Chapter 44
Giving Thanks
Jem
Ellis was extremely light under my grip, easy to fling around and twist because I only start to notice how small she was as compared to me. Her fingers were small and nimble, soft from her moisturizer, looking like a petite ballerina when she entangled them within my coarse, untamed hair. Her satin lips were on mine, being swallowed by mine as her body was on top, pressing me into her soft sheets.
Right now, I was being enveloped by Ellis's smell everywhere. Her room always smelled like a spa's lobby, fresh with hints of flowery perfume, except it wasn't really flowery. It was smoky and sweet, a mixture of cherry, vanilla and cinnamon dousing my nose. It drove me crazy- the smell. My head was spinning from it as I kissed her and run my hands through her shoulders, feeling the satin cardigan cloaking the pale flesh underneath.
I was surrounded by skin and touch, inhaling the perfume tainted on her neck, obsessed with the way she moved against me. She held back more than me, hesitant when she came to the kissing and the touching, while my experience helped me dominate and guide her through it. This was the area of expertise- making girls come undone but it was less methodical in order to pursue release. Usually, I worked fast and hard to achieve the release- the big pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but with Ellis, I wanted time to slow down and feel everything about her. I wanted time to never end and oblivion to never touch us. I want to spend forever in awe as her pale skin rise and fall by your collarbone, her hands flashing back and forth with her mouth on fire.
I held her tighter. She was good and different from anyone I've ever kissed. Most of the girls I've dated, I mean sure, I used them but they weren't the victim completely. It was not like fucking Jem Leighton was something you can't boast about. There was something about dating or screwing a guy as popular as me that mount you on top of the social chain- I could be treated like a piece of jewellery, a pair of earrings to show off to your friends, but Ellis doesn't do that. Ellis didn't like me for the sake of hoping that other people would be interested in her as well or liked me for the sake of using my name to gain friends. Ellis was good, and I didn't want to lose her. I could feel myself falling deeper and deeper into her and it was not good because I couldn't control it. I couldn't control me from doing something stupid that would fuck everything up and lose her or control her from walking away for someone better, smarter, richer, someone who could give her everything. She made me mad and scared and for once, I'm not like the heartless piece of shit who hurt others before they hurt me.
I'm so fucking scared. Why was I scared? I'm supposed to be fearless, I'm Jem Leighton- I don't fall in love because love doesn't exist but maybe...maybe...
Ellis, Ellis, Ellis. Ellis, you're a love story. Your entire character. You are a romance novel, and I am reading it right now, and I am scared. I've never met a girl who was a storybook before.
My mouth trailed downwards her jaw and I heard her gasp in my ear, even though I've kissed her there a thousand times I knew it still has the same effect. I want to tell her so much. I want to tell her.
The door flung open.
"Hey, Ellis- Oh my God! Get off my daughter!"
Jacobson Chan was standing in the doorway of Ellis's bedroom, holding a tray of scented pink candles, mouth agape and mollified of finding a boy on top his daughter, whom he had always considered as his precious princess, his daughter who could do no wrong and was always an innocent prim and proper woman, in an extremely compromising position.
Ellis practically jumped off me, wringing my hands away from her as she leapt out from the bed and buttoned up her cardigan, smoothing down the skirt I just wrinkled on purpose by hiking it up her legs. "Uh, Dad," she stammered, combing down her messy dark hair. "It's not what it looks like-"
Jacobsen Chan's face went purple with indignation, "What do you mean it's not what it looks like?" he barked, "You're- you're with...that gwailo!"
Ellis winced when her Dad started shouting in Cantonese and tried to amend the situation. "Daddy, please! Listen to me, Jem's my boyfriend!"
Her Dad stopped ranting in a mixture of Cantonese and English and stared at her like she was an alien from another planet. I was trying to make myself disappear into the white walls of her room. "Boyfriend?"
Ellis grabbed me harshly by the sleeve of my jacket and pulled me up from my bed. She nudged me hard on the shoulder. "Yes, this is my boyfriend: Jem Leighton."
"Wasn't he your partner for a project?" Her Dad grilled her sharply, narrowing his eyes as Ellis anxiously fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan. "Was that your excuse to fool around with him?"
"No, Dad!"
Her Dad looked like he was trying to kill me with a deadly stare. "Boyfriend, huh?" he attempted to swallow, though he might as well been saying, "This little bastard, huh?"
"Yeah," Ellis nudged me again to speak and stopped wordlessly picking up my jaw in an endeavour to make articulate conversation. "Jem, say hi."
Though I had never really been at the checkpoint of a relationship where I met the girl's parents (Don't judge me),I thought about the way how I would recover from that awkward interruption, thinking about how I would cleverly and smoothly put my hand out like a gentleman and introduce myself like a stand-up guy every father wished their daughter was dating.
"Uh, hey."
Smooth, Jem. Smooth.
I could practically feel Ellis trying very hard to withhold herself from face-palming. Exasperation freighted her eyebrows as she bit her lip nervously, hoping her Dad wouldn't go ape-shit on us again.
"Well, Jem," Ellis's Dad grounded his teeth, handling it like a well-mannered civilian but I could tell from the way he was glowering at me, he was secretly planning three hundred ways to kill me without getting caught by the police. "How would you like to stay for our Thanksgiving Dinner?"
My whole body was taking part in a full protest, with banners and marching. Say no, Jem. POLITELY DECLINE. SAY NO. SAY NO.
"Uh...sure."
So guys, my funeral is next week.
-
I could barely remember a Thanksgiving when my whole family was present but all I knew was that it was always a chaotic mess. With my mother attempting to cook a whole banquet herself, forbidding anybody to enter the kitchen, my father swearing at Toddlers & Tiaras, my Aunt Carol trying to get everybody to listen to her fail to play the bagpipes in order to embrace the English/Scottish side of my father's family and my Uncle Leonardo drunkenly cavorting to Christmas songs even though it was still a month away from Christmas, Thanksgiving was a huge tradition for us- my house would always be packed with people.
Thanksgiving at the Leightons wasn't extremely classy or formal. My cousins would be spread out across the floor, plastic plates loaded with my mother and my nonna's combined efforts of pancetta-wrapped pork roast and safety plastic wine glasses of champagne that my father would allow me to have one glass of (but knowing me, I was an expert in how to snuck more in). The adults would get absolutely hammered, too drunk to monitor what was playing on MTV, and too loud to hear anything on the television. The kids would be blasting Entertainment Tonight at the loudest level and I would be trying to survive the family madness of European grandparents pinching my cheeks red.
But with my mother gone and my dad constantly nowhere, Thanksgiving was dead. The last one I could properly remember was a tenth grade, the year before my mother left.
Tenth Grade, Thanksgiving @ The Leightons.
"Jem." A female voice breathed into my ear as I tugged a cheerleader crop top off, rubbing against the bare skin. I tilted my gaze up and saw Tabitha Kay's pretty face erupting into a smirk, freckles spangled across her nose. "Really? I've been here for five minutes."
Tabitha Kay looked really hot in a cheerleading outfit- something I came to learn when she was only scantily cladded in a black sports bra and our school's short cheerleading skirt. Because of the cold weather, her skin hadn't been as tanned as she usually was and she was quite pale, with her long bleached blonde hair wrung tightly into a practical high ponytail and her long legs still decked out in sensible white sports shoes. She was sprawled across my bed, a stain of skin and hair across my sheets.
"So?" I tickled her jawline with a kiss, hands wandering downwards to the waistline of her high-waisted skirt.
"So have some class," she grumbled, giggling as the frown failed to stick on her lips when I blew on her neck. Her skin taste like soap.
I captured the rest of her breath with my lips, bringing myself onto the warmth of her skin. I loved the softness of women, the extra cuddliness of somebody's body next to mine as I expertly make her melt into me. "I love cheerleaders," I mumbled in her hair as I pulled her hair tie loose slowly. Sunshine spilt from her head.
It was Thanksgiving but I had football practice in the morning and Tabitha happened to be rehearsing brand new routines with the cheerleading team. I could feel her piercing green-eyed stare embossed on me for the whole morning as I ran laps and drills our current captain, Kaden Wood, was pushing us to do on a Thursday morning. While the exercise was arduous and tiring, seeing Tabitha perform a split in a short skirt was the only motivation for me to sprint faster than the rest of the guys. Her toned legs kicking sharply into the air, moving with grace and flexibility, as she landed with finesse. My eyes were drawn to how her skirt hitched to reveal a little bit of the tight spandex black shorts and her perky little butt that danced relentlessly as she shook those pom-poms. God, I loved cheerleaders. And they loved me.
As I was about to undo her skirt, a phone unexpectedly set off.
Tabitha ended the kiss and groaned as she pushed me off and grabbed the iPhone lighting up by my desk. I waited as she slid it and answered the call, which happened to have loud and shrill screaming from the sounds coming out of it. I observed in wild fascination as she winced and a frantic expression crossed over her face, arranging it into panic then frustration.
"Yeah, okay. Yes, mom. Yeah, I'll pick up the pie. Okay, fine. I'll be home soon."
"What's wrong?" I asked, rubbing circles into her shoulder as she hung up and sighed exasperatedly.
"My freakin' Mom," she grumbled and grabbed the satchel that was uselessly discarded beside the bed when I kissed her before. "She says Effy's home and I had to be there for Thanksgiving. You don't mind me leaving?"
"Yeah sure, go be with your family," I simply said, though there was a wilted ball of disappointment deflated in my stomach. I watched as she dragged her shirt over her sports bra, altered her skirt and smoothed the wrinkles I made, then combed through her hair, letting it become neater so it didn't look like we just had a passionate make-out on my bed. Or as passionate as it could be when we were going around this without any real sentiments or feelings. Awkwardly, I fidgeted with the corners of my bed as she checked herself in the mirror and when she was done, I spoke up.
"Let me help you make sure it's clear to leave."
"Thanks," Tabitha smiled, shouldering her satchel. She touched me on the shoulder before I could open the door. "Hey- I was, um, wondering if you want to, like, go out sometime."
"You mean, you want to figure out days where we fuck or stuff-"
"No, I mean, like, dates," Tabitha sucked her teeth nervously and she must've read my face because she quickly backpedalled her statements. "I mean, we don't have to- we could still, like, just mess around if you want to-"
"Yeah, sorry," I ran a hand through my hair, figuring out a way to let her down as gently as possible without losing our Tuesday nights of skin and touch.
Tabitha bit her lip as I ducked outside into the carpeted hall and checked where all my family was. The smell of Thanksgiving was heavy in the air and I could hear the sounds of dining table conversation being carried out as I climbed the stairs and walked into the kitchen.
My mother and my Aunt Isabella were salting the chicken when my mother noticed me emerging from the threshold.
"Oh, Jem!" Aunt Isabella brightened when she saw me. "How have you been? You've grown so much since last year!"
"Thanks, Zia Isabella," I complimented in Italian.
My mother was not as enthusiastic. She was bent down in the pantry, sieving the herbs onto the raw chicken, wiping the sweat dripping down her temple. "Jem, finally," huffed my mother, "I was about to call you to help. Can you cut the tomatoes into small pieces?"
"Yeah, sure," I said absentmindedly. "Hold on, I need to settle something."
"Jem," my mother admonished, "Please, work first."
"But I need to finish something first."
My mother rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, hands on her hips with her fingers twiddling with the wooden spoon. "Fine. But be here in five minutes."
I grinned cheekily and pecked her on the cheeks, which she swatted away. "Thanks."
I returned back into the foyer and I saw Tabitha scrolling through her phone, leaning on the railings at the top of the stairs. I signalled her to come down and she tip-toed as I kept an eye on the living room and the kitchen. The living room was bustling with activity, too small to hold twenty to thirty Leightons and Lorenzos arguing over a game of Monopoly and I had to avoid the opened doorway so my extended family won't feel the need to drag me in and smother me with kisses and 'how you been'.
Tabitha expertly slipped out of the door as I stood guard for her and waved goodbye before she closed the door. I didn't wave back and saw her disappear into the background.
I knew I should feel bad for denying her request to become a full-blown relationship but what's the point of slowing down and commitment at this age? We're just high school kids. I tried to find the empathy to care about it, to feel the guilt but there was not a shred of it. I was just cold.
-
"So Jem, where are you planning to go to school?"
One of Jacobsen Chan's obscenely wealthy friends asked as fakely as they could as she draped her designer rings-cladded fingers on a skinny champagne glass. I had never been more uncomfortable under the piercing stares of their rich guests over the lilac and peony centrepiece, judging me on the first impression even though they didn't know me. I hated this. I scratched the itchy bit of the stiff collar of the shirt I borrowed from Ellis's Dad.
My voice is like sandpaper.
The word crawls out of my mouth, hoarse and dry. "Um-"
"Jem's planning to vouch for NYU," Ellis answered me instantly, "Actually, Jem and I are thinking about checking out the universities in New York."
"New York?" Ellis's Dad made a face. "Really, Ellis? I thought we settled in Boston."
"I know," Ellis replied promptly, maintaining a cool and poised composure. She sounded so polite and deceptively sweet I was impressed. "But I want to keep my options open."
"Smart," The guest who had asked me the previous question nodded aptly, "New York is lovely, by the way. You'll like it there."
"I'm sure," Ellis courteously accepted. Just like that, she managed to steer the awkward conversation away from me. The attention was taken off me in just an instant and I loved her for that.
Around ten of the Chans' guests were surrounded around their long glass dining table, which was decked out in Thanksgiving festivities. Red and white patterned table mats with fancy champagne glasses for wines and delicate porcelain cups for tea later on. Lula had broke out the expensive china so the plates and the cutlery gleamed with the reflective light from the chandelier. The glass windows showcased the lake that was just a few yards away from Ellis's house- or palace and the lake was this inky deep blue horizon that matched beautifully with the snow-ladened grounds, blanketing the frozen ground. Pine trees dusted with snowflakes stood by the lake, completing the scenery overlooked by the dining room.
Ellis nudged me, "Eat some food. It'll calm your nerves."
I doubted it. The food was too complex for me. I mean, crab-stuffed lobster with some fancy French sauce that I could barely pronounce? Besides, Ellis's family idea of a Thanksgiving dinner seemed to involved intricate manners of eating food with ten thousand other forks, knives and spoons, all of which apparently were supposed to serve different purposes from different courses. I never understood that idea. It was ludicrous, really. Couldn't they just use all the same crap for the same dishes?
I grabbed the smallest fork, which was to my furthest left, and began picking at the sad little salad on my plate. I mean, it looked sad, because it was so little- tiny green lettuces with thin slices of some poor cute animal that normal, low-income salary earners couldn't afford to eat, but the other notoriously pretentious pricks seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.
"You're using the wrong fork," Ellis whispered. She pointed to the one closer to my plate. "It's this one. That's the salad fork. Honestly, Jem, don't you know dining etiquette?"
"No," I muttered back, "Because I'm normal."
She elbowed me hard on the arm.
"Behave."
"I am."
"No, you're not! You're acting like a-"
"What's going on there?" inquired one of the old ladies, who had looked up from her food.
"Nothing," Ellis and I said in tandem.
"So Jem," Aunty Mabel drawled, sarcastically polite, giving me the most sophisticated stink-eye I had ever received. "What are you planning to major in?"
I have no freaking idea, you bitch. I really wanted to say but I restrained myself with a conscious effort of ten other people watching me with mild amusement like I was some poor charity kid who's now their therapeutic punching bag. I could see why Ellis hated her now. Whenever she was being 'nice', it was a way for her to manipulate it into bringing people down.
"Jem's planning on a football scholarship," Ellis stated calmly but in a do you have a problem with that? tone. Ellis was brought up in these conditions- rich people that had too much money to burn- and by the way, she was handling herself, I could see that she was an expert in keeping snobby, snide old women in place. But though Ellis did it with calmness, everybody could sense the sly poison behind her words.
Dressed in a modest green blouse with silk trousers, Ellis looked like one of those classical socialites that went to social galas and eat caviar for breakfast. It was then I suddenly realized that she was...way out of my league. Ellis was one of those girls who attended Ivy League schools and date guys who were worldly and owned Bentleys, not high school boys whose greatest achievement was winning Prom King. Girls like Ellis gave fifty dollar tips and drink champagne as if it was water. I felt out of place and in the skin of somebody who didn't belong here.
"Football? How...interesting," Aunty Mabel swallowed a bite of that crab-stuffed lobster as if there was something less amiable than 'interesting' on her mind. I curled my fists up, trying not to lash out and give her a well-deserved black eye.
Ellis inhaled sharply, narrowing her eyes. "Jem's really smart," she spoke harshly, without inflexion, "He got 2320 on his SATs."
I gawked at her. "How did you know that?"
Pink flushed her cheeks. "I...I just do."
"2320, huh?" Jacobsen stroked his chin. I could see his jaw slackening. "You're pretty smart, aren't you?"
"Top of the class," Ellis promised with subtle force.
Aunt Mabel felt the need to interject at that moment,"I thought you were the top of the class," she sneered, insinuating Ellis's inferiority. Ellis bristled, resentment swelling in her chest, and I wasn't surprised she hadn't snapped and went all HAM on Aunt Mabel and smack her silly.
"We both are," I put my hand on hers, digging nails into her skin.
"How cute," Aunt Mabel commented dryly.
The dinner slugged on in the same awkward, tense manner. When everybody had finished their meals, Paige directed them over to the living room where they chatted amongst themselves and discussed how many millions they made that week, or whatever obnoxiously wealthy people do in their free time. Champagne was served and boring violin music filled the whole house as Lula traipsing all over the place, serving them coffee as they blatantly ignored her and treated her like an invisible servant. At least Ellis had the propriety to say please and thank you.
As I hung at the back and let everybody conversed, Ellis abandoned me by the side for a while to talk to some of her mother's old friends. I would've joined her if I hadn't felt so fucking stupid every time they asked me if I attended this ball or heard of this other rich person. I had no idea how to connect to these people but Ellis does. It reminded me how different we were, what other worlds we both came from.
"Sorry about that," Ellis apologized after she bid her mother's friends goodbye and sat by him at one of the corner chaise lounges. "I just- I had to tell them about my mom in China."
"It's fine," I responded, not wanting to seem like such a little bitch for whinging about her ditching me.
"I didn't mean to drag you into this," she sighed. "I bet this wasn't how you wanted to spend your Thanksgiving."
"It's much better than how I was going to spend it." My mind travelled four thousand miles back to my house and attempt to discern how my Dad was doing. Probably passed out on the couch, reeking of Thanksgiving whiskey and beer in a house that was as hollow as his heart. Guilt pooled in my stomach, like a leaking dam. I felt bad for leaving him all alone but I didn't want to be within the distance of his throwing aim when he was tipsy. God, I hated my mother. I used to love Thanksgiving. Even if it was crazy, with thirty of my relatives shoved into a middle-sized living room, playing a game of Twister with Jeopardy! blaring in the background. The adults would get too drunk and throw up in my mother's hard-earned lilies and everybody's grandma and their dog would show up. But my mother was gone and all of my cousins had bailed and my father's a self-medicating alcoholic.
Ellis chuckled, "Yeah but I bet getting the third degree from my father's client list wasn't the ideal Thanksgiving plan."
"Probably."
"How about this?" she suggested. "Why don't we get out of here? I could tell that you're about to see Jesus if you spend five more minutes here."
I smirked. "You know me too well, Porcey."
Ellis, you're a love story. Your entire character. You are a romance novel, and I am reading it right now, and I am scared. I've never met a girl who was a storybook before.
So how is this going to end?
_____
so that was kind of a cutesy chapter. give it or take it.
i'm not subtle a foreshadowing smh.
anyway, vote and comment if you could! check out the boys of suburbia too btw!