But Michael was staring at me steadily, unflinchingly. I hesitated. I'd missed something. I saw it in the certainty of his blue eyes as it was his turn to place his hand on my knee.
"Abbi," he whispered as softly as the wind through the pines, "You guys are my family."
Michael
I was nearly asleep atop the thin, scratchy sheets of the old interstate motel just outside of Albuquerque, New Mexico when a tiny knock came from the adjoining door across the bed. At first I wasn't even sure I heard it as I lay there in the dimness of parking lot light streaming through the cracked curtains. But after a moment or two of holding my breath and staring at thin plywood door now a faded yellow, I heard it again, a little thud, as quiet as if little more than the tapping of a pinkie.
My heart skipped a beat. Because I knew who was on the other side of that adjoining door.
We'd driven through New Mexico, winding like a lazy river along the backroads that crisscrossed the major interstates. As dusk settled in, we finally stumbled upon a flashing neon light proudly announcing Vac-n-y. But when the three of us squeezed into the miniscule office stuffed with mounted antelope heads, we learned that the vacancy was only for two single-bed rooms. It was agreed that Abbi would bunk with Zara and I would take the single bed in the room across from theirs. We got takeout from a local burger joint that smothered their burgers with fiery heaps of roasted green chilies and made a complete mess of ourselves while squeezing onto the single bed and watching a grainy rerun of Bonanza. At midnight, stuffed to the brim with milkshakes and chili fries and enough burger grease to clog arteries, we said our goodnights and I went to my room.
I'd expected nothing more till I heard the little knock that stopped my heart.
With sweaty palms I pushed myself off the old rickety bed, the aged springs groaning. I crossed the short distance to the adjoining door in my boxers and hesitated with my hand on the doorknob. Then, with a nervous breath, I quietly pushed open the door.
In the dark, I felt Abbi slip past me and close the door silently behind her. Her hair smelled like gasoline and watermelon, the one we all ate on the hood of her car beside that roadside farmer's market. Without a word, Abbi took my hand in hers and guided me back toward the bed. She was wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties as she stopped and stood in front of me at the end of the bed. Her hair was still damp from her shower and fell over one eye as she lifted her chin. The beam of light from the parted curtains fell across her face as she stared up at me.
Her hand came to the back of my neck, already slick with sweat from the oppressive desert heat, and she pulled me gently down to kiss her. Her lips tasted of spearmint toothpaste and they tingled against mine. We kissed and then Abbi took a small step backwards. Her eyes, though, did not leave mine as she slowly stretched her arms overhead. Then she waited.
My eyes moved to the very tips of her fingers held suspended in the silent, unmoving air. Despite the darkness, I thought I could see sunlight dancing off them. Her slender, tanned arms were still, but I thought I could see them waving to an unheard beat, the pounding of a drum, the thundering of feet, the rise and swell of a wild heart. Her lips were parted just slightly as she watched me watch her, but I thought I could see them singing loud and off-key to some Celtic song she didn't know the lyrics of, head thrown back, laughing when she messed up the words. Her hair hung limp, cut around her jawline, but I knew, I just knew, I could see a warm mountain wind playing with it, weaving through it like tall golden stalks of wheat.
My eyes trailed over her paper-thin t-shirt, her hard nipples pressed against the soft material, over her hips, over her long legs, over her bare feet. As I looked at her with a shuddering breath, I could see her body dancing all those years ago in Ireland. It was like she'd been frozen mid-song, as she stood there with her arms above her head in front of me. She'd been waiting, all these years she'd been waiting for me to realise what she'd known on that muddy dance floor in the wild grasses.
We fell in love that night.
And we never fell out.
My fingers shook slightly as I reached my hands out to grip the hem of Abbi's t-shirt. It was cool like the lakes of Glendalough. For all my life water had been slipping through my fingers, but in that moment I held it and it did not run away. Abbi's breath hitched as I began to lift the t-shirt over her body. Her head disappeared as I dragged it past her fingertips, and then I looked at her as the t-shirt simply fell from my limp fingers. I remembered the first time I saw her breasts, how they took my breath away. It was no different nine years later.
Abbi's fingers went to the waistband of her panties and her eyes flicked to my boxers. With the self-consciousness of two inexperienced teenagers we each pushed down our underwear. As Abbi stepped toward me and I toward me, everything was suddenly new.
