It's not that bad, really. Sense and Sensibility at least had some sense. Had Marianne wallowed in her tears or chased after Willoughby I may have taken away a star or two, but she married the Colonel and for that I am happy.
Alistair and I walked back to the car without talking. In between thoughts I'd listen to the sound of our feet tapping the sidewalk, the songs passing from open car windows, and the endearing tunes of the ice cream truck traveling to fingers that would soon be covered in sticky sugar.
Autumn texted me back: What are you doing?? I thought we were meeting for dinner??
I responded: I’ll be there soon. Got held up with something. Explain later.
Then my brother texted: OK, mom was worried cuz she didn’t hear from you, see ya later, happy bday sis.
I responded: Thanks, be back later around 10 … I’ll text mom too.
Alistair walked with his hands in his pockets almost the entire time. His hands seemed most relaxed there, but it left little room for his arm to sway into mine. Not that I wanted that or anything....
In only a few minutes we would be sitting in the car, driving to his hotel. We would say goodbye forever and I shouldn't have cared. I'd only known him, well, not even a full twenty-four hours and I had my ... precautions.
I'm only eighteen, I said inside. It wouldn't be the right time anyway. Not for me.
Yet, being with him made a hectic city feel peaceful. He was right. It was comfortable. And it seemed different than Donovan or Autumn. It wasn't just comfort. There was excitement bubbling under the satisfied stillness. It was there. I know he felt it too, but I couldn't lead him on.
“Deep in thought?” I said, interrupting the quiet air between us.
He kicked the ground as he took a step and brought his hands out of his pockets. “Do you ever feel like your life is passing and there’s nothing you can do about it?” His hands made various motions as he talked, passionately. “I mean, here I am, I planned everything so precisely thinking, gee, perhaps life will be like this when I am in my twenties and here I am. It’s nothing like I planned or imagined and sometimes I wonder if I’m being tricked into a bland life I never wanted.”
I tried to understand, but he lost me. “Tricked?”
“Life feels fake sometimes, doesn’t it? As though we’re passing through without a choice in the matter.”
“I don’t think so. I mean, maybe it feels that way right now, but you have choices.”
“Like I could choose to stop you right here on this sidewalk and kiss you until you can't breathe?”
I ran my hand through my hair, letting it drop into my face to hide my expression.
“Kidding,” he said, laughing. “Well, sorta, you know.”
We finally sat down in my car and my legs thanked me a hundred times. Did he really want to kiss me?
"What kind of music do you play?" I asked as I turned the car on.
"It's hard to classify." His tone suggested that he didn’t want to talk about his band for some reason.
So, I shifted subjects. "What do you listen to?"
He jumped at the bait. "A lot, but mostly classic rock, blues, that sorta thing."
That fit him.
"I've pulled the hotel address up on my phone here," he said. "I'll tell you where to turn."
"I'll just head back toward the airport and you tell me when it says to do something different. I think I remember where it is."
"It's been nice." He turned his face toward the window. "A bit strange, I suppose, but it has been nice, hasn't it? Today, I mean."
"Strange and nice about covers it."
I stopped at a red light and danced my fingers along the steering wheel. He took my hand into his and pulled me toward him.
"Jane, I'm sorry, but I really do want to kiss you right now."
I pulled back and exhaled when I saw the light turn green. Foot on the pedal, I accelerated the car and tried to slow down my pulse. I would not, could not, kiss him.
Dr. Seuss, anyone?
Eyes on the road, I felt his gaze burning a hole into my head, but it most certainly would not burn a hole into my heart. Trees on the side of the road, fading sun to my right, two solid yellow lines—focus, Jane, focus.
"I'm not asking to be your boyfriend. Just a kiss, like the others." He rubbed his legs and looked from the window back to me. "I know it can't work, but I ... I don't know ... do you know what I mean?"
"Alistair." I shook my head. "It's not you. I know you're not some whacko trying to get in my pants. I guess there's always that chance, I mean, I don't know you very well. You could be a whacko and I really hope not, but I'm ... I can't kiss you."
"It's trousers."
"What?"
"I believe you meant trousers, not pants. Although you could very well mean pants too." He stopped and looked at me. "I'm not in love with you."
I laughed.
He smiled. "There's something between us though. I know you feel it."
"It's not real, Alistair. It's just our emotions eating us alive. British boy and American girl meet in an airport, spend the day together, and by the end of the day they've fallen in love." I glanced at him, expecting a smile but he looked as serious as possible. "It has all the necessary elements of a sweeping romance, but it's our emotions. It can't be anything more. It's not possible to fall for someone when you've only just met."
"A relationship has to start somewhere," he said and pointed. "Turn there. Not saying this should be a relationship, but it's something, don't you think? There's something here."
"What's the point?" I nodded toward the road. "Which way do I go?"
"Left and then it's there on the right. Days Inn." He ran his hand along the open window. "What's the point in anything?"
I laughed. "That's vague."
"The point is I want to kiss you. You said we have a choice. Well, I’m making a choice for once. A choice for myself. I may not love you or know you inside and out, but when I watch your lips move I want to kiss you. What would it hurt?"
"It's weird."
He laughed. "It is a bit queer, that's true." He repositioned in the seat and unbuckled himself. "Still doesn't change the fact that I want to kiss you before I leave. I won't ever see you again and the least I could give you for your birthday is the best kiss you've ever had in your life."