When I Leave, and Other Broken Promises

Coming Clean and Other Messy Situations

When Candice's mother knocked on her bedroom door later that evening to say she had a visitor, the last person Candice expected to see with her was Curt. He moved into the bedroom with quiet dignity, sliding into the beanbag chair near the window silently.

She watched him for some time. He seemed broken somehow, as though something in him had been dismantled. It was he who finally spoke.

"I'm sorry," he began, "I...." he couldn't say anymore for a while. He sighed and leaned back in the chair staring at the ceiling. His thoughts seemed far away. When he spoke again, his eyes were still focused on a single spot above his head, "I guess I always figured if something was bothering you that you'd say something. When you didn't....I don't know. I guess I wasn't thinking."

"No," she answered, lying back on her comforter, looking at the ceiling also, "I should have said something. I guess I just didn't know how," she paused while her fingers pulled on a lose thread absently, "I figured it didn't really matter either way."

"How could you think it wouldn't matter?" he asked, turning his head to look at her suddenly, "Nobody's opinion matters more."

She looked at him then also.

"What was I gonna say? I don't like your girlfriend because she's not me?"

"Why couldn't you just tell me?" he pursued.

"The same reason you couldn't," she countered.

"I've always told you how important you are to me," he argued.

"That's not the same and you know it. Telling someone they matter, that their opinion is important....none of that means anything if they don't know how you really feel."

"How do you feel then?" he asked, his voice soft, intimate.

"You know how I feel," she replied evasively.

"I want you to say it."

"Are you gonna say it back?" she challenged.

"If you make me," he smiled.

"I don't want you to date anyone else, Curt Mezzlo."

"And why's that?"

She looked away from him shyly.

He rose out of the beanbag chair in one swift motion and slid next to her on the bed, his lips close to her ear.

"Why's that?" he whispered.

She turned to look at him. Their faces were only inches apart. He smelled of mint and deodorant soap. She'd known him most of her life, but she was sure she'd never been this close to him before.

"You know why," she whispered.

He leaned toward her and kissed her briefly, butterfly wings against her lips. A pregnant hush fell over them as his eyes ran over her face. She lay, waiting for his next move. Expecting it. And then, he moved in toward her again and kissed her more deeply, his mouth moving over hers, parting it. Diving deeply, tasting her. A moment later she was cradled against him, held close, mouth on mouth. Then, slowly, slowly, they parted.

"This should have been your first kiss," he whispered, a note of regret in his tone, "I was so pissed when I found out Will beat me to it."

"Who told you that?" she asked, leaning away from him slightly.

All of the emotions she'd felt that long ago winter's night came back to her suddenly. How had Curt found out about that awkward conversation?

"Will," he answered matter-of-factly.