Twelve
“You sure spend a lot of time on that thing.” Dad gestures with his head to my computer.
I shrug.
“How’s email sorting going?”
Right. The thing I’m supposed to be doing. “I haven’t…uh…”
He takes his glasses off and leans forward. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but there’s important stuff in there.”
I keep my eyes off him, my fingers, arms and shoulders tensing. Writing groove gone. “And it’ll still be there when I’m ready for it.”
“Antony.”
I jerk my face from the screen to look at him. “Can we drop it, please?”
“You boys ready for dinner?” Lynn jogs down the steep stairs like they’re regular steps.
“Anything but breakfast.” I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
She laughs. Dad’s still staring.
“I’ll help ya.” Dad stands up and runs a hand through her hair. Lynn glances back over her shoulder at him in a look that’s unmistakable.
Guess we’re off topic for now.
I try not to watch as I write, but I can’t help it. The touching as they move in the tiny kitchen is something I’ve never been around. They work together, reach around each other, and still seem to get a thrill from every look and every brush. They kiss a few times, and I don’t even mind it…much. Dad seems relaxed and happy. Lynn looks relaxed and happy. No wonder Amber’s confused about why they’re not together, together.
Suddenly it feels like I need to give them space, so I close my computer and head outside into the sun. Amber has the captain’s chair. She’s reading on her Kindle, and I watch as she glances over it, punches a few buttons on the navigation screen, and then goes back to reading.
“Hey.”
“Oh my gosh, Antony.” Her eyes are wide, but she looks almost like she’s going to cry.
“What?” Now I’m wary, afraid to move toward her, or away from her, and worried about saying anything.
“I’m like a third of the way through this. It’s amazing.”
“A third of the way through what?” I ask.
“Your book.”
“This is so weird.” I shake my head. It’s like she’s seeing through me, into me.
“You write such beautiful things. Do you really feel that deeply?”
I rub my face with my hands as if I need to take off a layer of skin. “This is why it’s weird when people read what I’ve written.”
“Sorry. It’s really good.” Her crystal blue eyes are soft, and there’s a faint smile that I really want to kiss into a bigger one.
“Thanks.”
She’s reading about the guy who lives in Bosnia. I met a few cool people my age there. Their parents worked at the hotel Mom and I stayed at. The kids worked, too, but on a tip-only basis. Mom tipped them well, so they were around a lot. We had a blast.
“Can we change the subject now?” I ask.
“Wanna learn to drive a sailboat?”
“Uh…” I don’t know where to even begin.
“Come here.” Her face holds challenge.
Now that it’s practically a dare, I can’t pass it up.
She runs me through how to use the navigation. It’s all pretty simple, basic. I’ve seen apps for the iPad to help navigate airplanes, boats, all sorts of stuff. This is a bit similar. The problem is that she’s close. Very close. And it’s hard to think about anything but her, breathing her in, what her skin would feel like under my hands.
She stands behind me as I sit in the captain’s chair. Her hands rest on my shoulders. “Now see the small ribbons on the sails?”
I look to where she’s pointing, and try to concentrate with her so close. “Yeah.”
“The closer they are to flapping straight back, the better we’re doing at trimming the sails.”
“Oh.” It only sort of makes sense.
“See how on the first sail, the ribbons are flapping a lot and pointing like 45 degrees down?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s tighten it up, and see if we gain any more speed.”
Again, I have no idea what to do, but for the first time I kind of want to know.
She points to the deck in front of us. “All the lines come to you, the captain.”
“Captain.” I nod. “Awesome.”
She laughs, her hands back on my shoulders. “The first sail’s lines are dark blue. See them tied off here?”
“Yeah.” I stand and her hands slide off me. Sucks.
She grabs the lines like a pro, no hesitation, and shows me how to slide the crank handle in so we can pull them more tightly.
“Hey, check it out.” I point to the ribbons that are now headed almost straight back.
“Nice. Did we gain any speed?”
“Oh, right.” I sit and pull up our chart again to read the GPS. “Half a knot?”
“Cool. One small adjustment.”
“Yeah.” One small adjustment gained us some speed. That lesson probably bleeds over into other stuff.
- - -
Amber and I sit at the table after dinner. She’s doing schoolwork. I’m trying not to look bored. It’s like getting a little close to her, makes me want to be a lot closer to her, but we’re on a boat, with both our parents. This makes my goal tricky because of the close supervision, but easier because we’re together.
“It feels weird that you’re in the tiny bunkroom,” I say. It’s where David slept—a small room with bunk beds.
“I’ve always slept in there. It’s a cozy room.”
“Mom would have smacked me for this kind of behavior.” I smile, even though the thought stabs at my insides.
“It’s what I’ve always done when we go out together.” She shrugs and continues with her workbook.
“Why didn’t you use my room? When I wasn’t here?” That doesn’t make any sense.
“It was an office. Your dad converted it before you got here.” She doesn’t even slow down in her writing.
“Oh.”
Dad switched it over? For me? I’m a jerk. I walked into that room and saw a prison on a dumpy boat. The thing is, this isn’t a dumpy boat. It’s just not the kind of boat I’d choose to live on. Though, since I’d never choose to live on a boat, that’s not really fair.
Amber grins as she pauses in her writing.
“What’s up?”
“Kent sent me this hysterical email.”
“Oh.” Perfect. Captain America makes an appearance even though we’re in the middle of the ocean. Brilliant.
“The group went out last night, and…” But she stops. “Sorry, you don’t really know anyone, so it wouldn’t be funny to you.”
I don’t agree or disagree. I pull up the novel I wrote that Amber doesn’t have. Why did I never let Mom read these? Why didn’t I tell her I’d finished? We were close. She should have known that I was doing more with writing than goofing around.
I pull my eyes from the screen just as Dad and Lynn kiss. Why haven’t Dad and I spent time together? Was New York that bad? Was I weird to be around? Was Mom? He wants me here. He’s said it. He converted his office for me. But how does that fit with the guy I barely knew or talked to? The guy who left when I was three?
My life has felt pretty full. Mom was always busy, but let me be busy with her. And while I grew up, it generally was a relief when Dad wouldn’t call for long periods of time.
And now that I’m watching Dad and Lynn, I wonder why Mom never tried for that.
I start to wonder what holds Amber’s mom back. Well, and while I’m at it, since Amber feels something for me, I want to know what’s holding her back, too.
Amber’s hand on my shoulder makes me jump. There’s way too much floating around in me right now. Amber, stupid Kent, Mom, Dad, missed opportunities.
Her face softens. “You okay?” she whispers.
“Missed a lot of time with my dad. That’s all.” And for the first time it feels like a loss of something, not a relief.
“Sorry.” Her hand runs along my back and down my arm before letting it go. Her eyes, again, in my gut. If we were alone, I’d kiss her right now. We both lean slightly in. My eyes float to her soft lips, smooth chin. My hand itches to touch her skin, her cheek, her neck, her…
“Cards tonight?” Dad’s voice makes both of us jump this time.
Amber laughs out the nerves I feel.
“Sounds great.”
Only kind of great. How on earth am I going to ever be alone with this girl? And the worse thought, what if she’s still not sure? Or what if she’s decided she likes Kent after all? The annoying guy who sends her stupid, funny emails.
- - -
Amber and I are on a small island around a large campfire built for the people on boats anchored here. We left our parents behind because they seemed in need of some private time. She joins in the boating conversation with the group; talking in a language I’m only beginning to understand. I’m enjoying just watching and listening tonight. Very few people live on their boats. Most come out for a week or two here and there throughout the year. That seems a lot more normal to me.
We’ve been out here for hours. The sky is now black, and the last few people return to their boats, leaving just Amber and me by the fire. Without meaning to, I’m watching her. The orange light of the fire sends shadows and light across her skin, her face, her hair. Her knees are pulled up, and her arms clutch her legs. She’s cold.
I pull in a deep breath. This should be easy, right? Just scoot over and offer her some added warmth. But it doesn’t feel easy. The small scoot between us might as well be a brick wall. Why is she so different? This situation so different? I think briefly about Gem at the party. What can I do for you, Antony? I think about Hélèna, my first in a lot of experiences. A LOT of experiences. She looked over at me. You’re thinking about being with me, aren’t you? Do you want to know what it’s like?
I followed her to my room at Arnaud’s place. We spent all night, her showing me how to touch her, her touching me. She loved it, and as kind of freaked out as I was, she made it all no big deal. She kept telling me it was no big deal. She’d done it all before. She’s three years older than me.
But now, here I am, looking at Amber who’s only a couple feet away, and feels like a mile.
“You cold?” I ask. But my voice sounds all weird and squeaky, betraying how nervous I am.
Her eyes meet mine. “Just the side of me that’s not against the fire.”
Now what? I have to move. Now. Move. “Can I scoot in?”
“Sure.” But her eyes don’t meet mine.
I slide behind her, put a leg on each side and rest my arms around her waist. It takes her a minute, but she leans back against me. And the relief makes me weak. This is okay. She’s okay with this. With me. There’s this bubble of comfort around her that I don’t totally understand. It’s that her optimistic thinking rubs off or soaks in or something, because I relax into her warmth. I never thought just sitting with a girl would ever make me feel this good.
She takes my hands in hers and pulls my arms more tightly around her, adding warmth and bringing us even closer together.
I open my mouth to say something a few times but can’t manage it. It’s like as soon as I start to talk, my throat lumps up. Feeling something so real for Amber brings Mom to the surface. The pain’s still too raw and spills over into everything else I feel. Sucks cause I don’t want what I feel for Amber to mix with that, or to be so heavy. Girls are supposed to feel good, light.
Hoping she follows, I lean back on the log behind me. She does, scooting to her side and resting her cheek on my chest. I wish it wasn’t so cold, and we weren’t wearing so many layers because I want to feel her skin. But her weight is good, too.
The waves on the rocks makes this rhythmic, soothing sound. The dark comes in around us even closer as the fire continues to die, but I still can’t bring myself to want to move.
“I think it’s time to head back.” She sits up.
“Wait, I…” My hand reaches out and touches her shoulder.
She spins to face me. And this is it. This is when I get to feel her lips against mine. I lean forward, brushing her cheek.
“Stop.” Her hand touches my chest. “I need you to think about whether this is actually what you want, or not.” Our faces are close, less than a foot apart. Even in the dark her eyes sparkle.
“What are you kidding me?” I lean back. Doesn’t she know how she’s been making me crazy?
“No.” She chuckles, but it’s forced. I know her well enough to know that. “Just. If you still want this in a few days, tell me.”
“I thought I’d been making it pretty obvious for the past few days,” I say, leaning forward again.
The dying fire makes a few last pops and gasps for air. The darkness is closing in, and the near silence is overwhelming.
“You scare me.” She stares down at her fingers tracing patterns in the dirt. “I’m afraid to trust you.”
“But you know me better than anyone.” I’ve never let myself get this close to a girl before, ever, and I’ve done a lot of stuff with girls. It doesn’t make any sense.
“And I think that makes you really uncomfortable.”
I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. She’s right. “Fair enough. But for the record? I’m going a little crazy.”
Even in the dim light I can see her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.” My fingers slide down her cheek again, and this time she doesn’t pull away.
I guess everything with her will be small steps, but she’ll be worth it in the end. I think. At least we’re heading in the right direction.