Nobody's Listening

T W E N T Y - N I N E

After six long, exhausting but fun hours with Cyd shopping, I trudged through my front door. As I took off my coat and shoes, I still shivered from the cold outside, even though the house was toasty. I inhaled deeply and smelt spaghetti from the kitchen. My favorite! I skipped giddily into the kitchen and ran into James with a smack. Before I hit the floor, he scrambled to grab me, holding me close to his chest as he laughed.

"That's how we met, remember?" he whispered in my ear.

Ignoring him, I pushed away and steadied myself. "No luck with the house search?" I squeaked, clambering onto a stool at the island counter and grabbing a bowl of spaghetti.

He shook his head and sat across from me. "Nope, but one of the owners that I met said that if I got a job, he would let me rent his house."

My mom cut in then, walking into the kitchen and sitting on the stool next to me. "And since James was so kind to make dinner for us, Desirae, he'll be spending the night here tonight, in the guest bedroom."

I inhaled suddenly, a clump of saucy noodles getting stuck in my throat. I gagged and fought to swallow then turned to my mom. "You're joking?" I spluttered, my eyes watering from choking and from the emotions bombarding me.

She gave me a severe glare and I looked away, ashamed with myself. James smirked in my direction, twirling his fork in his spaghetti absently. I narrowed my eyes for a millisecond and started shoveling spaghetti back into my mouth, leaning low over my bowl so they couldn't see my tears.

My mom sighed heavily. "As I was saying, James, you'll sleep in the guest bedroom. I think I have some of my husband's clothing stored in my closet, and you're more than welcome to wear some of it when I wash your clothes."

I clenched my jaw. Just months ago she had trouble talking about my father, and now she's just casually throwing his clothes at the one boy I didn't want to wear them? What was the world coming to?

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Plunkett," James muttered gratefully. I looked up to find a dull blush had settled across his cheeks. He knew that my father was dead; at least he had the nerve to look ashamed to force my mom to dig through old memories to lend him some clothes.

I twirled the last bit of spaghetti onto my fork and forced myself to eat it, my jaw working furiously to chew through my anger and tears. I pushed the bowl away and slid off of my stool. "I'm going up to my room," I announced. I started walking to the stairs when my mom called to me.

"Desirae, can you take James up to his room?"

The nervous tic was back in my jaw. "Sure, c'mon, James," I said slowly, trying to control my emotions. I heard him get up and follow me, and I continued up the stairs. I ignored him the whole way to the little room at the end of the hall next to mine. To open it I had to shove my entire weight on the door. It finally gave and I stepped into the guestroom. I allowed James to come in and then I turned, ready to leave.

He grabbed my arm before I could escape, and pulled me back into the room. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He closed the door and put a hand under my chin. I struggled to not look at him until I finally gave up, his fingers finally winning to bring my face up.

His fingers have won before, a frustrating part of me thought and I blushed harder, glaring at his ear to avoid looking him in the eye still.

James sighed. "You know, you could just look at me. I'll probably be here for a while."

More frustrated tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. I took a deep breath and turned my glare to James' eyes. I flinched from the powerful sadness I found there. I took another shuddering breath and wrapped my arms around him. Pressing the bridge of my nose into his collarbone, I muttered an apology into his shirt that smelt of smoke and a hint of Men's Dove body wash under that.

"It's fine," he whispered, his chest barely moving under my mouth.

There was a knock at the door and we jumped apart. "James, I found some things for you, do you mind opening the door?" my mom called through the wood.

James let out a deep sigh and opened the door, plastering a smile on his face. "Thank you so much," he said, taking the armful of clothes with good grace. I grimaced.

"No problem. I'm going to go on to bed; I'll see you kids in the morning. Feel free to leave your clothes in the hall, James, and I'll clean them when I wake up." My mom shot me a warning look and hurried out. A few seconds later, I heard the door to her room shut.

James turned to me. "Unless you'd like to watch, I would like to change clothes now."

I raised an eyebrow. "Sure you don't want to take a shower or something first?"

He smiled. "Yeah, that'd be nice." He hitched the clothing closer to his chest and followed me into my bathroom.

"You can use whatever you want in here except for my shave gel and my razor." I grabbed some towels out of the closet and put them on the rack near the shower. "I'll be downstairs, watching TV." I turned to walk out and again, James grabbed my wrist.

"Thanks," he whispered in my ear, his warm, saucy-smelling breath tickling my ear.

I wrenched myself free and hurried out. Clutching my chest, I rushed to change into my pajamas in my room and all but ran down to the living room. I hoped to God James wouldn't come downstairs when he was done.