Page 38 of Desperate Haste
“What do you want to hear?” I ask, parroting his words back to him.
“Anything that will make me forget how badly I want to kiss you right now.”
I pinch my smile between my teeth in an attempt to hide how his words impacted me. “I promise you, you don’t want to do that. I’ve done nothing but barf the last fifteen hours.”
“I promise you, I do. This will have to do though.” Then, he leans across the couch, holds my chin between his fingers, and kisses me on the cheek, keeping his lips on my skin for a few seconds longer than necessary. The spot where his lips press into my skin burns at his touch.
Using my free hand, I push him away from me and hope that the flushed feeling in my cheeks can’t be seen as much as it can be felt. “Don’t be dumb.”
“How am I being dumb?” he asks with his head tilted to one side.
“You don’t have to pretend that you like me. I know what we are, I know what this is.”
“And what do you think this is, princess?” His face is a few inches from mine as we sit facing one another on the couch.
“I don’t know, a friends with benefits thing? Just sex, remember?”
“Ophelia, you might think this is ‘just sex’ but I can promise you I’ve never spent the day taking care of someone who I was having ‘just sex’ with.” When my brain can’t think of anything to say, he brings a hand to my cheek and looks at me earnestly. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like you so much more than just someone I’m hooking up with?”
I pause before confessing. “Because I’m not that kind of girl.”
“And I’m not that kind of guy, but maybe we can be those types of people together.” And before I can rebuttal or convince myself that that’s not what I want, his hand reaches around my neck to pull me forward and he kisses my cheek again.
20
MALCOLM
It’s been a few hours of Ophelia and I hanging out at her place watching trashy TV and her nursing the plate of crackers I made for her after her nap. With some arguing—and a well placed bribe—I managed to get her to drink some more Pedialyte. I’m worried about her becoming dehydrated, so getting in enough liquids to replace what she’d lost is important to me. But now I have to pony up my end of the bargain.
“How long have you been growing out your hair?” she asks as she sits on the edge of the couch with me sitting between her legs.
“Pretty much since I got sober. I’d always had it short growing up but in my season of regaining control, I also took control of what I looked like. I’d always wanted to grow my hair out but my parents wouldn’t have it. They’re pretty strict like that but I’d already gotten several tattoos at that point and became their biggest disappointment, so what’s one more thing?”
“Do you still talk to them?” My eyes close as she runs her fingers through my scalp, picking up another piece and pulling it diagonally across my head.
“I talk to my umma, yeah. We talk on the phone sometimes but mostly just message back and forth with each other. I’m actually going to spend Christmas Day with my parents next month. Ow! Careful, there’s a person under that head.” I wince as her fingers get caught in my hair.
“Oh stop being a big baby, I’m not hurting you.” She bumps my shoulder with her knee and I loop an arm around it, running my fingers up and down on her ankle. “Umma, that’s ‘mother,’ right?”
“Yep, that’s right. She’s always been Umma to me, not mom, not mommy. Just Umma.”
“And what about your dad?” I hear the twisting of the elastic band behind me and feel her hands start on the other side.
“Oh, he’s just Dad. In Korean you’d say ‘appa’ but he always preferred ‘dad.’ I’m third generation Korean-American so we spoke both English and Korean growing up. Still do.” My eyes find a spot on the floor as I think about my parents and everything we’ve been through. Things are better between us now than they were a few years ago but they still aren’t great.
“Do they live in the city? Or in the Charleston area?”
“Just outside the city, yeah. They live in the same house I grew up in. I try to go and see them every few weeks just to check in.”
“That’s nice.” Her voice grows soft and I feel her hands pause for half a second before continuing the task at hand.
“What about you?” I turn my head the slightest bit to look at her which she doesn’t appreciate and promptly pushes it straight again.
“What about me?”
“Where do your parents live?”
“All done,” she says shortly, and the air suddenly feels heavy. She’s mentioned before how things with her parents are strained. I guess this isn’t a topic we’re allowed to discuss.
