The Book of Trees (21 page)

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I was just reading. Aren’t you supposed to be in your dorm?”

“You mean locked up?”

“They don’t really do that, do they?”

“No, I was just kidding.”

“So?” He leaned against the door jamb. His eyes appraised me.

“I was wondering if we could look at those lyrics I gave you.”

He furrowed his brow. “Now?”

I started to panic. “If it’s too late, I’ll come another time.”

Andrew hesitated, squinting at me. “No, now is good. C’mon in.”

I stepped inside a narrow hallway and followed him into a living room with low couches and an elaborately carved octagonal coffee table. He sat on a couch in his jeans and T-shirt, his bare feet tucked under him, and reached for his guitar. He started to tune it.

I perched on the edge of a chair across from him and focused on trying to find my journal.

Andrew tuned the A string. “So, you get in trouble?”

I kept my eyes on my backpack. “My roommate saw me at your hostel.”

“We only talked a moment.” Andrew looked up.

“It was enough. She knows—” I stopped. My face burned. Andrew looked back down at the strings. “Here.” I reached for the guitar. He handed it over and I quickly finished tuning it. “I never played for you like I said I would.”

He gestured for me to go ahead.

I slid over the armrest of the chair and curled into the cushions. Then I took a deep breath. I tried to clear my head of the sound of Aviva sobbing, of her angry words, of the sensation of fleeing. I tried to brush away the nerves clawing at my stomach, focusing instead on the image of Andrew waiting patiently for me to start. I played a few scales and some random chords; then I closed my eyes. I played the first songs I ever learned on guitar: “Country Roads,” “Scarborough Fair” and “Brown-Eyed Girl.” Then I played Fred Eaglesmith’s “Wilder Than Her” and Don’s song “Journey,” about his father coming from Ireland. I played “Summertime” for Sheila, slow at first, thinking of cotton fields and a small black girl dreaming of angels, and then I played a jazzy version.

Andrew lay back against the cushions, eyes closed, mouth relaxed, sexy forearms crossed over his chest. He opened one eye and grinned at the second version of “Summertime.”

“That’s it?” he said.

“No, there’s more.” I played the mournful opening chords to Don’s tree song, “Weeping Willow.”

You said you could always come home,
But it’ d never be the same.
Oh, Momma, I’m getting old as you,
But I fear I’ ll never be as wise.

Call off the bulldozers,
Call off our western ways.
This progress, I’ ll have none of it,
’Cause I lost my weeping willow, where I used to sit
.

When I finished I leaned back, the guitar across my lap.

“It’s a beautiful song.”

“Thanks.”

“It makes me think of the trees in Liberty Bell Park.”

“I haven’t been back.”

“I ruined it for you,” Andrew said softly.

“Yes.”

“I’ve ruined lots for you.”

I shrugged.

Andrew sat up on the couch and drew his knees into his chest. “C’mere.” He patted the couch beside him.

I hesitated, and then I stood up. The space between the chair and the couch seemed huge. I took three steps and settled beside him. His arm lay across the back of the sofa.

“Mia Quinn.” His fingers were so close to my shoulder he could almost touch me. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t be at my dorm anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t—I can’t lie anymore.”

Andrew bit the corner of his lip and tapped his fingers on the couch. “Who are you lying to?”

“My roommate.” I swallowed. “Myself.” I whispered. “You.”

Neither of us said anything for a long moment. I kept my eyes on Andrew.

“Can I ask you something?” he said. The lamp cast shadows across his face.

I felt my stomach tighten. “Okay.”

He leaned back against the armrest, a playful smile across his lips. His fingers danced on the sofa. “How come you’ve always got your hair covered up?”

My hands flew to my bandanna. “It’s neater. And cooler.”

“Oh.” Andrew closed one eye, looking at me with the other. “I saw you with your hair down once.”

I blushed. Moments seemed to tick by. I didn’t move.

Andrew leaned in closer to me. I could feel the heat of his body near mine, smell the sweet scent of his skin. My heart was racing. If I leaned just a little bit, I could brush my lips against his neck.

“Will you show me your hair?” he whispered.

I nodded, then hesitated. My hands hovered near my head. Then I leaned back and untied the knot in the bandanna and let it fall to my lap. My hair was in two tightly coiled French braids. I reached up to release the pins, and my braids fell down my back, like two snaky ropes. Then I pulled out the elastics and shook my head, running my hands over my sore scalp. My hair fell around my face.

My heart pounded as Andrew looked at me. His eyes followed the hair falling over my neck and down to my shoulders. My arm hairs stood at attention.

He reached out to touch me. “Can I?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I held myself still. Andrew slowly smoothed my hair over my head and then down my shoulder. Then he lightly brushed it away from my neck, sending shivers down my spine. He moved his hands through my hair, grasping my scalp, bringing my face toward him. Our lips touched and I was drowning in his intoxicating scent.

THIRTEEN

I
woke up the next morning to light spilling across my face. A breeze knocked the window blind back and forth across the sill. I covered my eyes and rolled over, snuggling my face into Andrew’s shoulder as if I’d done it a million times. Andrew pulled me toward him. I nuzzled his skin the way I’d wanted to since the first time I smelled him. I drew my fingers slowly down the smooth skin of his back. My lips traced small kisses from his ear down to his shoulder and then across his chest, briefly rasping a nipple with my teeth. I heard him sigh. I wanted to know the expanse of his skin, the breadth of his muscle. My nose pushed up under his arm and around the back of his neck. Andrew let me explore, his breath quickening. Our legs intertwined and his warm arms snaked around my waist until we were tangled together.

“I’m so glad you came here last night,” he whispered.

“Me too.” I gave him a kiss.

We made love slowly, eyes closed in sleepiness, just two bodies moving together, pressing, with none of the uncertainty or speed of the night before. As he slowly came inside of me, I resisted the urge to press him deeper, faster into me, letting him tease me until my breath came too fast, too loud, and I became just limbs, pounding blood and sweaty hair. Andrew collapsed on top of me, his weight pushing me into the mattress. We drifted back to sleep, the blind still wafting across the open window.

When I woke again, I was alone. I stretched lazily and buried my head in the sheets to inhale Andrew’s smell and my own mingled together. A Gauguin poster hung above the mattress on the thick plaster wall beside the open window. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling. I padded down the cool tile stairs to the living room and into a narrow kitchen. “Andrew?” A note on the table read,
Gone for groceries. Juice in fridge,
and then a scrawled
A
. I wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed tight. A huge smile spread across my face and I did a small jig around the kitchen. I felt like I was in a goofy Broadway musical.

Then the doorbell rang. I was only wearing a skirt and tank top, so I grabbed Andrew’s shirt from where I’d pulled it off him the previous night. Through the window I saw Kyle tapping his toes in his sport sandals. Shit. I slammed myself against the wall, but he had already seen me.

“Mia?”

I opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” His eyes traveled from my mussed hair to the too-big T-shirt exposing my bare arms.

I stuck my arms behind my back. “Andrew should be back any minute.”

“Oh.” He smiled his cocky smile. I could feel my face burning. “I left my backpack here last night. I’ll just pop in and get it, if that’s okay.” He started moving into the house. I stepped out of his way. Kyle disappeared into the living room and came back with the bag a moment later.

“You can stay until Andrew comes back.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“All right, see ya.”

“Bye.”

I closed the door. Shit shit shit. Of all people.

I watched Kyle walk down the path. Just as he opened the gate, Andrew came up with grocery bags. I opened the door a crack to watch them.

“Dude.” Kyle slapped Andrew on the back. “I knew she wanted you.”

My face burned again. I jammed my curled toes against the stone floor. I couldn’t make out Andrew’s expression behind his sunglasses.

Then I heard Kyle say, “You owe me. Pay up.”

I sucked in my breath, freezing against the wall. I pushed so hard on my toes they cracked against the tile.

“That’s twenty bucks. I won.” Kyle slapped Andrew on the back again.

Andrew waved him away. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.” Then he came in and saw me.

“Mia?”

I backed away.

“Hey, wait.”

My feet slapped across the stone floor to the kitchen.

“It’s not what you think.”

I stopped by the kitchen sink. “You had a bet I’d come here?”

“It’s not like that. It’s just Kyle talking.” He waved a hand in the air.

“You had a bet?” Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“No, I never did.” My eyes narrowed to slits. Andrew took off his sunglasses. “Please, look. Kyle said something stupid like, ‘That girl is so hot, and she wants you.’ He said, ‘I bet she leaves whatever nunnery she’s in and comes to find you.’ And I said, ‘No, she’s not that kind of girl.’ And he said, ‘You wait and see. I bet you twenty bucks she’ll come.’ And I said, ‘I really don’t think so.’ I never agreed to the bet. I don’t even hang out with him much.”

“He left his bag here.”

“A bunch of people came over last night.”

My eyes were swollen and I was sobbing now. I turned away from Andrew and leaned against the fridge. I’d left everything—school, Aviva—for this guy. What if he turned out to be a jerk? My heart creaked in my chest. What if he wasn’t in love with me? I’d become religious to avoid this kind of shit.

Andrew pulled me toward him until we were standing close, almost touching. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks.” He reached out to chuck me under the chin. I pulled away.

What now? What now? My head felt fuzzy and I wasn’t sure if it was from lack of sleep or if I was in shock. I felt dizzy. I slumped to the side, leaning on the counter. I was unfurling, like a fern in the woods near Don’s cottage, but instead of turning my edges up to the dappled light, I was collapsing. A pain throbbed in my chest and my breath came short. I pressed my knees tightly together, my shoulders hunched.

“I think…I think I need to lie down.”

“Please, don’t run away.” Andrew’s hands grasped my shoulders.

“I’m so confused.”

Andrew tipped my face up so that I was looking at him.

“I’m supposed to be at yeshiva, not here,” I whispered. “And your friends think I’m trash. I need”—my voice wavered—“I need a space. To lie down.” My nose started to run and I turned my head. Andrew let me walk away.

I climbed the cool tile stairs back to the second floor and lay down on the mattress in the bare room with the Gauguin poster. My limbs felt heavy, as if they were made of bags of sand or water.

I wanted to be a reborn Jew so I could be new, so sex could be sacred, so I would only ever be with someone who truly loved me. And here I was, fucked up all over again. I fell asleep crying.

Someone was calling my name. I woke up slowly, as if emerging from the bottom of the sea. Andrew was saying, “Mia?” His hand stroked my shoulder. I sat up with a start. Sweat had crept around my hairline, and my mouth felt gluey.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I squinted into the light and rubbed my eyes. “It’s okay.”

I sat up next to Andrew and leaned against the wall. I had that fuggy feeling—congested yet drained—you get from crying yourself to sleep. I took a few deep breaths and looked at the cool walls, the fan whirring overhead. Andrew waited patiently for me to wake up.

“You okay now?”

I nodded.

“Are you hungry?”

“Um, I think so.”

“I made breakfast.”

I sat up and pushed my hair out of my face. “How do you know what I like?”

“I made lots of stuff. You’ll like something. Come.”

I sat there looking at him, at his lithe arms, the way he cocked his head to the side and squinted at me a little. A shiver ran through me. I wanted to memorize the arch of his brow, the angle of his cheekbones, the way his stubble darkened his jaw line. He looked so cute with his hair all mussed up and his eyes squinting into the light. I wanted to pull him back into bed with me. He couldn’t have made that bet. Not Andrew, who helped rebuild houses. And if I didn’t believe him, where would I be?