On an Edge of Glass (18 page)

Moving quickly, I step to the closet and find my black bag on the bottom shelf.  I unsnap the plastic clasp at the side and pull out my camera.

Ben
comes a few inches closer so that he’s perfectly framed in my bedroom door.

I remove the lens cap and bring the camera to my face
, adjusting the focus manually.

“What are you doing?” 
He asks, raising his eyebrows. 

I don’t answer
him, but Ben doesn’t retreat when I snap at least a dozen photos.  He crosses his arms across his chest.  A loose hair tumbles across his face but he leaves it. 

When I
’ve taken enough, I drop the camera to waist level and smile at him.  “I’m remembering.”

Baby, it’s Cold Outside

Thanksgiving is uneventful as far as Thanksgivings with my family go.  Neither my mother nor my father is one for cooking, even on holidays, so the three of us end up eating at a European styled restaurant in Canal Square.  We sit at a table topped with a crisp white cloth.  I dutifully eat a beet and watercress salad served by a refined man in a tuxedo, and I answer a jillion parental-type questions about the LSAT and my Columbia essay and my plans for the next, oh, dozen years or so.

             
The saving grace of my Thanksgiving dinner is that halfway through the meal, Ben texts me an update from his house.

             
            
 
Ben: Mom’s boyfriend just dropped the turkey on the floor. Dog having best meal of his life.

             
              Me: Lol. What did you guys do?

             
              Ben: What else? Ordered a pizza.

             
              Me: Haha! I would kill for a slice of pepperoni and mushroom.  I’m not sure I’ll last through dessert.

             
              Ben: Here’s a thought to get you through.  Try to think of a food that does NOT go well with either chocolate or cheese.  It’s impossible.

             
              Me: ??

             
              Ben:  Come on, play along…

             
              Me: Okay… how about BBQ?

             
              Ben: BBQ sandwich topped with cheddar is delicious!

                            Me: Ha! Peanut butter and jelly?

             
              Ben: Hmmm… I think you can successfully add chocolate to that combo.

            
 
And we go back and forth like this until my parents take notice and want to know why I’m staring at my phone with a goofy smile plastered on my face.  I brush aside their interest and start talking about law school again.  As always, Columbia does the trick as the ultimate distraction.

             
Friday drags.  I do make an effort to be semi-social by meeting up with some high school friends for lunch near Capitol Hill.  In the afternoon I walk around the National Mall and attempt to amuse myself by watching tourists take cheesy photos in front of the pale marble of the Washington Monument.  I take a picture of myself near the Air and Space Museum and send it to Ben.  He responds with a photo of himself practicing on his cello.  But the angle of the shot is bad, and it’s really just half a mouth and a nose. 

             
When Saturday rolls around, I’m glad that I already planned to head back to school a day early.  I leave after lunch, and by late afternoon I’m standing in the middle of an empty house with my powder blue rolling suitcase beside me. 

A pair of Payton’s black
patent leather flats lay on the floor by the refrigerator like she kicked them off and forgot about them on her way out the door.  Ainsley’s silk-lined winter coat is draped over a hook solemnly waiting for her return.  

             
Edging down the hall, I peek into Ben’s room just because I can’t seem to help it.  Maybe I simply want to get the idea of him back.  The blinds are open and diffused amber sunlight skips and shimmers across the floor planks.  On his desk, casting a glow over pages of music notes, I see that he left a small lamp on.  I cross to it, taking in the crumpled shirts and pants shed near the closet like he couldn’t make up his mind what he should take when he was packing, and I lean in to examine the charcoal drawing tacked on the wall over the bed.  It’s of a simple two-storey wood framed house outlined by a thick copse of trees.  I wonder if that is his home in Asheville.    

Flipping off the lamp,
I let me eyes fall shut and inhale deeply.  The air smells like him and I breathe it in again.  There’s nothing that I’d like to do more than stand here sniffing like a lovesick fourteen year old for a bit longer, but I resist the urge, and—with a final fleeting look—I head to my own room to unpack. 

An hour later
, I’ve abandoned any thoughts of being productive for the rest of the day.  I’m bundled up in a heavy sweater and a beanie, and I’m sitting on a bench in a small park a little more than a block away from the house, where the road dips into a steep hill and the traffic lights thin out into open road and rolling country. 

Here, in this square of
space, sinking light bobs in and out of the bare tree limbs, sliding across the pages of the open book in my hands.  It’s a cheesy romance novel that Mark gave me at the beginning of the term and swore that I would love.  The story is typical:  average girl meets mysterious boy but somehow supernatural powers get in the way of their love.  Much teen angst ensues.

Unable to concentrate on the
plot or characters, I’m staring out—at two little girls heading home from the playground.  Their hands are engulfed in brightly colored plush gloves.  On the other side of the park, an elderly man is walking his dog up and down the sidewalk.  I send Ben a zoomed-in picture that I snap of the dog, who happens to be wearing a cable-knit sweater and a coordinating hat.

Ben: Nice.  I have a set just like it.  Where are you??

Me: At that small park off Hinsdale.  I think the dog’s owner knows that I took a photo of them.  Now he’s looking over his shoulder and acting all paranoid. 

Ben: Ha!
Maybe he’s former intelligence and thinks that you’re an operative sent to take him and the dog down.  Btw, isn’t it a little cold today for the park?

Me:
Noooooo.  That’s only if you’re a pansy.  I’m communing with nature and whatnot.

Ben: Of course you are…

As I watch, the sky changes from blue to pink, to a creeping grey.  The tall streetlights across from me waver then catch.  My breath comes out in icy clouds, and despite what I texted Ben about the cold, I’m beginning to feel a damp chill pulse through my fingers.  Just as I move to stand and head for home, my phone vibrates against my hand indicating that I have a new text.

Ben: What do you think about sushi?

I pause, considering.

Me: That depends.  Does cream cheese
count as a cheese?  Because if so then sushi’s out.

Ben: Hahaha.  Not what I meant but you’re
right.  I was asking if you’d like to get sushi with me.

M
y frozen fingers hover over the phone screen.  Pale stars are emerging above the roofs of the houses across the street and beyond a patch of nebulous clouds, a sliver of pearly moon winks at me.

Me: Sure.  When?

Ben: Right now.

I stare at my phone and the
n, so slowly that it’s torturous, I turn from the bench and search the park.  I stop, my eyes settling on a dark shadow at the base of one of the trees that borders the playground.  A sort of fascination takes place of my surprise as Ben steps away from the trees and walks toward me.  He is wearing a dark wool coat and a scarf that covers up the bottom half of his face, but I can see a smile crinkling the outer corners of his eyes.  My heart stalls momentarily and then sputters back to life. 

“W
-w-what are you doing here?” I ask, rushing forward.  I feel my cold face break wide open. 

He lifts his arms from his sides
and looks around as if he’s about to take off into the air. 

“
You said you were at the park communing with the spirit world or something so I thought that I’d stop by and see if you felt like grabbing some sushi with me,” he says like his arrival is no big deal.  “You know, sushi’s pretty spiritual.  Or so I’ve heard.”

I shake my head
and roll my eyes playfully.  “You are infuriating! I meant—why are you in town tonight?  I thought you weren’t getting back from Thanksgiving break until tomorrow afternoon.”

With the darkening sky
framing him, he laughs.  I feel an answering jolt of electricity course through me.

“I caught an earlier flight
back, Ellie.”

Something deep
inside of me stirs.

“Why?”
I ask, taking a step closer.  My pulse amps up another notch.

He
pulls the top of the scarf down so that I can see his mouth.  Tilting forward, he lets his forehead rest against mine, ostensibly so that I can get the full effect of his brown-gold eyes up close and personal. 

“Why do you think?
”  The corners of his mouth jerk.  “I missed my Xbox something fierce.” 

My heart tightens
in self-consciousness.  “Oh.”

Ben
slides his hands up my arms. He grins at me wickedly.  “You do know that you are ridiculous, right?”

I shove his shoulde
r back.  “Excuse me?  And why am I ridiculous?” 

Grabbing my hips firmly
, Ben pulls me against his body.  His lips are so close that I can practically taste them.  I
want
to taste them.  I
need
to taste them.  I’m like a dog salivating over a steak. 

“
Ellie, I came back early because I was driving everyone around me crazy.  When I wasn’t texting you or talking to you, I was talking
about
you, and thinking about you, and wondering about you, and well… you get the idea.” Ben arches a dark eyebrow at me.  “My mom finally told me to either change my flight or shut the hell up.  I decided to change my flight.”

So, yeah… t
hat’s probably the best possible answer he could have given me. 

I no longer notic
e the cold.  My breaths are coming out like quiet gasps and my mind is swirling with Ben’s scent and the feel of his hips pressing into me and the words that he’s just spoken.

I narrow my eyes.  “So, what you’re saying is that you like me more than your Xbox?”

With one intoxicating finger, he
traces the outline of my lips, then closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.  “Just a little bit.”

That’s it.  I’ve had e
nough of this talking crap.  I reach my hands up.  I cup his chin and bring his mouth to mine. 

The kiss begins timidly
but grows more intense as his tongue parts my lips and his hands make their way under my sweater to the bare skin just below my belly button.  When his mouth moves down my throat and his tongue finds the hollow space just above my collarbone, my knees start to go.  An embarrassingly loud moan escapes me.  

I
try to pull away so that I can bury my face in my hands like any properly ashamed girl, but Ben won’t let me.  Chuckling, he tightens his arms around my waist and does it again.

I let go of a second moan.

“I’m not going to let you go so easily.  In fact, I think I’d like to see
if I can make you do that a third time,” he says quietly. 

I tilt my head so t
hat I can see him properly.  “What about sushi?”  I ask, though I really don’t care about sushi right now.

His eyes travel down my body suggestivel
y.  “Let’s make our order to go,” he says. 

“So, what you’re saying is that you think that you can take me?” 

I
square my shoulders, drawing on a confidence that I don’t really feel.  “Yes, that’s
exactly
what I’m saying.”

Ben tilts his head
sideways, letting his arms drop down to my green duvet.  His mouth parts and he flicks his tongue over his lips.  “You know that I won’t take it easy on you?”

The look that he’s giving me
, and the fact that he’s doing it from the middle of my bed, makes my heart jump.  I shake my head, playing it as cool as I can manage. 

“I don’t want you to,
” I say boldly.

My
direct answer seems to please him.  He smiles just enough so that I catch a glimpse of the dimple. 

“Okay, then let
’s do this,” He says.  He shifts so that he’s sitting with his back against my pillow.  “Close your eyes and reach inside and…”