Eve sputtered, furious. ‘Oh, so “I want something hot and sweet” means “nothing”?’
‘Um, no.’ His eyes were glacial. ‘It means I’d like a hot drink, as opposed to a cold one, and I’d like something sweet – as in with syrup in it. Goddamn. You got a coworker or somethin’ I could order from?’ He glanced over and spotted me, lips pressed together.
‘Lucas, dammit, get me somethin’ –’ he eyed Eve – ‘hot and sweet.’
‘Salted caramel mocha sound good?’
Smiling, he said, ‘Hell, yeah – that sounds perfect.’ His smile dropped when he looked back at Eve, though he was still speaking to me. ‘And thank you for your professionalism.’ I made the drink as he handed over a bill and Eve rang him up silently.
‘See ya next week for that Air Review show,’ he said, taking the cup. ‘Elliott’s sister is comin’ for a visit the week after, by the way. If you wanna join us for dinner one night, I can show off my one smart friend.’
‘Sure thing.’ I laughed. ‘Sounds good, Joseph.’
When he’d gone, Eve glowered at me and said, no inflection: ‘He’s g*y, isn’t he.’
‘Yep.’
‘And you just stood there and let me make an ass of myself –’
‘Eve, everything isn’t about you.’ I tapped a finger to her nose to lessen the harsh words. ‘Maybe you should figure that out.’ I turned to wash pitchers before the next wave of finals-freaked customers deluged us.
She huffed a sigh but didn’t reply.
My phone buzzed with one more text from Jacqueline, who had three more exams between now and Saturday to my one: Chinese on Saturday? I need something hot and spicy to celebrate the end of the semester. Kung-pao maybe? *wink* After the previous exchange between Joseph and Eve, I chuckled aloud again. Jacqueline and I had plans to celebrate in her dorm room, after Erin left for winter break.
Me: I think I can make hot and spicy happen
Jacqueline: *fanning* yes please
‘So how did you end up playing the bass?’ I asked, digging in my carton for a broccoli spear. We were sitting side by side on Jacqueline’s dorm-room floor, our backs to her bed.
‘By way of Pee-Wee football,’ she answered. I made a face, my imagination putting her in a football uniform, and she laughed. ‘One of our bass players snapped his collarbone in a game, and our orchestra teacher begged for one of the violins to switch. I volunteered. It was a bonus that my mother wasn’t happy about it.’
‘So your relationship with your mom – not so good, I take it?’
She sighed. ‘Actually, I just told her – about Buck. About all of it. And she cried. She never cries. She wanted to come here.’ A frown creased her brow. ‘I told her I was good, I was strong, and I realized I was.’ She leaned her head back against her bed, her face turned towards me. ‘Because of Erin – and you.’
My mind suggested that this was no bad-boy trait she was praising.
I tipped an imaginary hat. ‘Happy to be of service, ma’am.’
She smiled. ‘She’s making me an appointment with her therapist. At first I agreed because it gave her something to do – some way to help. But when I thought about it, I was glad. I want to talk to someone about what happened. Someone who can help me deal with all of it.’
Our faces were inches apart, and I could have sworn she looked sad for me. Maybe because I didn’t have a mother. ‘That’s awesome. I’m glad your mom was there for you.’
This was not where I wanted this evening to go. I had so little time left with her.
‘What about you? How did you decide to study engineering? I mean, you could have majored in art, probably.’
I shrugged. ‘I can draw whenever I want. It calms me – always has. But I don’t want to do that for anyone but me. As for art in general – I’m not really a painter, sculptor, anything else. Whereas narrowing down my interests in engineering was difficult. I wanted to do it all.’
She smiled. ‘So how did you choose?’
‘Well, skill and opportunity. I hadn’t really considered going a medical route. I thought I’d be designing cars or inventing futuristic stuff like hovercraft. But the opportunity presented itself when Dr Aziz asked me to apply, so I’m game.’
I scrolled through my iTunes list for the playlist I wanted her to hear and handed her both earbuds. Unsurprisingly, she was emotionally attuned to music like no one I’d ever known – an unguarded range of feelings reflected in her eyes as she stared at me, listening. I leaned in to kiss her, and then picked her up, lay her on the bed and stretched out next to her, one arm under her head, the other flat on her abdomen.
When I reached to brush a finger over her ear, she removed one earbud and handed it to me. I dialled the playlist to a song I’d discovered just before I got my last tattoo – four lines now inscribed on to my side, a poem composed by my artistic mother for the analytical man who loved her. The song had triggered the memory of her words, so I’d searched the attic for her poetry notebook the next time I was home. I copied the lines and took them to Arianna, and she added the poem to the canvas of my body, two years ago.
Love is not the absence of logic
but logic examined and recalculated
heated and curved to fit
inside the contours of the heart
Our hands began to wander over each other – my fingers sliding under her shirt as I kissed her. She warned me that Erin could return any moment – apparently her roommate hadn’t left for winter break yet. Something to do with a boyfriend who was trying to win her back.