Love's Forbidden Flower Read Free Page B

proportions.
    The chemistry generated as he steps behind me, places his hand on my arm, and nuzzles his cheek into mine makes his words sound pleading. “I understand. I want to help you with your problems, but I don’t know how.”
    My problems? Has he been acting like Romeo only to finally tell me this is a solo endeavor? His reluctance to talk is shared, but now he's popped into denial. Is he scared of facing this or of hurting me? I fear the worse case scenario: There's something causing us to completely fall apart, and he can't read me any more either.
    “Donovan, I'm fine. I am going to catch my breath by claiming I’m sick, staying home, and spending the day baking. Once that is done, you can rest assured all will be dandy.”
    “Mom and Dad are going to know you’re not sick since you tend to go on baking binges when you're stressed.”
    Like raging fire my demeanor changes—my voice barely maintaining a low roar. “ That is what you're concerned about? With all that has been going on.”
    I feel him back away emotionally while physically maintaining his intimacy. “I’m sorry, Lil. If there's anything I can do to help you through—whatever it is...”
    There is something he can do—he can face his emotions. However, the still healing gash on his cheek from the week before tells the real story. He doesn't even want to play football. He's doing it for Dad. When will Donovan live his own life?
    I put down my coffee and hold him, catching him completely off guard. When I pull back, I take his hands and stare into his eyes while saying with total sisterly love, “There is something that you can do for me. You can admit who you are and what you want, so that someday you can be the one standing here on the verge of a meltdown because you're trying to figure out how to make everything you want and love work for you. When that happens, maybe we can finally talk. Until then we’ll just keep loving each other.”
     

     
    “Eat this.” I nearly assault Donovan as he comes in the door, jamming a piece of mint into his mouth.
    “What the—? What is this?” He looks at me like admission into an asylum should be considered. He’s probably right.
    I huff as my shoulders drop and my chin thrust forward. “Really? You don’t know what that is? It’s fresh mint.”
    “Mint? Like the stuff they make candy canes out of?”
    “No, like the stuff they pretend to make candy canes out of.”
    “Why are you shoving a tree in my mouth? Usually when you do that it's something good.”
    “It's not a tree, it’s a bush. Remember that flavor. It might be hard to accept because it's different, but that doesn't mean it's not special. Taste it!” I scorn as I storm off to the kitchen.
    Tonight the iceberg gets a chisel taken to it. I've devised a sneak attack to see if Donovan's listening, both inwardly and outwardly. The notion of our situation being mental requires casting off. But, more importantly, whatever is going on can’t change our dynamic. That would be far worse than the embarrassment suffered over any insane, one-sided feelings.
    After dinner my deviousness rears its head. While it's not unusual for the family to have uncommon desserts plopped on the table, they think tonight is just plain bizarre. I bring out glasses of water with lemon slices and place one in front of each of them. “I need you to cleanse your palates.” Everyone looks at me like an alien ship has just dropped me off as I head back into the kitchen.
    “Well, she did say she was sick this morning,” Donovan cracks under his breath. “Maybe she really has a fever.”
    Dad attempts to speak mellifluously. “Should we be worried?”
    “Oh, be quiet boys! You know how passionate Lily gets about things. I can’t wait to see what she's doing.” Mom seems intrigued almost to the point of giddiness.
    Returning with a tray of Crème Brule I place two distinctly marked ramekins in front of each test subject along with spoons. They think I'm