Christina (Daughters #1)

by Leanne Davis

  “Your boyfriend.”

  “Okay, so I have to ask permission each and every time before I touch my boyfriend?” He nods, his dark gaze kind of flat-lining as he does his usual close-out with emotions.

  “Would that mean I get to sometimes touch you?”

  “Yes,” he says, but the word sounds kind of wobbly and shaky from his lips, like he’s saying yes, but is only half sure he can do it.

  “Yes, because you think I want to hear that? Or yes, because you feel able to do it?”

  “Yes. Because I intend to do it. But think about it. We’re talking limited. Sometimes. Scheduled. It’s like scheduled fucking, how can anyone stand that for long term?”

  “So give me an example?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and his gaze skitters over my head. His discomfort is nearly tangible. “My therapist and I talked about how I might be able to hug and kiss if I know, for example, you might like it before we go to bed, or before you leave in the morning. I’ll expect it and that way, I can plan for it and—”

  “So I was one of the reasons you went to a therapist?”

  His head kind of jerks back when I interrupt him, since my voice sounds hot with anger. “Well… yeah. There’s no one else I would ever bother learning how to show and accept affection from.”

  “Do you think maybe asking my opinion on the matter might have been important? You haven’t even called me! And now you tell me you were seeking therapy because it involves me?”

  He swallows and I see his eyes widening at my tirade before he shrugs and nods. “I wasn’t sure if it were possible to ever learn how to touch. I had to know it was possible for me to learn before I exposed you to it again. What I did to you this summer—”

  “What you did this summer was break my heart! You never even asked me what I thought about it. I was fine, really freaking fine, being with you exactly as you were. I just wanted you. And all you could do was turn away from me, taking your friendship from me too.”

  “I loved you, but I couldn’t handle being in love with you, or being with you. I couldn’t handle not touching you. I just needed… to be honest? I think I needed to lose you! That’s what forced me to face this stuff, which I still don’t want to face. Do you see what I mean?”

  My heart feels like it’s expanding in my chest and blocking out my lung’s capacity to draw in air. I am flabbergasted. I don’t expect anything I hear from Max’s mouth.

  “You think you want this to last?”

  “Yes. But being with me won’t be easy.”

  “You say that, but then, it’s like you think I don’t know you. I know you, Max. I know what being with you is like. I’ve been doing it for years! And the only thing you continue to keep missing, is: it is NOT hard for me. Me, Christina Hendricks. You have got to quit assuming what I should think or feel.”

  His breath hitches. “You’re willing to settle for having to ask my permission to do simple things like hug me? Or asking me to hold your hand? You’re willing, long-term, to have to freaking ask me for normal, everyday gestures? We’re not talking about sex, we’re talking—”

  “Damn it! Quit doing that. I know what we’re talking about. Why do you act like it’s such a shocking concept to me? It’s not, okay? It’s normal. It’s your status quo. And it’s you! I know all about you, Max. I got over the shock of it years ago. I mean, you just need to get over the shock that I can live with it. You’re the one who can’t seem to live with it.”

  He closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath. “I’m trying to, Tina. I really am trying.”

  Silence overtakes the room. I think about letting it all die for the night, but we’ve come this far. Literally. I’m in a strange city and state and somehow, Max is here with me. And I just need something… I need for something to end or begin. I need answers. I need to move on… either with, or away from Max.

  “Max?” I whisper. His eyes pop open. I stare into them. “I’m going to put my hand on you.”

  He draws in a breath, and I can see the rise and fall of his chest. “Where?”

  Specifics. He needs specifics. Okay, open and honest communication. Growing up and being real. I can do this. I hope he can too. “Right over your heart. Okay?”

  “On my shirt?”

  “No. Under it.” I bite my lip. It kind of sounds like we’re preparing for a doctor’s examination. Have I pushed him too far? I don’t know. His gaze wavers and his eyeballs glance down when he notices my hand’s slight movement. “Okay?”

  He sucks in a breath and finally nods. “Okay.”

  It’s really hard for me to fathom fearing someone you know and trust. How can someone’s hand cause so much confusion and fear? He literally has to prepare himself for my hand to touch him. Until I met Max, I could never have comprehended how innocent, everyday touching can be such a terrible experience for some people. It is though; and for Max, it’s traumatic. However, this is the first time I’ve seen him willing to try and change that.

  If, and I mean only if Max is for real willing to try, then so am I. But only if he seriously means it.

  I set my hand directly over his heart. I don’t slide or move it. I don’t want to chance pushing him too far. I want him to learn to trust me. Maybe if he can trust me to do what I say, then he can someday trust me without telling him first. I can feel his chest physically fall and then rise as he exhales and inhales. I realize it is that big of deal to him. He has to prepare for me to touch his chest. His skin is warm and smooth under my fingers. His heart taps against the palm of my hand.

  I do nothing more. I don’t move my hand, or even try to touch him anywhere else. I just let my hand rest there until finally, his breathing regulates and the fast rhythm of his heart slows. He starts to accept it, and I can feel when his muscles slowly begin to relax. Honestly? That feels like I just graduated college with a four-point-oh! Or earned an award for something. It feels like I accomplished something momentous here tonight. It feels really good too. I think, and truly believe, I really helped Max just now. I think I can see a way, a small, miniscule way, that maybe we could employ tonight. If it works, perhaps we can make it a model for handling the very thing that keeps us so separated.

  “Are you okay?” I finally ask.

  I try to clamp off a shocked gasp when his hand comes up and rests right on top of my hand, over his heart. He squeezes my fingers in his. “I am now. I am okay with you. I’m sorry. For what I did to you this summer.” His mouth comes forward and he touches his lips to mine. So gently. Like a soft whisper. “I couldn’t handle it. It was overwhelming. It was way too much for me to deal with. But I should have found a way to.”

  “Do you think you can find a better way?”

  “I think so; maybe I can.”

  “We.”

  “What?”

  “We could. This would be us. As in we. Our problem. Our journey. Our solution.”

  “I—I can’t imagine how, but I will do anything because I can’t bear to ever lose you again.”

  We lie together like that. For a long while. Shadows pass over our faces, but we’re staring into each other’s eyes and holding hands over his heart.

  I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. I have no idea where Max and I are headed, or not. I don’t fully understand if he’s really changed, or how it applies to me—and us. I have no idea how meeting my sister will go either. But I fall asleep, feeling strangely content and at peace finally.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ~Christina~

  MORNING DAWNS AND I’M more than awkward with Max. I don’t know how to handle this. He’s still asleep when I awaken. I sneak off to the bathroom to clean up and text home. I know whatever happens now, the feelings have grown so big and so confusing since Max stirred them up last night, and that can only mean: I’m not done with Max. Which duh, I’ve always known. But I realize now I must deal with those emotions, or be with Max. One way or the other I must do something about them, or I will never be able to really move on.
>
  When I come out, all showered and cleaned up, Max is coming through the door. He’s dressed in black jeans and a gray, short-sleeved shirt. His hair is still rumpled. He’s holding coffee and a bag of donuts. “Thought you might be hungry.” He holds the bag out to me. I smile in appreciation and we sit at the table before eating in silence. But the silence is companionable. Our eyes do all the talking and smiling. It’s weird and funny and actually, even fun. It’s like we’re brand new with each other.

  “So are we doing this thing today?”

  “Meeting my sister? Yes. I guess I can’t just stay here and keep stalking her now, can I?”

  “I think you should take as long as you need. It’s a pretty big deal.”

  “What if I’m wrong about this? What if it just hurts everyone and I gain nothing?”

  “What if you’re right, and it helps everyone? I don’t know how it will go, Tiny, I really don’t. I won’t bullshit you. You might be crying and heartbroken by tonight. But at least, you’ll know. You’ll satisfy your curiosity and get your answer. It’s one of your best traits and one of your worst. You have to know all the details of everything around you and can’t rest until you do. Then you can move on and simply let it go.”

  “You think I do that?”

  He stares at me and then down at his hands, cupped around the warm coffee cup. “I think you’re in middle of doing that with me. If I wait long enough, you’ll be able to let me go and move on too.”

  I realize he’s right. I was starting to do that. “Should I? I mean, keep doing that? Would I be happier in the long term?” I’m holding my breath, and can’t believe I dared to ask it.

  He nods. “Yes. You might just be happier in the long term without me. With someone else. But do I want you to do that? To give up on me? On us? No. Of course, I don’t want you to do that.”

  I lick my lips and my heart skips. “What do you want then?”

  “You.” He lifts his eyes to stare right into mine. “I’ve always wanted you. I think you know that, too. We just pretended it wasn’t so. But it is. My desire for you has never been the problem. My ability to do whatever a boyfriend should do is my problem.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know. But I want to learn.”

  I nod. I have no idea, none at all, of what this could possibly mean. He pushes his coffee away and gets up. “Not today. Today is about you. Meeting your sister and getting your answers. Today, is about me just being your supportive friend.”

  “You were always my best friend.” I drop my gaze and stare at my knees under the table. “I miss that most of all.”

  “So how do you want to play this? It’s Saturday. Good chance they might be home. Wanna go see?”

  “Now?” I jerk my face up to his. He nods, and his mouth quirks in an amused grin as he raises his eyebrows. He’s daring me. Heat rises up my neck and into my cheeks. Crap. I’m here to do this, but if Max hadn’t shown up, I doubt I would. I nod my agreement and slowly get onto my feet. I guess I’m about to meet my oldest sister. With a heavy heart of confusion and doubt, I grab my purse and coat. I stop just as we’re about to exit the room. With my hand on his arm, over his jacket, I say, “Thank you.”

  I hope he knows it’s for being here. And for doing this with me. And for understanding what I’m doing. Then I realize I’m actually touching him, and he’s not flinching, or moving away, or shaking my hand off him! I stare at my hand, then up at him, somewhat startled. He laughs and I realize that maybe, just maybe, something has finally changed between us.

  I again find myself staring at the Victorian house. Max has shut my car off and glances at me with a warm smile. “Ready?”

  No, not even a little. I feel like I’ve floated out of my body and am watching this over the shoulder of someone else. It doesn’t feel like I’m the one opening the car door, or setting my foot on the pavement before heaving myself out of the car. It doesn’t feel like me now standing at the front door and waiting for someone to answer after Max rings the doorbell. How did I cross the street? I glance around, but can’t remember. I feel like we magically arrived here and now the big event is about to happen. Something huge is about to happen. I don’t know what I want now. For the doorbell to go unanswered, leaving me bitterly disappointed before giving up, or God forbid, for someone to actually answer it? And who would I want that to be? A neutral third party? Someone to whom I can tell my story and get a feel for the right course of action with Natalie? Or do I simply want it to happen? To see her and thereby end all of my questions and doubts? No. I’m really not sure what I want to happen.

  I can hear footsteps. Someone is coming. My heart doubles its beating rate and tiny black spots might start popping up behind my eyelids. “Breathe, Tina.” Max’s voice is close to my ear. I glance into his eyes and he nods. “You can do this.”

  I nod and try inhaling. I need to fill my lungs. The black spots start to vanish, and then, the door opens.

  It’s her! I’m sure of it. Before me stands my sister. I straighten up. I stare at her in silence. I’m not sure why I know it’s she, I just really believe it is. There is nothing overt. No one else could pick us out as even being distant cousins. Her hair is thick and straight, and looks a lot like my mom’s and mine. Hers is more luscious, and a deep, shiny black. But something about the texture makes it exactly like my hair. In the tilt of her eyes, I see my mom’s. The rest of her? No. She’s definitely Latino. There is no doubt of that. She has a warm, chocolate hue to her skin, although she’s lighter-skinned than Max. She has jet-black irises and hair. Her cheekbones are sharply defined and her mouth is a luscious shade of red. Her eyebrows are delicate, and arched in a lovely curve over her eyes.

  All this time, while I’m examining her, she’s staring at me. Her eyebrows are raised in polite wonder of why Max and I are standing on her doorstep at ten on a Saturday morning? She’s wearing black cargo pants and an athletic t-shirt and Nike sneakers. She is rather toned and fit. She has the build of a runner who lifts light weights. She’s far more fit than me, and also taller. She looks about five-foot-six or seven. She’s stunning, in a kick-ass girl way. She tilts her head slightly, suggesting she’s suspicious and probably won’t believe what I’m about to say. Where I’m kind of naive and innocent, she seems capable, skeptical, and ready to call my bullshit. She’s tough. For some reason, I know this instantly from the few seconds we stand there evaluating each other. She’s tough, adept, and independent.

  “Can I help you?” she finally prompts.

  “Um,” I swallow at seeing her arched eyebrows of disdain. Wow, she’s good at that. I feel tongue-tied and suddenly unable to articulate my totally odd reason for being there. “Um, I think we might be—what I’m trying to say is—”

  I break off and stare at my toes.

  “Yes?”

  “Is your name Natalie Ford?”

  My head pops up at Max’s inquiry. He’s got Natalie’s attention. She’s instantly on alert, just with the introduction since we know her name. “Yeah. What’s it to you?”

  “My name is Max Salazar and this is my… my girlfriend, Christina Hendricks. We think, or I mean, we’re trying to determine if maybe you two aren’t… related.”

  Silence. So pervasive, it’s deafening. It feels like a tunnel-affect. I can’t even lift my eyes off the concrete porch to see her reaction, or what else is going on.

  Then, “Why don’t you two come in?” Her voice is quieter now, and the tone is a smidgeon gentler, but I detect the suspicion she still feels.

  I take in a lungful of air and force my eyes to finally find hers. She is watching me, not Max. I move my suddenly wobbly legs and walk into her house behind Max. My next shock? His hand, which comes to rest on my elbow as he tries to steady me. No, it’s not much of a great gesture from most men. But coming from Max? I whip my eyes to his, but he’s looking around the house. He doesn’t even seem to get the epic move he just made toward me. Looking around, I don’t really care to be hones
t. Who cares if the dark hardwood floors seem to slide off into the distance? It’s a narrow floor plan; establishing more length than width to accommodate the narrow buildings. The entry takes us right into a formal living room with two couches facing each other and a big coffee table between them. It’s all decked out in decorations that match, right down to the crimson candle on the mantel, and the crimson bowl in the center of the coffee table. It’s all modern decor in black and white with red occasionally slashed around. It’s stunning. And far more than a cop’s salary could provide, or at least, that’s what I think. But what do I know? I suddenly feel really young and uncomfortably aware that I’m from a small, farming town in the middle of nowhere.

  “Not to be rude, but can I see your IDs before we go any farther? I need to know you are whom you say you are.”

  Smart. I dig my wallet out of my purse and hand her my license. She checks mine and then Max’s. Turning them around, she studies them longer than most people would. Being a cop, she probably knows what a false one looks like. She hands them both back with a nod before sweeping her hand out to tacitly ask us to have a seat.

  “Nat? Who’s here?”

  I am ready to sit, but suddenly stand up when I hear the male voice. In walks the same man I saw entering here yesterday. He’s a bit more intimidating in person. He has an electric smile that starts just over his front teeth and slides up into his eyes. With dimples in both cheeks, I notice he hasn’t shaved yet this morning. His hair curls all around his collar, and I swear to God, any woman with a pulse would have to stifle the urge to touch it, and smooth it off his collar. His eyes are dark, but warm. Oh-so-dark and warm! I’m a little speechless. He’s just too perfect. Even his casual wear today is too perfect. He’s clad in black Adidas, and workout pants that make sliding sounds as he walks down the hall to study us. His white t-shirt is crispy white, without a wrinkle on it. Yeah, I’m pretty sure my big sister married some kind of male fashion model.