"I'm sorry about that. I could have gotten you one of my mother's dresses, but my dad—he's, um, quite alert," I said while handing her my pajamas. This is so embarrassing, I thought to myself. I gazed at her; she was wearing my towel. I adjusted my glasses and looked away as I handed her my pajamas. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest. She's actually in my room.
"I'll, um, I'll turn around," I stuttered, staring at the window.
God, not the window, I thought to myself, shutting my eyes. I could hear her removing the towel and slowly putting on the pajamas.
"I'm done," she said, folding her hands behind her back. I turned around to see her pressing her lips together, her neck tense with apprehension.
"I shouldn't have come here the way I did, but when you went away, I felt empty—like I had caused you pain. I came here to tell you how I feel about you: I like you."
"What?" I muttered with a hitched breath, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Is she confessing her feelings to me?
"I like you, Jaze. I've never liked anyone else and will never like anyone else except you," she said, her scarlet eyes piercing into mine. I could feel my cheeks burn. Placing my hand on my chest, I sat on the bed, adjusted my glasses, and looked at her with a smile, feeling brave.
"I like you too, Meredith. A lot, actually. More than anything in the world," I replied, folding my hands on the sheet. Her body seemed less tense, and she giggled as she moved closer to me, sitting just a few inches away. We sat there awkwardly, smiling at each other.
"I, um... I have something for you," I said, standing up and going to my wardrobe. I took out a pair of opera gloves and handed them to her.
"I wanted to give it to you at the party, but, um, it didn't work out back then," I said. I saw her raise an eyebrow in surprise before she smiled and took the gloves. She slowly put them on, pressing her palms together. Twirling a strand of hair behind her ear, she gazed at me.
"Thank you. That's so thoughtful of you," she replied.
"Do you, um, practice magic?" I asked, recalling the party and how her breath had brushed against my neck. It was strange, but it felt... good.
"Magic? Well, I know a little bit of it. Just a little," she replied, smiling as her hands shifted closer to mine.
"Oh, I see. That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"Oh, um, never mind."
Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the frame sitting on the chest of drawers near my bed. Leaning past me, she extended her right arm to grab the small picture frame. I felt her left arm press against my thigh, and her arm brushed past my face. She took the frame and sat back down next to me.
"She's beautiful," she said, running her fingers over the surface of the frame. Suddenly, she looked at me in surprise.
"This is you when you were a kid," she said, pointing at the image of a little boy in a plain shirt and pants.
"Yes, that's me when I was five," I replied, rubbing the back of my head. "Took the shot with my mother on Christmas Eve."
"I knew it! You're the kid I saw when I was little. You were near the oak tree, wearing a suit," Meredith said, leaning close to my face and speaking through soft giggles.
"How's that possible? I mean, what are the odds? I've never seen you before around the neighborhood. I thought you were new to this town," I replied, looking confused.
"That's true, but..." Her face was so close to mine. She touched the right lens of my glasses with her index finger, and then slowly, her gloved finger trailed down to my jawline. She bit her lip gently and smiled, her canine teeth almost piercing her lip.
"Those blue eyes... there's no way I could forget."
She was right here in my room. I had to fight the urge to kiss her. I needed to know why she wasn't comfortable with people touching her before I made any move. I was about to speak when she slid onto my bed and lay next to me.
"Can I sleep here?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.
I sat in shock, almost overwhelmed by what she had just done. What if Dad came through the door? What if…?
"Um, sure. I'll, um, give you some privacy," I said, trying to lie on the floor.
But she held my arm. "Stay next to me."
Was she being serious? How could she say that? My instincts told me to leave the room. I could probably stay awake all night, waiting outside my door. But instead, I fiddled with my glasses and slowly lay down next to her, my face turned upward toward the ceiling. I didn't want to make eye contact. Not yet.
"I saw a book about poetry on the table. Can you read some to me?" she asked, lying on her left side.
I tilted my head toward her and smiled. Lying on my right side to face her, I said, "I don't need the book. If there's one thing I can memorize effortlessly, it's poems. Though I'm terrible at writing, I can always remember my favorite lines."
"I feel ashamed already," I said, laughing softly. We both giggled. I adjusted my glasses again and looked into her eyes.
"*Son, are you grieving
Over the trees of Goldengrove losing their leaves?
Leaves, like the fleeting things of mankind—
Do you, with your young and tender thoughts, feel for them?
Ah, as your heart grows older,
You will see such things with colder eyes.
Soon enough, you won't even sigh,
Even when whole forests of withered leaves lie around;
And yet you will weep and understand why.
It doesn't matter, child, what you call it:
The sources of sorrow are all the same.
Neither mouth nor mind could ever express
What the heart feels, what the soul intuits:
This is the curse humanity is born to bear—
It's not the leaves; it's yourself you mourn for, Son.*"
She gazed into my eyes, understanding the meaning behind the poem, and gently touched my face. I held her right hand, still covered in the glove, and with each passing moment, I drifted into sleep.