NEW IMPRESSIONS
Chapter Four

"There we go." Rose slid the tray into the oven and breathed in the scent of oregano and spices. She carefully closed the door, squinting to check the temperature on the tiny dial. When she was satisfied that the chicken was indeed cooking properly, Rose stood up and surveyed the small kitchen. It really was not as messy as she had expected- considering her limited culinary talents. She sighed and headed to the counter where she had been chopping vegetables, cleaning slowly. She had an entire hour before Jack would arrive, and not much to fill the time, except to anticipate seeing him. It had only been two days since their last date, but already long enough for Rose to miss him-miss his smile and his laughter.

Grinning almost childishly to herself, Rose's thoughts drifted to the events of the past weeks. It was extremely difficult to believe that three weeks had passed since that night in Jack's garden. The nervousness she felt then had long been erased and replaced with the joy that swept through her entire system each time he appeared. Their trip to the museum in San Francisco had proven Rose's suspicions that Jack Dawson was capable of letting loose and having fun, and in turn, she had learned more about his love for art than she ever could have imagined. And it was there, waiting in line on the stone steps- with the cool wind in her face, that Jack's embrace became something normal. His arms were no longer simply to shield her from the cold, but a comfort and a perfection that she could not imagine going without now. And since then- whether it was a picnic on the beach, a movie, or simply walking Claude- each moment spent with Jack was something that set her senses flying and opened her heart to new discovery. He was no longer a mystery, but the most sincere and caring man she had ever known. The age difference between them that had at first worried her, was something that no longer even crossed her mind.

Rose set the dishes she had used in the sink, wiping the counter and checking the clock. Her heart leapt once, and she placed one hand on her forehead, trying to calm herself. The windows were streaming late afternoon light unto the white floor, making patterns on Rose's bare feet as she slid into the living room. There was a basket of clothes that she needed to put away, resting on one of the couches. She reached to pick it up, and her eyes fell on a small glass table, where the wildflowers that Jack had picked for her several days before were still thriving. The purple lupines in the bunch matched this room perfectly, which was- to put it mildly- very feminine. Her two roommates had insisted on painting the walls violet, despite Rose's consistent objections. And all of the furniture was done in soft pastels, which she found quite annoying at times. Rose preferred bolder colors, and once she had her own place, it would be full of them. But there would always be room for delicate flowers like these.

Just as Rose's mind fled her silent reverie, a loud ringing echoed through the apartment, and she set down the basket with a look of frustration. The phone in the kitchen rang once more before she answered it.

"Rose, how are you sweetheart?" The strained voice hit her ear, and Rose flinched slightly, settling back against the counter. She hadn't been prepared for this kind of call.

"Mother...I'm fine. I was just doing some cleaning actually..." Rose held her breath, hoping that her mother would not keep her long. She still had to set the table and find some candles before Jack came over. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you. I thought you had some sort of real estate banquet tonight?"

"No, that's tomorrow night." Rose nodded to herself, already picturing her mother in one of those starched suits, her hair pinned into a tight twist- the way she always dressed for the many social functions she constantly seemed to have on her agenda. Rose just couldn't recall ever being aware that Ruth had fun at any of these. It was as if she attended all the socials and dinners only to make an appearance, and not to enjoy herself in any way. Their relationship had never been perfect- but they had grown much closer after Rose's father left ten years ago. And since then, she had felt an immense obligation to stand by her mother, no matter how cold and emotionless the woman could be. Yet, she couldn't deny that being miles away now, was something she didn't exactly mind. There were no disapproving stares toward her casual clothes, or questions concerning her whereabouts at each second of the day. And certainly no comments about her friends, or the people she chose to surround herself with. Rose had not even informed her about Jack yet, and she wanted Ruth to remain oblivious for as long as possible. "Rose, I'm calling about your birthday. It's in just over a month, and I need to make my reservations soon."

Rose bit her lip, remembering suddenly that her mother would be staying with her for the weekend of her 21st birthday, at the beginning of August. And then wouldn't she have to introduce her to Jack? She tapped her fingers against the wooden message board on the counter. "Sure, yes. I'm looking forward to it mother." Rose tried to sound sincere, and she guessed that deep down, both mother and daughter would be glad for a visit.

"I'm about to call for the tickets- I just wanted to make sure that staying until the Monday would be okay. Rose...I don't want to interfere with any plans you might have?" Ruth's voice rose and fell subtly, and Rose knew that once again, her mother was requesting any information regarding her personal life that she was willing to offer. It was the little things like this- the inability to ask questions directly, that rattled Rose.

"No, no, it's all right. I'll be at Head Start that morning, but you're welcome to come with me." Rose blew a piece of hair from her face, eyeing the pile of clothes she still had to deal with. The ticking of the clock above her was a reminder that soon she would be with Jack, but this unexpected roadblock was starting to cut into her masterfully crafted plans for her dinner.

"With all those little kids, Rose?" Ruth let out a cough, and Rose found herself rolling her eyes at the sound. "I just don't know...all the running around and the screaming. And aren't you always commenting on how messy they are?" Her mother's words were no surprise. She had always expressed intolerance for small children and the messes they created.

"Hmm...yes, that Kool-Aid can get pretty wild mother. Let me tell you." Rose closed her eyes and counted the taps of her foot against the tile.

"I really don't appreciate the sarcasm Rose. But I suppose we'll work that out. So I'll plan to arrive Friday and return Monday." Ruth's voice was suddenly very cultured and smooth, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "I'll call you back this weekend dear, and give you the time for the plane."

"That's fine." Rose fidgeted with the buttons on her shirt, eager to end this conversation. "Listen, Mother. I...I'm really happy that you're coming in...I just..." Rose's sentence was drowned out by a loud buzzing sound, and her eyes widened, realizing that she had set the oven timer incorrectly.

"What was that dear?" Rose froze for several seconds, trying to conjure up some excuse for the noise. If she told her mother that she was cooking, it would be a flashing red light that something was going on- Rose hardly ever made her own meals. But eventually, she decided that there really was no way around the inevitable.

"It's the oven, I'm...I'm cooking," Rose mumbled in a reply.

"Cooking, Rose?" Ruth let out a little laugh, "I've never known you to cook. And with your roommates gone for the summer?" Her tone turned rather suspicious and Rose knew that being bold here was the only option. Beating around the bush didn't work with her mother- it only prolonged the irritating silence and the horrible lectures.

"I'm making dinner for a friend, that's all. It's nothing special- just a recipe I got out of a magazine." Rose stated this firmly, quite proud of both her own attitude, and the wonderful smells coming from the oven.

"I see. Is this anyone special?"

Rose let out a long sigh, shaking her head impatiently, "Actually, yes, Mother. And I really need to check on the food."

"So is this a male friend, or...Rose you have to give me just a little idea of what's going on with you. I never know anymore. You don't talk about anything, besides the paper and your classes."

"Yes I do! I just can't call you every time I meet someone," Rose's impassioned voice seemed to crack, as she tried to figure out a way in which to sum Jack up into one short description. That was incredibly difficult, but whatever Ruth didn't know at the moment, couldn't hurt her. "He's an artist. I met him on campus. That's all there is to say." Rose found herself suppressing a giggle and a smile, knowing full well that Jack was so much more than that. But teasing Ruth was entertaining, especially when she used such an accusatory tone.

"That's all? An artist Rose? Is that all he does?" Ruth seemed appalled, but at the same time, Rose could detect a hint of curiosity in her voice. She just didn't have time to go into any further detail. She eyed a page of white paper that hung at an angle from the refrigerator, and smiled. It was a little sketch Jack had done in the park the other day- a rather comical likeness of himself.

With confidence, Rose replied curtly, "That's not ALL he does, Mother. Believe me." Rose was trying to sound mysterious, and judging by the deep intake of breath on the other side of the phone- she was succeeding. All the way up in Seattle, Ruth was torturing herself with images of hippies and wild, spacy artists, dressed in baggy and ragged jeans. Of this, Rose was sure.

Confused, Ruth found no reason to respond to such a sly comment. Her daughter had always been a free spirit- full of life and as fiery as the hair on her head. Along with those qualities, Rose had mastered the art of finding ways to drive even a mother absolutely mad. She wouldn't even put it past Rose to start seeing someone that she knew Ruth would not approve of, just to make a point. Her intelligence and wit, even as a child, had both made her an extraordinary person and gotten her into trouble.

"Rose, really..." Ruth paused and swallowed. There seemed to be such a heavy weight on her chest now, but she knew that Rose only opened up in her own time, not anyone else's. She just hoped that her daughter would be able to keep a level head, while spending time with such people. With Rose's beauty and talent, she deserved so much more than a simple artist. Even the thought of this person, although Ruth knew virtually nothing about him, caused a horrible taste in her mouth.

"Call me when you know the times, Mother. I have to go now." Softly, Rose hung up the receiver, staring into space silently. The apartment was noiseless, and she could just imagine the disgusted face of her mother, so far away. Determined not to let this phone call spoil the perfect evening she had planned, Rose hurriedly continued her cleaning. After making sure that the living room was neat and tidy, she went in search for two pillar candles that she placed in the center of the set table. She would wait to light them, when the sun had gone down and it grew darker, and the glow would be much more romantic. She ran her hand through her hair, studying everything with a look of contentment. The chicken and the rest of the food would be ready just a few minutes after Jack arrived, and hopefully by then, she would have totally forgotten about Ruth. This was the first time Jack would be coming here for dinner, and Rose only hoped that he would appreciate her attempts at making their meal.

**********

Thirty minutes later, a knock sounded just as Rose was checking on the lemon chicken one final time. She smiled and turned the oven off, leaving the food into keep warm. She straightened her hair quickly and headed for the front door, where a quick peek through the glass revealed Jack's form. She threw open the door and found him on the front step of the tiny porch, a bottle tucked safely under one arm, and a large white paper bag hanging from the other. He looked up, a brilliant smile on his face, and motioned with his head toward the things he carried.

"I brought dessert. I hope you don't mind." Struggling with his hands full, Jack managed to step forward and lean against the doorframe. Rose was sure he had never looked more adorable. "It's a pie from Grace's," he whispered, and she couldn't help but laugh, carefully moving aside to let him enter.

"No...thank you. I had not even thought about dessert." Rose smiled and reached for the pastry bag, which had the name of their favorite cafe lettered on the front. Before she could grab it though, Jack grinned and pulled it playfully from her grasp. His face moved close to her own, and a small giggle escaped her just before their lips met in a soft kiss. Rose managed to place one hand on his shoulder, trying to keep her balance. Jack stepped forward, nearly tripping as the heavy bag came between them, and his own laughter broke the embrace.

"Jack...give me that." Rose raised her eyebrows and caught his gaze for a moment, as she carefully took the bag from him. His eyes were shining with happiness, and he seemed to suddenly remember the other object he held.

They moved into Rose’s small kitchen carrying Jack’s contributions. Opening the refrigerator, Rose moved several things around to make room for the decadent French silk pie that he had brought for dessert. On her instruction, Jack managed to find a corkscrew and proceeded to open the bottle of Napa Valley Chardonnay.

"Mmm. Whatever you are cooking smells wonderful Rose. I thought you said you couldn’t cook." Jack poured the wine and handed her a glass of the amber liquid. "It smells as wonderful as you look."

Rose couldn’t help but to smile back at him, noticing the twinkle in his eyes. "Well, I have to admit that the recipe is for beginners. Something you make all in one pan. The chicken and the vegetables. I hope it’s okay." She saw Jack’s thoughtful expression and wondered what he was thinking. "Were you going to say something?"

"Yes, actually. I was. We need to have a little toast. Let’s see." He leaned his head sideways and studied Rose. She looked so wonderful tonight. Dressed in white shorts and a fuchsia shirt, she made a picture of casual elegance that few people could carry off. Her curling hair framed her face in a wild halo of red. He could see that while he was watching her, she was observing him as well. Jack moved closer until he was standing right in front of her. "To us, Rose. To all the happy times we’ve had and to all the happy times we’ll have in the future. I…well, here’s to us." He raised his glass and clinked it against hers.

Rose had only the chance to take two sips of wine, before she was suddenly encompassed in one of Jack’s urgent and devouring kisses. She felt the goblet slip out of her hand as Jack took it and set it on the counter and then heard the soft vibration as he put his down as well. With one motion, he pulled her tightly into the circle of his arms and held her snugly. His mouth moved to her ear, and she heard the repeated whisper of her name.

"Rose, Rose, you are the most special person I know." Jack could hear her uneven breathing, as he rested his head next to hers. To be with her was essential to him. When they were apart he could barely think, let alone concentrate on anything. He sensed that she felt the same way. She seemed to welcome his embraces and return his kisses with equal ardor. He just wanted a little more time. Though he still felt some slight uneasiness at the difference in their ages, things seemed much too good for them to give that idea much consideration. All of what had happened between them had been so sudden and so unexpected. Feeling this way was still new to him, but he knew it felt right. He crushed his cheek against hers. "Oh, Rose, this is so good."

She felt a ripple of excitement as he tickled her ear with his warm breath. These feelings left her almost powerless to answer him. The only reaction she was capable of right now was to pull him closer to her. She heard herself moan with contentment and moved her head against Jack’s shoulder. To be like this, in his arms was a place she could stay forever.

A loud beeping accompanied by an incessant ringing filled the air and both of them jumped, shocked into reality by the annoying sounds.

"Oh no. Jack, quick get the phone. I have to turn the potatoes." Rose wiggled herself free, still dizzy from their fierce embrace. She grabbed a potholder and opened the oven, her own face so hot and flushed that she did not even notice the four hundred-degree heat that poured out the door.

Jack stumbled over the kitchen rug and dodged the open oven door as he reached for the phone. He picked it up and said hello, trying to calm his pounding heart.

"Who is this?" A rather sharp and annoyed female voice came over the other end.

"This is Jack Dawson, but this is really Rose’s apartment. She is busy at the moment. Can I help you?"

Rose looked up, puzzled as to who would be calling her now. Her roommates were long gone and her mother had already called today. She gave Jack a questioning look, but his only answer was a shrug of his shoulders.

"Ah yes. She said she was inviting someone to dinner. What exactly is Rose doing?" Ruth wondered how it was that this Jack was so close to the phone that he had picked it up so quickly. Hopefully they were not in the bedroom. She loved Rose, but she knew that her daughter’s sense of daring would drive her to distraction.

"Who is it, Jack?" Rose was still bent over turning the potatoes with a spatula.

"I’ll ask. It’s a woman. Seems kind of forceful and nosy," he replied.

Rose closed her eyes and cringed. Her mother. She had just spoken to her. What could she possibly want now?

Jack spoke as pleasantly as he could, considering that he was being put on the spot with some stranger on the phone. "Who is this?" he asked politely. He could almost feel the person on the other end stand up tall and put their nose in the air.

"This is Rose’s mother. I told her I was going to make my reservations and I am calling back with my flight information. May I speak to her?"

As if on cue, Rose heard Jack launch into his most charming mode. She wondered if even he could cajole and appease her mother on the phone. If he did, it would be quite a feat.

"Ah. Mrs. Dewitt-Bukater. Even though we are on the phone, it’s so nice to meet you. Rose has told me so much about you. I understand you are quite a successful Realtor. You have to be able to be interested in all kinds of people to do that well. She must take after you. Right now Rose is working on dinner." All he heard on the other end was silence. "Mrs. Dewitt-Bukater, are you there?"

Ruth shook her head wondering whether she was hearing correctly. This was the artist boy that Rose was having to dinner? He sounded more like the CEO of a large corporation. "Yes, yes. I am still here. The connection went bad for a minute," she lied. "But please, just call me Ruth. Our last name is so long."

Jack cleared his throat and took a deep breath, trying to stall until Rose was done and could take the phone herself. "Ruth, then. I hope we meet soon in person. I’ll bet that Rose takes after you in appearance as well."

"Yes, yes. I’ll look forward to meeting you too. Nice to talk to you, Jack." Ruth was so astonished to find that Rose’s artist friend had this kind of composure and articulation that she could not think of anything else to say.

Rose’s eyes popped out and she looked over at Jack with shock on her face. Jack, calling her mother Ruth. Saying he was looking forward to meeting her. "If anyone can handle her, I guess Jack can." She slid the pan back into the oven and closed the door. "Jack, I’ll take it now." She pulled the hot mitt off her hand and reached for the phone. But Jack held his finger up to indicate he had one more thing to say.

"Have a good evening, Ruth. Here is Rose." Jack winked at her and handed the phone to Rose. "She’s all yours," he said, covering the mouthpiece.

"Rose, dear. I thought you said the boy was just an artist." Ruth was hoping that maybe she would get a little more information from Rose.

"Well, he is, Mother. But I told you, it was more than that too. Did you make your reservations?" Rose did not want to explain about Jack and get into an involved conversation now.

"I’m coming on the shuttle flight as usual. It arrives at 8:50 A.M. on the tenth of August. Can you be there to get me?"

Rose felt a shiver as Jack came up behind her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. How was she supposed to think and speak now, as she was turning slowly to the consistency of melting Jell-O? "I’ll be there. Don’t worry. Anything else, Mother? The chicken is getting cold."

"No, Rose. Just be careful. I only want you to be happy and have the best. You know that." With Rose’s beauty and intelligence, she had always been worried that she would fall for someone who might take advantage of her or would not be able to provide for her.

Rose sighed and blew the hair out of her face. "Mother, you don’t have to worry about anything. Talk to you soon. See you at the airport. Bye." She shoved the cordless phone back into the cradle on the counter and leaned back against Jack, turning her head, so that their eyes met. "Whew. Well, maybe now we can enjoy the rest of the evening and have no more interruptions."

"That would be fine with me. Between your mother and my dog, we can’t seem to ever finish what we start."

Rose felt her heart skyrocket as she heard Jack’s words and saw the piercing look in his eyes. He was right. Every time they got to the best part of their kiss, something happened. But she wondered if his words meant more than that. She pulled her arms around herself and dug her nails into her fingers. Rose had to convince herself that this was real. Jack had swept her off of her feet and she felt at times that she was being carried along in the flow of a rushing stream. She so wanted this to be right. For Jack to be Mr. Right. But if her life so far had taught her anything, it was the importance of being cautious. Maybe these small disturbances were good. It gave them both time to think about what was happening.

Chapter Five
Stories