persists in eating his burnt oats.
“I talked to Mom last night,” Frank announces as I reach from the milk. I look up so fast that I bang my head on the lip of the freezer.
“Easy, kid.”
“What did you talk to Mom about?”
Frank pulls out the dining chair next to him, inviting me to sit. I stand there with the milk carton in my hand and wait for him to get to the point.
“Will, what would you think of maybe finding someone to talk to while you’re here?”
“No.”
“Mom thinks—”
“Mom agreed to ship me off to Smiths Falls so I could get a clean break. No more doctors, no more meds, no more group sessions—no more screwing up my life.”
“Yes, she did agree with that,” Frank answers mildly. “But you’re breaking your half of the bargain.”
“How? My grades are good, I’m starting a new job tomorrow, I volunteer—my life here is about as vanilla as it gets.”
Frank sighs. “You’re putting yourself back to square one, getting close to the Harpe
r boy. You wanted a clean break, so don’t put yourself in a position to get hurt. No one wants to see you suffer like that again.”
“Are you telling me not to hang out with Jem anymore?” I can hardly avoid seeing him, us being project partners and all, but if Frank was bound and determined he could put a real damper on the time I spend with Jem outside of school.
“It’s great that you’re being nice to him, but leave it at that. You’re a smart girl—I want you to think long and hard about what would happen if he got sick again. Don’t be getting attached to people who can hurt you so bad.”
Too late.
“I’ll think about it.” I put the milk back in the fridge and leave without eating breakfast. I just want to go to the hospital, even though I’ll be early for my volunteer shift. I need to be in a familiar place and to keep my hands busy, because I really don’t want to think about it like I told Frank I would.
I can’t picture Jem’s absence. I could picture Tessa’s before she died; where the hole in my life would be. It turned out bigger than I imagined, but at least I could see it coming. I can’t imagine my life in Smiths Falls without Jem. He’s too ingrained in my routine. When the hell did I allow that to happen?
The text I receive mid-morning confirms it: My place or yours today? We can cook here if you like.
It’s practically a given that we use our free time to do things together. He even knows what I would most like to be doing right now. Damn it.
I’m volunteering today.
After?
I need to think.
I should at least try to think it through, for Frank’s sake. I don’t want to worry him, and as much as it displeases me, he has a point. I consider calling Mom when I break for lunch, but I already know what she would say. She’s one to put faith in professional help, and I’m sick of that scene.
I slouch lower in the cafeteria chair and turn my iPod on to drown out the noise of plates and utensils clinking. Frank may have a point, in theory—if Jem should get sick again, if I get attached enough to be hurt by him. But thinking of last night, I can’t put a bad label on Jem. He treated me better than any other guy ever has. I enjoyed being with him. I liked kissing him, even if it did feel a little weird.
I try to imagine distancing myself from Jem again. The first time I was fueled by resentment and fear, and that made it easier to stick to it. Cold hard calculation is a flimsier reason to inflict such pain on both of us, especially after I promised not to cut him out again.
The idea of life without him around bothers me much more than it rightfully should. He pops up in my thoughts for the rest of the day at times when I least expect it. I haven’t even spoken to him today, and by the end of my shift I feel like I’ve spent the whole day in his company.
Part of me wants to go over to the Harper house, but the other part of me knows better than to give my parents more ammo. Before I even leave the hospital I lie down across the seat in my car and call Hannah. She’s a good listener and insightful without being nosey.
Mrs. Trilby passes the phone off to Hannah, who sounds like she’s in a good mood. Maybe something happened with Brian.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“Not much. Gardening with my dad.”
“You want to go do something?” It’s a ridiculous request. It’s four o’clock on a Sunday; everything is about to close. There’s nowhere for us to go.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t care. I just need to get out of my head. I’ve been thinking in circles all day.”
“Oh. Okay. Something heavy on your mind?”
Only about a hundred and thirty pounds’ worth; not terribly heavy.
“Nah, it’s just a riddle I can’t solve, is all.”
“Can I hear it?”
“The riddle is a person.”
Hannah hums softly. “And you can’t get this person out of your head?”
“No, I can. Just not for long.”
“Sounds like you’re interested.”
“So how’s Brian?”
Hannah giggles—and she’s not the giggling type. I can practically hear her blushing over the phone.
“I asked him to the grad dance. Got tired of waiting.” She giggles again. That must mean things went well.
“Tell me everything.”
*
I get home feeling pleasantly numb. Hearing all about Hannah’s happiness did wonders for my uneasiness over the Jem question. But now that I’m alone, the vicious cycle of dead-end thoughts starts again. Hannah said I sounded ‘interested.’ Am I? I ask that question to the mirror and watch my reflection respond to that thought. This doesn’t feel like a crush. I’m not tripping over myself. I don’t go out of my way to see Jem. I do, however, put more effort into cooking for him than I do for anyone else. I think about him entirely too much when he isn’t around. I let myself get too relaxed when I’m in his company—he slowly pulls all my secrets out of me.
I think a bumbling, obsessive crush might actually be the better alternative.
Jem: April 29 to May 3
Saturday
The house is quiet when I get home. The living space is dark and empty, and sounds of life on the second floor are minimal. Just two months ago Mom waited up for me, eager to hear if I was getting a social life. I suppose I should be glad that it’s old news now, but part of me is itching to tell someone how wonderful my night was.
I go upstairs and fall down on my bed, grinning from ear to ear. The whole thing went better than I imagined. I didn’t have to talk to Willa’s brother and justify why she was going out with Cancer Boy. Conversation in the car was easy and relaxed, and Willa seemed to enjoy her meal even though it was vegan. I ate real food without getting sick. And kissing her…
I roll onto my back and take out my phone. I want to hear her voice one more time before I go to bed. Willa answers on the third ring.
“Did you forget something?” she asks.
“No. I just wanted to say goodnight.” And to be the last thing on her mind before she falls asleep, like she’s always the last thing on mine.
“Oh. Goodnight then.”
“I had fun tonight.”
“I’m glad.”
“Did you?” I know I’m being greedy, but I want to hear her say it again.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Can I take you out again sometime?”
“We already made plans for Wednesday.”
“Yeah, but I mean—”
“Jem,” she says firmly, “you’re doing that thing where you try to monopolize me.”
Shit. She’s right. “Sorry. Wednesday.”
“Sleep well.”
“You too.”
Willa hangs up and I lie back, cruising on the high of a great night. If this ever wears off (and I doubt it will), I have anticipation for Wednesday to tide me over.
A series of sharp knocks on my bedroom door interrupts my musings, and I reluctantly leave the bed to answer it. Elise stands on the other side of the threshold, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“When did you get home?” she demands. She looks me up and down and notices the phone in my hand. “How’d it go?”
“Fine.” She somehow reads into my monotone, monosyllabic answer and squeals shrilly. Elise throws her arms around my waist, ignoring my protests and complaints of suffocation.
I dislodge her arms and she jumps up and down, flapping her hands. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. Um…yay?”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s more flustered about the whole thing than I am.
“Tell me everything!”
I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t think I could describe half of it…at least not without sounding like a romantic sap, anyway.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
She’s a little disappointed, but seems to understand that I’m not ready to divulge details. “Promise?”
“Yeah.”
Elise walks back down the hall to her room
, pausing halfway to do a series of little hops and squeal with delight. Good to know I have her rooting for me.
Sunday
I wake up sore and sallow with a grin on my face. Last night’s high has carried over to today, and nothing can sour my bad mood. Not the handful of pills before breakfast, nor the flimsy packaging on waterproof patches, nor the fact that Eric seems to have used most of the hot water—nothing. I kissed Willa and didn’t get punched in the face for it. She liked it. She didn’t want to stop. And best of all: she agreed to go out again.
As I get dressed I toss around the idea of calling Willa before I head over to her house. We’ve been just dropping by each other’s homes for weeks, but I don’t want to push my luck. I’ve got a good thing going with her now and I don’t want to screw it up.
I pause with Willa’s number half-dialed. How am I supposed to act around her now? Should I say something? Give her a kiss when I say hello? Wait for her to make the first move?
I need to exploit my sister’s girly intuition. I head down the hall to Elise’s bedroom and knock on the door. She doesn’t answer, but that’s to be expected before noon on a Sunday. I open the door and step in quietly.
Elise doesn’t sleep like a normal person. She nests. All her bedding is clustered in the center of her mattress, and therein somewhere she lies and sleeps.
“Elise?”
I reach under the edge of the mass, find what feels like an ankle, and pull. Elise slides out from under the blankets like a baby giraffe falling pathetically from its mother’s womb. She blinks at the light and flinches away.
“Wake up.”
“Go away,” she whines. Elise turns and tries to crawl back into her nest. I grab the back of her pajama shirt to keep her close.
“I need your help.”
“Don’t care.”
“Elise.”
“Nothing is urgent enough to wake me up at the ass crack of dawn like this.”
“It’s ten-thirty.”
Elise huffs and stops struggling. She goes limp, splay-limbed on the foot of the bed. “Fine. Bring me coffee and I’ll help you.”
Wake Page 33
