Missionary Position (26 page)

Kai shook his head, his lips pressed together. “No, no mortal danger.”

Feeling foolish, I shifted off his lap. “Oh.”

“Come back.” He tugged me closer to his side.

“I overreacted.”

“Not at all.”

“I thought about dialing Ghana 911.”

“What’s Ghana 911?”

“Emergency services.”

His lips twitched.

I rolled my eyes. “You could have told me everything was okay.”

His smile broke free. “I did. I said it was nothing.”

I pressed my hand over my heart, willing it to calm down. “I believed we were all about to die.”

“We weren’t. I’m ninety-nine percent certain of it.” He kissed my forehead and then my cheek.

Sighing, I rested against him.

“You won’t lose me,” he repeated. “I promise.”

OUR RETURN TO Accra marked the beginning of the end, and in some ways the end of the beginning.

At dinner with our little group, Kai relayed the story of the checkpoint. Ama gave me one of her half hugs from her chair next to mine. It was too soon for me to find the humor in my overactive imagination and overreaction, but the others had no qualms about chuckling at my expense. Kai gazed at me with nothing but affection—only his eye crinkles giving away his suppressed amusement.

Tonight was our final group meal before Nadine and Nathan flew home.

My months with Kai now measured days and hours. I didn’t attempt to quantify our remaining time any more than that. It hurt too much.

After the roadblock incident, or as Kai jokingly called it “the night we almost didn’t die,” he’d tried to soothe my jangled nerves by making love to me in Kumasi. Not for naught, but I couldn’t turn off my brain enough to relax and enjoy it. I considered faking my orgasm to reward his efforts. Instead, I admitted defeat and assured him he could make it up later. I tried to fuck the fear out of my heart. It had worked for me many other times in my life, but failed me the night in a random Kumasi hotel. For some a near death experience drove them to sexual madness. I reacted by becoming frigid.

He held me after, spooning me. With his nose nuzzled behind my ear, his breath steadied and slowed.

I counted the ceiling tiles.

We needed to talk.

I dreaded saying those four words to him.

Nothing ever good came from those four words.

Now we sat amongst our friends, and I worried I’d missed my chance.

We raised our glasses in toasts to Ghana, to friendships, to staying in touch. I learned at twelve—after my first summer camp experience—that these pledges were rarely upheld. Still, I clinked my glass with others.

When the dishes were cleared, Kai softly spoke near my ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

Saying good-bye, I hugged Nadine tightly and shared an uncomfortable hug with Nathan. I willed myself not to cry and failed miserably. This was the end of our summer camp.

“I’ll email you soon,” Nadine promised.

I gave her a watery smile. “You better.”

With a final wave, Kai put his hand on the small of my back and guided me away from the group. His hand felt beyond familiar now. It was part of me.

My breath caught when sadness laced through me.

“I’m sorry you’re sad to say good-bye to your friends.” He consoled me.

Sorrow added up to one percent of what I was experiencing. “How do you adjust to it?”

“Saying goodbye? I don’t. Not really.” He softly smiled at me. “Some are easier; some are more ‘see you later’ or soon. Others are forever, but you don’t realize it at the time. Those hurt later when the truth becomes clear.”

I sighed.

“We don’t know when those forever good-byes will happen most of the time. Yes, if someone is dying and you visit them, you have closure. But life’s funny. Often it’s only after time passes when you realize something was the last one.”

“For example?”

He pressed his lips together. “A simple example is a favorite restaurant you don’t visit often. One night you decide to return, only to realize it closed a month ago.”

I nodded my agreement. “Tonight was our last meal with everyone together.”

“For now.”

“But after tomorrow, some of us will be gone.”

“True, but you never know if our paths will cross again.”

“Okay, this was the last dinner with everyone together in Ghana.”

“That’s true.”

His words didn’t soothe me.

“And for us?”

“We’ll have dinner again tomorrow night. And the three nights after.”

I turned to gape at him and stopped walking.

He paused mid-stride.

“What?”

“You’re so casual about this?”

“About what?”

“Argh! Are you being deliberately obtuse?”

“Are you finally ready to talk to me about what happens when I leave at the end of the week?” He glowered at me.

“Me?” I raised my voice.

“Yes, you.”

“But you’re the one leaving.”

“I am aware of that. And you’re the one avoiding any discussion of what comes next. Or feelings. Or anything other than what’s happening today or tomorrow.” He crossed his arms and leaned against his ancient Rover.

I huffed and crossed my arms.

He held up his hands. “I’m not saying anything you wouldn’t agree is true if you would stop being defensive for a minute.”

My eyes gave him a death stare. He might be right, but that didn’t mean I would admit it. “Fine.”

“I hate that word.”

“Fine, you want to talk, let’s talk, but not standing outside of the hotel.”

He opened my door for me. “After you.” His voice held an edge.

“Thank you.” I climbed into the front seat and sat on my hands.

Judgement day was upon us.

I STOMPED INTO Kai’s house, acting like a child. My defenses stood ready for a fight and brought along my hackles.

“Why are you pissed?” he asked, stalking after me to the living room.

“I’m not pissed.”

“Then why are you acting like it?”

“I don’t know!” I shouted.

“Okay, that makes sense.” He walked into the kitchen. “Water?”

“Sure.”

I flopped onto his couch and closed my eyes.

His weight shifted the cushion next to me.

“What if this is our forever good-bye? And we don’t know it?” I asked, not brave enough to look at him.

His long, slow exhaled breath brushed across my arm.

I kept my eyes closed.

“Selah?”

“Yes?”

He moved closer to me. “Not opening your eyes doesn’t make anything disappear.”

“I had hoped for invisibility.”

“That’s not working either.” His finger trailed along my arm.

Each hair stood up and begged for his touch. I sighed and peeked at him with one eye. “I’m out of my comfort zone.”

His brow furrowed, and he stared down at his hand. “Me too.”

“Really?”

He dipped his head. “Really.”

“What do we do now?”

“We talk.”

I scrunched up my nose. “That sounds very adult and mature of us.”

“I tried it your way, and look where it got us.”

“My way?”

“Deny and deflect.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Want me to go first?”

Did I? What if he told me he loved me? What if he told me this was a fling and thanked me for a good time?

Which would be worse?

“No!”

Startled by my vehemence, he blinked at me. “Okay, then. Talk.”

I could talk only if I didn’t lose myself in his eyes, so I stared across the room at the black TV screen. “Where to begin?”

“How about the beginning?”

My gaze skittered across the wall. “Well, when I was fourteen I had a crush on a boy named Mike.”

“I didn’t mean ancient history.”

I tossed a throw pillow at him, which he caught easily. “It’s important stuff.”

He relaxed into the corner of the couch. “Okay, tell me about this Mike guy.”

“Huge crush. He looked like Robert Smith—angst and red stained lips.” I sighed.

“Maybe you still have a crush on him.” Kai sounded annoyed.

“No, not at all. Everyone, including him, knew I had a crush on him. I acted sappy and lovesick around him. Doodled his name on my books and listened to The Smiths over and over while I pined for him.”

I glanced at Kai from the corner of my eye. He waved me to continue.

“Two years later—”

“You crushed on him for two years?”

I nodded. “Ridiculous, I know.”

“Okay. What happened?”

“Two years later we were at a party, and thanks to some help from Strawberry Hill—”

“What’s Strawberry Hill?”

“Seriously? You didn’t drink Boone’s Farm at boarding school?”

“We drank beer from cans and cheap whiskey.”

“Strawberry Hill is a strawberry flavored booze for teen girls that tastes like Jolly Rancher candies. Although I’m positive that’s not their official slogan.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“I have a certain nostalgia for it.”

“Is this important?”

“It is. Quit interrupting. Thanks to the booze, I threw myself at Mike.”

“And?”

“We had sex.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Just like that?”

“Pretty much. From the red lipstick stains on my chin, nose, cheeks, neck, and lips, there had been a lot of sloppy kissing, too.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not a lot. It’s vague and fuzzy. The actual event took place in a random dark bedroom and ended pretty quick.”

Kai grumbled.

“I was fine with it. I’d wanted to lose my virginity ever since
Sixteen Candles
. And Mike was the boy I’d loved from afar for years. What could be better?”

“Did he love you back?”

“Not so much.”

“What a jerk.” Anger clouded his voice.

“Thank you for your misplaced chivalry.” I smiled at him and continued, “Since we had done the deed, I figured he reciprocated my feelings, and it meant we were a couple. I floated home, little pink puffy hearts dancing around me. Monday morning I waited for him to stop by my locker. Or come sit with me at lunch. Or meet me after class.”

He growled. “Let me guess. He didn’t?”

“Nope. In fact, he stopped speaking to me.”

“What a loser.”

“I know that now, but back then, I was humiliated. Everyone knew we’d hooked up at the party. Right then and there I vowed to never confuse sex with love again.”

“You were sixteen.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve stuck by that ever since?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” I glanced across the room. “I learned life is easier if you don’t allow yourself to be swept away.”

“Easier, but empty.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged.

“What does this story have to do with us?”

I stared at him, willing him to understand so I didn’t have to say it out loud.

His eyes met mine, and for five breaths he studied me. The crinkles appeared and his cocky smile dimpled his cheek.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” I echoed.

“Well, then.” He rested his arm on the top of the couch.

I waited for him to speak, my heart racing and my breath shallow.

“I don’t really see how we have an issue.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “We don’t?”

“None I can see.”

“Fill me in.”

“I love you, and you love me,” he said without pretense, the same way someone would say the sun was shining or the time was eight o’clock.

I blinked at him, my mouth hanging open.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“It’s not all of it.” He paused. “But it’s a big part.”

I managed to close my mouth. Crossing my arms, I huffed at him.

“What now?”

“That, Gerhard Kai whatever-your-middle-name-is Hendriks, was possibly the worst first I love you ever.”

“I don’t have a middle name.” He grinned at me.

“That’s not the important part!”

Tucking his knees under himself, he crawled over to my side of the couch. I leaned into the cushions when he rose over me. Shadows darkened his eyes into deep gray when he lowered his face closer to mine. I held my breath.

“The Dutch word for love is
liefde
.”

I slowly exhaled. “Liefde. It kind of sounds like life.”

He nodded. “Funny that.”