Forever...: a novel (3 page)

"Scrabble," Michael added.

"Oh yeah … Scrabble … "

"A regular traveling game show," Erica said.

"So what do you say?" Artie asked.

"Backgammon," Erica told him.

"Great … don't go away … I'll be right back."

We laughed as Artie ran out to the car to get his set.

Erica's a whiz at backgammon. She plays a very offensive game. But by 10:00 she was down two games to Artie and the challenge was on.

Michael and I sat on the sofa. I reached for his hand and traced the lines of his palm with my finger.

"Very interesting," I said.

"You read palms?" he asked.

"Sometimes."

"What do you see?"

"Oh … a long life line … that's good. And over here I see a girl with brown hair … "

"I see one too," he said, looking into my eyes.

My insides turned over. I moved as close to him as I could. I rested my head on his shoulder and held onto his hand. He put his arm around me.

At 10:30 we convinced Artie and Erica to take a break and go out for pizza and when we got back Mom and Dad had gone to sleep. Michael built us a fire in the den and we turned out all the lights. Erica and Artie sat together in a tilt-back chair but after a few minutes they got up and went into the other room, closing the door behind them.

"I love your hair," Michael whispered, burying his face in it. "It always smells so good."-He kissed my ears, my neck and my lips. Then he got up and walked across the room. "Lie down next to me, Kath … here, in front of the fire."

This was the fifth week in a row we'd seen each other. I'd asked him to go slow with me and he promised he would. I stretched out beside him. I felt his body against mine. He reached under my sweater and tried to unhook my bra but he had a lot of trouble and I wondered if I should help him out or just lie still and wait. He got it undone. His hands were cold at first but I didn't flinch. I pressed myself as tight against him as I could..

"I'm crazy about you." He touched me and we kissed until the same record had played three times. But when he fumbled with the snap on my jeans I sat up and said, "No … not now … not with them in the other room."

Michael rolled over onto his stomach and kind of groaned. I bent down and stroked his hair. "You're not mad, are you?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah … but this is really rough … "

"I know it … "

"Give me a minute by myself, okay?" he asked.

"Sure." I needed a minute alone too. It wasn't easy to stop. I opened the den door slowly, not sure what I would find on the other side, but Erica and Artie were sitting at the kitchen table, playing Monopoly. Erica never loses at that game. She steals from the bank.

"Well … " Erica said, looking me over, "we were beginning to give up on you two."

"We … uh … "

Erica held up her hand. "Please … spare us the gory details."

"Where's my buddy?" Artie asked.

"Oh … he'll be right out."

I went upstairs to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. If Artie and Erica hadn't been there I doubt that I'd have stopped Michael from unbuttoning my jeans. But I'm not sure. Now I wanted the boys to go home.

Michael had his jacket on when I came downstairs. "We have to take off now," he said. It's late … see you next week." He gave me a quick kiss.

I was sorry I'd invited Erica to spend the night While she was getting ready for bed I said, "I think I forgot to turn out the light in the den … I'll be right back … " I ran downstairs. I'd already put out all the lights but Erica didn't know. I sat down on the rug where Michael and I had been together. Our rug, I thought. I ran my hands over it. It was still warm.

When I got back to my room Erica was in bed. "Must have been a lot of lights on," she said.

"Yeah." I looked at her. "Did you like Artie?"

"He's nice," she said, "but I think he's shy or something. He didn't try to kiss me."

"He didn't seem shy."

"I know … that's what's funny … I don't have bad breath or anything, do I?" She sat up, leaned over and breathed hard in my face.

"You smell fine."

"Maybe he wasn't attracted to me. Maybe he thinks I'm too little."

"It probably wasn't anything like that."

"He could be inexperienced, I suppose," Erica said. "If that's the case I could teach him. I really wouldn't mind … I love his teeth."

I pulled on my nightshirt. "I knew you would."

"Tell me about Michael, Kath."

"What about him?"

"Is he any good?"

"Uh huh … he knows what he's doing."

"Do you love him?"

"I like him a lot … that's all I know right now." I turned out the bedroom light. I wasn't going to say I loved Michael yet. I was too quick to think I'd loved Tommy Aronson and he and I never even got to be friends. I already knew Michael better than I'd ever known Tommy. And the way I'd felt about Tommy last year was nothing compared to what I felt for Michael.

"Are you still a virgin?" Erica asked.

"Yes."

"Is he?"

"I don't know … I haven't asked."

"I've been thinking," Erica said, "that it might not be a bad idea to get laid before college."

"Just like that?"

"Well … I'd have to be attracted to him, naturally."

"What about love?"

"You don't need love to have sex."

"But it means more that way."

"Oh, I don't know. They say the first time's never any good anyway."

"Which is why you should at least love him," I said.

"Maybe … but I'd really like to get it over with."

"What's the point?"

"I'm always thinking about it … wondering who's going to be the one—like tonight, I kept picturing myself with Artie … and in school I sit in class thinking how it would be with every guy … "

"Really?"

"Yes … even the teachers … I wonder about them too … especially Mr. Frazier, since he never zips his fly all the way. Tell the truth, Kath … don't you think about it?"

"Well, sure … but I want it to be special."

"You're a romantic," Erica said. "You always have been. I'm a realist."

"You're starting to sound like some kind of professor … "

"I mean it," Erica said, "we look at sex differently … I see it as a physical thing and you see it as a way of expressing love."

"That's not completely true … "

"Maybe not … but that's the picture I get."

"Well, you don't know Michael … that's all I can say."

5

Another thing about Jamie is, she can cook. Not hotdogs and hamburgers like me, but real, honest-to-god gourmet stuff. When my grandparents came to stay with us the first week in February, Jamie did all the cooking. Every night, before they went to sleep, Grandma and Jamie pored over cookbooks deciding on the menu for the following day. While Jamie was at school Grandma did the grocery shopping. Once she drove all the way back to New York to get special spices for a recipe. After school they both went to work in the kitchen, preparing the feast. Jamie gave Grandma small jobs, like chopping shallots, but did all the important things herself. Since they went to so much trouble they usually invited guests for dinner. My grandmother knows everybody, from the mayor to the man behind the counter at the fish market, so you never could tell who might turn up. While they cooked, Grandpa would wander into the kitchen, lifting lids off pots and sniffing inside. Since his stroke he walks with a cane and has trouble talking. He can't always get the right words out. It's sad to see him struggle over a simple sentence and hard to keep from trying to finish it for him. My mother was very close to Grandpa while she was growing up and now when they're together I can see how painful it is for her to watch him. But my grandmother treats him the same as always, like there's nothing wrong at all.

I've heard that people who come from happy homes, with parents who really care about each other, like

my grandparents, tend to have good marriages themselves. And I believe it. My mother and father are certainly the happiest married couple I know. They really enjoy being together, which doesn't mean they agree on everything, because they definitely don't. But after an argument they laugh about it and I like that.

On Thursday night of the week my parents were away Michael picked me up at the hospital and drove me home. "What floor do you work on?" he asked.

"Third," I told him, "in geriatrics."

"Geriatrics … that's old people, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Why'd they put you in there?"

"I requested it."

"How come?"

"Oh … it's a long story … "

"I'm listening."

"It's hard to explain … "

"Come on … I'm interested … really … "

"Well … when I was a little kid my father's mother lived in an old age home in Trenton and every Sunday we had to drive down to see her and I always wound up crying … you sure you want to hear this?"

"Uh-huh … "

"Okay … so my parents would explain it by saying I was just overtired from the long ride … but the truth was, I hated the place. Just the smell of it made me feel sick … you know?"

"Go on … "

"Well … I never really knew my grandmother … as a person, that is … she was just some old lady with crooked fingers and wrinkled skin and I was kind of afraid of her … and of the other old people too … I was scared that one of them might grab me and hide me in a closet and my parents wouldn't be able to find me … " I looked over at Michael before I went on. "Then, when I was about seven, my grandmother died, and I was glad … because we didn't have to go to Trenton anymore … God, I've never told anybody this story … " I took a deep breath. " … so anyway, when my grandfather—that's my mother's father … you'll meet him tonight—when he got sick last year and I went to the hospital to visit him I realized that he was old too … but I wasn't afraid of him … because I loved him. I guess this doesn't make much sense to you … but that's why I asked to work in geriatrics … "

"It makes a lot of sense," Michael said.

"Look … don't get the wrong idea … I'm no Florence Nightingale … and I'm not big on blood and guts … I don't do much for the patients … just deliver the mail and flowers … and bring water and adjust beds . , . nothing special … but it makes me feel good … "

"It makes you look good too."

I pulled my coat around me and laughed. "I always feel funny in my uniform … like I'm dressed for a part in a play or something … "

"Say … that reminds me … our school play's in two weeks. Artie's got the lead."

"Artie … I can't picture him on stage."

"Why not?"

"I don't know … he doesn't seem like the type … "

"You'd be surprised."

"He's so self-conscious."

"Artie … self-conscious … never."

"Not with you … " I said.

"You mean with Erica!"

"Uh huh."

"I don't know about that … "

"Well, anyway, I'd like to see him in the play."

"Good … and there's a party after it … at Elizabeth Bailey's house."

"Didn't you used to go with her?"

"Not exactly."

"But New Year's Eve … "

"We were together but it wasn't anything special."

"Still … won't you feel funny bringing me to her house?"

"Why should I?" Michael took one hand off the wheel and reached for mine. "We go together, don't we? It's no big secret or anything." I tightened my fingers around his. When we got to my house Grandma, Grandpa and Jamie were entertaining the DiNizios, from next door—I used to babysit for their kids—and Mr. and Mrs. Salamandre, our butcher and his wife. I introduced Michael to everyone, then Grandma insisted we join them for dessert, which was a chocolate

mousse with almondine sauce. Michael said it was the greatest thing he'd ever tasted and Jamie positively beamed.

After that Michael had to leave and I had to study for a Spanish test. I walked him to his car and got in for a minute. We kissed goodbye.

Later, Grandma said, "He's a nice boy, Kath."

"I know."

"Intelligent."

"Uh huh."

"Attractive, too."

"I agree."

"Just be careful … that's my only advice."

"Of what?"

"Pregnancy."

"Grandma!"

"And venereal disease."

"Really … "

"Does it embarrass you to talk about it?"

"No, but … "

"It shouldn't."

"But listen, Grandma … we aren't sleeping together."

"Yet," Grandma said.