Authors: Kim Holden
(Kate)
It’s 8:12 when I knock on Keller’s door and butterflies start fluttering in my stomach. I’ve never been the stomach-butterfly-fluttering type of girl, so it feels strange. I’m stone sober
, but it feels like I’ve had a few drinks and though my mind’s not convinced it’s buzzed yet, my body’s confessing the indulgence. I think I just fell in love with butterflies.
After Keller opens the door and I step inside he takes my coat. We don’t say anything. It’s a little awkward. Not uncomfortable, just awkward. So, I offer, “It’s not too late to back out, dude. You sure you still trust me now that you’ve had a few days to think about it?” This trust thing with him is a big deal for me. There are different degrees of trust and my general feeling is that most people are good, therefore I trust most people. Friendship is vital to me and trust is part of that. But on a deeper level, there’s
trust. Trust
is something I don’t toss around lightly. Very few people have ever earned it: Grace, Gus, and Audrey. That’s about it. It’s something that takes years to build. For some reason, I feel like Keller has already fallen into this
deeper
category. Which is good, but also a little scary because it happened so fast.
He smiles and with it the awkwardness disappears. “Implicitly.”
Good. Fucking. Answer. “
Okay. Let’s get this party started.”
His bottom lip is sucked in under his upper lip when he smiles again. His eyes are amused. He wants to say something but he’s thinking better of it. Instead he grabs a folding chair from the closet and sets it up in the open space behind the loveseat. I’m watching him go through the motions but I’m not really watching; I’m daydreaming. I’m thinking about what his chest looks like under that shirt. I’m thinking about how warm his skin feels there, and the defined muscle underneath. I’m thinking about what he might look like under those—“
“Wet or dry?” He pauses when I don’t answer and points to his hair. “Do you want me to wet it?”
Oh. Right.
His hair
. That’s why we’re here. “Um, wet I think. Isn’t that how the pros do it?” Audrey’s always cut my hair. Twice a year in the Hawthorne kitchen whether I needed it or not. I’ve never been to a salon.
“Wet it is. I’ll be right back.”
Keller disappears to the bathroom and reappears two minutes later wearing only his jeans. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. He looks fucking beautiful shirtless. My mind floods and I feel like he can see every x-rated thought. And now I’m all fluttery in the stomach again. What the hell is wrong with me?
He sits in the chair and I try to act casual. “What’s it
gonna be, Mr. Banks? Trim? Buzz cut? I’m up for anything.” Goddamn, am I ever.
“I was going to say just a trim, but what do you think? You think I should try something different?”
“Nope. I like what you’ve got going on.” I do. So much.
“Trim it is then.”
And now I’m a whole different flavor of nervous because I don’t want to screw this up. “Keller, dude, is there some sort of backup plan if I jack this up?”
He laughs and shrugs, “It’s only hair Katie. If you jack it up,
which you won’t
, we shave it off.”
That didn’t help. “Ah, no pressure.”
He’s completely at ease. “None at all.”
Once I start cutting, every other thought, the nervous and the naughty, seems to fall away like pieces of hair. He really does have spectacular hair. It’s dark brown, almost black and there’s a slight
wave to it that adds volume more than curl. It’s thick, there’s a ton of it, but the strands are baby fine and so soft and shiny. He wears it a little on the long side. It falls just below his ears on the sides and touches his collar in the back. And it’s always on the defiant side, which in my opinion is best. I don’t like it when guys try too hard with their hair. Naturally disheveled is sexy.
An hour later, I finish up. The conversation has been minimal. I’ve been focused on not turning Keller’s locks into a debacle, and he’s allowed me that focus by keeping quiet. After taking a look in the bathroom mirror he returns to me sweeping up the hair on the floor. I smile at him because I didn’t screw it up.
“Well, you’re certainly not fast, but you are thorough. Good job.”
I laugh. “
Thorough’s my middle name. Or maybe I just wanted you to feel like you got your money’s worth.”
“Every penny. Thanks Katie. You want something to drink? I’ve got a few beers in the fridge. You earned it.”
I want to stay, but my conscience is nagging the hell out of me. He has a girlfriend. I’m sure of it. I shouldn’t be here alone with him, especially with the dirty thoughts that have started running themselves on a loop through my mind again. “No thanks. I probably better head back to the dorms.”
He glances at the ground and a look of disappointment flashes across his face before he looks back up at me and smiles. “Did you drive or walk?”
“I drove. It’s fucking freezing out there.”
He laughs. “Freezing.” He’s teasing me. He grabs his hoodie off the loveseat and slips it on. “I’ll walk you outside.”
We’re standing next to the driver’s door of my car and I can’t help but smile inside because I’ve never had a guy walk me to my car before. Again, my mind knows this isn’t a date but the gesture is chivalrous. I’m usually not into that type of thing, but tonight I guess I am.
“Thanks again, Katie.”
“You’re welcome. It feels good to be out from under the weight of debt and IOUs.”
We both laugh and then the laughter fades to silence. We’re just looking at each other now like we don’t know what to do next. This could go on all night, so I do what I would do if this were any of my other friends. I open up my arms. “Come here.”
He’s slow to react, but when he does and his arms wrap around me, I’m overcome. Some people excel in the art of hugging. They somehow manage to hug you with their whole being, not just their arms. Their warmth surrounds every inch of you. It makes you feel cherished and comforted.
Keller has mastered the art of hugging.
The dreamy hug lasts about twice as long as your average hug, but not nearly as long as I’d like it to. When we separate I feel the cold and instinctively reach for door handle to get in my car.
“Drive safe, Katie.”
“Always. Have a great weekend, dude.”
“Chicago in the morning. I’m back early Monday morning.” He’s smiling.
That is why I behaved myself. Chicago. His other life. His girlfriend. “Have fun. See you Monday.”
“Monday,” he repeats. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Good night, Keller.”
He nods. “It was. Good night, Katie.”
(Kate)
Class
es were cancelled today. The snow was out of control this morning. Everyone’s calling it an
unseasonably early storm
.
I’m calling it “Mother Nature on steroids.” And she’s uncompromising when she’s like this.
Now I understand what all the fuss is about. Luckily it’s letting up now, but early this morning when I strapped my boots on and trudged through the fresh snow to Grounds, that shit was
coming down
. It was worth the trip to spend the morning here drinking coffee and reading though.
The bell thunders and I ignore it in favor of the book perched in my lap. I’ve got the good spot on the loveseat in front of the fire and nothing can distract me from my blissful morning.
Except maybe the low, rumbling voice next to my ear. “Is this seat taken?”
I turn my head slightly to the left and Keller’s face is right there. Like an-inch-from-my-face right there. He’s crouched over the back of the loveseat, chin resting on folded arms. His face is clean-shaven. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him like this. He looks so much younger with his baby face revealed. “Hey. Of course not. Sit.” I move my bag to the floor to make room.
He drops in next to me after removing his coat, hat, and gloves. “Damn, you‘d think we live in Minnesota with all the snow outside.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
He laughs and elbows my arm gently while he takes a wax paper-wrapped sandwich out of a brown paper sack. “Ah, it’s not so bad. Look at it. It’s beautiful out there.” He sounds so sincere that I hold back a second eye roll and take a look out the big picture window behind us.
It’s overcast and looks almost like early evening even though it’s only late morning. Snowflakes are falling sporadically again. The streets are deserted. And since I’m inside in front of a fire, dry and warm, it
is
beautiful. “How’d you get a flight out of Chicago this morning,” I ask, gesturing outside, “with all this
beauty?
”
“I caught an early flight last night before the snow started. They said it was going to be bad. I guess they were right for once.” He elbows me again. “You want half my sandwich, Katie? It’s turkey.”
“No thanks.” I always try to avoid the “no, I’m a vegetarian” answer because it freaks some people out. I don’t know why, but sometimes people look at you like you just told them you something unfathomable. They get all uncomfortable. So, I only offer an explanation if it’s forced.
He insists and is still trying to hand it to me. “No, really, this thing is gigantic. I feel rude eating in front of you. Take half.”
I’ve just been forced. “Don’t feel bad, dude, I’m a vegetarian. And I’m not really hungry anyway; I had a muffin a little while ago.”
He blinks a few times. “So … is it okay if I eat this in front of you? I mean, does it gross you out? Because I can wait or … or go sit over there.” He nods his head sideways to indicate a seat across the room.
I look at him for a few seconds too long before I answer because the offer was so considerate. “No. Go ahead and eat. Thanks for asking though. That was … that was nice.”
He smiles and takes a bite, mayo and mustard squishing out of the sandwich onto the corners of his mouth. He talks between bites. “So, why vegetarianism? Health reasons, religious reasons, animal rights reasons?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve just never liked the idea of an animal being born, raised, and killed just so I would have something to eat. There are a lot of other options out there for sustenance.”
His eyebrows rise as though he’s never thought of it that way. He nods. “Fair enough.” After he finishes his sandwich he crumples up the paper wrap and deposits it in the paper bag and claps his hands. “We should go out driving this afternoon. There’s a good eighteen inches on the ground now.”
I glance back over my shoulder and judging by the snow on the car parked across the street, he’s right. This is as good a time as any to learn how to drive in snow. “Sure, how about one o’clock? I have to work at three today.”
“Sounds good.”
I shift the book I was reading from my lap to the coffee table in front of us so I can unzip my bag on the floor. “I’ll pick you up at your place?”
He nods distractedly as he picks up my book. “
Is this any good?” He asks in reference to the book.
“You’ve never read it?” I’m shocked.
He shakes his head. “No, I’ve always wanted to.”
I think back to his reaction when I told him I’d never read
A Tale of Two Cities
and throw it back at him. “What high school graduate hasn’t read
To Kill a Mockingbird
?”
His grin widens. “I deserve that.”
“Yeah, you do. I read it every year or so. It’s one of those books that even though you like it, it manages to get better each time, and you find yourself falling in love with it all over again.”
He smiles and I know he can relate having shared with me that he’s read
A Tale of Two Cities
several times.
“Besides, one of the characters is a hero of mine. You know that saying, ‘What would Jesus do?’”
He nods.
“Well, my version is, ‘What would Atticus do?’ He’s got his shit together. He always knows what to do.” I stand up, slipping my arms into my wool coat and pulling my gloves from the pockets. I sling my bag over my shoulder and salute Keller. “See you at one o’clock.”
He salutes back. “One o’clock. I’d drive you to the dorms but
Dunc’s got the Green Machine.”
“No worries. It’s a goddamn winter wonderland out there.” I widen my eyes for effect. “I can’t wait to get out in it.”
He laughs at my sarcasm.
My gloved hand on the door handle, I hear Keller call out, “Katie, you forgot your book.”
I smile because I left it intentionally. “It’s yours. Someone else should get to love it.” It’s my favorite book. I feel good knowing I’m leaving it with someone who will appreciate it.
“But you haven’t finished reading it.” He’s holding up the book pointing to the bookmark.
I tap my temple. “I already know how it ends. You don’t.” I wink and smile, but the honesty and simplicity of the words hits me. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know my story. And that’s how it needs to stay, because I’ve always preferred happy endings. “You should meet Atticus Finch. He’s a badass lawyer.”
I pull up to Keller’s door at 1:15 and before I can honk he’s out the door as if he’s been listening or watching for me. He’s shaking his head.
“Christ woman, are you ever on time?” He’s teasing, but I know it’s one of his pet peeves.
“No. Another bad habit. Chronic at this point, incurable.” I shrug because it’s who I am. And in the grand scheme, there are worse things than tardiness. “On top of that, I had all this
beauty
to contend with. It slowed me down.”
He grins. “Well, you made it. That’s a good start.”
Keller was born to be a winter driving instructor. His patience is saint-like. He talks me through the deserted, plowed, but icy streets to the auditorium parking lot. I’m glad no one’s out because I feel like rolling manslaughter waiting to happen. At least when I mess up, no one’s in harm’s way. Keller never raises his voice above its usual low, practiced, calm, soothing level. It’s the voice that guides me safely through icy roads reminding me to loosen the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and to slow down, and to tap my brakes, and not to hold my breath. It relaxes me. It’s a steady, constant, comfort. I’ve grown to love comfort.