Ashes and Ice (15 page)

Desi’s singing? Her voice attempts the edgy rhythm, but still rings in with her fair sweetness. The song doesn’t quite fit. She sways and turns, bobs and sings away, oblivious to her audience. I suppress the laughter bubbling up in my chest. It nearly chokes me. She turns toward me, eyes closed, lips splayed in song. And then I see them.

Tears. Tears etch into her make-up leaving a thick vertical line below each eye with clear, paler, foundation-free skin. The blackness from her eyelashes smears above and below her lids. The entirety of her looks flushed, exhausted, rosy, and splotchy. Undone. Uneven. No halo of light, no sparkle, nothing. Something falls within me. Her sadness seeps past her skin, lingers in the air, and invades my body with harsh precision.

“Desi…”

She drops the flat, square object in her arms. It breaks. The glass splinters. Shards of glass litter the floor about her feet. “Oh, Jade…” She looks at me, her eyes red. “You scared me.”

“I’m so sorry.” I rush forward to help her pick up the pieces.

“No, no worries.” She falls to her knees and picks up the picture frame and nestles it in her lap. She lets her fingers rest on its image, before glancing up at me then busying herself with cleaning up all the broken shards.

I step forward and kneel in front of her, picking up the pieces of glass.

“It was the last song he heard me sing…” She says quietly.

“What?”

She bends her neck and nods to the stereo, still blaring. “David and I… we would always go into the Quarter and have a few drinks.” She blinked, surging more tears down her face. “This song was on the radio and he dared me to sing it.”

“And did you?”

“Of course. I stood right on top of that bar and sang my lungs out.” She smiles, wiping her nose. “David and I laughed so hard. You should’ve seen us. Like two teenagers on a date. But we were always like that, ya know. In love. Happy. Even when that man drove me insane, he made me laugh.”

I don’t know what to say. She sits there, her husband’s photo cradled in her hands as if he were too fragile to release. She looks over the photo, her fingers tracing the lines about his hair and torso.

“He was my best friend.” Her lower lip trembles. On the floor, she looks as broken as the shattered frame. Her eyes are weak, exhausted, and something else. Sad? Of course. But there is something so transformative in her eyes, her solid brown eyes seem a whirl of emotions all anchored by one heavy thing, but I can’t grasp it. “I felt like I lost him before he died. Always working in that damn office on those damn papers. He was a different man those last few months.”

I rest one hand on her shoulder. Too afraid to say something—something wrong, something cold, something that would push her further away. She reaches up and touches my hand, then rests her cheek on it. “It was all worth it though. Nothing like loving your best friend.”

Her cheek is warm on my hand. She plays with the hem of my dress. Her dress.

“It’s like somebody comes in and shakes your world to pieces and then… he’s there and he’s the glue that keeps you together, that makes it okay. He was my sunrise, ya know. He made my world bright, made me know the day was always promising something beautiful and amazing.” She closes her eyes, “I haven’t seen a sunrise in a long, long, time.”

I stare at her. Vulnerable. Her eyes shutting out the world. It must be dark there inside her. She looks so different from the woman I met that first day—all shining and luminescent. I carefully sit beside her. “Desi.” I whisper. “When I first saw you, I thought you looked like sunshine.”

She opens her eyes and locks my gaze. “Like sunshine?”

I nod. “You made the room brighter, warmer somehow. And I just remember thinking, I could get drunk on this woman’s sunshine. And I knew I wanted to be like that. I wanted people to get lost in my light. I wanted to be sunshine—like you.”

A shy smile tugs at her lips. “Oh darlin’, you are already someone’s sunshine.” She stands up, and I follow. I’m sunshine? To someone? I open my mouth to speak. “But talking about intoxication, I do think that I am going to need a drink. Let me just… throw this glass out.”

She leaves the room with a jerky, fumbling movement.

I stand up and look around the room. So many books, so many papers. A pitcher and some glasses are set out on the end table. I pour a glass. I lean in to smell it. Bitter and rich, fresh and salty.

I take a sip.

“Sure!”

I take a sip. Swooshing the taste around my mouth I get a sudden pinch of burning on my tongue and swallow quickly. My face must be skewed from the assault of it.

Laughter. “There’s tequila in that tea, darling. Kinda strong.”

I eye it and prepare myself for another sip. I get a mouthful and swallow it slowly, allowing the flavor of tea and the tequila to mix in my mouth. I close my eyes and feel the burn, but also taste the subtle medley of flavors. Another sip, then another.

“Oh no, Nanan is going to kill me now.” Desi plucks the cup from my hand.

I can feel waves of warmth press in on me. I can almost hear the spiked tea bouncing off the corners of my mind, soaking and smudging everything. My whole body feels heavy and relaxed. I can feel small bits of me fleeting away, under the current of tequila—the worry, the disappointment, the awkwardness. I lick my lips, allowing the feeling to fill me.

I snatch the glass from her hand. “Oh my god, ladies. Drink, much?”

Another eruption of laughter. “We needed it, hon.”

“Yeeeah, we needed to relax.” Jade stood up, wobbly. “Connor.” She falls into me and laces her arms around my neck, pulling her lips closer to my ear. “I’m very, very drunk.”

“I see that.”

“Reeeally?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to be a genius or have supernatural powers for that one.”

“Shhhhh.”

She cocks her head to the side and examines my face, scouring every piece of it.

“What?”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“You are very handsome.” She smiles, and her half-lidded eyes are warm and precious.

“I—uh—yeah, you are really drunk.”

“Yep! And… and I’m tired.” She rests her head on my shoulder, perfectly under my chin and yawns.

“I could take you home—.” I can’t take her home like this. Nanan would kill me. I start to walk into the hallway and Jade’s body gives way and plops on the floor. She laughs, her whole body trembling from her giddiness.

“Connor, just let her stay here tonight.” Mom says. “She may need you to hold her hair back in the morning.”

“Lovely.”

Mom smiles while grasping the wall for support. “And we don’t want Nanan skinning you either.”

“But I didn’t even do this to her!” I lift Jade’s whole body in my arms like a baby. I carry her to my room and lay her down gently on my bed, tucking her under the covers. She snuggles into them. I grab a pillow and the extra blanket from the edge of the bed and start arranging them on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Making my bed.”

“Why?”

I’m stumped. Beautiful, girl of my dreams in my bed and I want to sleep on the floor? “I—I thought it would be ya’ know the gentlemanly thing to do.”

She shakes her head, “Nope.” She says with an extra pop on the “p”. “A gentleman would keep me warm and safe.” She pats the space next to her.

I look at the emptiness next to her. It seems so far away. So perfect, yet so out of reach.

She regards me carefully, “I won’t hurt you.” She says finally.

“No! I know that. Are you sure that you’re okay with me—you know, sleeping next to you?”

“Of course! It’s not like we are having sex. Just keep me warm.”

This doesn’t make any sense to me because, even with the AC on, it is warm in here, but that hardly seems relevant when a gorgeous girl is asking me to sleep next to her. I stop breathing and then force myself to continue again. “Um, okay.” I slowly sit on my bed, hyper-aware of every creak it makes. It feels like someone else’s bed, and it’s fragile and I don’t want to break it. I lie down and hold my breath again as I feel Jade shifting beside me.

Jade curls up next to me and places her head in the nook of my neck, smelling like tequila and honeysuckles. “Can I ask you a question?” Her words slur together like warm honey. She could almost be from Louisiana herself.

“Sure.”

She slowly traces my neck with her fingertips, “Do you like me?”

“Of course I like you. You’re my best friend.”

“No.” She lifts up her head so the heat of her breath tickles my ear. She lowers her voice, “Do you like me?”

I’m quiet. I know what she is asking, but I don’t know how to respond.

“Do you like me like Dominic likes me?”

“No.” I blurt out, the words harsh and cold like scolding an insubordinate child. What a horrible comparison. Dominic just wants to sleep with her and while, yeah, that would be incredible it is not what I’m after. I want to love her and for her to love me. I want us to dance, kiss, and throw dish towels at each other after dinner every night like Mom and Dad used to. I want – wait… what did I say to her? Just no? Crap. I meant no to the comparison, not to the liking.

“Jade, I mean…”

But she’s already sleeping. And I know I have blown yet another chance. I’m bitter. I replay the few seconds over and over in my mind. Why didn’t I say yes? I’m angry with myself for my stupidity. I almost want to wake her up and explain. But she looks too peaceful now, too tired and serene.

I look at her. Her eyes are closed, her arm draped over my chest. I watch it rise and fall as I breathe in and out, slow and controlled. My whole body shudders from the touch of her, from the warmth , from the way I feel she clings to me in these unconscious moments. I wish she would dream of me as I dream of her. She doesn’t, I’m sure. But I wrap myself up in the thought of it, feeling whole and happy. She starts to shift and I feel her warmth leaving. I sigh as she brings her arms to her chest and turns away, curling her legs up slightly. Her closeness still reaches out, but her back is to me. As it always has been, as it will be. Her breath is steady and constant. She starts to wiggle and shift under the covers—perhaps trying to pull herself farther away.

“Connor.” Her voice whispers, lazy from sleep, but as warm and beautiful as a song, with a slight inflection at the end as though questioning if I’m still there.

“Yes, Jade?” My voice is soft, urging her to respond.

But all she says is, “Connor.” It rolls off her tongue. It sounds elegant coming from her. She wiggles, scooting back closer to me. Her voice sounds like confirmation. I’m here. She’s safe. I hope that’s what the slight inflection means. I turn toward her and curl my legs so they align in the nook of hers. I put my arm around her. I feel so right there. I wish I had held her like this a long time ago. Pretending she is mine and I’m hers and no one else exists in this world. I focus on the feeling of her and forget everything else—every piece of me that is cold and guarded melts away. Eventually the warmth of her lulls me to sleep.

Jade hovers over me when I open my eyes in the morning, a playful smile parting her lips, her dark silhouette bathed in bright morning light casting an array of gold all about her like she is some divine princess.

She continues to smile. It’s a slight, sweet smirk. Her lips purse, pulled in line, and her eyes twinkle with lightheartedness. I know this smile. It’s how she smiles when she is about to attempt silliness.

She raises her palms, wiggling her fingers like the legs of spiders. I’ve done it so many times before so I know exactly what she is about to do. With a quick jolt, she bounces forward and her fingernails scratch my skin violently even through the fabric, while she laughs out, “Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

“Ouch!” The pain ripples through me. I push back her hands in defense of my poor tattered skin. I immediately regret it.

Her smile fades and eyes widen while she sits back. It almost looks like she wants to cry, “I don’t do anything right do I?”

“No, no, no—” I say, rubbing the raw spots on my chest. “You just need practice.” I smile.

She shrugs and looks away.

“Tickling, my dear friend, is an art which requires much practice.”

She nods. She pulls her lips in a tight line, in a smile. It’s not a real smile, but the smile she
wears
when she knows she is supposed to smile—an unhappy smile, a smile of obligation. I hate seeing it, because I hate knowing she isn’t genuinely happy. I want to replace it with a real one, one that lights up her face, one that she can’t hold back, because it is so true and honest it can’t be contained.

“Like I said,” I hold up an index finger like a teacher giving a lesson, “Ticking requires lots of practice—and observation.” I smile wide. Before she looks back at me, I lace my fingers around her arms and yank her down, pinning her to the bed. My fingers find her ribcage and tickle. She curls up her legs in defense and bursts out in uncontrollable laughter, a smile spreading so wide it parts her lips and illuminates her face. She is so beautiful this way. This is my favorite smile. And now I am laughing too.