Kiss and Cry

I really, really wanted to get this right. I didn’t care if I didn’t like it as long as he did. I took a minute to reread the recipe. Okay. I had this. I’d redo the almonds. No big. I dumped the burned ones in the green bin.

“Okay, give me another clue,” I said.

“Contrast between two things. Ten letters.”

“Hmm.” I stirred the ground turkey and veggies, which were pretty much done. “Opposites?”

“That’s only nine.”

“Right. Do you have any letters?”

He told me, and a lightbulb went off. “Antithesis!” I frowned. “Wait, how do you say that?”

“It’s ‘an-ti-thuh-sus.’”

Laughing, I went back to chopping the green onions. “I didn’t think it sounded right. I never said I was smart.”

After a few moments, I felt the itch of Henry’s intense gaze like a laser beam and looked over, taken aback by his intensity. “What?”

“You are smart. Mispronouncing a word only means you probably learned it by reading it instead of hearing it aloud.”

“I was pretty much homeschooled so I could focus on skating, so I did the minimum to graduate. It’s okay, at least I have my looks.” I struck a model pose with my hip out and head tilted coyly, batting my eyelashes. He didn’t even crack a smile, and I straightened. “What is it? I’m not upset about saying that word wrong. Honestly. Actually, I’m stoked I figured it out! But you’re sweet for trying to make me feel better.”

Still gripping his pencil, Henry flushed and dropped his gaze. I guessed it was the first time I’d called him something like sweet. But he was, damn it, and I wished I could cross the little kitchen and kiss his pink cheeks. Then straddle his lap and—

Nope! Back up that train of thought. Beep, beep, beep!

But why had this upset him so much? My flash of lust faded, and I set down the knife. Biting back the urge to pepper him with questions, I watched him and waited.

And waited.

I shifted my weight back and forth. Crossed and uncrossed my arms. Picked up the knife. Put down the knife. It was probably nothing? Was it nothing?

Why did I feel like it was something, though? That there was some hurt there, and I wanted to dig it out of him and make it better. Why had he reacted so strongly? Why?

Teeelll meeeeee.

As my bones felt like they were about to burst through my skin with the pressure of being patient, Henry finally met my eyes and sighed.

He said, “It’s nothing.”

The volcano of questions rose up. “Hmm?” I asked, impressed at my cool facade. Then I wondered if I’d been pronouncing facade correctly or not, but that was beside the point.

Henry turned the pencil, running his fingers up and down and around the tip, and I valiantly kept my mind out of the gutter. Mostly.

Finally, he said, “It’s ridiculous to remember this so well. I was in grade four. It was nothing.”

“Okay.”

He shrugged. “I was reading something aloud in class. I don’t remember what it was. The word ‘monastery’ was in the passage. I didn’t go to a Catholic school, so I don’t know why that would come up. I was in a special advanced class, and we were reading a short story, I think. I pronounced it ‘mon-ass-tery’ with the incorrect emphasis. Everyone laughed really hard. Even Mrs. Markham smiled.”

I chuckled. “Ah. Okay.” I waited for him to say he’d been beaten up on the playground later or something.

He stared into space like he was remembering the class laughing at him. “A boy named Tyler teased me about it all that week and called me stupid. I was afraid to say anything at all in case I pronounced something else incorrectly.” He shrugged again. “So I spoke less after that. I was already quiet anyway.”

Whoa. I almost said, “That’s it?” but thank God I didn’t. Henry had clearly been scarred by this incident a lot of people, including me, would laugh off.

How he’d gone into a judged sport was beyond me, but I guessed he loved being on the ice so much that he’d worked through it. Pleasing the judges had to fuel his perfectionism.

I wished I could reach back through time to tell baby Henry that it was okay, and he didn’t have to be perfect. Also I’d kick that Tyler’s ass.

What I did say was, “I’m sorry.”

He wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t know why I remember that like it was yesterday.”

I did cross over to him now, but I resisted straddling his lap, plopping down in the other chair instead. “Because your big brain has a scary good memory and likes to torture you.”

His mouth quirked, and I felt a victorious rush like I’d landed the illusive quad Axel right there in the condo. What would it be like to kiss him? If I leaned across the table and licked across his bottom lip, would he let me in?