Page 27 of Rebound With Me
“Yeah.”
I slowly reach for the notebook to close it, as surreptitiously as possible.
His eyes fall back on the notebook cover. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Yes.”
“You like Joni Mitchell?”
Oh crap, he did see it.
“Um. I was listening to her this morning.”And thinking about you.Why did I have to doodle hearts like a thirteen year-old? Listening to her always makes me feel more bohemian and carefree, and I wrote out:You are in my blood like holy wine, you taste so bitter and so sweet, I could drink a case of you, darlin’, and I would still be on my feet, oh I would still be on my feet…
I can’t look at him, but I know he’s staring at me and smiling. “Doyoulike Joni Mitchell?”
“I heard her a lot when I was a kid. I like that song.”
Why do I feel like he’s read my diary? Not long ago, he was looking directly at my vagina, but this feels so much more intimate for some reason.
I cover my face with my hands. I feel my cheeks burning up. This is humiliating. “Where’s an Adios Motherfucker when you need one?”
I hear his little laugh, and then feel him move closer to me, his fingers pulling mine from my face. I’m afraid to look at him right now, because if I do I might never want to stop.
He pulls my chin towards him, and I look up into his gold green eyes, and forget about absolutely everything.
He kisses me so tenderly at first. It’s different from last night. He’s not seducing me. He’s letting me know that it’s okay to like him, I think.
As soon as I start kissing him back, he kisses me deeper, and I hear the guttural sound from his throat as I put my hand on his bare chest.
He pulls away. “I have to go,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “I have a meeting I can’t be late for.”
“Okay.”
“I mean I really don’t want to go, but I have to go.”
“I know, it’s okay.”
“It is so not okay.” He leans in to kiss me one more time before standing up and buttoning up his shirt.
I get up to help him put the stuff back in the hardware store bag.
“I’m gonna come back and paint that, okay? It’s so unfinished, it’s gonna drive me nuts if we leave it like that.”
“Yeah, I agree. Finish it.”
He tucks in his shirt, pulls up on his belt. He kisses me again when he takes the bag and electric screwdriver kit from me. “Thank you. I’ll call you later—I mean. I’ll come back. Tomorrow evening. No wait, that’s July 4th, I can’t. Day after tomorrow, late morning. Is that okay?”
“Sure, yes.”
He kisses me one more time before disappearing out my front door, and just like that, I have something to look forward to, something to dread, and about a million butterflies in my stomach.
I still have a smile on my face when my parents call to check in, probably a little bit frantic and wondering why they haven’t gotten even one email from me in a couple of days. I don’t even know how long I’ve just been sitting on my sofa smiling. “Hi,” I say, answering my phone, feeling perfectly ready to tell them that I am no longer engaged to the nice principal that they really wanted me to marry.
They are both exactly as upset as I expected they would be. Not so much because they believed that Russell would be a perfect husband for me, but because I am now “all alone in New York.”
“I’m not alone. I have friends. I’m fine.”
“How can you be fine?” My Mom’s voice is more high-pitched than usual. “You were engaged to him, Sweetheart. You’re in shock.”
