I forgo the kiss because he smells so clean and crisp and I know I've got morning breath so I roll myself out of bed and somehow get my feet under me.
The baking smell calls to me, but my toothbrush screams louder. By the time I get my scary sleep-deprived face to look a little less sleep-deprived, Peter's finished the book and Mom's calling up the stairs for me.
I wave goodbye to Peter and he goes back to his book. Sighing, I tromp down the stairs and am instantly enveloped in the smell of cinnamon rolls. Pure heaven.
“How you feeling?”
“Meh.” She's looking a hell of a lot better. Her skirt is pressed and her blouse is ironed and her blonde wig is on straight. I'm wearing holey sweatpants, a t-shirt from eighth-grade ballet camp (yes, there is a such thing as ballet camp) that was once white, and my hair is so tangled it might be mistaken for dreadlocks.
“Well, anything is an improvement on yesterday.” The oven dings as I crash myself onto one of the stools at the counter.
“True. What's with the Betty Crocker?”
“I haven't made them in so long, and I just felt like it.” At the exact moment my feet cross the last step, she brings out the tray of the most gorgeous cinnamon rolls I've ever seen. Seriously, those things could give Peter a run for his money on the deliciousness scale. They might go so far as to be earth-shattering.
“So,” she says, taking off her oven mitts with authority. “How are you really? You scared me.” I try to swallow, but my throat won't work properly.
“I'm sorry.” I ruin everything. Way to start my morning off with a bang. With the thing I feared more than anything else. More than losing Peter or wanting to save him and become a noctalis.
Hurting my mother. The worst crime I could ever commit.
“Love rules without rules.” If I didn't feel like such a horrible person, I might have rolled my eyes.
“That doesn't make it right.”
“True love conquers all,” she says.
I fill a glass with water, hoping I can swallow my guilt. “And now you're quoting Disney.”
“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” she sings, drizzling glaze over the cinnamon rolls. My face forms a smile. I can't help it. She always brings me up when I'm down. What was I going to do without her?
Before my morbid thoughts can swirl into a freak out, she dabs glaze on my nose.
“Come on, ma fleur. Yesterday is over. Move on. Today hasn't even started. Why ruin it now?” I wipe the frosting off and lick it off my finger.
She's right. I have to learn how to bring myself out of the dark place without her. Peter's pretty good at it, but I can't rely on other people to save me. I have to save myself. No time like the present.
I smear some glaze across her cheek in return. Instead of laughing, she yanks me to her side, crushing me in a hug.
“That's right, baby.”
With my new resolve to live in the moment, I spend the morning and afternoon on the couch with a fluffy novel. Of course I also consume not one, but three cinnamon rolls. My stomach was so wrecked from the previous day that I felt instantly better with some calories in me.
Mom asks where Peter is and I tell her he's hanging out in the woods. It sounds better than waiting in my bedroom.
“I'm not even going to ask,” she says and starts washing the cinnamon roll pan.
****
“Baby, can you go out and get me some milk and eggs? Oh and some tissues?” The keys to her Jetta land next to me on the couch with a jingle. I wouldn't be caught dead at school in the outfit I'm wearing, but going to the local market didn't bother me. My outfit would be considered fancy, because it was clean. Sort of. Compared to the other people at the store, I'd be wearing Coco Chanel. But that's how Maine is.
“Be right back.” I sling my hair up in a clip and grab my purse. Peter's waiting in the passenger seat of the car for me. I want to continue our discussion (fight) from last night, but I've promised myself not to do things like that. I'm taking a page out of Mom's book. So instead I hop in the car and give him a smile.
“Hey, baby.” He makes a smile that pulls up just one side of his face. Oh. My. God. If I wasn't sitting down, I would have collapsed. I have no words for the desire and want and just, oh, that course through me. How the hell does he do that?
“How was that?” The smile drops away and his face goes back to normal. Composed. Calm. Like the smooth surface of an undisturbed pond. I'd sputter and say something if I could get air into my body to even make words with. “I will not call you that. I was trying to be human. I need more practice.” A sound that is akin to “ungh” comes from my mouth. Breathe, Ava. It's easy. You've been doing it for 17 years.
“Shall we go?”
I close my eyes for a moment. It's like a hurricane of pure want and need and Peter crashes over me. And I can't take it anymore. I throw myself over the middle console, jamming the shifter into my hip. I'll feel the pain later, but now I can only think of my destination. His lips.
They are my only concern as I smash mine into his. I open my mouth and try to drink him in. Savor him and his smell and how he feels. His mouth moves against mine, and I hear sounds coming from me that sound kind of like a kitten, but I can't stop them and I can'tstopcan'tstopcan'tstop. I'm in his lap and wrapped around him and I want to sear this moment on my brain like a brand so it can never be taken away.
And then reality crushes me in its claws and I leap back into my seat. Or at least I try. Peter has hold of my waist. Somehow his hands are against the bare skin of my back and my shirt's ridden up. I don't really remember that happening. Instantly, I start to babble.
“I'm sorry, that was stupid. It was the smiling. And calling me baby. You can't call me that ever again. Apparently I have no self control when you say it like that. So don't do it again.”
I'm still panting, trying to fill my body with oxygen again. His unblinking eyes watch me. I hope he's as unsettled as I am. It's hard being the only one.
“I will not promise. But I will try.”
“Why won't you promise?” As much as I loved, loved, loved hearing him call me baby, I loved having him my life more.
“I thoroughly enjoyed your reaction.” Oh that makes me want to smile and kiss him more.
“But it's dangerous. I shouldn't be kissing you. Not that just kissing you is going to lead to, well, you know, but I should stop doing things that. I mean, I'm not really at my best right now anyway.” I point to the sweats. Not exactly sexy-making.
“You can do whatever you want. I desire you, as well.”