All That and Then Some

MAEVE

MUM HAS TO TAKE the mini-monster to a Toddler Tumblers class in the North End because I guess Buddy forgot that he wouldn't be back in time, or was supposed to be back in time, but then had another mimosa and didn't make the train back to Toronto. Something like that. I said I'd help Natalie out and take a shift at the cafe. It's been almost a year since I worked a shift, so I've decided it'll be good to properly wash my hair and get dressed in something that doesn't have a hood on the back of it.

I can't face Jeffry this morning anyway. Totally embarrassed myself last night.

After Gran and her friend Rita left, and Dad was bizarrely out for another run even though it was literally snowing and, like, minus 15, and Mum was storming around their bedroom, flinging drawers open and slamming them shut, and Vivian was sleeping off her sharpie face, and little brother had receded to his boy cave to watch YouTube -- I went to hang out with Jeffry in his shedroom again.

I finally felt like actually talking to someone about what I was feeling, you know, about Jules, but mostly about myself. Like, about how I think there's something broken in me and it's preventing me from getting into an actual relationship with someone and how I could go about fixing it. Big subject, I know. But if I was going to tell anyone my worst fears about myself, it ought to be my oldest, closest (and only) friend.

So, I knocked on his shed door and let myself in.

He'd showered to get the splatters of blue paint out of his hair. He was shirtless when I walked in, towelling his hair upside down. I paused in the doorway and looked at him properly. At twenty-four, his shoulders had filled out and his eternally concave stomach was smooth as a fresh canvas. There was something really beautiful about him, my best friend, in the lamplight in the suddenly freezing shedroom.

"Close the door, dude," he said, muffled by the towel.

"Oh, sorry, yeah." I stammered, shutting the door, made awkward as ever by the realization that another person would probably have found this super erotic but, as usual, I was just telling myself, hey, there's something erotic about this, why aren't you feeling anything?

Because, right? Why wasn't I? Here I am, an eighteen-year-old girl (woman!) in a small space with a half-naked, smooth-bodied young artist, and I'm not even THINKING about sex? What is WRONG WITH ME?

That's when I made an unfortunate decision.

I approached him and put my hands on his skin. They were kinda cold, so that's probably why he jumped.

"Whoa! What's up with you?" he asked, but letting me snake my hands around his back and press my body into his chest in the world's most awkward hug.

"Nothing's up with me. I just wondered... how this would feel."

Jeffry stayed silent and let me hug him. He seemed undecided -- hand reaching up to stroke my (should have shampooed) hair, but then stopping and just patting my shoulder a little.

I moved my face out of his shoulder and brought it up to be very near his.

"What would the outcome be if I kissed you?" I asked, sounding a little too like a scientist working through her hypothesis.

"Um..." he said. "I don't really..."

My shoulders slumped with embarrassment. What was I doing? "You don't really like girls, I know."

"Well, not as a rule. Not like that. But also, I mean, I don't really... I'm not really into being with anyone right now." He hadn't let go of me, which was sort of nice because then we were just regular hugging. Even if he was talking about why he didn't want to kiss me. I looked up into his face.