Chapter 3

December 19, 2012

There were a few blissful moments of peace when I first awoke, but then panic brought me fully awake. I reached for my phone to check the time and turned off my alarm minutes before it was supposed to go off. Rolling out of bed, I grabbed some clothes and stumbled into the bathroom. My reflection looked the same, but there was shame burning through me.

The cold morning made me shiver, but it was the fantasy of his strong hands on my body that made me shake my head, no, no, no. Even my heart beat the word no. What worried me were the other places that I felt a pent up yes that only needed a touch to be released. No, I insisted, never again.

I showered and dressed for the day, before slipping into the dim living room. John was still breathing the slow rhythm of sleep. I got my book bag and heavy coat and left without waking him. It was too early for class, but I needed time to think.

I went to my bus stop and caught the bus to campus. There was a little coffee shop nearby where I would sometimes grab a coffee or breakfast. I wasn't too surprised to find Steph and Holly sitting huddled together at a table in the back near the little decorative stove heater.

"Kate! We were just talking about you." I waved at them from my place in line.

After getting my coffee and a cinnamon roll, I joined them at their table. "What's up?"

"Nothing much, party stuff mostly," replied Steph.

Holly grinned wide. "So, I hear you have a cousin in town."

I fixed a smile on my face. "Yup. John Alderman, he's a sophomore at Old Dominion."

"So spill! What's he like?"

"Nice. Cute. So tell me about your party plans." If I could get Steph going on about her party, she would dominate the conversation for hours.

"I think Mom and I decided onâ€""

"Hold on!" interrupted Holly. "I need a date for your party. Nice and cute is a better choice than what I've got going on 'round here."

Steph slapped the table. "No, I already told you I'm gonna ask him. Besides, I thought you were seeing Anton?"

"You didn't hear he dumped me?" Holly huffed. "That's what I get for dating a musician."

"Oh God, I know, right?" They continued their discussion telling anecdotes about the various musicians they'd dated. I sat quietly and sipped my coffee, happy to be distracted from my own thoughts for a while. I only jumped in occasionally to keep them on safe topics.

Eventually time ran out and I escaped to class. I made myself focus on my work, but couldn't stop the occasional smile when my thoughts drifted toward home. I made it through my day with a few pages of notes and an assignment to write a long essay for my technical writing class that was due before Christmas break.

The ride home made my stomach feel fluttery. I tried to remember the last time anyone had affected me like John had, but was unable to name a single one. I noted his car missing as I approached the house. It brought an odd mixture of disappointment and relief.

After I got inside, I sat on the couch and turned on the television so I wouldn't feel so alone. I lost myself in homework so deeply that when the door suddenly opened I jumped. "Need any help?" I asked when I looked up and saw him carrying in groceries.

"Yes, please. There are two more bags in my back seat."

I got the bags and joined him in the kitchen to see what he'd bought. "I love olives. You even got the good Kalamata ones."

"Yeah, I've developed a taste for Middle Eastern foods. A guy named Gus brings these amazing dishes to our monthly potlucks. They're made with beef, rice, eggplant, and interesting spices. But my favorite was this olive and feta cheese thing he does with olive oil, spices, and sesame seeds. He actually eats it for breakfast and now I'm addicted to it."

"That sounds really good," I said and then spied a large, lean cut of beef. "Pot roast?"

"Yup, I saw a dusty Crock-pot while I was poking around earlier."

"Dad made that all the time. I can't remember the last time we did it. It's just too much food for the two of us. Man, I'm getting hungry just looking at all this. What are we making tonight?"

"We?" he asked with a sideways smile. "I'm supposed to be cooking for you."

"What, I can't help?"

"I guess," he replied, giving me a friendly bump. "I just hope you can cook better than you play Mario Kart."

"Oh, that's it. I demand a rematch, but this time I'm going to sit in Mom's chair to keep you from cheating."

He gave me a warm smile that made my stomach flutter. "I don't know where anything goes in this kitchen. Can you help me?"

"Sure."

After we put away the food, except for a whole chicken, he pulled out a large skillet and a cutting board. "How about fried chicken?"

"I don't want anything that heavy. What about some kind of chicken and pasta?"

"I can do that. Want some steamed veggies with it?"

"Yes. That'll be my job," I said, and then we set to work. I chopped carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower, while a pot full of water warmed on the stove. John began to cut up the chicken, but stopped and muttered under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you guys have a knife sharpener?"

"I think so." I dug around the knife drawer until I found a metal stick with a rough surface. "Something like this?"

"That'll do." He grabbed all the sharp knives from the drawer and put them on the counter. He picked up one and leaned back against the counter, and then began to run the blade rapidly against the sharpener.

"Are we supposed to do that? I don't think either one of us have ever done it."

"I can tell." He grinned and shook his head. "I'll just do them all. We have time."

Watching him sharpen the knives gave me time to study him and consider how he made me feel. He was physically attractive, but that was only a small part of it. He seemed focused in a way I'd never seen in a guy my age. He loved his family and truly cared about them as people. He was serious about school, like I was, and I could tell he had goals and dreams that were important to him.

When he looked up, he must have seen something in my expression, because he stared in my eyes and slowly smiled. I caught the barest nod, as if he was affirming something to himself, but just when he opened his mouth to speak, Mom walked through the door.

"Hey kids, I'm home. What's for dinner?"

"Chicken, pasta, and steamed veggies," John answered back and resumed sharpening the knives.

Mom came into the kitchen and put her purse down on the counter. "Sounds good, let me go change out of my work clothes and I'll come help."

I waited until Mom went into her room. "You were going to say something."

He nodded without looking up. "It can wait."

It felt like I was walking along a cliff and any moment the ground might give way and let me fall. I wanted to step back. I wanted to be safe. The problem was he made me feel safe, even on the cliff's edge. Part of me wanted to believe he would catch me if I fell.

I clenched my jaw. No, I had to remember the facts. He was my cousin, a member of my family. He would be disgusted if I told him I was attracted to him, or worse, that I'd rubbed one out while thinking about him. I saw my own desire on his face, not his, right? I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll set the table."

Mom came back as I was placing the flatware and plates on our dining room table. I heard her and John discussing the knives and the food he'd bought. I was standing in the doorway to the kitchen just as he finished the last knife. Mom took over to wash them as he stepped back to debone the chicken.

"Do you guys have any red wine?"

I went to Dad's bar and pulled out one of the bottles. The glass was dark, so I couldn't see what color the wine was. "Is a cabinet something a red?"

"A cabernet sauvignon?" he asked and impressed me when he made it sound French.

"That's it."

"Yes, it's a red." He looked to Mom. "Do you mind if I use it?"

I took the dusty bottle and wine opener into the kitchen. Mom glanced at it with a sad smile. "Is it okay, Mom?"

"That's the last bottle from our last trip to California."

I remembered that trip. I'd gone to camp that last year and had been so afraid Dad would die while I was away. At the same time, he and Mom went back to the little bed and breakfast in Mendocino, where they'd stayed for their honeymoon.

My chest felt tight as I recalled watching the home videos from that trip with him on our couch. He and I had snuggled under that same blanket, while the oxygen bottle chuffed. He'd whispered about all the things the two of them had done together, when he was still strong enough to walk. I suddenly wished he could have met John all grown up. I bet they would have hit it off.

John finally spoke up. "Aunt Lisa, we don't have to open it."

"No, I think I'd like a glass. Let's all have one. I want the chance to drink it while I'm happy."

I fumbled with the opener and eventually figured it out. The cork came out with a wet pop. "Why do people smell the cork?"

Mom answered, "To make sure the wine was stored properly. Sometimes smelling the cork can keep you from getting a mouthful of vinegar."

"Makes sense," I said with a shrug and got three wine glasses from the china hutch and poured them half full. "Here you go!" I gave a glass to Mom and put one next to John, who was hands-deep inside the chicken.

"Let me wash my hands and we can toast." I was amazed that he had managed to get most of the bones out of the chicken, leaving the meat and skin sitting on the cutting board. He dried off his hand with a towel and grabbed his glass. "To family, both here and far away; some gone, but none ever forgotten."