Page 38 of Every Thought Taken

In a time of loss, I shouldn’t feel anything other than sadness. That’s what my thoughts suggest. But I can’t ignore the zing of delight in my veins as Helena turns to me for comfort.

“Sure, Mom,” Ales answers.

An odd sound of delight echoes from the kitchen and my forehead wrinkles. I have always wanted to belong, to feel like my mother loves me, to feel like I matter, but not like this. The sudden flip in her behavior puts me on edge. Makes me itchy. Her joy is inappropriate. Disturbing. Disgusting.

Do I prefer this side of my mother? Of course. She hasn’t berated or curled her lip at me in days. Hasn’t looked at me as if I ruined her idea of the perfect family. Instead, she smiles and hugs and speaks in gentle tones. Asks if I need help with my winter break homework. Seems genuinely interested inme.

Only took her thirteen years and the death of a friend for her to care.

Close to an hour later, there is a knock at the door. Dad answers the door, thanks the delivery driver, and wanders into the dining room with three pizza boxes. My stomach grumbles when the scent of baked cheese hits my nose.

I comb my fingers through Helena’s hair, press my nose to her crown and inhale deeply. “We should eat,” I say, though I’d rather not move.

On a subtle nod, she scoots up to a seated position. “’Kay.”

We shuffle to the table, grab a couple slices, then return to our spot on the blanket. Mom and Dad eat in the dining room and talk in hushed tones. It isn’t long before the leftover pizza is stashed in the fridge and they retreat to their room for the night. I discard our trash and grab us all drinks.

Halfway into the next episode, Ales rolls onto her side, her back to me as soft snores spill from her lips. I move her drink to the table, drape a blanket over her, and kiss her forehead. She hugs the blanket tighter but otherwise doesn’t stir.

Resituating in my spot on the blanket, Helena curls back into my side. I close my eyes, wrap my arm around her shoulders, and bask in the comfort only she provides.

“She asleep?”

Tingling warms my chest as I caress her arm with measured strokes. “Mm-hmm.”

Aside from the faint sound of the show, the living room is quiet. Helena stills in my arms, her cheek on my shoulder and hand on my chest. When the episode ends, I open my mouth to ask if she has fallen asleep. Just as the words form on my tongue, I freeze.

Her hand drifts across my chest until it wraps around my waist. The warm tingle in my chest from minutes ago expands to a wildfire. I don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t speak as I wait for what she will do next. Inch by slow inch, her hand wanders to the bottom hem of my hoodie and beneath the cotton. The second her fingers graze my skin, I suck in a sharp breath.

“Sorry.” She starts to pull her hand out, but I stop her.

“No,” I whisper, holding her hand in place. “Don’t stop.” I twist to look down at her and our eyes meet. “Unless you want to.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. My heart swells in my chest, beating with unimaginable force against my rib cage. My lungs burn and beg for deeper breaths. And this eddy of inexplicable energy expands in my stomach.

And then her hand coasts up the side of my torso. Her fingers map my skin as she tucks herself impossibly closer. I tighten my hold on her as I remind myself to breathe. Fingers splayed on my pec, she tilts her head. The heat of her breath blankets my neck and sends my pulse into overdrive.

“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

I swallow past the nervous lump in my throat. “Yeah.”

We lie like this for hour-long minutes. Her fingers drawing lazy circles on my chest. Her breath hot on my neck. My arm pinning her to my side while my fingers brush her skin.

And then she shifts again. The tip of her nose grazes my skin. Followed by her lips.

Fire licks every inch of my skin as my breathing shallows. My lips part as all my blood rushes south and I swell in my pants. I pinch my eyes tight and wish away my erection. Wish away the embarrassment soon to hit us both.

Then her lips are more than brushing my neck. There is more pressure. Softness. A new kind of fire as her lips move closer to my ear and the angle of my jaw.

“North,” I whisper-groan.

She freezes on my nickname for her. “Yeah?”

I lock on to her and twist until my chest presses against hers. I shimmy down a few inches and hold her green eyes illuminated by the television. For three breaths, I don’t speak or move. We stare at each other in the dim light and I silently wonder if this is what she wants or if it’s a reaction to all the recent events and heightened emotions. I pray for it to not be the latter.

“Are you sure?”

I assume nothing. Expect nothing. But I have to ask if taking any step beyond friendship is what she wants. Kissing and more… changes relationships. If she isn’t sure, I don’t want to risk losing her.

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