Текст книги "Junk Miles"

Автор книги: Лиз Реинхардт

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“We only have a few days left here.” He tucked my hair behind my ears. “Let’s be exclusive, you and me, alright? International dating buddies. And when you get home, you go back where you belong.”

“It’s not going to work like that, Saxon.” It was annoying that he was trying to plan my life out, despite his obvious good intentions. “Anyway, I thought you were working on not being someone to have fun with.”

“This isn’t fun.”He held my face in his hands. “You’re not giving up the goods and it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell when we get back to good ol’ Jersey. This is just pure indulgence.”

It was that word that did it for me. Maybe my childhood desire to scribble with markers over a perfectly good fairytale had just morphed in my teen life. Because I had all of the elements of a fairytale with Jake, and here I was, scribbling hard with every crazy, relationship-ending color I could find.

“It sounds like a really stupid idea,” I said, then kissed him softly. “I’m in.”

He took my hand and stood me up. “You know they had to move this in World War II?” He looked at the colossal Nike.

“Why?”

“Hitler was an art lover. Kind of. He stole famous art from all over Europe and holed it up for future display in some planned master museum. Anyway, the Germans were marching on Paris, and the museum director got scared, so they moved it.”

“How?” I liked this storytelling side of Saxon. I liked thinking about historical facts instead of potential emotional intricacies. This was good.

“They put up all kinds of ropes and pulleys and just pulled her down the stairs.” He chuckled, something in him loving the idea of a Classical statue being dragged down a marble staircase by frantic Frenchmen with Nazis hot on their tail.

It made my eyes pop just to imagine the effort that must have gone into getting it down. “Could you imagine if they broke her?” My voice was hushed with the horror of it.

He laughed, the sound echoing off the big cave of a room. “Brenna, she’s got no head! How much more could they do?”

I looked at the huge, intimidating, marble goddess, who was strangely headless in that way so much ancient art is that I just kind of imagine great sculpture purposefully limbless and beheaded. “Well, there’s the wings,” I said indignantly, but when he kept laughing, I gave up and joined him.

Mom found us standing on the stairs, our arms loosely around each other, laughing hard and leaning on each other for support.

“What’s so funny?” Mom asked.

“That she has no head,” I gasped and Saxon leaned his head back and howled.

Mom narrowed her eyes at me a little. The idea of an ancient headless marble statue was practically religious to my mother, and she crossed her arms and glared our laughs dead.

“If you two jokers are done, we have a lot more to see.”

I left Saxon’s embrace swiftly and put my arm around her waist.

“It wasn’t really that she was headless that was so funny,” I said soberly, willing Mom to feel less disappointed in my disrespect of the arts. “It was the Nazis trying to steal her…” Yeah, there was no way to explain it that didn’t make us sound like idiot teenage American tourists.

“The Nazi occupation of Paris was a real hoot.” Mom clicked her tongue. “ Tsk.Brenna, they have an amazing Dutch landscape section. Would you like to see it? If clouds and dikes aren’t too hilarious for you.”

Saxon choked a little, and I laughed behind my hand, trying hard not to. Mom rolled her eyes, but she smiled. A little.

We went through the rest of the long, cool museum and looked at the clouds and dikes with perfectly respectful appreciation, though Saxon did pinch my arm and wink behind Mom’s back. Lylee joined us, and I found her innuendo and fawning irritating. It seemed like Saxon did too. Finally everyone’s eyes except Mom’s were glazed over from fine art overload.

“Should we go examine the Rococo display again? I don’t think I really had time to drink that Fragonard in.” Mom clasped her hands over her heart like she was a lovesick teenager.

I could see Lylee and Saxon suppressing groans. “Maybe we should get something to eat first, Mom,” I suggested.

“Oh! Yes, good idea.” Mom wrinkled her nose. “I just can’t eat at the Louvre cafeteria. Let’s go and grab something…there’s a great little place a few blocks away.”

Lylee seized the opportunity and drew Mom away by the arm. They chattered over each other about sexual suggestiveness in French Rococo paintings. Saxon grabbed my hand.

“Hey. Sorry if I offended your mother with my headless art and Nazi humor.”

“Mom is serious about art.” I offered him a tidbit of advice with my smile. “Excepting a racial slur or something less than complimentary about me, I don’t know if there’s anything that would have offended my mother more.”

He watched her walk in front of us and nodded. “I like her passion. She doesn’t care if she’s cool or not, and that’s pretty damn awesome on its own.”

“Of course she doesn’t care if she’s cool.” I put my hands up. “She’s my mom.”

“Being a mom doesn’t give you automatic self-esteem.” Saxon’s eyes switched focus to his mom’s back, her long, silky black hair swishing around her firm little butt.

“Your mom seems to have good self-esteem.” I followed his gaze.

“My mom has a big mouth and lots of opinions. That’s different.” His face hardened a little.

“Do you two get along?” Before this trip, I felt like Saxon had just sprung to life, fully formed. Or hatched from a giant egg. The idea of him having parents seemed impossible.

“No.” The word fell out of his mouth bluntly. “My mother likes me, but I don’t really feel any pressing need to be around her much.”

“Why not? She’s so smart and pretty.” I didn’t like Lylee myself, but it seemed kind of terrible to not like your own mother.

“Jake’s told you all about how we were when we were younger, right? How I was the bad guy who introduced him to all the crazy stuff he did?” He grabbed my hand tighter.

“He mentioned it.” I didn’t add that he mentioned it often and angrily.

“Well, Jake had the option to get rid of me, and good for him, you know? I’m not being bitter. It’s the reason I can’t tell him that we’re brothers. For a friend to drop you on your head, that’s one thing. For a brother to do it? That’s not as cut and dry.”

“What does this have to do with Lylee?”

“Lylee was my teacher of the dark arts.” He smiled sardonically. “She didn’t want to be burdened with a kid, especially once my dad left. Once I was remotely old enough to be a little party prop, that’s what I became. And her friends were such liberal intellectuals, they didn’t think there was anything wrong with a ten-year-old sipping beers and smoking cigarettes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For the most part, I like it, you know? It gives me a freedom to do what I want to do. But it also means that I’m not great at following rules.”

“You could try following them a little harder,” I suggested. He dropped my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me out of the way of the busy, crowding pedestrians on the narrow sidewalk.

“You say that like it’s just some switch I can flip.” He shook his head and pulling me closer. “Remember last night you got pissed when I compared you to a pet?”

“Yes. I was upset because it was a moronic thing to say.” I was prepared to stand my ground on that one.

“You were upset because I was calling youa pet.” He smiled at me. “But we’re all pets. Kids, I mean. Our parents keep us and feed us and make choices for us. We’re just pets until we’re old enough to be our own keepers.”

“So, I’m just like a hamster to my parents?”

“No.” He swept a quick kiss on my hair. “Nothing as mindless and disposable as a hamster. You’re like a thoroughbred, like some magnificent creature they’re going to care for and set in the right direction, and bet all of their fortunes on. And probably win.”

“Weird, but okay.” I thought about it for a minute. “What kind of pet are you, then?”

“Something no one’s supposed to have as a pet, but they have it because it’s cool. Like an anaconda. I’m like a showoff kind of animal, but I’m not going to show you affection or love.”

“That’s a stupid comparison, Saxon. You’re not uncaring. You’re just…misguided.” I looked over at him and his face made my throat feel scratched and dry. His mouth was crimped into something like a smile, but his eyes were definitely sad.

“What am I then?”

“Maybe you’re like a wolf cub,” I suggested. “Maybe you’re half domestic and half wild.”

“You’re holding out hope for me?” His hand tightened on my hip.

“Always,” I promised. “So if you think of yourself as a wolf cub and not a snake, isn’t there real hope that you could give in to your domestic side?”

“Yeah.” He kissed my head again. “But, shit Brenna, even domesticated dogs go crazy and maul their owners sometimes. Who the hell would trust a wolf?”

He’s right. A wolf. It’s something that I’ve associated with him since I first met him. He’s savage and frightening, loyal and fearless, dangerous and beautiful.

“Maybe you need to find other half wolves,” I suggested.

He snorted. “I’ve been hanging with misfits and lowlifes my whole life. It hasn’t done anything good for me yet.”

Mom and Lylee walked into a cafй. Saxon stopped me before the entrance.

“Thanks,” he said, and kissed me softly.

“For what?”

“For voluntarily wading through my bullshit. For being willing to see something good in me, even if I don’t give you much reason to.” He looked at me, and his look was definitely adoring, and definitely made my heart thud a little. “Let’s eat. You look a little faint. It’s been, what, four hours since your last meal? I’m shocked starvation hasn‘t set in yet.”

“Well, I’m finding you really attractive, so my defenses are obviously down right now. I’m sure how good you look to me has a direct link to how low my blood sugar is.”

“You find me attractive because you’re a red blooded woman.” He smiled a self-assured smile.

We went in and sat with Mom and Lylee. Mom looked surprised to see Saxon there. He pulled my chair out for me, which I didn’t expect, but liked.

“Saxon,” Mom asked over her menu. “How has your junior year been? I guess you’re coming close to choosing a college.”

“My mom has her heart set on Drew.” Saxon reached for his cigarettes, but caught my eye and decided against them. “But I’m looking at taking a year off.”

“Do you want to travel?” my mother asked, reaching for the one and only reasonable alternative to going on to higher education right away. Mom did not understand the concept of not wanting to be at college.

“No.” Saxon moved the silverware around on the table in a jerky circle, his hands jittering for something to do. “Just want to take a year to relax a little. I’m thinking of going to Alaska, working in a cannery.”

Lylee chuckled indulgently. “Why would you want to head somewhere where the ratio of men to women is five hundred to one?”

“Maybe I want to get away from women for a while.” He glared at her.

“Saxon, you should just embrace who you are. You can’t just hermit yourself in Alaska and think that will make you some introspective monk.” She stirred her creamy coffee and took a sip, pursing her lips so cutely I thought she must have practiced it.

“I think some honest labor would do me good,” he snapped.

“Why? We don’t need any more money, God knows that.” She shuddered delicately, like she was talking about more leprosy or more tornadoes.

“It’s not mymoney.” Saxon’s face colored. I had never watched people fight so intimately and openly in front of other people before. I looked at Mom across the table, and she wore the exact open-mouthed stare I was sure was plastered on my own face.

“It’s family money, Saxon. That makes it yours. Don’t quibble over the fine print.” Lylee sighed. Then she looked up at Mom and I like she had just remembered we were there. “It’s so rude of us to have a family argument in front of the two of you.”

What was there to say? Mom and I looked at each other, but we couldn’t come up with a single thing between the two of us.

“Where are you planning to apply, Brenna?” Lylee asked, but it was clear that she wasn’t all that interested.

I shrugged. “I’m still a sophomore. I haven’t really narrowed anything down yet.”

“Brenna is going to study at Trinity in Dublin this summer,” Mom bragged. “Thorsten and I would be so happy if she went to college overseas.” She reached out and patted my hand. “We would miss her so much, but you have to take these opportunities when you’re young and unattached.”

“Or just never get attached. That’s how I manage.” Lylee laughed, a tinkling sound that was ugly in my ears.

Wasn’t motherhood the ultimate attachment?

Saxon gritted his teeth, then looked over at me.

“So, Ireland this summer?” He smiled. “Maybe I should look into the program.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” I said, and wanted to bite my tongue. Saxon and I had such a natural back and forth that I forgot to speak normally to him when we were around other people. His mother, of course, thought it was beyond funny. Mine frowned.

“There are several good programs, Saxon,” my mother said firmly. I’m sure she hated seeing Lylee put her own son down. It just didn’t mesh with Mom’s idea of good family. “There’s one in Iran. Archeology,” Mom said brightly. I suppressed a sigh. That was the one she deemed “way too unsafe for Brenna.” I guess it was good enough for Saxon.

The food arrived and every one of us was glad for the distraction. Conversation in our group was actually painful, and I was really hoping we didn’t get stuck going out in our little quad too often.

We tried a few more seemingly mundane topics, but it didn’t get any better, so we hurried through our meals, and when all was done, we got up hurriedly.

“I’m going to head back to the dorm sweetie. I promised Thorsten I’d call before he left for work, and I want to take notes on ideas for a Louvre trip. Are you going to go out?” Mom put on her coat and slung her purse over her shoulder.

Saxon put a hand at the small of my back. “I think so. I think Saxon and I will roam around a little.”

She gave Saxon a wary look. “Take care of yourselves.” She kissed me on the cheek.

Lylee and Saxon didn’t talk. She just flipped him a wave and followed Mom. I could tell Mom wasn’t thrilled.

“Your mom is badass.” Saxon watched the two women walk away and pulled out his cigarettes the minute they were out of sight.

“Sorry. She’s a little scary, right?” I was used to my mother freaking people out.

“She loves you. She thinks you’re awesome. And she obviously doesn’t put up with any bullshit. Isn’t that pretty much a perfect mom?” He pulled me close and kissed me. My head felt light and wonderful.

“She is pretty perfect.”

“Lucky,” he gritted out.

Chapter Nine

We started out in the cool Parisian air. “Not really. It’s good. It’s really good to have Mom and Thorsten. But it’s a lot of pressure.”

“Why?” He looked at me like I had twelve heads. “You could do whatever, and they would obviously still worship at your shrine.”

“That’s just it.” I knotted my scarf tighter around my neck. “I really like them. They’re totally fair and ridiculously supportive. So if I screw up, they don’t get mad. They just get disappointed, and I wind up feeling like crap. If they were assholes, I could scream at them, throw tantrums, rebel. But how much of a creep would I be if I did that to them?”

“Good point.” Saxon put a cigarette to his lips and lit it. “My mom and I have had our share of tantrums. It gets pretty old pretty quick.”

“Are you serious about the cannery thing?” I watched him take a drag from the corner of my eye.

He smiled a wicked smile. “It does incite fury in all reasonable adults. I guess that’s a big part of the appeal. Other than that, I just want to get away from all of this bullshit. Sometimes I feel like I’m in the middle of a shitstorm that I created, and I just want out.”

I took his hand. I think he did create his own horrible, shitty world to live in, but, knowing more about Saxon’s home life, I realized that he was somewhat a product of his own crappy upbringing.

And I knew exactly what he was feeling when he talked about creating his own shitstorm. I decided I’d better stop judging the guys in my life for all the crazy things they’d done. It seemed like the harsher I judged them, the worse I felt when I made the exact same mistakes. The smartest thing I could do was just accept that the two of them had done a lot more than I had, and accept the fact that I was going to make my own crazy mistakes the more experience I gained. Whether I liked it or not.

“Why not just study abroad or something?” I took a look around at the gorgeous balconied apartments and wrought iron gates that we were passing. Living here for a year would be amazing.

He shrugged. “Seems kind of goody-goody, doesn’t it? Unless they have an exchange program with Amsterdam. That might fit.”

We walked to a huge French garden, obviously a lot less charming in the dead of winter, but still really nice. We walked through trees and past bubbling fountains and then to a small, manmade cave/tunnel. He stopped me in the middle of the dark, private enclosure.

“C’mon, Blix. Seriously? A cozy little cave in a garden in the middle of Paris? I know I’m not the most romantic guy, but give me a little credit.” He pulled me over, and for a few minutes the world revolved solidly around the two of us. He had been fairly considerate of my prudishness, but the cocooning dark made him bolder. One warm hand slid under the hem of my shirt, then another. He pushed up along my ribs. It was different than the way Jake touched me. Saxon was smoother, slower and more controlled. When Jake touched me, it was like our minds turned off and our bodies jumped at each other. But Saxon seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He moved his hands around to my back, and slid them down until they popped out and down over my pants and held my butt hard, then squeezed and kissed harder as he did it.

I felt a rush of warmth as I relaxed in his arms. He nibbled along my jaw, kissed at my ears and sucked gently on my neck. He walked me backwards to the wall of the cave and lifted me up, so I was trapped between him and the wall and he pressed into me, wanting me to feel that he was hard.

“It could be a lot better than this, Blix.” He kissed me again. I knew now that when he called me Blix it could mean any number of things, but it consistently meant that he was trying to lure me to do something he was well aware was no good.

“No.” I kissed him again. “This is enough.”

“I don’t mean sex. I could do things for you, to you…” he trailed off suggestively and rubbed against me harder.

The one thing I expected from the Saxon experiment was undivided lust, but now that I was in his arms, I didn’t feel comfortable with it. Flirting around lust was one thing, but acting on it was the ultimate vulnerability, and Saxon didn’t inspire the kind of comfort that made it okay to reveal what was vulnerable.

“No.” I shook my head.

He pulled away and let me plop to my feet with a thud. “Whoa. Shot down by super-virgin.”

It was mean, and it was meant to be. That was so typical of Saxon, and so completely irritating. He had let himself get close to me, which he loved and hated, but any form of rejection, even completely reasonable rejection, set him off and snapping. I stalked out of the dark little space.

“Wait!” he called, but not very loudly or adamantly. He knew he’d been an asshole, and he didn’t want a confrontation that would basically end with him admitting that fact. Again.

I jogged, then ran through the park, enjoying the pigeons that burst up and flew out of my way when I came close. I liked listening to the tiny kids swinging off of jungle gyms, calling out in their perfect babyish French. I liked the dark immigrants with coolers bungie corded around their backs, selling semi-cool sodas for a fraction of the official refreshment stand price. I liked the gypsies begging and dancing and singing here and there just outside of the doors of the major attractions.

I raced past stone steps being swept by elderly women, past churches with steeples that grazed the brooding clouds, past department stores with bored shop-girls leaned on the counters, flipping through magazines and grocery stores with fluorescent lights that looked too cold and sterile for Paris. I ran across the streets when there weren’t too many treacherously driven cars and made it down by the river, where the earth was muddy and sucked at my sneakers. I came back up off the river bank and ran around a garden, brown and shriveled in the cold except for some evergreen bushes. I ran across the streets again, playing with my life as I dodged cars that seemed like they sped up when the saw me, and wound up back on the gravelly walk of the park that was familiar. I ran in and out of every twist and corner turn until there wasn’t a corner I hadn’t chased.

Then there was a hand on my shoulder, and I screamed.

“Whoa, it’s me, Bren. It’s just me.” Saxon was doubled over, his breathing labored and wheezy.

“How do you keep up on the soccer field?” I put my hands on my hips and watched him choke and hack.

“I don’t have to chase the ball five miles straight,” he gasped.

I clicked my tongue. “ Tsk.That was not five miles. Maybe two.” I smiled at his physical weakness. “You need to stop smoking.”

“You need to listen when you run.” He breathed hard. “I called to you.”

“I’ve decided to tune out irritating noise.” I pushed at his shoulder so he wobbled over.

“I’m running after you like a lunatic to…apologize,” he said finally.

I looked at him critically, tilted my head and looked again. He was so hot. Ten times hotter than when I first met him, since I now knew what he looked like with no shirt on and when he was being actually sweet and when he was hard with lust.

But he was also a pain in the ass. I hadn’t appreciated how easy Jake was to be around until I decided to blow him off for someone with so much drama he should have his own acting company.

“Um, I don’t think this is working,” I said, unsure I was actually saying what I thought I was saying.

“Are you dumping me, Blix?” He was still gasping for breath a little. Wow, this was low of me. I could at least let him catch his breath. But something spiteful in me enjoyed seeing him suffer. More. “We’re not even completely dating.”

“Then I guess I’m not completely dumping you.” I rubbed his neck. “I just don’t want to play your game anymore, Saxon. It’s hard and boring and frustrating. And you’re so hot and smart, I thought you might be worth the stress, but this is just ridiculous.”

He gave me a sour look, and I think he must have mulled over ten different things to say, but finally he just shook his head and walked back the way he had come.

So I had successfully fallen in love, dated and dumped two incredibly hot, incredibly sought after guys in less than five months. Where would I go after this?

I went back to the dorm. I changed into a nice dress, white with little yellow polka dots and a wide, red belt, and Mom and I had a nice dinner in a quiet restaurant with candles on the table and wait staff in stiff black uniforms.

“You’ve been down, Bren.” She saw straight through me, and I knew she never missed much. No matter how many secrets I kept from her, she would always know when something was wrong.

I looked at her closely. I thought about the minute Jake had given her the gloves, the way I knew she was contested about how sweet the gift was in comparison to how much she didn‘t want to acknowledge Jake’s natural sweetness. I thought about standing in front of the stove with her and talking about my father. It hurt her to talk about it, but I had a sudden nasty streak and didn’t care who was hurt while my own heart was so shredded.

“Who is my real father?” I kept my voice respectful. I had been raised better than to be a total asshole.

Mom got rigid and put down her fork. “Thorsten is your father, Brenna. He puts food on your table. He covers your health insurance and remembers your birthday and makes sure you have everything you could possibly need or want.” She blinked several times, and when she spoke again, her voice was tight. “Thorsten Blixen is your real father.”

“If I could have chosen my father,” I said carefully, “I would have chosen Thorsten. He’s the best. I love him completely. And I’m not about to go searching for some guy who never cared about me. But I deserve to know a little about him.”

“Why?” Mom demanded. “What possible reason would there be to know more about him?”

“I think you treat me…a certain way.” I stopped. “When it comes to my, um, dating. I think you’re scared I’ll fall for a guy like my father. And the reality is, I might. If I don’t know about him.” I saw her blink again, and felt like a beast. “I’m not doing this to make you upset. I know you want what’s best for me.”

“I do,” she said, weepily. So I knew she was feeling guilt. I wasn’t sure what for yet.

“Tell me, then.” I slid my hand across the table and took hers in mine.

“He was so smart.” Her voice was shaky. “And really confident. I didn’t have his confidence, and I didn’t think I was nearly as smart.” She shook her head. “His name is Robert Byron.”

“Like the poet?” Robert Byron. It was amazing how just knowing his name gave him more substance in my mind.

“Yes. No relation that I know of.” She went on. “His family disapproved of me. I think that made him even more determined that we should date. He never showed me off. Never took me out openly. We went to prom together, but as part of a group, and his date was a friend, or so he said. Looking back, I was just so naпve. If only I’d had some experience.”

“That’s what you want for me?” I asked. “Experience?”

“Yes.” She wiped under her eyes quickly. “Is that so wrong of me? Did something happen with Jake?”

I wanted to tell her, but there was too much liability in sharing. “He and I took a break. My idea.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said in a voice that wasn’t really sorry.

“Did my father try to contact me? Or you?” I asked.

“He was engaged by the time I was eight months pregnant with you. Robert Byron married Marcia Jellet when you were just about six months old.” She looked at me, blinking hard. “I could deal with him rejecting me, Brenna. But no onerejects you.” Her eye had that lovingly maniacal gleam that always takes the angry wind out of my sails.

I couldn’t be mad. Even if Mom had tried to make this all happen, had taken me from Jake and brought me here in the middle of winter break, she didn’t call him and end it. She didn’t push me into Saxon’s arms. She didn’t say or do anything on the level of what I said and did.

In the end, I had to learn that as good as my parents’ intentions might be, I was still the one living my own life. And I had to be big enough to admit my own mistakes.

“Thank you, Mom.” I took a deep, shuddery breath. “I know it sucked to talk about him. I just needed to know some basics. Trust me, I have no desire to meet this guy.”

Mom smiled and picked up her fork again.

We ate and made small talk, and back at the dorm, I felt such a strong pull to call Jake that I almost couldn’t keep my hands off of my phone. But every time I picked up to call, I felt like an ass.

What was I supposed to say? I messed up, Saxon’s more trouble than he’s worth, wanna date again?Any way I spun this, I was the jerk, and Jake had no business being with me.

But complete inactivity wasn’t my thing either, so I went online and stalked him a little. His Facebook picture was just him next to his dirtbike again. I felt my throat close up. What had I expected?

There were no more installments of the “Gone” photo album. That was a little bit of a relief. I deserved to have it thrown in my face, oh I totally deserved it and much worse. But that didn’t mean I wanted to see it.

The next day we toured the Impressionist Museum and hit the Salvador Dali Museum. I stayed far away from Saxon, who tried to corner me and talk to me at every turn. I kept my camera clicking and avoided him as best I could. But things slowed down after that. A week in Paris isn’t remotely enough time to see anything. The day after was New Year’s Eve. Paris was closed down, and so were we. The professors had stocked up on food and drinks and we were planning our own big bash. We would be leaving for America on the second of January. Mom and I cooked all day, napped, and I made a good dent in Crime and Punishment.Nice and depressing.

When it was almost time for the party, I changed into my scarlet silk, even though the last time I had worn it was on Christmas with Jake, and so it felt nostalgic and made me unhappy. I put on my heels and twisted my hair up. Mom and I gathered our food and headed down to the large student lounge. Someone had already turned on the television, and MTV France was broadcasting, with bands and cheering people wearing shiny hats and jumping around, cold and happy.

Last year I had been in Denmark with Mom and Thorsten. I spent most of the night reading a collection of short stories by Karen Blixen, a famous Danish author Thorsten absolutely claimed as a relative. When it got close to midnight, we bundled up, went on to the porch, lit sparklers, and drank champagne. I only had one glass, but Thorsten and Mom finished the bottle and spent the rest of the night dancing, wrapped around each other.

“Why the long face, Blix?” Saxon sidled right next to me, looking so good.

“I just broke up with this really big jerk.” I smiled sadly. “Oh, and I broke up with this really nice guy, too.”

“So, you’re single?” His eyes crinkled with his smile. “You look smoking hot.”

“You, too.” There was music on, over the blare of the television. Frank Sinatra crooned, and Saxon held his hand out.

“Dance with me. Now that you’re a sexy single woman.”

I let him pull me over to him. Saxon, strangely, could dance like Fred Astaire. I was pretty far from Ginger Rogers, but I was on par with a fairly good Dancing with the Starscontestant. Since Saxon led, I could suck up his excellent moves and pretend they were my own.