Life and Other Complications Page 9

  Tuesday, June 7

  This morning when Luke picked me up for school, he got out of the car to kiss me.

  “How was yesterday?” he said.

  Horrifying. But I couldn’t say that. He still thinks I’m going to Boston for mentoring. So I told him, “Okay.”

  When we were both in the car, Luke said, “Mom and Dad want to have you over for dinner tonight.”

  “You told them about us?”

  Luke nodded. “Saturday morning. Why do you look nervous?”

  “This is dinner with your parents. Isn’t that supposed to make me nervous?”

  “Meeting the parents is supposed to make you nervous. But you already know them. You’ve seen them sing showtunes in the kitchen.”

  That’s true. But this still felt different.

  Luke and I have been on a date. We’re dating. Tonight might even count as a second date. I would have to check the legal definition. Either way, this isn’t just dinner at my friend’s house. This is dinner with the parents of the guy I’m dating. That brought up all kinds of possible pitfalls, starting with the fact that I had no idea what to wear. There should be an agreed upon fashion rating system for social events. Then every invitation could come with a number. But in the meantime, I had to figure it out for myself.

  I finally decided on a blue sundress, because it seemed to be the right degree of casual, and Luke told me once that he liked it. But once I had the dress on, I couldn’t help but notice how much skin was showing. The skirt of the dress is long, but my arms and shoulders were bare. I’ve never thought of the dress as inappropriate before. But I’ve also never been dating a minister’s son before.

  I’m dating a minister’s son. I still can’t get used to that idea.

  To a small town, there is nothing more delicious than gossiping about the minister’s family. They’re going to find out we’re dating. And they’re going to have a field day.

  And what about Luke’s parents? What did they really think about their son dating the girl with HIV? Luke’s mother used to teach nursing at the University of New Hampshire. She knows how much of a risk I am to him. She can’t want me anywhere near her baby. If she got me alone, would she be polite about it, or just tell me to stay away from her son?

  It took a force of will to make me leave the house and walk the three blocks to the Harrisons’. I kept envisioning one of Luke’s parents slamming the door in my face. But when the Harrisons’ door opened, it was Luke standing on the other side. He smiled when he saw me, but the smile didn’t last.

  “Are you okay?” Luke said, taking in the skirt that reached down to my feet and the heavy sweater I had added for coverage.

  “I’m fine.”

  But his brows furrowed. “It’s almost eighty degrees, and you’re dressed for the arctic. Are you running a fever?”

  I shook my head, but he reached out to touch me anyway. His hand rested against my cheek for mere seconds, but it was long enough to send warmth rushing to the spot.

  “You don’t feel feverish,” Luke said. “But now your cheeks are getting pink.”

  Which made the heat intensify. I was blushing about blushing because he touched my cheek.

  Luke took my hand. “We need to find a thermometer.”

  “Luke, I’m fine.”

  “If you have a fever, that’s serious.”

  Fevers are concerning for anyone whose immune system might be compromised. But I wasn’t running a fever; unless a temperature spike based on embarrassment counts. Still, I knew that nothing short of a normal temperature was going to satisfy him. So I let him take my hand and lead me into the house, then up the stairs.

  Luke took me as far as his room. “Give me a second.”

  He let go of my hand and walked down the hall toward the bathroom. I went into Luke’s room to wait.

  I’ve always liked Luke’s room. The walls are a deep navy blue. There’s a big chair, with his guitar resting in a stand beside it. On the opposite wall are bookcases stuffed full of books and Iron Man lunchboxes.

  When Luke was seven, he wanted an Iron Man lunchbox. His mom went to all the local stores, but they were sold out. When she told him they would get him one next year, Luke yelled, “I could die before then,” and ran upstairs and cried in his closet. He said it was the first time he ever really freaked out about dying. His mom found him an Iron Man lunchbox. And she still buys him one every year. He has eleven of them on his shelves. Sometimes they’ll be stacked in pillars or all lined up in a row. Today they made up a pyramid worthy of the Valley of the Kings.

  Luke came back with a thermometer that he handed me. Seconds later, it beeped.

  He took it back to check the reading. “98.9.”

  “Which is normal.”

  “But that doesn’t explain how flushed you were on the porch. Or the clothes.”

  “I was worried.”

  He was watching me intently. “Worried about what?”

  “That my dress wasn’t right.”

  “So you wore a blanket with buttons?”

  “It’s my sick sweater.”

  “But you’re not sick,” Luke said. “We’ve established that.”

  He was waiting for proof that I was fine. So I undid the buttons and slowly peeled off the protection of my sweater.

  “What’s wrong with the dress?” Luke said.

  “I thought maybe it didn’t cover enough.”

  “It’s a sundress. It’s perfect.”

  Luke took my sweater and put it on his desk chair. “So why were your cheeks hot on the porch?”

  “That was your fault.”

  He frowned slightly. “All I did was ask if you were all right.”

  “And you touched me.”

  Luke’s eyes were amused. “All of this because I touched your cheek?”

  “It isn’t funny.”

  “I’m not laughing,” he said. “I’m wondering.”

  My voice was so quiet it surprised me. “Wondering what?”

  “If you minded.”

  I shook my head. “It felt nice.”

  “Good.”

  I could feel my pulse as Luke slowly reached out to touch me again. This time, he didn’t lay his hand against my skin. He used his thumb to trace the curve of my cheek and the edge of my jaw. His touch was so light. But it was setting off another wave of sensation—until Mrs. Harrison’s voice called down the hall.

  “Luke, did Aly make it?”

  Luke dropped his hand as his mother came into the room.

  “Oh, Aly, you’re here.” Mrs. Harrison smiled.

  “She’s worried about her dress,” Luke said.

  Mrs. Harrison looked me up and down. “The dress is darling. Luke, can you light the grill before your father blows it up?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  Mrs. Harrison smiled at me. “Aly can help me.”

  I’ve always liked Luke’s mom, but it still felt strange to follow her downstairs. And even stranger when the front door opened and Luke’s older brother Matt walked into the house with a girl.

  Matt is finishing his junior year at the University of New Hampshire. I’ve known him as long as I’ve known Luke. But the girl was new.

  I hung back as Mrs. Harrison hugged her oldest son and was introduced to his date, Kara.

  “Hi, Aly,” Matt said when he had moved past his mother. He hugged me. “You look pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Kara,” Mrs. Harrison was saying, “This is Luke’s girlfriend, Aly. Aly, Kara.”

  “Hi,” we said to each other.

  “Girlfriend?” Matt mouthed at his mother.

  “Since Friday night,” Mrs. Harrison mouthed back.

  Kara and I looked at each other, not knowing what to say. The awkwardness was broken when Luke and his dad came into the room. There were more hugs, more introductions. It was a relief when Luke took my hand again.

  “That bad?” Luke whispered when the others were all talking to each other.

&
nbsp; “Your mom introduced me as your girlfriend,” I whispered.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the right word,” Luke whispered back.

  I blinked at him. “We’ve been on one date.”

  “Are you dating anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Neither am I. Which makes us exclusive—hence the term girlfriend.”

  We’re exclusive.

  I liked knowing that Luke wasn’t dating anyone else. But at the same time, it felt strange to be exclusive. Almost like I belonged to him.

  At dinner, Mrs. Harrison said, “So Luke got some news today.”

  I turned to look at him. “What news?”

  “Just a letter.”

  “From Dartmouth,” Mrs. Harrison said. “They’ve taken him off the waitlist.”

  “They offered you a place?” I said.

  He nodded.

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Congratulations,” Matt said.

  “I haven’t decided if I’m going,” Luke said.

  “Of course, you’re going,” Mrs. Harrison said.

  “The decision is Luke’s.” His dad’s tone made it clear that this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.

  “It’s an amazing opportunity,” Mrs. Harrison said.

  “That would be wasted on me,” Luke said.

  Mrs. Harrison looked ready to delve into round two, but Luke turned to Kara. “Has Matt told you about my head?”

  Kara glanced at Matt before she nodded.

  “So you get why I’m not going?”

  Kara clearly didn’t know what to say.

  “Luke.” His father said. “You are making her uncomfortable.”

  Luke looked at Kara. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded.

  “I just don’t see the point in going to college when we all know I won’t finish.”

  “Maybe we should wait on this conversation,” Luke’s dad said.

  “There isn’t anything to talk about,” Luke and his mother said at almost the same time.

  And an awkward silence fell over the table.

  Luke didn’t say anything as he walked me back to the Millers’ after dinner. And I didn’t ask. I figured he would talk to me when he was ready. When we got to the Millers’ front porch, I was expecting him to walk me to the door and then leave. But he sat down on the porch steps. So I sat down next to him.

  “It would be pointless,” he said. “But Mom can’t see that.”

  “She wants you to be happy.”

  “She doesn’t want to face reality.”

  “She’s your mom. You can’t blame her for that.”

  Luke let out a breath and nodded.

  “I don’t want to face reality either,” I told him.

  He looked at me, the tension disappearing from his face. Instead his expression became half worried, half resigned. “You changed your mind about us.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind about anything.” My throat was getting tight. “I’m just not ready to lose you.”

  Luke wrapped his arms around me. “I’m right here.”

  For now.

  When the porchlights flashed, I looked at the time. “I’ve got to go in.”

  Luke stood up and offered me a hand.

  I didn’t have to look to know that Mrs. Miller was watching us through a window. Luke apparently didn’t notice or didn’t care. Because he leaned in and kissed me.

  “Goodnight, Aly,” he said.

  “Goodnight.”

  When I walked into the house, Mrs. Miller was waiting for me in the foyer.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  Which is never a good sign.

  I followed her into the family room where Mr. Miller was watching TV. He turned it off when we came in. Mrs. Miller sat next to her husband and pointed at a chair on the other side of the room. I sat down, unsure what I should be bracing myself for.

  “How was dinner?” Mrs. Miller said.

  “Um, nice.” Mostly.

  “Did you behave yourself?” Mr. Miller said.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. I had been polite and offered to help with the dishes and thanked the Harrisons for having me. But that apparently wasn’t what the Millers were concerned about.

  “Did you keep your knees together?” Mr. Miller said.

  It took me a second to realize what he meant. Understanding brought all of the heat from my body rushing into my face.

  “I’m not sleeping with Luke,” I said.

  The Millers studied me, as if they were trying to decide if I was lying.

  “And I’m not planning on starting.”

  Mrs. Miller said, “You remember what Dr. Jordan told us. There is no safe sex for you. Condoms break.”

  “I know.”

  “You could infect him,” Mrs. Miller said. “And the last thing that sweet boy needs is to catch your disease.”

  He’s a sweet boy. I don’t want to know what they think I am.

  The lecture went on for what felt like hours. But my thoughts were only loosely connected to what they were saying.

  I love Luke. Did they really think I would ever take a chance of giving him HIV? How selfish do they think I am?

  They know how much this disease has put a shadow on my life. Or they would, if they paid attention. Of course, if they paid attention, they would probably also know that I have no interest in sex, at all. The most traumatic events of my life involved sex. I can’t imagine anything more horrifying than having to do that again.

  It was when they had let me go and I had made it to my room that another thought crashed into me.

  I don’t have any interest in sex. But what if Luke does?

  What if he wants to have sex with me?

  I couldn’t breathe. Panic was flooding my lungs, driving out all of the air.

  I had to force myself to take deep breaths, to try and think.

  Luke doesn’t believe in casual sex. We’ve talked about that.

  And he knows about my HIV. He shouldn’t want me like that.

  But he’s eighteen and male. According to the cover of every magazine in the grocery store checkout line, he thinks about sex almost constantly. And he’s dying. What does HIV matter when you’re already running out of time?

  I was desperately trying to convince myself that no one could ever want me like that. That I’m too filthy and broken. But that caused a stab of pain to mix in with my panic.

  Either Luke wants to have sex with me, which is horrifying.

  Or he doesn’t, because I’m dirty and contaminated, and that’s crushing.

  I am in so far over my head.

  Wednesday, June 8

  All day, my head has been full of desperate confused thoughts. It was a relief to get to the mural room and close the doors on everything else. I set up my palette the way I always do, from left to right, Titanium White to Onyx Black, today adding an especially large pool of Cadmium Red. Because today I was working on Little Red Riding Hood. I mixed the shades I would need, from a deep merlot all the way to the lightest blush. When everything was ready, I started to paint.

  Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t a main character in the mural, just a glimpse of red tucked between the trees. Just enough to catch the eye of a wolf.

  I was so immersed in my work that I didn’t even notice Luke until he was halfway across the room.

  “What are you doing here?” I said, putting down my palette and brush.

  Luke wrapped his arms around me. “I missed you.”

  “You dropped me off an hour ago.”

  “I can miss you in an hour,” he said.

  “I’m that missable?”

  “You’re highly missable.”

  He leaned in, and I kissed him.

  At first, I was going through the motions, my mind still caught up in other things. But then slowly those thoughts were fading, and I was feeling more than thinking. Feeling Luke’s lips, and the warmth that was spreading through me. I did
n’t know how a kiss could be this gentle and this passionate at the same time. I just knew I liked how it felt.

  Until his fingers slid into my hair.

  Rick’s hand twisted through my hair, forcing my head where he wanted it to go. Panic exploded in my mind. And then I was stumbling backwards. The yellow bedroom was gone. I was in the mural room. My breaths were coming too fast, my heart beating too hard, the desperation so overwhelming I thought I was going to be sick.

  “Aly?”

  I took a step toward Luke’s voice and felt his arms wrap around me. Pressing my face into his shirt, I struggled to breathe.

  Luke held me tighter. “It’s okay.”

  Slowly, my heart rate came down, and my breaths lost their ragged edges. The dread was still lingering, but it was manageable.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Luke said.

  I leaned back enough to make sure he could see my face. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then what happened?”

  I couldn’t tell him about the flashback. But I couldn’t add another layer of lies either. So I told him another truth.

  “Last night, when I went inside, the Millers ambushed me about sex. Was I sleeping with you already, or was I going to start, and did I know how risky that was? They think you don’t need my disease on top of everything else.”

  Understanding overtook the concern on Luke’s face.

  “And then I kiss you like that, and you start worrying about what I was planning,” Luke said.

  I nodded.

  “I was planning on kissing you. And then sitting on that pile of drop cloths and talking to you while you paint.”

  Genuine relief eased away a layer of anxiety I hadn’t even known I had. “That was it?”

  “That was it.”

  He tilted his head, studying me. “I’m not Troy, and this isn’t Truth or Dare.”

  I froze. I never told him or Caroline about that night.

  “Madison told me a couple of months ago,” Luke said. “She still feels bad about it.”

  “It was years ago.”

  Luke is usually the calm voice of reason. But today, the look on his face was almost frightening. “Which is good. Because I can’t kill him now for something he did when he was thirteen.”

  “It was just a kiss.”

  “No.” Luke’s voice was deadly serious. “It wasn’t. Troy forced you into something you didn’t want. That’s assault, not a kiss.”