“Aww. Poor thing.” She patted my arm as she went by me to get to the cupboards where I kept bowls and plates. “I’ll make it better.”
“Can I make you a drink?” I asked. Actually at that moment, what I wanted to ask her was to move in with me, marry me, never leave me. But a drink was probably a better idea.
“Sure.”
“Glass of wine?”
“Perfect.”
I pulled a bottle of red from the beverage fridge and set it on the counter, but since I had Paisley in my arms it was Emme who opened it, took two glasses down from the cabinet, and poured. While she did that, I grabbed the little baby brush from the couch where I’d left it.
“I told my mother about her,” I said, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. I balanced Paisley on one leg and gave her the brush, which she stuck right into her mouth. At least it quieted her down.
“You did?” Emme glanced at me over one shoulder as she stuck the pasta in the microwave. “How did it go? Was she upset?”
“She was, but pretty much anything upsets my mother. I’m hoping once the shock wears off she’ll be glad to have a grandchild to fuss over. It would give her something good to focus on, I think.”
“And your dad is gone?”
“Yeah. He died a few years back. Right before I moved in here, actually.”
“I’m sorry.” She stopped moving around and met my eyes. “Were you close?”
“Not very, but your dad is your dad.” I was weirdly tempted to talk more about my family, which was never the case, but the words stuck in my throat. I’d burdened her enough with my shit lately, anyway.
“This is where having supportive sisters comes in handy, I guess. Too bad you don’t have one of those.”
“Yeah.” Or a brother, I thought, wishing for the millionth time Adam was still alive. He’d be thirty now, like Emme. And he’d probably have just as big a heart. Much better for her than I would be.
“Want to borrow one of mine?” She flashed a smile at me as she stuck the bread in the oven. “I’ve got two, and one of them annoyed the crap out of me this morning. I’d loan her out for cheap, maybe even free.”
I laughed a little. “Which one, the therapist or the yoga teacher?”
“The therapist. Which might do you some good, actually. Have you thought about that at all? To help you deal with everything?”
“I haven’t thought about anything but sleep and baby poop for two days, with the occasional break for a work-related panic attack.” And, of course, occasionally picturing you naked.
“I get it. Well, something to think about anyway. We all went when my parents divorced and my dad came out as gay.” She shrugged. “I think it helped.”
“That does sound like a lot to deal with as a kid.”
“Well, we were older. In our teens.”
“Still had to affect you.”
She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, my parents are both much happier now. Did your parents stay together?”
“Yes and no.” I shifted Paisley to my other leg. “They never formally divorced, but after…” I stopped, unwilling to open up that much. Some wounds had to stay closed.
“After what?” she prompted, placing salad into bowls.
“There was just a point at which my parents must have decided they couldn’t live together anymore. Or didn’t want to. Who knows?” I focused on Paisley’s little hands gripping the brush. “I was a teenager by then too. Neither of them talked to me.”
“And no siblings, right?”
I swallowed hard. “No siblings.”
While Emme finished getting dinner ready, I fed Paisley her nighttime bottle upstairs in my room where it was dark and quiet, then rocked her to sleep. It took me about twenty minutes, but she stayed down when I placed her in the sleeper. I kissed my fingertips, pressed them to her head, and silently made her a promise in the dark. I’ll be better than he was.
I’d loved my dad, but I’d loved him because he’d been my father, not because of the kind of father he had been. While I didn’t blame him, because the circumstances had been so far out of his control, the grief too unfathomable, I never wanted Paisley to suffer because I didn’t put her first—above myself, and above anyone else.
And I never wanted Emme to suffer, either, which would surely be the case if she pinned her romantic hopes on me.
But when dinner was done, and the wine was gone, and the movie credits for Casino Royale (my thanks for her bringing dinner) were rolling, I didn’t get up and turn on the lights like I should have. I stayed right where I was, lying on my back at one end of the couch with my legs stretched out toward Emme, who was on the other end, her legs stretched toward me. My feet were tucked between her and the back of the couch, but hers barely came to my stomach.
She yawned. “It’s late.”
I turned off the television, leaving us in darkness. “After midnight.”
“What time will she wake up again?”
Closing my eyes, I brought my hands behind my head. “Who knows? Probably soon.”
“Why don’t you stay down here and sleep? I’ll go upstairs, and when she wakes up, I’ll take care of her. I don’t have to get up early or anything, but tonight is probably the last night I can help you out for a while because of work.”
God, she was too good to be true. Affection for her flooded through me, and I opened my eyes. It was dark, but I could see her perfectly. And I wanted her desperately.
It made me weak.
“You think I could sleep down here knowing you were in my bed?”
Stillness. Silence. “You couldn’t?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“I thought we said last night—”
“I know what we said. And we were right.”
“So you…you still think it would be a mistake.”
“Yep. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it.”
“Nate—”
“Doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about it all night.”
“Oh, God.”
“Doesn’t mean I could keep my hands off you if you stayed the night. In fact, I know I couldn’t.”
“So…so I should go?” She was confused, and I didn’t blame her.
“Hell yes, you should go.”
She nodded slowly, swinging her feet to the floor.
“But I want you to stay.”
“Nate,” she whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
I reached for her. “Come here.”
* * *
Nine
Emme
I didn’t even hesitate.
When his arms opened, inviting me into his embrace, I went, stretching out above him, my body flush against his. He was warm and firm beneath me, and as our lips met I could feel our hearts galloping madly toward each other, as if they were driven by force.
We kissed with all the passion we’d been holding back. With hands wandering over clothing and then underneath. With tongues that sought to know the secrets of each other’s mouths—the taste, the texture, the shape. With bodies that began to move, to writhe and flex, as our patience grew thin. Clothing was discarded. My sweater and bra. His T-shirt and Henley. My leggings. His jeans. My panties, already damp with desire. By then we were desperate for one another, and frantically hoping we wouldn’t wake the baby.
“Give me ten seconds,” he whispered between kisses.
I sat up and watched him hurry through the dark into the downstairs bathroom, returning a moment later already ripping the condom wrapper off. When he got close enough, I put my hands on his boxer briefs and pulled them down. His erection, tall and thick, sprang free. “Let me,” I said. He handed me the condom and I rolled it on. My stomach was full of butterflies flying frantically in every direction.
“Lie back.” He took me by the shoulders and guided me down, stepping free from his underwear and lowering his head between my thighs. I braced myself for the first, shocking sweep of his tongue, but he paused first. “Quiet this time, Calamity. I don’t want any interruptions.”
“Can I make you a drink?” I asked. Actually at that moment, what I wanted to ask her was to move in with me, marry me, never leave me. But a drink was probably a better idea.
“Sure.”
“Glass of wine?”
“Perfect.”
I pulled a bottle of red from the beverage fridge and set it on the counter, but since I had Paisley in my arms it was Emme who opened it, took two glasses down from the cabinet, and poured. While she did that, I grabbed the little baby brush from the couch where I’d left it.
“I told my mother about her,” I said, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. I balanced Paisley on one leg and gave her the brush, which she stuck right into her mouth. At least it quieted her down.
“You did?” Emme glanced at me over one shoulder as she stuck the pasta in the microwave. “How did it go? Was she upset?”
“She was, but pretty much anything upsets my mother. I’m hoping once the shock wears off she’ll be glad to have a grandchild to fuss over. It would give her something good to focus on, I think.”
“And your dad is gone?”
“Yeah. He died a few years back. Right before I moved in here, actually.”
“I’m sorry.” She stopped moving around and met my eyes. “Were you close?”
“Not very, but your dad is your dad.” I was weirdly tempted to talk more about my family, which was never the case, but the words stuck in my throat. I’d burdened her enough with my shit lately, anyway.
“This is where having supportive sisters comes in handy, I guess. Too bad you don’t have one of those.”
“Yeah.” Or a brother, I thought, wishing for the millionth time Adam was still alive. He’d be thirty now, like Emme. And he’d probably have just as big a heart. Much better for her than I would be.
“Want to borrow one of mine?” She flashed a smile at me as she stuck the bread in the oven. “I’ve got two, and one of them annoyed the crap out of me this morning. I’d loan her out for cheap, maybe even free.”
I laughed a little. “Which one, the therapist or the yoga teacher?”
“The therapist. Which might do you some good, actually. Have you thought about that at all? To help you deal with everything?”
“I haven’t thought about anything but sleep and baby poop for two days, with the occasional break for a work-related panic attack.” And, of course, occasionally picturing you naked.
“I get it. Well, something to think about anyway. We all went when my parents divorced and my dad came out as gay.” She shrugged. “I think it helped.”
“That does sound like a lot to deal with as a kid.”
“Well, we were older. In our teens.”
“Still had to affect you.”
She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway, my parents are both much happier now. Did your parents stay together?”
“Yes and no.” I shifted Paisley to my other leg. “They never formally divorced, but after…” I stopped, unwilling to open up that much. Some wounds had to stay closed.
“After what?” she prompted, placing salad into bowls.
“There was just a point at which my parents must have decided they couldn’t live together anymore. Or didn’t want to. Who knows?” I focused on Paisley’s little hands gripping the brush. “I was a teenager by then too. Neither of them talked to me.”
“And no siblings, right?”
I swallowed hard. “No siblings.”
While Emme finished getting dinner ready, I fed Paisley her nighttime bottle upstairs in my room where it was dark and quiet, then rocked her to sleep. It took me about twenty minutes, but she stayed down when I placed her in the sleeper. I kissed my fingertips, pressed them to her head, and silently made her a promise in the dark. I’ll be better than he was.
I’d loved my dad, but I’d loved him because he’d been my father, not because of the kind of father he had been. While I didn’t blame him, because the circumstances had been so far out of his control, the grief too unfathomable, I never wanted Paisley to suffer because I didn’t put her first—above myself, and above anyone else.
And I never wanted Emme to suffer, either, which would surely be the case if she pinned her romantic hopes on me.
But when dinner was done, and the wine was gone, and the movie credits for Casino Royale (my thanks for her bringing dinner) were rolling, I didn’t get up and turn on the lights like I should have. I stayed right where I was, lying on my back at one end of the couch with my legs stretched out toward Emme, who was on the other end, her legs stretched toward me. My feet were tucked between her and the back of the couch, but hers barely came to my stomach.
She yawned. “It’s late.”
I turned off the television, leaving us in darkness. “After midnight.”
“What time will she wake up again?”
Closing my eyes, I brought my hands behind my head. “Who knows? Probably soon.”
“Why don’t you stay down here and sleep? I’ll go upstairs, and when she wakes up, I’ll take care of her. I don’t have to get up early or anything, but tonight is probably the last night I can help you out for a while because of work.”
God, she was too good to be true. Affection for her flooded through me, and I opened my eyes. It was dark, but I could see her perfectly. And I wanted her desperately.
It made me weak.
“You think I could sleep down here knowing you were in my bed?”
Stillness. Silence. “You couldn’t?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“I thought we said last night—”
“I know what we said. And we were right.”
“So you…you still think it would be a mistake.”
“Yep. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it.”
“Nate—”
“Doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about it all night.”
“Oh, God.”
“Doesn’t mean I could keep my hands off you if you stayed the night. In fact, I know I couldn’t.”
“So…so I should go?” She was confused, and I didn’t blame her.
“Hell yes, you should go.”
She nodded slowly, swinging her feet to the floor.
“But I want you to stay.”
“Nate,” she whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
I reached for her. “Come here.”
* * *
Nine
Emme
I didn’t even hesitate.
When his arms opened, inviting me into his embrace, I went, stretching out above him, my body flush against his. He was warm and firm beneath me, and as our lips met I could feel our hearts galloping madly toward each other, as if they were driven by force.
We kissed with all the passion we’d been holding back. With hands wandering over clothing and then underneath. With tongues that sought to know the secrets of each other’s mouths—the taste, the texture, the shape. With bodies that began to move, to writhe and flex, as our patience grew thin. Clothing was discarded. My sweater and bra. His T-shirt and Henley. My leggings. His jeans. My panties, already damp with desire. By then we were desperate for one another, and frantically hoping we wouldn’t wake the baby.
“Give me ten seconds,” he whispered between kisses.
I sat up and watched him hurry through the dark into the downstairs bathroom, returning a moment later already ripping the condom wrapper off. When he got close enough, I put my hands on his boxer briefs and pulled them down. His erection, tall and thick, sprang free. “Let me,” I said. He handed me the condom and I rolled it on. My stomach was full of butterflies flying frantically in every direction.
“Lie back.” He took me by the shoulders and guided me down, stepping free from his underwear and lowering his head between my thighs. I braced myself for the first, shocking sweep of his tongue, but he paused first. “Quiet this time, Calamity. I don’t want any interruptions.”
