Page 88 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
‘You’re delicious.’ He says it seriously. No smile any more. ‘I can’t believe no one has tasted you before.’
My cheeks flush. ‘I’m feeling shy,’ I say, and Theo laughs freely while scooting down to lie on his side, resting his head on one hand. ‘Touché.’
I lift my hands over my head and stretch, my body feeling warm and relaxed.
‘What was your favourite book growing up?’ Theo asks, his finger gently grazing my stomach, and I tilt my head to look at him.
‘Excuse me, I’m trying to bask in my first post-orgasm.’
Theo raises his hand and bops my nose playfully. ‘You’re so fucking cute.’
‘Trying to sweet-talk me?’ I ask, turning my body to mirror his. ‘You already got me in bed.’
‘I just want to know everything about you.’
‘Kiss-ass,’ I smile, but my heart warms and I ponder his question. ‘I really liked The Shadow.’ Tucking my head into my elbow, I think about my mother. ‘My mother read to me every night till I was ten.’
‘You read that as a kid?’
‘Options were limited on English books. And I never minded; when she read them they never seemed as scary.’
Theo sighs and reaches out to take my hand, bringing it to his chest. ‘Does it ever make you nervous how connected our families are?’ His voice is quiet, curious, almost prodding me to ask more.
‘It made me feel really safe for a long time. To know I had two families to always look after me.’ Theo doesn’t say anything but I see it. The colour has drained from his cheeks.
‘Why did she stop reading to you? After you were ten?’ he asks, just as quiet as before.
‘I’m not sure.’ It’s all I can say, my tongue feeling numb. I don’t like where this conversation is headed and I try to clear my mind to avoid thinking about anything too serious. ‘Uh, yeah. I’m not too sure,’ I repeat.
We both lie there in silence, looking at one another, listening to the waves, an occasional seagull flying close to the window.
After a minute, Theo interrupts. ‘Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,’ he says, and I have to roll my eyes at his audacity.
‘You’re questioning me reading Grimms’ Fairy Tales while you’re lounging around reading a fourteenth-century Middle English poem?’ Theo hooks his ankle around my calf and it’s such a casual display of comfort that my heart sings.
We stay there for the next few hours asking each other questions, each of us testing the boundary the other one has drawn.
The night continues with questions, laughs. Favourite movie? First kiss? Have you seen a ghost? Kiss me, please. Gladly. Do you believe in fate?
At around midnight, we hear the front door open and both freeze.
‘He’ll actually kill me,’ Theo whispers, and just as he prepares to rise we hear Maio singing loudly up the stairs. Very un-Maio like. We turn to look at each other and our laughter comes out in quiet wheezes. ‘Shh, shh.’ Theo’s hand comes over my mouth and mine over his.
‘Maio’s singing!’ I say between gasps and his palm against my skin.
‘He’s in love,’ Theo whispers, leaning forward to kiss the back of his hand. ‘We all sing when we’re in love.’
Pulling me onto his chest, Theo rubs my back in gentle circles. Tiredness, the happy and full kind, envelops us and I rest my head on his bare chest, closing my eyes at the sound of his steady heartbeat and the smell of his skin. I really hope this can last.
46
THEO
The next few days are spent in a lazy terracotta haze. I sneak into Magdalen’s room after spending the day at the beach with Dante and Anika. We come back home around five, all of us sleepy with too much sun and the ever-flowing spiked granitas Anika keeps shoving in front of us. Stumbling through the front door, we’ll shake the sand off our feet and they’ll run to see who can get to the big bathroom first. I’ll walk slower than the rest of them, letting Dante go to the fancy bathroom so I can find Magdalen upstairs and join her if she’s in the shower. She’ll tell me about England and her friend Emily, naked and covered in soap, and I’ll try to control my erection because she’s naked and covered in soap and thinks I’m paying attention to a story about her friend. But I love it so much when she speaks. She massages herself with the loofa and I ask about her favourite literary theory.
The nightmares have stopped. I don’t want to say it’s all because of her, but it’s hard not to feel like I’ve saved all my truths so I can share them with her. Things about home I couldn’t think about without panicking, don’t feel as bad. Tennis on the beach. Talking through my dissertation. She can talk about Jane Austen for hours. At dinner I’ll sneak a glance and she’ll graze my ankle with her toe. I’ll refill her glass when I notice it’s empty. There’s an openness to her that I have only seen when I watch her talk to Anika, and I know I’m acting the same way. She’ll sneak out of my room when the sun rises, or we hear Dante and Anika unlock the front door after their night out. She wears my sweatshirt now when she’s cold.
Dante and I haven’t spoken one-on-one since the fight, but after a day, we are both wearing down. We’re speaking through other people’s stories. Like when Anika asks me how my face feels, Dante will blow air through his teeth and throw some sand around. He’s desperate to say something. And, when I ask Magdalen about the scariest dream she’s ever had, Dante will interrupt with a story about how he once stuck his dad’s finger in a bowl of water to make him pee while he was sleeping but it didn’t work and Dr Savoy ended up catching a cold instead.
