Chiara Ch. 02

Usually Kevin turned off his alarm just before it went off. He considered it one of his superpowers. It wasn't so much the booze that had done him in, it was lying awake half the night in a state of confused arousal over what had happened. He got himself off twice, hoping it would drop him into sleep but that old trick worked neither time.

So the alarm went off.

He groaned and silenced it. He had class at eleven, a required math class that he had failed to test out of because it had landed on one of his bad days. He could ace that class in his sleep, and strongly considered doing so.

Instead, he groaned his way out of bed.

The smell of bacon filled the apartment.

"Here you go," Chiara said, when he staggered out of his bedroom. "Perfect for the hangover."

She was wearing a silk-print bathrobe, dark paisley patterns hugging her curves in a way that did not help Kevin's peace of mind in the slightest.

She ushered him to the table by the windows: it was just a two person table, perfect for Kevin and his father. After Maeve had left, they had gotten rid of the dining room set to make more space. Kevin looked at a plate of unidentifiable egg and potato mush, as well as bacon. And toast. And some kind of tomato something.

"I told you I am not a famous chef," Chiara said. "But it is the right ingredients anyway, it will make you feel better."

As she leaned forward while talking to him, Kevin's eyes fastened on the exquisite curves of her hanging breasts; shadowed within the bathrobe. He forced his eyes up.

Her smile told him she knew exactly what he was looking at. Probably exactly what he was feeling.

"Good boy, eat your food now, you will be completely healthy. We are all truly healthy, you know, underneath. We tell ourselves there is something wrong, but there isn't. Not at all. Everything is perfect just the way it is."

"I don't really have a hangover," Kevin said. "I just didn't sleep that well."

"That's what alcohol does," Chiara answered. "Your body metabolizes it into sugar, it keeps you awake, disturbs your sleep, makes you fat. You can drink it if you want, of course, but it will not make you feel better in the end."

She smiled, and turned back to the stove where she had more things happening.

Kevin tracked the way her breasts bounced as she moved; the way her but flexed beneath the silk.

She had overcooked the bacon.

* * * * *

He decided to blow off class, and take a walk with his father.

"You have to tell Maeve. You can't surprise her with this."

"Oh," Rowan said. "I told her a week ago. We called her right after the wedding."

Kevin stopped. "What? Why not me?"

His father led the way into Interlude, a spare little coffee shop with an espress on the pleasant side of bitter and with a perfect crema.

"Perhaps you haven't noticed this, Kevin. But you are very different from your sister. What would you have done if I had called you?"

"Freaked out, tried to talk you out of it, tell you that you're out of your mind, that kind of thing. But Maeve would freak out even more!"

"And then you would have spent a week fretting about everything and turning yourself inside out about it."

Kevin winced. "That's possible."

"But Maeve had her say. She blew up, of course."

"Of course."

"And she then she wished us all the best and made plans to come meet Chiara next weekend. So, I thought I would save you that week of suffering and let you get it all out of your system at once."

Kevin frowned.

They placed their orders, waited for the coffee to come up, and then took seats facing each other across the common table.

Kevin had to admit, his father looked more vibrant than he had in a long time. There was more color to his face, his hair somehow looked more distinguished. There was a happy glitter to his deep blue eyes. What had just looked like age now had a certain ruggedness to it.

"I can't say I'm just over it. I think it's pretty damned strange. Fifteen years and you haven't even been on a date—"

"I've been on a few dates, but you're right. Nothing serious."

"—And now married! To someone you haven't known for more than a few weeks."

"You have made some assumptions in your thinking, Kevin. Can you name them?"

Kevin sighed. "Not now, Dad. So, what, you've known each other longer?"

"That's right. We are professional colleagues. We have never properly met, although it turns out we have been at some of the same conferences together. We got corresponding two years ago. Her paper on the connections between Inanna and Durga, the significance of iconographic migration. It was an important paper, and central to some of my statistical archaeology. We have had a... lively correspondence ever since."

"And you didn't tell me any of this..."

"Kevin, you are uninterested in my professional work, and my private life is private. Or it was. That will necessarily change now. Unless you would prefer to move out?"

"Holy shit, are you telling me to move out?"

His father grinned. "Of course not. I actually like our life as it is. But it's entirely up to you how much you want to be involved."

"So what's she going to do here then?"

"She has had a standing offer from Columbia. It will take some paperwork, and a little political machinations to get her a guest lecturer position for September, but it's likely to work out just fine. She is a renowned scholar in her field, Kevin. Far more so than I am, to be honest."

Kevin shrugged. "Columbia... Ok, so she's not some floozy. You have been pen-pals or whatever for a while. It's just new to me. So, you can understand my concern."

"Of course. I would be more worried if you weren't concerned."

Kevin sipped the last of his espresso.

His father said: "Now, the one thing you may notice is that she is somewhat less... private... than you might be accustomed to."

Kevin kept his countenance neutral.

"She and her family had a somewhat different upbringing than ours. For her, the whole Goddess culture thing is not entirely of historical academic interest. It is in fact a living tradition in some parts of the Mediterranean. Be ready for anything!"

Kevin scuffed the ceramic espresso cup across the smooth wood of the table.

"She might be able to give you some guidance around your own romantic life."

"Dad! Please. No."

His father lifted his hands. "What? I know my failings in that department. I was no inspiration to you. You had no good role models at home. You or Maeve. I'm just saying... keep yourself open. She might have some wisdom for you."

Kevin shook his head.

"I'm going to the library. See you tonight."

"It was a good talk, Kevin. Thanks for being honest."

Clenching his jaw, Kevin placed the espresso cup in the bussing tray, and stepped out into the bright late-morning sun.

* * * * *

"You didn't tell me?" he texted to Maeve.

"He told me not to," she answered.

"He's fucking crazy."

"Crazy? Or crazy for her? What's she like?"

Kevin had to think on that one, and put his phone away. He did actually have reading to do for his afternoon history class. He opened the book and scanned his eyes over the same paragraph several times before slipping his phone out again.

"She's different. Took a shower with the door open last night."

"Okaaaay."

"Didn't want to fog the mirror."

"Well, I get that, but..."

"And, I was supposed to be asleep."

"Are you defending her or calling her names? Where u going with this, bro?"

"Just giving you info."

"Well, I'll be down for the weekend."

Kevin wondered what that would be like. Sparks? Firestorm? Or pals all around?

A thrill of anticipation went through him.

* * * * *

Kevin used his noise-cancelling headphones at night to avoid overhearing his father again. Nonetheless, Kevin found himself struggling to control his gaze, and his reactions. Something about Chiara glowed with a sensuality that he simply didn't know how to handle. He found his thoughts drifting in inappropriate directions when she was around.

On Thursday night, Rowan taught his evening class at NYU, and Chiara asked him to order delivery for them both. She invited him to share a favorite.

If he was being honest, his favorite delivery was probably just pizza, but not wanting to be quite so predictable he ordered a small feast from one of their go-to chinese spots.

"Why you don't have a girlfriend?" Chiara asked. "I know you're not gay."

Kevin put his chopsticks down very carefully.

"Did my Dad ask you to talk to me?"

"No! No, he would never. But I have eyes. I see a strong young man, all the energy of youth. Where is that energy going?"

"Studies, I guess."

"That's, you say, bullshit? Yes. I see you on your phone, on your games, whatever. You don't have the passion of school. Believe me, I know what that looks like. My boy! He is like your father that way. It's no shame, may it will spark in you or maybe some other path is for you. But you are not the bookworm, I think. Am I wrong?"

Kevin sighed and leaned back. Her pale tropical-blue eyes seemed to have their own brightness, but there was no judgement in them.

"No, you're not wrong." He surprised even himself with his honesty.

"And you're no athlete."

Again, there was no judgement in her. This was not some kind of comment on his physique. He could tell she was simply carving away the things he was not. He wondered if there would be anything left at the end of this conversation. And yet, he didn't seem to feel threatened.

"That I am not."

"So, an artist? New York City is known for its artists! Not a painter, not a musician. An actor?"

"No, no, no, and no."

"Not a scholar, not an athlete, not an artist. Why not a lover?"

Because I don't know how to talk to women? Because I am shy? Because I am not attractive? Because... of that other thing I really can't talk about?

"I'm keeping any eye out for a job as a bartender. I think I'd like that."

Chiara shook her head. "Drunk girls are not much fun, Kevin."

"No! I just like meeting people, hearing their stories."

Her eyebrows raised. "Maybe a writer then! There's no money in that, but a noble passion. Well, in the meantime, I am going to give you one little idea, a little thing to try, ok?"

Kevin nodded, encouraged by the thought the conversation was almost over.

"Look in my eyes, Kevin."

He did. Pale fibrous green laid over a weave of blue radiant from an even paler center to a deeper ring at the edge.

"Are my eyes pretty, Kevin?"

He nodded again. "Beautiful, to be honest."

"So, spend some time observing women's eyes. Not in a creepy way, just look a woman in the eyes. When you see a woman who has particularly pretty eyes, tell her so. No matter what else is going on with her or your attraction to her. Pretend for the next twenty-four hours the only thing you are are even remotely interested are eyes. Ok? You understand me? What do you have to lose, right?"

Kevin had the uncomfortable feeling he had just been given homework. But he accepted the challenge.

* * * * *

He discovered the challenge was twofold.

It was easy enough to glance at a woman and notice the colors and patterns of her eyes, but he found it hard not to be influenced by other factors.

He happened to be sitting next to a young woman in World History class who did have pretty eyes, rich brown with hints of brighter golden brown. But she also had an extraordinary bosom and Kevin honestly couldn't guarantee his opinion of her eyes was not influenced by the rest of her shape. In any case, he couldn't find any words to speak to her and when they left the classroom it was without any words spoken.

There was a work-study student in the library, he had seen her a few times, she had slate-grey eyes with flecks of pale white, like veins of crystal in stone; or some scattered flakes of snow.

"Excuse me," he said.

She looked up, bored.

"You have really pretty eyes."

She shook her head. "Not today, dude." And went back to her book.

Deflated, Kevin went in search of Machiavelli.

Well, he did his homework.

But he couldn't forget Chiara's eyes, the depth and complexity of the colors, the unusual combination. Maybe the librarian simply didn't have the right eyes.

In The Prince, Kevin read: "Men judge more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Everyone sees what you appear to be, few know what you really are."

* * * * *

He found himself almost compulsively checking out everyones eyes. Men, women, old, young. Kevin became momentarily entranced with the variety, the uniqueness, and the extraordinary beauty of all eyes.

But he only tried speaking of it one more time.

In the late afternoon sun, he sat out by the fountain at Washington Square Park and simply soaked in all energy of the city coming back to life.

A woman with a rolling crate seemingly stuffed with all her belongings settled onto the rim of the fountain along the curve. She had layers of jackets on, which Kevin imagined must be extremely hot and uncomfortable. Normally he would check the "homeless" checkbox in his mind and look elsewhere, but she happened to glance in his direction and her eyes seemed extraordinary. Bright cornflower-blue with pale brown towards the center. Her leather skin and weary expression somehow brought the colors out even more brightly.

Kevin walked up to her.

"You have extraordinary, beautiful eyes," he said.

She scowled at him, a twitch ticking her jaw.

"Fuck off."

Kevin sighed and started away.

"Hey, can you spare fitty cents?"

It was New York. Kevin kept walking.

* * * * *

Friday night Maeve arrived, just in time to drop her bags. They took two cabs to dinner, a rooftop spot that had just reopened.

"Ok, so she's hot," Maeve said on the way there.

"You barely saw her."

"Not as much of her as you have," Maeve laughed, punching him.

Kevin rolled his eyes.

"So dad met a hot professor with shared interests and they didn't waste any time. What's got you in such a tizzy?"

"I dunno, Maeve, I really don't. I feel like there's something weird about the whole thing. But maybe I'm just so used to dad being single, I don't know how to deal with it. Or maybe it's just suddenly there's this new person living in our place, and I don't know how to navigate it. But I'll say this," he added, "she is a bit weird."

"We're all a bit weird."

"I'm surprised you are not upset," Kevin said.

"Because I get upset about everything?"

"No, no..."

"Because Maeve is going to freak out at every little thing?"

"No, that's not what I meant!"

"Well, you wouldn't be wrong if you had meant it," Maeve laughed. "I know how I've been, but honestly, we do grow up, Kev. I have. You are too. Things were hard when we were all stuffed into that little apartment, on top of each other all the time."

Kevin groaned.

Maeve put her hand on his arm, "You know what I mean. But I've moved on, Kev. I am glad to be out of the house. Glad to be out of the city. I miss you, of course, but I have my life and you have yours. And dad has his."

* * * * *

Kevin felt like he was moving through someone else's dream, a strange universe. A universe where his father was suddenly lively and loquacious. A universe where Maeve smiled and laughed. A universe with a radiantly beautiful older woman holding the strings of the universe together. A universe he felt like he was looking in on from the outside.

Chiara got Maeve talking about Vassar and her classes and her friends.

No boyfriends, Chiara frowned, turning the topic in a familiar direction.

"So Vassar it has men, right?"

"Yeah, still more women than men, but it's not that out of balance."

"So, why no boyfriend?"

Kevin waited for the explosion, although he had his own strange tension at the question. But no explosion came.

"Guess I'm just more focussed on classes right now, plenty of time for that."

Chiara didn't call her on it, as she had with Kevin. Instead she smiled and put her hand on Rowan's arm. "Youth is wasted on the young."

The conversation moved on, and somehow Chiara and Rowan landed on discussing the merits of some recent carbon dating on ceramic shards from some temple.

Kevin let the evening wash over him, and kept his thoughts to himself, going so far as to decide to walk home and let the three others take one car.

"I just want to walk," he said, and noone pushed him on it.

He stopped off at a random pub, mostly empty, had a beer in silence. He thought about commenting on the bartender's eyes, but rule #1: don't hit on the bartender. He let her be, and then continued his way home.

The apartment was dark when he arrived.

Kevin poured himself some water, and sat by the tall windows, watching the night-time boat traffic on the black waters of the Hudson. He imagined working on one of those boats. What did men on tugboats actually do? He pictured lots of coiling of rope, but they probably had machines for all of that now.

And then he heard the sounds.

The light thump, thump, thump of the headboard.

He left his water and went to the wall. As if he had no choice, he put his ear to the drywall surface and heard their sounds, the breathy gasps, whispers, moans, and murmers. The start and stop of their motion. Even sounds of wetness.

His hand drifted down his belly. He felt his erection spring to life.

With tremendous effort he pulled himself away from the sounds of Chiara making love, and turned toward his bedroom.

Maeve was watching him.

* * * * *

A chill shuddered through Kevin.

She turned and walked into his room. He followed.

"I think it's beautiful," Maeve said. "I am happy for dad."

She was sitting on Kevin's bed.

"I think I am messed up," Kevin said. "Something's wrong with me."

"Because you like listening to people make love? Or because exactly one time your half-sister fucked you? And then left?"

"Or because I had spent years fantasizing about that one time before it happened," Kevin said.

"But that's behind us now. A childish mistake. Youthful curiosity. And now we are grown up, and I will have boyfriends, and you will have girlfriends, and it's just bad luck we don't yet."

"Yeah," Kevin said.

"You were doing fine, weren't you, Kevin?"

"Yeah, everything was fine."

"Until Chiara showed up."

"Yeah, maybe."

"So I left, you got me out of your head finally, then Dad get's married and now you are all horny for his wife, do I have it?"

Kevin didn't answer. He lay back on his bed, his feet still on the floor.

"It's been good for me to be away," Maeve said. "But I miss you, too."

"Christ," Kevin said. "Just go to bed."

"I can hear them fucking from my bed, Kev. It's seriously sexy. They've been at it for thirty minutes. I think she's already cum twice."

"Oh god," Kevin said.

"How about we just cuddle here," Maeve said. "Your room doesn't pick up their audiotrack the way mine does. And it would be good to feel your arms around me, like the old days."

Kevin remembered. Like the old days when I would try to sleep, feeling every sleeping breath my sister took press move her butt against my cock in the tiniest way that would keep me awake and horny for hours, and terrified about it.

"Ok," he said.

"Get into your pj's," Maeve commanded.

They got under the covers, spooning as they had used to do, Kevin feeling himself tight as tension wire. He let his hand drape over Maeve's belly, feeling each breath. He knew she wasn't sleeping.

They lay in silence, breathing and pretending to sleep.

At some point they heard the distant, muffled sound of Chiara's orgasm, and a mighty groan from their father.

"Maeve," he said.

"Yeah?"

"You have beautiful eyes."

"You can't even see my eyes."