Of All The Ways He Loves Me (2 page)

“Somebody tell me!” I screamed. I shouldn’
t have screamed because my throat scrape raw and I fell to coughing. It took me ten minutes and a can of soda to recover. Then tissue in hand, my breath half held, I refocused blurry eyes on his face.

And he straightened, tilting his head to the left. “It’s very simple. In two weeks, I’m going to kiss you.”

***

“Kiss me? You can’t kiss me,” Nadia said, her face white. Well, whiter than it was
today since she was so sick.

“Why can’t I?”
he asked. He’d actually never considered kissing her, but now that he had an opportunity, why not?

“Because … because we’re friends.”

“We should be enemies?”

Nadia was so uptight at times, doing the same thing at the same time on t
he same day in the same manner that she failed to see what was obvious in front of her.

“Well, no,” she said.

“And I
am
a boy and you
are
a girl, right?”

“Yeah.”

Paterson waved his hands wide, “Then I’ll kiss you.”

“But … we don’t love each other.”

“Who says we won’t by then?” He was fully aware he was pushing his luck now, but the thought of having feelings for Nadia was interesting.

He’d never dated anyone seriously, yet it seemed like she’d be his first choice. She had all the qualities he’
d seek looks-wise, and she already filled the role personality-wise – picking up after him when she came over, locating things he’d lost, reminding him to do his assignments. Girl stuff. What if they fell in love? Wouldn’t that make it better?

“Who says …” She repeated his works, opening and closing her mouth a bit like
a fish out of water, then shaking her head seemingly to clear it. “We can’t manufacture feelings.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Why
not
?” Her face was flushed now, her cheeks pink.

There were a number of things that pushed Nadia’s buttons, and one of the biggest was determination. Anytime he wouldn’t let go of a subject, she became red-faced and confused.
Though her confusion right now could be as much a result of her illness as anything else.

“Let’s go out on a date,”
he said

“A date
?”

“Yeah, an official date. We’re supposed to be dating anyhow, since that’s what I told Evelyn, so how about next Friday? I’ll take you to
Frizelli’s.”

She loved
Frizelli’s, especially the garlic bread sticks. He’d once seen her eat a dozen in one sitting.

“I’ll even let you get the shrimp pasta stuff you like.”

“And the Tiramisu?” she asked.

“And the Tiramisu.”

“This date sounds more like a bribe,” Penny said.

Paterson flicked
her a glance. He’d been fully aware she and Jenn were sucking all this entertainment up, but this was the first she’d commented.

“We have to start somewhere,” Paterson replied, “and where food is concerned, Nadia can always be bought.”
That Nadia was listening didn’t bother him at all. Right now, she looked past caring.

“I can be bought,” she said, proving his thoughts. She’d
laid her cheek to the table top and splayed to her hands on either side as if completely sapped.

“So you
gonna go out with him or not?” Penny asked her, a half-smile on her face.

Nadia glanced his way without lifting her head. “Sure.
Can’t see as how it’ll feel like a date though. We’ve been to Frizelli’s together before.”

Ah, but he had this part all thought out.
“Not alone,” he said. “Not dressed up, and not at the corner booth.”

“The corner booth?
We can’t sit at the corner booth. That means … means …”

And he offered her a grin.
“That means we’re on a date. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice and do that twisty thing with your hair.” He loved the twisty thing because he could look at her neck. She had such a nice neck.

She blinked twice, whether in disbelief or agony he couldn’t tell. Then she groaned.
Agony. Definitely agony
.

“
Peaches?” she said.

“
Mmm?”

She stretched out her arm, laying fiery fingers on his hand. “Since we’re falling in love now, you think you could dip me a plate?”

Paterson laughed. Even in her lowest state, Nadia would eat. “Sure, Baby,” he said. “I know what you like.”

***

As close as Paterson and I were, our parents were closer. My dad golfed with his dad. Our moms went shopping together and
had lunch
. This had contributed to our friendship as much as attending the same church and school. He also lived kind of diagonal and behind us, which meant I could be found at his house as often as he was at mine.

So
neither set of our folks batted an eye when he asked to take me home.

I was beat. Whatever monster
resided in my fevered brain had gradually gnawed away at it until come two o’clock I could no longer form coherent thoughts past the words
bed
and
sleep
. Neither could I walk all the way to his car. He solved this by sweeping me off my feet and toting me across the grass.

“Gallant,”
I mumbled, my head tucked to his chest.

“You’re welcome, my fair maiden,”
he replied.

I wasn’t a fool. Maybe the idea of dating
Paterson had never occurred to me, but him has a handsome male had. He had dark hair and hazel eyes and right then was firm and solid and strong, all appealing things to a female about to collapse.

He dumped me
in the passenger seat and buckled my seat belt before moving around to the driver’s side. The rumble of the engine along with the cooling breeze of the air conditioner sent me off to sleep. I awoke to his hand on my forehead and his eyes about six inches away.

“Hey,” he said.

I could see he was worried. He had those crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.

“Where’s your house key?”

Paterson was an A, number one first class guy. He followed all the unspoken rules of male behavior. How he’d learned them I attributed to a combination of his mom’s strict discipline and hanging around me, but those thoughts aside, he knew where my key was and simply wasn’t going to dig around to get it because no proper male would be caught with his hand in a girl’s purse.

I snatched the key
with the pinky of my right hand and slung it his way, then passed out, barely conscious of once again settling against his chest or the rocking motion of his footsteps. At some point between the car and the living room couch, I fell asleep.

My own snore woke me up. I gave a groan. “I hate that,” I said. “I get to sleep and my own noises wake me up.”

“Plus, it’s so sexy.”

I cracked an eye to see Paterson slou
ched in the armchair at my feet and then laid my weary hand over the damp washrag on my head. He must have retrieved it.

“How long was I out?” I asked.

He waved the palm of his hand upward. “Ten minutes maybe. You want some pills?”

I nodded. “You’re already such a good spouse.”

He laughed at that and pushed to his feet. I watched him disappear from the room and reemerge with a glass of water and bottle of fever medication in his hand. “Two or twelve?” he asked, dumping a pair of pills in his palm.

“
Twelve, please.”

Supporting the back of my head, he held the
glass of water to my lips. A drop slopped over the rim and onto my shirt.

“Great,” I said. “I’m slobbering now.”

“For better or for worse, you know.”

I shut my eyes, intent on nodding off again, but
the thought of our date rose up in my thinking. Not bothering to look at him (that took too much effort), I asked the question most pressing in my mind. “Why’d you do that?”

“Do what? Bring you home?”

“No, not that,” I said. “The whole dating and kissing thing.”

His reply jerked my eyes open.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to know?”

Well, no. I’d never thought about kissing him.
“You have?” I asked.

I mean, he must have. He’
d started the whole thing. The idea of him thinking that about me felt … well, weird. After all, this was the guy I’d shared the measles with. The guy whose new sweater one Christmas gave me the hives. Over the years we’d swapped sweat and germs and snot and probably countless other microorganisms, and he wanted to kiss me?

Thes
e thoughts on my mind, I couldn’t have been more stunned at his reply.

“Of course,
” he said. “More than once.”

CHAPTER 2

“Flowers from Paterson? Oh, isn’t he sweet.”

My mom was purring. I sat there on the bar stool and stared at her, imagining she was an orange tabby and the flowers were stroking her back. This made me crack a smile.

“Now, that’s a much better look for you,” she said.

The heady fragrance of the multi-colored blos
soms itched my sinuses, so I pinched my nose. Futile. Because I sneezed soon after. This sent me scrambling for a very soggy tissue I’d crammed in my pocket. I blotted my skin (it was too sore for blowing) and took the small card from my mother’s fingers. His name was on the envelope. That was like him, to put
his
name on it instead of mine.

I slid the card out and
unscrambled his illegible scrawl.

“What’s it say?” she asked.

My insides did a funny flop. What was up with him? He was really taking this whole dating thing too far.

“Oh nothing,” I mumbled. “He wants me to get better.”

“Well, he’s such a precious boy,” she said. She
would
say that; she loved Paterson.

I was still staring at the card. I’
d lied to her, of course, and I wasn’t big on lying. In fact, I discouraged it in myself and others, but there was no way I was telling her what he’d said.

To my first love,
he’d written.

First love.
Right.

Our first
date, and a kiss to remember.

A kiss.
He was really going to do this? I was really going to let him? He couldn’t. I couldn’t. It was ridiculous. But I knew that I knew that I knew if Evelyn was there, I would.

How exactly did I feel about that? I pictured his face and tried to imagine what our kiss would be like and got stuck instead on a memory of his braces. He’d worn them forever it seemed and hissed and whistled when he talked and gotten my hair caught in his teeth. That happened only once, but the pain of it remained vicious.

Okay, so he had nice teeth now. Were nice teeth a prerequisite to kissing? Seems like lips would be more important.

I turned my head to catch my
reflection in the microwave. So far as lips went mine were average. I was no Angelina Jolie, but I wasn’t Melissa Joan Hart either. But what about Paterson? I cast in my mind for guys with great lips and drew a blank. Who looked at a guy’s lips anyway?

I sighed and after glancing
again at the card, returned it to its envelope then stuck the whole thing in my pocket for safe keeping.

“Do you want them in your room?” my mom asked.

I could see she was hoping I didn’t, so I shook my head. “Nah. Keep them here. I’m sure he wanted everyone to enjoy them.”

“He, who?”

My dad came up on me from behind. Laying his hands on my shoulders, he gave a squeeze. “You mean your mother has an admirer?” he asked. Dad was always joking about that.

Mom preened at his question, patting her hair and smoothing her blouse.

I gave a half-laugh, half-cough, and Dad’s hand became a battering ram on my back.

“Don’t beat her to death, Robert,” my mom said. “And the flowers were for Nadia.”

“Nadia?” His hand paused. “From who?”

“Paterson.”

“Ah.” His tone softened. “Had a conversation with our young friend.” He rounded the counter and rubbed his belly.

“At the picnic?”
my mom asked.

“No. He called
last night to talk to me.”

“He called?”
I asked. This was interesting. Why would Paterson call my dad? They got along well enough and had spoken before, but Paterson never sought him out.

“Yes, I’m afraid your little secret is out, my dear.”