It's always him. We fit together like two mismatched puzzle pieces that couldn't fit anywhere else. Clearly, Dad doesn't think so, based on his horrified face. Peter speaks, the sound reverberating through my eardrum.
“Mr. Sullivan, I want you to know that I cherish your daughter and I would never do anything that she would not consent to. I would never hurt her intentionally, and I will do my best to protect her heart.” Oh Jesus. I'm practically swooning. I feel like he should be on one knee or something and I should have a sword in my hand as he promises to serve me until his dying day. Sir Peter, My Savior. If only I could be his, just for a moment.
Dad's flabbergasted. He opens his mouth and closes it like a goldfish a few times before making a sputtering sound. Mom just cuddles closer to him, gazing at him with adoring eyes. Well-played, mother.
“Peter, that is so sweet. Isn't that sweet, Sam?”
“Uh, that's very, uh. Yes, it is.” He rubs his hands on his pants as if he's trying to clean Peter's germs off them, even though they shook hands ten minutes ago. I seize my moment of escape.
“On that note, we should get going. Miller's lemon meringue is calling my name.” I stand up, taking Peter with me. No one else moves. I try to walk, but Peter holds me back. Like he's waiting for something. Permission?
“Once again, it was nice to see you, Mr. Sullivan.” Peter holds out his hand again, holding mine with the other. Dad shakes it like a robot. He's still stunned.
“Well, uh, you kids have fun. Remember it's a school night.” He emerges from his shock.
Peter squeezes my hand. Probably telling me to shut my face without telling me to shut my face.
“I will have her back by 9:00.” Oohh, an half-hour before my weeknight curfew. Very smooth, Peter.
“Bye Mom, bye Dad.” I don't give them a kiss or anything, but Mom gives me a wink and an I'll-take-care-of-him look about Dad. He's still staring at Peter as if he's not sure he's human. He would be correct.
“Have fun,” Mom calls as I shut the door. A second later I lean my back against it.
“That,” I say breathing out slowly, “was close.”
Chapter Nineteen
Peter
“I'm sorry about that.” She has still not let go of my hand. The bones in her fingers creak as she grips as tight as she can.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You handled it.” She shakes her head as I open the car door for her. She sits in the seat sideways, not letting go.
“No, you handled it. This is getting worse, Peter.”
“We will have answers soon.” Her eyes plead with me. The moonlight sparkles on her skin, catching all the little hairs that cover her body.
“It might not be soon enough.” I lean down so my face is level with hers and take her other hand. Her skin is blazing hot with anxiety, fear, uncertainty. I cannot fight her demons for her, although I would slay them all, if I could.
“You are strong. You are mine. We are strong. We will be strong together.” Her hands pull me forward, until our foreheads touch. I pull back, letting her emotions take me over. It is overwhelming. Like a crowd of angry bees they swarm. I wait.
Slowly, her breathing evens. Her hands stop holding mine so hard. She focuses on something. Whatever it is, it is working. I wait until the torrent of her emotions has slowed to a swirl, like water down a drain.
She removes her forehead from mine, snapping her eyes open.
“What would I do without you?”
“Be human.” I wish to kiss her, but I pull back and get in the driver's seat instead.
“Dad's face was kinda funny when I sat on your lap.”
“He did not like it.”
“Yeah, I got that. He just doesn't understand. I've never really dated before.”
“I was not what he expected.” She laughs, and it flows from her to me like fire.
“I don't know what he expected. Someone like him. Maybe a math geek who also was on the golf team or something. Mom would want someone who was into plants and maybe artsy. He'd probably play the guitar and make quiche.” She says it without much hesitation. As if she's thought about it. The examples are rather specific. She leans her head back against the seat, turning to look at me. She's settled now. Relaxed.
She hasn't asked where we are going yet, but I want to know what she thought of when she pictured who she would date. “I didn't really have anything in mind. I always thought having a specific type of person you would be attracted to was stupid. What if you meet someone who doesn't meet those specifications? Are you just not going to date them because they don't fit your ideal? So many people have unrealistic ideals anyway.”
I think about that for a moment.
“You're so much more than ideal. I never could have imagined someone like you. So anything I could have had before is irrelevant. I have you now.” I reach out to take her hand. She pulls my arm and folds her body around it. As if she will never let go.
“You're my ideal.” I glance at her and her face is wrapped in a smile. It is impossible to think that anything I could do would make her look like that.
She studies my hand, putting her fingers up to mine. “So where are we really going?”
“To Miller's. I want to take you out on a human date.” She puts our palms together and curls her fingers between mine.
“But you can't eat.”
“I can pretend. For you.”
“And then we're walking on the beach?”
“If you want.” I reach out to brush some hair behind her ear. Her smile widens and her heart picks up.
“It sounds so human. So ordinary. But really romantic.”
I had thought for a long time about what a teenage couple would do on a date. “I am trying to be more human.”
“It's working.” She turns on the radio. I set it to the classical station. Sometimes I miss the music of my human life. The soft instruments, the lush voices that hummed with vocal power.
Pachelbel's Canon shivers through the air.
“I love this song. It always makes me think of weddings,” she says as if she were reading my mind. My skin has started to absorb the heat of her skin. Her scent blows around the car, covering up the scent of the dealership.
The music washes around us, drops of it flowing into our ears, making us quiet for the rest of the way. She is lost in thought that I do not wish to disturb. I hope she is not worried. I test the thread that connects us, pulling it a little to see if she is all right. I just get a buzz from her thoughts. Musings. Nothing bad, nothing good. Just even.