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Farrow’s chest moved with a ragged breath. She set the bucket of flowers down on the ground, her hands rising up to my face.
“Tell me something to distract you,” she instructed, her smile soft, her voice silk. “Something about the octopus.”
I shut my eyes. “It has three hearts.”
“I bet it loves big.”
Her hands almost reached my face. I could feel them hovering in front of it. I stopped breathing altogether, bracing myself for it.
“It is a tragic creature,” I countered, popping one eye open. “It can never love. It is programmed to consummate its reproductive purpose, procreate, then perish right after. It never stands a chance to live.”
“Couldn’t you call me a kitten, then?” Farrow scrunched her nose, looking annoyingly adorable. “I’d even take a bunny.”
“Kittens are a generic choice. Bunnies belong in Hugh Hefner’s mansion.” I opened the other eye now, shaking my head, resolute. “You are an octopus. Smart. Sophisticated. Tragic.”
And then it happened.
Her palms clasped my face from both sides, bracketing my cheeks. I sucked in a breath and slammed my eyes shut. Her warm, damp skin pressed onto mine.
I forced myself to open my eyes. To look at her.
Her nails grazed my skin. A shudder thundered down my spine.
“Look at me, Zach.” She smiled.She smiled. “You can do this. You can touch. Feel.”
We stood in the garden like two trees, sturdy but fragile, swaying gently with the wind, and I couldn’t bear it. How everything slammed into me all at once.
The memories. The disgust. And the guilt for wanting to feel her skin, still, even though my father was dead, and I couldn’t even remember his dying words.
“What happened to you?” she croaked.
I shook my head.
I couldn’t tell. Couldn’t repeat it for my own ears to hear, let alone hers.
“Does this feel okay?”
I thought about it. “It…feels.” Good. Bad. Complicated. “And that’s more than I can ever ask for.”
“Zachary,” Mom barked from the balcony, dousing the moment with ice. “You are late, and we are hungry.”
Farrow unclasped her hands from my face, darting a step back. Her neck flushed. “I’ll see you at four.”
She turned away from me, picking up the bucket of roses and scurrying toward the front door.
“Don’t leave,” I croaked, the voice coming out of nowhere.
She paused but didn’t turn to face me.
“Don’t go,” she whispered, and I didn’t know why, but everything felt tragic all of a sudden. Like the octopus, creating life just to end her own.
Swiveling on my heel, feeling the sting of her hands on my face, and knowing I wouldn’t try to scrub it clean of her touch, I made my way to the balcony.
Mom and Ayi sat on the marble banisters, staring at me like I’d just landed in a cornfield on a spaceship with a Spongebob propellor hat on my head. Perplexed did not begin to cover it.
They looked like they were having an out of body experience.
“You should be careful with the staff.” Mom spoke loud enough for Farrow to hear. “You don’t want a sexual harassment lawsuit.”
