Read Online Love and Other Perishable Items by Laura Buzo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laura Buzo
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purpose in his stride and the uncharacteristic hardness of his mouth make me put my own drink down and rise to my feet. Jeremy stands up too and coaxes me to sit down again.
“I’d better just go and see where Chris is …,” I begin, then grab hold of Jeremy’s arm to steady myself. I feel a bit wobbly. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe I’ve just stood up too quickly and got a head rush.
Jeremy sets his wine down and puts an arm around my shoulders to steady me.
“Chris is fine,” he says. “He’ll be back in a minute.”
I deliberate for a moment, then detach myself and weave my way across the room with uneven steps.
“I’ll be right back,” I mumble over my shoulder.
Bianca’s home is a bit of a maze, but after a search of downstairs I find a staircase. I take a deep breath before beginning the climb. I grip the banister firmly, definitely feeling a bit … something.…
Hold up . Quick, angry footsteps are striding down from the landing above. Chris bursts into sight, his face like the sky before a hailstorm.
“Hey—” I begin, but he leaps down the stairs two at a time, pushing past me so hard he’d have knocked me over were I not already clinging to the banister.
“Chris!”
Nothing. A door slamming.
I hurry after him to the front door, fling it open and run out through the front yard into the street. I can see him stalking away up ahead.
“Chris! Chris!” I run after him. At my second call he whirls around.
“Fuck off, Amelia!”
He means it. He has never, ever called me by my actual name. I stand there catching my breath and not daring to say anything else until he turns and keeps walking.
I’m sucking back tears when I hear the sound of glass shattering at the end of the street, followed by a distant “Fuuuuck!” in Chris’s unmistakable voice.
A hand drops onto my shoulder and I hear Jeremy’s voice saying, “He’ll be all right.”
I blink back more tears and turn to face him.
My head is a mess, whirring with questions, general disaffection and the hurt of being so rebuffed by Chris, who I’d walk across the Sahara for if it would do him any good. All of which immediately stops when Jeremy takes a firm hold of me around the waist and kisses me unflinchingly on the mouth.
Didn’t see that one coming.
I break away for a second and say with all the eloquence warranted by such an occasion as my first kiss, “Um?”
Jeremy responds by kissing me again, very authoritatively.
I think, in quick succession: What’s happening here ? —I should go after Chris—That’s someone else’s spit in my mouth—That’s tongue!—Maybe I should stop this—Weird—Okay, that’s not bad—Not bad …
Jeremy interlocks all of his fingers with mine, gently squeezes my hands and stops kissing me. I open my eyes and look up at him. I can feel his breath on my lips. The seconds that we have been kissing are the first seconds in six months that I have managed not to think about Chris. Intriguing. And a bit of a relief.
“Come inside with me,” he says.
“Okay.”
He leads me back inside the front door by the hand. So this is what it feels like to hold hands with a boy , I think. Nice .
Instead of taking me through the house to the back deck, where the party is, Jeremy makes a clean left sidestep into a formal dining room with a never-used feeling. A huge and ornate dark wood table stands in the center of the room, flanked by glass cabinets filled with expensive-looking crystal and china. On the sideboard is the remains of the second bottle of wine Jeremy andI had been drinking. But no glasses. He picks it up and drinks straight from the bottle, then motions for me to do the same. I swallow down a generous sip, fight off a sway, hand back the bottle and wait to see what will happen next.
What happens next is quite mystifying for a girl who spends hours of every day staring hatefully into the mirror and down at the scales. Putting his hands on my hips, he gently shepherds me
“I’d better just go and see where Chris is …,” I begin, then grab hold of Jeremy’s arm to steady myself. I feel a bit wobbly. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe I’ve just stood up too quickly and got a head rush.
Jeremy sets his wine down and puts an arm around my shoulders to steady me.
“Chris is fine,” he says. “He’ll be back in a minute.”
I deliberate for a moment, then detach myself and weave my way across the room with uneven steps.
“I’ll be right back,” I mumble over my shoulder.
Bianca’s home is a bit of a maze, but after a search of downstairs I find a staircase. I take a deep breath before beginning the climb. I grip the banister firmly, definitely feeling a bit … something.…
Hold up . Quick, angry footsteps are striding down from the landing above. Chris bursts into sight, his face like the sky before a hailstorm.
“Hey—” I begin, but he leaps down the stairs two at a time, pushing past me so hard he’d have knocked me over were I not already clinging to the banister.
“Chris!”
Nothing. A door slamming.
I hurry after him to the front door, fling it open and run out through the front yard into the street. I can see him stalking away up ahead.
“Chris! Chris!” I run after him. At my second call he whirls around.
“Fuck off, Amelia!”
He means it. He has never, ever called me by my actual name. I stand there catching my breath and not daring to say anything else until he turns and keeps walking.
I’m sucking back tears when I hear the sound of glass shattering at the end of the street, followed by a distant “Fuuuuck!” in Chris’s unmistakable voice.
A hand drops onto my shoulder and I hear Jeremy’s voice saying, “He’ll be all right.”
I blink back more tears and turn to face him.
My head is a mess, whirring with questions, general disaffection and the hurt of being so rebuffed by Chris, who I’d walk across the Sahara for if it would do him any good. All of which immediately stops when Jeremy takes a firm hold of me around the waist and kisses me unflinchingly on the mouth.
Didn’t see that one coming.
I break away for a second and say with all the eloquence warranted by such an occasion as my first kiss, “Um?”
Jeremy responds by kissing me again, very authoritatively.
I think, in quick succession: What’s happening here ? —I should go after Chris—That’s someone else’s spit in my mouth—That’s tongue!—Maybe I should stop this—Weird—Okay, that’s not bad—Not bad …
Jeremy interlocks all of his fingers with mine, gently squeezes my hands and stops kissing me. I open my eyes and look up at him. I can feel his breath on my lips. The seconds that we have been kissing are the first seconds in six months that I have managed not to think about Chris. Intriguing. And a bit of a relief.
“Come inside with me,” he says.
“Okay.”
He leads me back inside the front door by the hand. So this is what it feels like to hold hands with a boy , I think. Nice .
Instead of taking me through the house to the back deck, where the party is, Jeremy makes a clean left sidestep into a formal dining room with a never-used feeling. A huge and ornate dark wood table stands in the center of the room, flanked by glass cabinets filled with expensive-looking crystal and china. On the sideboard is the remains of the second bottle of wine Jeremy andI had been drinking. But no glasses. He picks it up and drinks straight from the bottle, then motions for me to do the same. I swallow down a generous sip, fight off a sway, hand back the bottle and wait to see what will happen next.
What happens next is quite mystifying for a girl who spends hours of every day staring hatefully into the mirror and down at the scales. Putting his hands on my hips, he gently shepherds me
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