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I nodded. “I was pretty sure, once he said that, that he was going to kiss me. I said okay, so I gave him permission. Even after I said it, he paused. Like he thought I was confused, or he was surprised at my reaction. He seemed really timid, which was so unlike him. And actually, now that I think about it, I was the one who kissed him.” I blushed again. “Carter would never do something that would make me uncomfortable.”
Macie smiled knowingly. “After that, though, you had no idea what he was up to this entire time? No run-ins? No Facebook updates?” She asked.
“He doesn’t use social media.” I rolled my eyes. “The only time I heard about him were brief updates I got from his parents when I would visit at Christmas.”
“You never saw him at Christmas?”
I shook my head. “I think he would come at Thanksgiving. He always celebrated Christmas with his mom, even when we were kids. She lives in Hawaii.”
She nodded. “Damn. Well, it’s starting to make sense now. Was it good?”
“Was what good?” I countered.
“The kiss?” She cocked her head.
I looked out the window and watched the rain fall onto the ground, the puddles jumping across the parking lot. I had never told anyone this information before, so naturally I had never been asked this question. The answer was yes, of course. It’s easy to say that the kiss was good. A lot of kisses are good. How was I supposed to explain to her that it was the kind of kiss that kept me up at night for years on end? The kind of kiss that made my skin feel like pinpricks whenever I thought about it, even now. The kind of kiss I’ve been wanting to replicate since the day it happened but have yet to experience anything that even comes close.
“If it’s still causing me this much distress five years later, it must’ve been good, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” she cackled. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
“There is nothing to do about it,” I muttered defensively.
She was quiet for a moment while she sipped her coffee and watched me inquisitively.
“Are you still attracted to him?” I was the one now raising my brow at her. She blew out her nose, shaking her head. “Right, obviously.”
“It doesn’t matter, though. I feel like a completely different person than I was before I moved to England. I’m sure he’s different too. I don’t think we’re compatible now. I’m not sure we ever were to begin with. Plus, hopefully I’ll get into a grad program somewhere. Which means I’ll be moving away, and I’d rather spare myself the déjà vu.”
A sullen look crossed her face, a seriousness I rarely ever saw with her. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. I nodded and sipped my coffee, looking back out at the rain. “Maybe you guys should talk about it, though. Clear the air, y’know? It’ll probably lift a little weight off your chest.”
I nodded again but offered no response. I already knew she was right.
? ? ?
I kicked open the front door with my foot, to the irritated gasp of my mother on the other side.Shit.I stood straight up and stepped inside hesitantly.
She closed her eyes slowly and let out a breath of annoyance. “Penelope, please don’t kick the front door.”
“My hands are full,” I mumbled, referencing the stack of papers in my arms.
“You could’ve knocked and I would’ve opened it for you.”
I darted to the right and began climbing the stairs. “Alright, sorry. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” I had no time to argue with my mother considering I have at least three hours of grading to do this evening. I normally got my grading for Christine done during slow times throughout the day. Splitting my time between her classes and my art classes now left little free time during the weekday, though.
“You can make it up to me by running across the street and grabbing your father for dinner!” My mother’s voice rang throughout the house.
No, no I really don’t want to do that.
“Mom, I have a lot of work I need to get done and–”
“I can’t hear you!” she lied playfully, chiming from downstairs. I glowered before kicking open my bedroom door with my foot. I threw my bag down on my bed and the stack of papers at my desk. I retreated down the stairs and across the narrow residential road. I walked through the Edwards's front door without knocking, hoping I could relay the message to my father and get out quickly.
I slipped through their door and meant to beeline for the kitchen but was stopped at the doorway to the sunroom. I noticed several of my mother’s canvases set up in there with half completed paintings. I always wondered how she could do that. Start something and not see it through to completion. I was never able to work on two things at once, I had to finish something entirely before jumping into something else.
“Have the classes you’ve been teaching inspired you?” Carter’s soft voice came from behind me.
I snorted, “No, definitely not. I was never a painter anyway.”
