Finding Jordan

Chapter 7

The days and weeks rolled by, and Jordan and I somehow turned into a couple. Unlike our kiss, there wasn't one definite moment that made it happen. We rolled into our relationship the way spring gives way to summer; the passionate heat of our love evolving from something that came slowly and gently. When I had time off, he turned into my place to go, even when my next consult or shoot was closer to someone else. He stayed true to that gentleman promise, never pushed me for more than I wanted to give, always left the hotel room around eleven-thirty if he dropped me off on a weekend, usually earlier if he had to be to work the next day.

He worked long, hard days in the hot California sun and had the body to prove it. He took his job seriously and was learning all he could about the carpentry trade from his uncle so he could one day have his own company. I never realized how much knowledge and skill tradesmen needed to have. Our family was white collar. They worked with their minds and a little with their hands but had to pay to work out their bodies in gyms and on in-home equipment. Not Jordan—he was built from the work he did, lifting, pulling, squatting, swinging hammers and building big beautiful mansions and business complexes. Sometimes I drove by the sites he worked to watch him, sweaty, tan and shirtless, with a hard hat instead of his nasty old hat. If he was outside he was usually anchoring trusses or pounding boards into place, the muscles in his arms and back twisting, turning, and tightening as they glistened in the sun. He was a sight to behold. He belonged on a calendar, but I don't think he understood how good he looked.

My favorite part of him, after his eyes, of course, were his hands. I loved touching them and playing with his callouses. They were big and thick, rough and strong. They were always marred with cuts and scrapes, but every time I looked at them I thought of The Neverending Story, a movie I watched obsessively as a kid. They reminded me of the Rockbiter who had such big, good, strong hands, only I was sure Jordan's would never let me go. It amazed me how those rough hands of his could do so many demanding things and then be soft and gentle on my face and neck. His big hands easily eclipsed mine and when he held them I knew I was sheltered and safe inside his strength.

Before I knew what happened, I loved him. I hadn't felt like I needed a guy since the horrible hormones of adolescence had taken me down paths that only led to heartache and angst I didn't need. My mom, ever the realist, reminded me back then that the only thing I needed was a career and a plan, not a man. The maxim held true until Jordan kissed me on a plane and haunted my dreams and then walked out of them right into my life. I knew it was more than a wanting—it was a need. I needed him forever and wondered if he felt the same way. My feelings blossomed quickly, but I was afraid to say anything. I kept it to myself and hoped he would say the words soon so I could reciprocate.

Everything was perfect back then. We didn't have problems or cares and our love was new enough to make up for the long distances between us and the culture shock he would be in for when the time came to meet my parents. We flew to Florida together for a quick weekend trip after a couple months and met his parents. I knew my mother was getting anxious, but I put that meeting off as long as I could. I dodged when he asked if we should stop in on my parents. I had fallen in love with a carpenter, but my parents, especially my mom, would have a fit about it. Blue collar men didn't qualify as acceptable suitors for a doctor's daughter; never had, never would, even if he was making a good living. She would rather I never have a man at all than face the ridicule of her friends because I had that kind of one. I was all too familiar with how worried she was about the opinion of her friends. She would do anything, and expect me to do anything, to save face with them.

On the flight back from meeting his parents, Jordan confronted me about my own. "I get the feeling you don't want me to meet your parents."

"Not yet. I need to ease them into it. I haven't ever brought a boyfriend home; it'll be a shock to them."