Allie stops arguing. Feeling hopeless and defeated she changes into her usual jeans and shirt. But when she picks up the cello case to put it back in the music room, the cello whispers a caress and rebellion kicks in.
Her whole life depends on this audition. This one time, she’ll do what she wants. She just won’t show up. Trey’s appointment can be rescheduled.
Allie kills the engine and leans her forehead on the steering wheel. God, she’d been so selfish, defiant, rebellious, and that had killed Mom and Trey. Ethan is the only spot of color in a world gone gray, and he’s about to leave her. If she doesn’t go through with this, she’ll be betraying his trust, breaking her word again.
She breathes in the car smell for the last time, catching a faint whiff of Trey, sweat and feet and enthusiasm.
“You’ve got the whole world still, Allie,” his voice says, as clearly as if it comes through the speakers.
“I don’t want it,” she whispers, and that gets her out of the car and into the room where Ethan is lying on the bed, waiting.
He’d said he’d make preparations, that this would be a celebration, and he’d meant it. The cheap, scarred table is transformed by a white tablecloth. Laid out, as if on an altar, are two crystal glasses, a bottle of whiskey, and two small crystal bowls. A candle burns at the center.
He doesn’t move when she walks in, his dark gaze burning all of her doubts away.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“Are you sure now?”
Allie floats to the bed. Her body has no weight. Now that she’s decided, everything is easy. Nothing holds her anymore. She’s free.
This time, the lovemaking feels natural, inevitable. She loses herself in the pleasure of Ethan’s hands and lips, the way her body rises to meet his when he enters her. After it’s over, she lies quiet against him, both emptied and filled with a sense of wonder.
He strokes her hair, and she drifts on the edges of sleep.
“Ready?”
Her heart contracts out of rhythm, a hard squeeze in her chest, sending a burst of heat out to her skin. Cold follows.
Her certainty has vanished again. The pleasure of sex has wakened the possibility that there might be other pleasures in the world. What might she be missing if she leaves her life behind now?
Ethan is certain enough for both of them.
“Here, I brought you something.”
He rummages in a backpack beside the bed. Allie watches the muscles in his back ripple under his skin. She’s awed by the miracle of muscle, how the cells form together to create bands that contract and release together on command to make the body move. What a wonder the human organism is. How did she live all of her life and never notice?
A wave of sadness washes over her, grief that this beautiful boy will no longer be in the world, that those muscles will be cold and stiff tomorrow. Her own life is a small, dark thing, but his seems beautiful to her, glorious even.
Ethan turns to her with something white and floaty in his hands. “Put this on.”
She takes it from him, a flimsy bit of silk and lace. Heat rises to her face.
“Please,” he says, and she sees in her imagination the tableau he’s creating. The table, with its candles and roses. Allie dressed in white.
“Here, I’ll help you.”
She raises her arms as if she’s a child, and he pulls the nightgown down over her head, smooths it over her breasts and hips and thighs. He runs his hands through her hair, arranging it on her shoulders.
“There. You’re perfect. Shall we?”
His hand closes around hers, warm and steady where hers is cold and trembling. She lets him lead her to the table. Sits when he pulls the chair out for her.
He lowers himself into the chair across from her. She watches him pour amber liquid into their glasses. His eyes glow with anticipation as he raises his glass for a toast.
“To what comes after.”
Allie lifts her own glass and touches it to his. “To what comes after.”
Ethan drinks effortlessly and smoothly. Allie lifts her own glass to her lips and swallows. The whiskey burns, and she chokes, coughs. It’s a full-size tumbler, and she’s not even halfway through when Ethan pours himself a second glass.
He smiles at her. “You’re smaller, so it will hit you harder. Take your time. No rush.”