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Even now, as she glanced at the clock on the wall, she was shocked to see it was almost midnight when the last of her siblings had left the house… and her parents disappeared to go to bed, leaving her there with Austin.
Her new husband.
If life had been normal, if this had been an elaborate wedding – they would have gotten into a limo or a car, driven off into the sunset, to go to some honeymoon or exotic destination in order to be alone.
Except she was here… at home.
There was no veil, no groom’s cake, no dancing… and the music was fun, upbeat music that they were all singing or playing around to while in the midst of talking, hanging out, and simply spending time together. It was lovely, fun, and she wouldn’t change it… but it certainly didn’t set the mood for a romantic honeymoon.
No, she was feeling a little out of place, knowing that her parents were on the opposite side of the house – and her new husband was standing before her.
… And if by magic?
Austin smiled, picked up two empty champagne flutes, and the bottle they’d just opened about twenty minutes ago.
“C’mon,” he invited, walking down the hallway towards her room – and the temperature in the house just surged to a thousand as her face flushed in awareness. She had removed her jacket and tie earlier in the afternoon to keep from getting anything on it… and was grateful she had because it was probably the only thing keeping her from fainting.
“Are you hot in here? I’m burning up,” she asked nervously. “Maybe I should open a window or something. It’s only thirty-eight degrees outside, right? That should help things and…”
“Giselle?”
“Yeah?”
“Sit down, honey. You are nervous and making me feel anxious. Let’s just talk for a bit.”
“Talk? Okay. I can definitely talk. We can talk about anything. What do you want to talk about? Maybe we should talk about… talking – you know? Like pronunciations, dialects, and different languages? I used to know Spanish when I was in high school and… I think I will stop now,” she finished lamely as she sat down, perching on the edge of the bed, and grimaced. “I’m really nervous.”
“I can tell,” he smiled tenderly, handing her one of the champagne flutes and got up from his seat. She took a sip of it, only to see him shutting the door to the bedroom and moving her childhood desk chair under the handle – to block it.
She sprayed bubbly all over her Army dress jacket that was hanging on a hanger from the hat rack on the wall and began coughing as the fluid went down the wrong way. She hoped it dried clear because she wasn’t sure if she had enough time to get it dry-cleaned before leaving… and there certainly wasn’t one in Ghazni.
He immediately began patting her on the back as she waved him off, struggling to catch her breath.
“I’m… fine…” she croaked out, and he took a seat opposite of her. He was sitting sideways on the bed, one leg on and one leg off, watching her.
“You know,” he began and stood up, holding out his hand to her. “One of my favorite moments that we shared was when we were splitting that cream soda and the gummy worms,” he smiled… and then leaned forward to take her hand, pulling her to her feet.
He stood there, holding her hand, looking at it and turning it over in his, before looking up at her.
“I cannot tell you how much it made me smile to see you trying to hang onto the gummy worms while trying to squeeze this little delicate hand back through the chain-link fence,” he chuckled. “Hands are such amazing things… don’t you think?”
“Hands? No, why?”
“Just look at them,” he began, holding out her hand and putting his next to it. “So similar, yet so different. They are tools that we use to function, made up of so many tiny bones, tendons, and joints… but there is so much more to them, too.”
“I guess I didn’t think about that,” she whispered as he slowly slid his palm against hers, making her shiver.
“They hold glasses, needles, apply bandages, and feed us – but the list goes on and on,” he breathed, trailing his fingers against hers. “Hands can bring joy, comfort, and hurt – but can also soothe that same hurt, too.”
Her breath held as he turned over her palm and traced a line on her hand.
“Years ago, people used to tell fortunes, make blood oaths, wave hello in greeting or shake each other’s hands,” he began, and hesitated. “They are also incredibly tactile and sensory. Close your eyes.”
She did so, fascinated by the way his mind worked.
“You can feel cold and wet,” he whispered, pressing her fingertips to the side of the bottle. “Warmth, softness,” he continued, her hand rubbing against the VELUX blanket on her bed, “And roughness.”
Her hand touched his cheek where she felt stubble.
