Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 03

"Do you mean, the night at the motel?" His jaw fell open when she didn't reply, and he sounded incredulous when he spoke again. "You called your mother? You told her what we did?"

"No! I've never told anyone about that night, certainly not my mother. I called her after we ran into each other in the hallway, but before... well, you know."

"Why? Why the hell would you call your mother?"

"It's complicated." She stopped, puffing her cheeks out with air as she exhaled. She kicked at the ground with the toe of her boot as she spoke. "She never understood why we stopped being friends in high school. She gave me a hard time about it all summer after we graduated, and was furious when I left for school that fall without talking to you. She knew we would both be there that weekend. She called me every day in September, begging me to talk to you. She knew you were deferring for a year and that you'd be in Italy with your grandmother, and she didn't want us to leave things as they were. When we ran into each other that night in the hallway... well, I don't know. I just called her and told her that we had talked, and that we were going to talk more that evening. My dad was sick. They didn't know why at the time, but they knew he was sick, and she was already worried so much about him and the farm. I didn't want her to worry about me, too, so I told her that everything was going to be fine."

Alessandro stared at her, his face expressionless. "And?"

"What was I supposed to do after that?" She was annoyed; couldn't he see where this was going? "Should I have called back the next day and said, hey mom, just kidding? It turns out that he didn't want to talk. Instead, he, oh how did you put it earlier... ah yes. He 'fucked me and took my fucking virginity?' That, rather than going back to being friends, it turns out that it was a 'miserable experience' for him, one he wished had never happened? Yeah, that would have been a great conversation to have with my mom."

"I'm sorry, Maisie. If I could take those words back, I would. I think I was angry about how we left things afterwards, and it led to me say some horrible things to you. I didn't mean what I said, really."

Her sudden flare of anger ebbed at his words and the ashamed look on his face. She shrugged, and turned to pick at a piece of peeling red paint on the clapboards.

"It doesn't matter, Less. It was seven years ago. I'm not angry with you anymore. You don't have to apologize."

She had meant for her words to make him feel better, but as she spoke she realized they were true. Just a few hours ago she'd been angry with him; though she had buried it as a freshman in college, a small, perhaps even subconscious part of her had always held onto that long-ago heartbreak. Both feelings had come to the forefront this morning, but then slipped away, as if she had gone through some sort of clichéd closure in the fields. She still mourned friendship they had lost—how could she not?—and she might always wonder what could have been if the next morning hadn't occurred, but she was no longer heartbroken or angry with him. She felt liberated, in a strange sort of way.

Well, almost liberated; she still wanted him. Who knows if she'd ever get over the physical desire she felt for him. Even now, his proximity sent a steady stream of desire coursing through her body. She tried to tamp it down, telling herself that while they might be able to rebuild their friendship it could never go any further—she'd never been one for flings, and that's all she would be to him; he'd made that clear at the motel—but it was useless. She'd just have to learn to live with the attraction she felt towards him.

His words snapped her back from her revelations. "That still doesn't explain whatever the hell happened in the kitchen."

She gave him an exasperated look.

"Think, Alessandro. I had just told my mom that we were friends again. I couldn't tell her the truth, because then she'd want to know what happened. And I wasn't about to tell her that."

He nodded, but she delayed her explanation, knowing he wouldn't like it. "I know what you're thinking, that I came up with some sort of ridiculous plan. But it wasn't like that, at least, not at first."

He raised an eyebrow. "Go on. I'm listening."

"Well, you knew that by the time I started college, your sisters and I were good friends, right? I saw them pretty soon after the motel. Like I said, I told my mom everything was fine between us. Well, she apparently told your mom, and your mom told your sisters... only your sisters, who talked to both of us on a fairly regular basis, knew that we weren't exactly chummy."

She paused. "I don't know for sure—I've certainly never brought it up—but I think they guessed what happened that night. They knew I hadn't had sex before I left. And you know how precocious Carolina was; the first words out of her mouth when I got back were, 'did you finally lose your virginity,' and, well, I burst into tears."

"Oh Maisie, I'm so sorry—"

"Don't. It's fine, really. It was a long time ago. I think... I don't know why they did, but a week or so after that, they just started filling me in on what you were doing abroad. I got used to hearing about you, and it just became a natural part of the conversation. And then... then I would tell my mom. I don't think I ever told her that we had those conversations or anything like that. I just sort of let her assume we talked."

She took a deep breath as she saw the dawning realization hit his face. "My mom thinks we talk to each other on a regular basis. You know, every couple of weeks or so. It just seemed logical to let her think we did, and I never knew how to correct her assumption. My dad was sick for so long, and we had terrible droughts for a couple of years after he died. Between the weather and his medical bills, we almost lost the farm, more than once. Heck, they're already worried about this year—you heard my mom in the kitchen. I never knew how to tell her the truth; I just couldn't give her something else to worry about, and it made her so happy to think we were friends. So I just sort of kept on with it. Honestly, it felt normal to me the majority of the time. I would just chat with your sisters, and then with my mom. But that's why you had to know that I lived in Brooklyn. It would have been weird if you didn't."

He stared at her, and she could tell that he was thinking fast.

"Hold on. How come I don't know anything about you?"

She grimaced. "Like I said, I was sort of a mess when I got back from that weekend. I sort of... requested that your sisters not tell you anything about me. I didn't want you to know." He opened his mouth to say something, but she rushed on before he had a chance. "Don't apologize again, please. They were fine with it at first, but after a while, they pushed back a bit. We actually worked out conditions." She gave him a wry smile. "Let's just say that Gemma's future as a lawyer was clear even then."

He looked stunned. "But they never told me anything of substance about you."

"They didn't? Did you... did you ask about me?"

He shook his head.

"Well, there you go. The basic rules were that they could mention me in passing, but they couldn't tell you anything of substance unless you asked. They were adamant that they would never lie to you, and I agreed with them; I never wanted them to deceive you. If you had asked, they would have talked about me. You knew your sisters and I were close; it's not my fault you never asked about me."

He stood in silence for a long time, a thoughtful expression on his face. "So... does that mean you asked about me, Maisie?"

She looked at him. "Yeah, Less, of course. We weren't friends, but it's not like you were nothing to me. You were my best friend growing up. I still cared about you, and I still do." She let out a short laugh. "Don't I feel stupid now, knowing you never asked about me."

He reached out placed a hand on her arm.

"Don't feel stupid. When I left, I cut everyone from high school off. I wanted to start over. I met Isabella about a month after I got to Italy, I got my first job on an Italian soap a couple of weeks after that, and I just got swept up in it all. I realize now that I was stupid, but I can't change it. After that night... it just felt weird to ask about you. But it's not because I didn't care. I remember lots of passing snippets my sisters mentioned, like how you fell off your bike a couple summers ago and broke your collarbone, or how after you graduated you got a job in finance in Boston... speaking of which, how long have you lived in New York? I thought you lived in Boston?"

"Oh, um, I only lived in Boston—well, Somerville, really—for a few of months after I graduated. It was a crappy job, and I moved back to New York, well, Brooklyn, when I got a better one."

He let out a short laugh as he shook his head, but she noticed that he had a smile on his face as he continued.

"I should be pissed, but I'm not; you're insane, you know that? Of all the ill-conceived plans you've dreamt up over the years, this—letting your mom think we were friends again, getting my own sisters to go along with your plan, and passing information along to your mom as if you'd received it from me—has got the be the most... well, I don't even know what it is. The most unbelievable? The stupidest? The craziest? Regardless, I don't know how you get people to go along with these shenanigans of yours. You're a menace, you know that? The State Department should hire you."

Her lips twitched and she smiled at him. Having him call her on her ridiculous scheme made it feel like old times again.

"The craziest? Are you sure? 'Cause we did some stupid stuff growing up. This can't be worse than that time we went sledding down Palmer Street and you got a concussion."

He shook his head. "I still don't know why you thought sharing a sled was a good idea. I should have made you sit in front." He paused. "Though that was pretty damn fun before we hit the tree. This was crazier."

"I made you sit in front because you weighed more than me." She stopped and thought, and a smile broke across her face at the next memory. "Ok then. This can't be crazier than that time I decided it would be a good idea to ride our bikes up to Passaquid. Do you remember that? We got lost on the way back and had to hide in the woods during the hailstorm."

He laughed. "Yeah, well, that was a disaster—I told you we didn't know the way well enough, and I told you a storm was coming, but of course you didn't listen to me. And I couldn't let you go alone... but still, this was crazier."

"Well, was this crazier than that time I convinced you to row me out to Steward Island so we could look at that abandoned shack? And then you stepped on that old rusty spike, and I couldn't row us back against the tide, and Billy Thompson had to come and rescue us in his lobster boat?"

He pretended to cringe.

"Don't remind me, Maisie. Don't you remember how that spike got stuck in my foot, and you had to pull it out? Ugh. I still have the scar, you know. Maybe you're right; at least with this scheme of yours, no one ended up getting stitches or a tetanus shot, or—" She didn't know what he saw in her face, but he stopped speaking and gave her an incredulous look. "Wait, what? Please tell me that you didn't cause that much damage."

She grimaced. "Well, you see, remember how I told you that Gemma and Carolina kept me updated?"

"Yes, go on."

"Well, I moved last fall, right around the time you broke up with Isabella. They helped me move my stuff, but as they helped they told me they wanted to renegotiate. I got angry at something Carolina said and pushed this cart I was using away from me. It hit the wall and bounced back, and, well, this rusty piece of metal cut the bottom of my calf."

He began to laugh, and she could feel an answering chuckle at the back of her throat. She gave him a playful slap on the back in an attempt to make him stop, but it just made him laugh more.

"Really, it was awful. Your sisters had to move all my stuff in, and I was all sweaty and gross when I went to see this cute doctor at the ER, and he laughed at me when I told him what happened—you know how much I hate shots, I babbled the entire sorry tale to him. I had to lie on my couch for a week, and now I have this hideous scar on my calf." She tried to scowl at him, but his laughter was infectious and soon she was giggling along with him.

"ERs, scars, and shots... I guess I'll consider us even then, Maisie." He shook his head as he looked down at her, the smile fading from his face. "Maisie, how could we have been such idiots for the past seven years?"

She was silent for a long time. "I don't know." She scrunched up her face as she peered up at him. "I guess... I guess we were kind of silly, huh?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Yeah. Just a bit."

They stood, gazing into each other's eyes. Every moment they had been together over the past day, there had been some distraction: his sister, surprise at seeing one another this morning, then yelling and apologies and strawberries, her brother and mother, and finally, her ridiculous explanation. Now, nothing but a stretching silence filled the air between the two of them.

Scenes from the motel began to flash through her mind. Not now, she thought. Please don't think of that now. Even worse, scenes from earlier that morning—from the field, when he had lapped the juice off her fingers, using his tongue with a rhythmic perfection—joined the old memories. She knew her pale complexion was growing redder with every passing second.

Her eyes widened as she saw the expression on his face and in his eyes change. She had seen that look before. It had been years ago, but she recognized it. Was he thinking about what had happened all those years ago, too? Had he meant for her to remember everything from that night earlier this morning, when they were in the field?

They were standing too close. She uttered the first words that popped into her mind.

"So, um, did you have a good flight?" She turned from him and began to walk to the front of the barn.

After a moment's pause, he fell in alongside her. "Yes. In fact, I slept the whole time."

She cringed. Had they had this conversation yesterday?

"Oh. Right. That's good. I've, um, I've heard those tiny seats can get really uncomfortable during long flights."

"Um, yeah."

She stopped and peered up at him. When she saw the amused expression on his face, she scrunched her eyes closed. "You fly first class, don't you."

She peaked, and saw him trying to suppress a grin. "Not always." She raised an eyebrow in disbelief and he shrugged, only answering when she began to chuckle. "It's true. Sometimes planes only have business class."

"You're terrible, you know that?" She started to walk again, kicking at the gravel beneath her feet.

"What was I supposed to say? You're the one who brought up yesterday's subject."

"Yeah, well, it was a bit weird to see you yesterday, and I don't really remember what we talked about at first. I mean, I had seen you on the train I guess—"

"So you did see me on the train!" He whipped his head around to look at her as they walked. "I've been wondering about that. I didn't see you, you know. Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"What, and have that lovely conversation we had earlier in the field in front of an audience? No thanks."

He winced. "Touché, Maisie. And I know you don't want to hear it again, but I am sorry about that."

"Forget it. I deserved it, if not for my earlier bitchiness then for the deal I roped your sisters into. Sorry about that, by the way. "

She blinked as a glare of sunlight off the water hit her eyes. She'd led them down to the old boathouse. It sat high on the cliffs to avoid the rising tide and waves from hurricanes and nor'easters, but close enough so that the water could be reached at the end of a long, wooden deck. The building stood on her family's property, but they allowed both Alessandro's family and some of the local fishermen to use it. They were the only people here, though; the fishermen were still out. Alessandro's father's old sailboat was the only vessel bobbing at its buoy in the waves.

He hopped up on the dock, and reached out a hand to help her up. He sat on an old bench in front of the boathouse, and after a moment's hesitation, she joined him. They reminisced about their time together as children and chatted about the town, and Maisie filled him in on the gossip he'd missed. The harbor was thrumming now, and provided ample distractions; they waved at several returning lobstermen they knew, watched a couple whale-watching boats leave, and critiqued the few sailboats that passed.

Now that they weren't looking at each other, the tension she had felt behind the barn was gone. It was nice, sitting on the dock with him, looking out at the water. She felt comfortable with him.

"I would ask if you wanted to go sailing with me, but there doesn't seem to be much wind right now."

"Mmmm. Ben said the water was still pretty chilly. Seeing as I hate being splashed with cold water, I think I'll leave the sailing to you and your grandparents this afternoon."

"Are you kidding me?" He turned to her with an incredulous look. "Don't you remember what happened the last time I went out with them? I was with you, and not surprisingly, things went awry."

She paused, trying to recall being out with his grandparents but not having much success. "I have a vague recollection of being really, really cold, but I don't remember much else."

"Yeah, well. Carolina was too young to remember—probably why she mentioned it yesterday—but suffice it to say, I'll never get my grandparents in that sailboat again. You and I took them out, and we capsized."

"What? No. No, you have to be wrong."

"I can't believe you don't remember! I've never seen my mom as furious as she was when my grandparents straggled into the house, shivering and covered in dried salt and seaweed, their shoes lost in the Atlantic."

She groaned and buried her face into his shoulder. "Please tell me we didn't dream up something really stupid."

"We?" He laughed. "No. As always, you. I was just always dumb enough to go along it. Want me to remind you what happened?"

"Maybe," she said, her voice muffled into his shirt.

"Well, it was an America's Cup year, and you thought it would be fun to make our own racecourse with the lobster buoys. Somehow—and for the life of me, I don't remember how this happened—the boom knocked my grandfather off the boat and into the ocean. You screamed, my grandmother panicked and stood up at the worst possible moment, and somehow we capsized. It was bad; we almost turtled, and that would have been a disaster. It took me forever to get the boat upright again. We didn't sail back; I think Billy Thompson came the rescue again, and towed us back."

"Oh God. I remember that day, but I completely forgot that they were with us! I don't know how I'll face them this week." She paused, sniffed, and then pulled her head back. "Ew. You kind of smell, Less. You know that, right?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk."

"What?"

"Well, you don't smell. Much." He smirked. "But you are a bit dirty."

"No I'm not. I washed my hands."

He took her hands in his own and pulled them towards him, holding her arms out in front of her. She looked down and gasped; she was a mess! And her tank top....

She glared at him. "Is this what you were laughing about in the kitchen earlier?"

"Yes. Can you blame me?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure." She rubbed at her arms, trying to get the smudges off. She had some success, but her fingernails... she'd need a lot of time in the tub. "Anything else?"