#PastelPrincess

Chapter Nine

In the back corner of the crowded French café, I’m glad Ivan and Noah are able to sit at the bar next to the door instead of right on top of us. I’m also glad that my favorite table was open and we’re literally the farthest table away from the window walls that face the busy streets of downtown Leomrock. It may not be as big as Boston, which is just a short train ride away, but on Saturday nights it sure feels like it. And, if there were going to be any paparazzi, those window walls are the worst.

Explaining this to Chris, I softly break the half-baguette apart. Finishing the story with a hint of laughter, I continue, “… I ended up having to avoid this place for months – even after the break-up, it was terrible.”

Sipping at his berry tea, he nods. “Trenton is an attention… seeker,” he catches himself from cursing, “always has been, always will be, I’m afraid.”

I eye my menu though I know exactly what I want to get. “Same with Gabriella?” I verbally jab at him.

He snorts, “She is the worst!”

My smile expands into a giggle, “And yet you were with her for what… six months?”

“Seven,” Chris groans.

“Why though? The word of you complaining and feeling… well, awful with her started floating around school around month three. Why another four months?”

A huge smile cracks across his face, rolling laughter follows. “She was an amazing baker. I gained close to fifteen pounds when I was with her – even with my phys. ed., soccer, and swimming. Her raspberry cheesecake was to die for – that’s the one that Gordon Ramsey complimented - and my goodness, do you know what a blondie is? She’d make those with pecans and this sort of maple whip cream… it was worth it.”

His smile fades and little, his eyes lowering back to the menu. “Up until I realized she was using me to get not only a cookbook deal through my mum’s company but also enough publicity to open a bakery.”

A vague memory tickled the back of my mind, “And then it was her birthday?”

His lips go thin, and he nods. “Mmm. Father specifically instructed me that I wait another three weeks after her birthday before ending the relationship.”

“How… polite.”

He adjusts his glasses again and folds the menu. “Ready to order?”

I nod with a smile, slipping my menu over his. “Of course. I always get the same thing,” I laugh softly. “Escargot to start then the filet over mushroom risotto and macaroons for desert.”

His smile is soft, his eyes content on my face. “I was thinking just the same… hmm. Maybe I should get the seafood bisque in the bread-bowl instead?”

“I’ve heard that’s good. We could always share if you want….”

Chris’s smile widens. “Remember all the times we’d get a plate of everything and just work our way through it?”

Smiling into my cup of tea I let off a soft hum. “Are you going to the dinner on Halloween? The Boston’s Children Museum is doing a Not-So-Scary Halloween thing....”

He paused before answering, giving his order to the waitress. I give mine and when she’s a comfortable enough distance away, he replies “Mum brought that up last night, actually. I think more of a way to figure out if I had plans for that night or not…. Toby and Parker and Cynthia want to ‘make an appearance’ at a handful of parties but I hate that.”

His fingers move up and down his glass dripping in condensation. “Party hoping is just so boring and takes forever. It feels like the whole night is just about getting to the places, finding the hosts, getting pictures to prove we were there… not actually about enjoying ourselves. So maybe… claiming it’s a function I have to go is an excuse I’m not afraid to use.”

I snort. “Macen and Sophia just love when I do that.”

“Right? What about you though… are you actually going or are you doing something with them?”

Eating through another half-baguette, my shoulders lift softly before I lean back into the cushioned seat. “Macen has Rocky Horror, Sophia’s taking her little brother trick-or-treating…. I was thinking about the thing in Boston. It’s not black-tie ‘cause they want everyone in costumes, so that actually seems tempting.”

An eyebrow c***s, “Costumes? Oh, now that does sound fun. Costumes, good food, and I’m sure instead of common Halloween candy they’ll have all those fancy chocolates and dipped fruits like last year at Peabody Essex.”

“Did you try those chocolate shells? Holy crap those were good!”

“In the coastal exhibit? Oh yes. Mum tried to figure out who the baker was for the event but apparently, those were imported.”

“Damn….”

I feel his leg brush against mine as he readjusts in his chair. “Do you want to go then? Together?”

My cheeks grow warm, and I get rather fixated on pouring another cup of tea and adding a stupid amount of sugar to it. “Mmm. Couples costume or…?” Knowing I already have my Sarah Sanderson cosplay all set but there’s no mate for her.

The look is playful but cautious. “I have a Zorro costume that could totally work for Westley.”

A smile and squint as I lean my forearms on the table. “You totally creeped on me, didn’t you? I wore my red Buttercup cosplay to that end-of-the-year costume party last Spring.”

“You have every Buttercup cosplay there is, just as you have every original trilogy Princess Leia costume there is, just as I have every Han Solo outfit and a plethora of Spider-Man suits.”

“And I suppose Han and Leia would be your second suggestion and then… mmm, let me guess, Spider-Man and Marry Jane seeing as they’re officially married in the U.K. based Spectacular Spider-Man comic in two-thousand-eight?”

After our plates have landed and we’ve both taken our first few bits, also trying the other’s dishes, he slows the fork and replies “That’s the first issue I talked to you about, wasn’t it?”

“You were seven, I was six, that was the first gala we ever had together… in the fancy vineyard in France remember? That’s why you had all your comic books with you because it was wine-tasting and stinky cheese.”

Momentarily sitting back in his seat, his eyes drift past my left ear and he nods with a smile. “Damn… yeah. I remember that now.”

Knowing how funny my memory can be, I shrug it off to make it seem like a random remembrance. And not that I actually remember almost everything about our lives together or my life with anyone I deem important in general. Unfortunately burdened with such a good memory, I tend to bring up things most people don’t recall…. It also means I remember bad things, as well though, and my therapist says that’s where a lot of my anxiety may source from. “Buttercup and Westley though,” I try to get us back on target after filling my teacup again, “that seems very doable.”

Chris’s leg brushes against mine and the way his eyes linger softly on my face makes me flush again. “Yes, yes it does.”

*

Noah driving just under the speed limit, crawling the town car to my family’s townhouse, Chris and I are enjoying the cozy time together in comfortable quiet. Having basically cuddled in the movie, held hands at dinner, now I’m taking advantage of the luxury back seat to lay my head in his lap. As his fingers comb absently-mindedly through my hair, his eyes are heavy – closed and his breathing soft. My gaze keeps flicking to his half-illuminated, half shadowed face from my phone screen.

All the years I spent angry at him, all the years Macen was on my offense, all the years he was frustrated and therefore snippy with me seem a total waste after tonight. After our entrée’s but before desert, we talked a little more about what happened. No stress, no anxiety, relaying it to each other as if it was another movie we watched or some factual exposé. It is not unheard of for a boy at a young age – say fourteen years old – to be afraid of either dating a girl in general, ‘going steady’ as they say, or even how much he might feel for someone else. This is actually a trait we see in all ages of males, so really… I can’t be shocked.

Flitting through the extensive amount of clear and accurate memories I have of all our actions thereafter; things make a lot more sense in this new light. Bouncing back between the notepad app in my phone and f*******:, I reply to some people’s comments and write notes for my next therapy appointment.

I can’t even imagine how dominate a subject Chris has been over the years with Doctor Renfield. Next to my fear of being alone and/or abandoned, and my fear of failure because I’m my parent's only child and a f*****g princess. But, at least now, it would hopefully be a good thing… a productive thing, a ‘how to mature and be an adult’ thing.

Unfortunately, the car comes to a stop and as I finish my last sentence Chris starts stirring. I swing my feet off the inner door, we both stretch, and then when I’m collected, we head out. Though both Ivan and Noah stand by the passenger side of the car, they let us have our privacy as we say our goodnight.

Purse in the nook of my elbow, flowers in my left hand, my right hand in Chris’s, and his thumb’s rubbing the back of it softly. Gate opens, we walk the mini garden path Mama is so proud of, and then we’re at the bottom of the stairs. I take one step and there’s a soft tug on my hand. Spun around softly, my right side is leaning into Chris’s chest. Head and shoulders the same height, his breath is soft on my lips. His grey eyes look into mine with an emotion I don’t recognize. Heart pounding, the moment he leans a fraction of an inch further, I close my eyes.

Finally, I understand Mama’s writing.

We lean into each other even more; with such a gravitational pull I don’t think we’ll ever part. Even with us both standing, the weight of his torso against mine makes me ease, makes me melt into him. The grip of his hand is strong, steadying me and not at all controlling. And then his lips… the same sort of light but distinct pressure as raindrops. This is very possibly the best kiss of my life. Safe, warm… an ‘oh, hello, welcome home’.