What A Kiss Is

Chapter Nineteen

Nineteen

When I step into the boat, Dad and Hélèna are laughing over the table, a bottle of Dad’s scotch between them.

“Qu-est-ce-que tu fais?” What are you doing?

“Don’t be rude,” Hélèna says back. “We can speak English. I know how.”

“I speak better French that you speak English,” I point out.

“But I’m prettier and no one cares.” Her accent is thick.

Dad laughs. “I’ll be in my room. Let you two catch up.” He stands and walks out.

I wish I could pace or something. Anything to get rid of some of this nervous energy.

“You have problems, yes?”

“Yes.” I sit.

“Why did you not answer my letters?”

“I’m not checking email.” And I really don’t have a good explanation that I want to discuss with her.

“You have, uh, purpose for this?”

Mom. Mom’s my reason, but I can’t say it. Not to Hélèna. Nothing comes out.

“You and I have fun together. It’s why I’m here, and now I’m here and I see that you don’t want to have fun with me anymore.” Her smiles falters just enough that I know I’m hurting or affecting her somehow. I had no idea I had any of that kind of power over her.

“No, it’s not…” that. But it is that. But how do I tell her that there’s someone else I’d rather be having fun with? There’s no good way. “I’m just still messed up. Make sense?” I have to tell her about Amber. Have to.

“Your mom?” The look of hurt has turned to one of concern. That’s better.

“That’s part of it.” My mouth opens to tell her about Amber, but Hélèna starts talking again.

“Did you hear my mom got a part in a movie?” Her smile is wider, and she’s back to speaking French.

“No.” This starts a long round of conversation that probably neither of us cares much about, but we know enough of the same people that it’s still fun to get caught up. But we don’t touch. We sit across the table from one another, and we don’t even hint at anything real between us.

Her yawn is wide as she stretches her thin arms over her head. “I’m going to bed.”

I stand. And now that I’m standing, she’s looking at me like I might join her.

The door opens, and Dad steps in.

Hélèna scoots off the couch and takes the few steps to my door. I follow, not wanting her to feel bad, but having no idea how to keep my distance without getting into a big conversation about the girl who might or might not be my girlfriend.

“Are you joining me?” she whispers. Her fingers slide from the center of my chest to the top of my pants, sending a shiver through my spine.

“I can’t.” And the insane thing is that I don’t want to. Since the first time I was with Hélèna, I always knew I’d jump at any chance she gave me, and I’m turning her down. In a big way. After she traveled so far so come see me.

“If you change your mind.” She tries to give me her flirtatious smirk, but there’s more depth there than I expected from her. She leans up and kisses me softly on one cheek and then the other, and with a bigger smile, back to the first.