by L. D. Davis
“Good morning,” he said with a tired smile and leaned in to kiss my forehead. It was meant to be one of those lingering, sweet kisses, but I turned my head sharply and quickly disengaged him.
He looked at me wearily and sighed. Judging by the tension in his jaw and the crease between his eyes, he wasn’t in the best of moods, either, but I didn’t care.
When he tried to hand me my breakfast, I eyed the items with disgust. My voice was so cold, it was hard to believe that I had been all soft and warm in his hands two nights ago.
“I don’t want it.”
“What do you mean you don’t want it? It’s the same thing you get every day.”
“Yes, I get it every day. So, maybe I’m tired of it.”
He paused and studied my face intently for a few seconds. Then without a word he walked over to a trashcan and tossed the food and drink inside.
“I didn’t need you to buy it for me anyway,” I snapped as he came back to me. “I told you I can afford my own damn coffee. I don’t need you to take care of me.”
“I know you can take care of yourself,” he snapped back as he loomed over me. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t fucking need anyone, ever. Maybe if you could stop being selfish for two whole minutes, you would realize that I’m the one who needs you this morning.”
“Oh, I am quite selfish,” I readily agreed. “Add that to your list of reasons why you don’t need me in your life.”
“The only one of us with a list here is you.”
“Oh, I have a list all right. Right at the top of my list of men that disgust me are men who are sensitive and needy. I don’t have anything to give you, Grant. So, whatever it is you ‘need’ you should go find it somewhere else.”
For a moment, he looked like he was about to lose it. He expanded with anger. He stood to his full height and straightened his shoulders. He glared at me like he wanted to throttle me, but he took a couple deep, quelling breaths and took a step back.
As if he had a stress headache, he closed his eyes and caressed his forehead with his fingers. I realized that he looked exhausted like he hadn’t slept at all.
In a voice that held great patience, he said, “I had a long damn night working. I haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours. I apprehended three different guys last night and one of them decided he wanted to take a few shots at me.”
I was really, truly, without a doubt the biggest bitch that I knew, because even though I was inwardly startled to hear that Grant was shot at by some criminal, I still said what I said next with cold calculation.
“They missed.”
Grant froze for several seconds before dropping his hand and opening his eyes. He gazed at me blankly for a moment.
“What did you say?” he asked, his voice quiet.
I could have kept my mouth closed, but I couldn’t help it. I said the cruel words again as I hated myself for saying them, yet reveled in the pain I knew it would cause him.
“I said…they missed.”
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he took a bewildered step backward. Maybe he didn’t think that his little butterfly could be so mean, but sometimes that is the case with beautiful things in nature. Sometimes they cause pain. Sometimes they’re deadly.
“Well,” he said with finality. “I’m sure at least my kids will be glad to know that.”
To my astonishment, he kissed my forehead again before leaving, but all of the sweetness was gone.
“These were just sent up for you,” my secretary Angela said excitedly as she breezed into my office later in the afternoon. She carried a large vase of roses in various colors. There must have been three dozen or more.
I stared stupidly at the arrangement as she set it down on my desk.
“There must be some mistake.” I sighed. “They’re probably for Jen. Her husband sends her flowers all the time. Can you take them to her, please?”
“Oh, no.” Angela grinned as she plucked a white envelope from the midst of the flowers. “This has your name on it, and Jen’s husband never sent her flowers like these.”
I gawked at the envelope that did have my name written on it, believing that it had to be some kind of mistake.
“Oh! Look!” Angela squealed and clapped her hands with delight. “There are little butterflies all over!”
My eyes widened as I looked at the flowers again. Angela was right, there were butterflies. Not real butterflies, but little decorative things, put here and there throughout the bouquet.
I knew who the flowers were from without having to open the card. Only one person would have thought to send me flowers decked out with butterflies.
“Are you going to open the card?” Angela seemed more eager than I was.
I put my boss face back on and gave her a firm look. “Not with you here.”
She stood there for a moment longer before sighing despondently and then leaving me alone.
I hesitated before opening the card, thinking maybe I should send the flowers back without reading it. I didn’t deserve them.
The nightmare in combination with the man from the coffee shop had set me on edge. All day yesterday sick, blurry, and broken memories tried to knit themselves together in my head. I came to the one conclusion I always came to without fail: I was a damaged person.
I hadn’t dated anyone seriously in many years. I knew that once they’d realized how messed up I was, they would have been gone, or I would have damaged them as I had damaged Grant long ago. I wasn’t just a messed up person, but I had done messed up things throughout my life. How could I drag anyone else into my pile-of-manure life?
I hadn’t meant to go off on Grant like that, but seeing him in front of the coffee shop made me think of the man, which made me think of my reaction to the man, and then the nightmare that followed. I only meant to decline the food and drink, but since he wasn’t in the best of moods himself, things just escalated. However, when it was over, and he was gone, I knew it was for the best. I wasn’t good for him thirteen years ago, and I wasn’t good for him and his kids thirteen years later.
I stared at the unopened envelope for a moment longer before deciding to open it. I thought I’d, at least, see what he had to say before I sent the flowers back—if that was something I could actually do.
Mayson,
Nice try, my little butterfly,
but I’m not going anywhere.
Grant
I walked to the door, poised my finger over the button for the buzzer, and then changed my mind and turned away. I made it a few feet before grumbling to myself and turning back around and letting my finger hover over the button again. I had gone back and forth for a good five minutes. Stubborn, with a strong distaste for humble pie, I toggled between pushing the button and going home without pushing the button.
“Make up your mind. Push the damn button or go home. Go home, and be a pussy. You're already a pussy because you can’t push the damn button,” I muttered to myself.
A few people walking by glanced at me briefly, but they were used to seeing crazy people on the streets, and that’s all I was. Another crazy woman talking to herself.
After a little more muttering, and walking away and returning once more, I pushed the button.
Ten seconds dripped by without any response. I knew because I counted. I decided that if there were no response by fifteen seconds, I would call it a good try and go home, but I didn’t make it to fifteen.
Grant’s voice came through a small speaker, and I automatically looked up at the small camera mounted just above the door. Walking away was no longer an option. He had most likely seen me already. With some horror, I wondered if he had seen me walking back and forth and talking to myself.
“I’ll be right down,” he said.
I wasn’t sure, but he sounded surprised. That would make two of us because I was still surprised to find myself standing at his door.
A half a minute later, the door opened. Grant stood on the other side of th
e threshold, and he did, indeed, look surprised—pleasantly so. He didn’t appear to be as sleepy as he had in the morning, but there were still signs of fatigue in his brown eyes.
He reached for my arm and drew me in. “I have to admit; I was not expecting this.”
“I’m still not sure how I got here from work,” I confessed as he closed the door.
He smiled and kissed me softly on the corner of my mouth. Taking my hand, he began to lead me up the stairs.
“You’re just in time for another gourmet meal. Hot dogs and boxed mac and cheese.”
“Oh? Did you tell the fire company to be on standby before you started cooking?”
He laughed lightly and then put an arm around my waist as we reached the top.
“No, I didn’t tell them, but maybe they should be put on alert. Now that you’re here, things may definitely heat up.”
“That was really terrible,” I said, but couldn’t help smiling.
His expression grew serious as he moved his hands to my face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
I could hear Natalie inside, singing to something on the television. I doubted that she could hear us, but I lowered my voice, too.
“I’m never really okay. Are you sure you want to be with someone who is never really okay?”
There wasn’t a trace of doubt in his response. “Yes. I am very sure, but eventually, I want to know why you’re not okay.”
I was given no chance to respond. Grant’s mouth found mine and he kissed me slowly, exploring my mouth carefully. A small sound of satisfaction passed through my lips and vibrated softly between us. He grunted with approval and kissed me deeper, sliding his hands to my neck and then slowly down my back. Just when his fingertips grazed the top of my butt, the door swung open. We jerked apart and peered down at the little person standing in the doorway.
“Hi.” Natalie smiled up at me.
“Hi,” I said back, discretely wiping the corners of my mouth with my fingertips.
When she turned that smile on Grant, he melted into a puddle at his little girl’s feet. He lifted her into his arms and kissed her cheeks, making her giggle.
I wore a small smile as I watched the interaction, but inside I felt like a huge jerk. If Grant had been shot, who would have cared for his kids? If he’d died, they would have been orphans. As I watched him with his daughter, it really hit me how differently things could have gone. With a heart-squeezing guilt, I realized that he’d probably been just as aware of how differently things could have been when he’d seen me in the morning. He probably needed a little bit of comfort in the morning, but I’d been such a dick.
“Let’s eat,” Grant said, taking my hand and giving it a small squeeze.
I forced myself to smile at him—even though I knew he saw right through it—and followed him inside.
After dinner, we played a cut-throat game of Chutes and Ladders that almost ended in bloodshed and tears. In the end, my victory was granted and all ended well without anyone else’s bloodshed or my tears.
Grant got a phone call he had to take in his office a few minutes after that, leaving me alone with his kids. At first, we just watched television, and both kids were silent, but when a commercial came on, Natalie got restless.
She moved from the floor to the couch right beside me. The following statements and questions were accompanied by her touching said objects:
“I like your hair. I like your neckwace. I like your earrwings. Can I wear your watch? Why do you have thwee wrings on your hands? Can I plway a game on your phone? I have brwacelets, too. Can I brwush your hair? Can I paint your nails?”
It was like the kid was an octopus. Her little sticky hands were everywhere all at once, touching, grabbing, and pulling. I felt like I needed to beat her off of me with a stick, and I was honestly considering finding one when she finally settled down and went back into zombie mode for a few minutes and watched some more television.
“She’s really annoying,” Alex said, shaking his head.
“Tell me about it,” I muttered, readjusting my hair and jewelry.
We had a few more quiet minutes before Natalie blinked from her television stupor and peered at me curiously as she wriggled around like a worm. I looked at her warily, expecting her grubby little hands on some part of me again.
“Why don’t you want kids?” she asked, picking up a conversation from Saturday I thought was over. “Don’t you like babies?”
Both kids looked at me, waiting for an answer.
“I like babies. I just don’t want to have any of my own.”
The wiggle worm wasn’t satisfied. “Why not?”
I couldn’t very well tell the children the real reasons I didn’t want to have kids. I would traumatize them for life. Instead, I gave them one piece of truth.
My voice dire, I said, “Babies smell like poop.”
Natalie and Alex both began to laugh as if I had just said the most hilarious thing ever. I didn’t think it was really as funny as it was true but watching their innocent amusement made me start laughing, too. Soon, all three of us were cracking up.
My heart warmed and hurt at the same time as I watched Natalie, though. Her nose scrunched up like her aunt’s had and her laugh had the same musical quality as Sharice’s laughter. I was sad for the life that was cut short, for my friend who never got to see her niece and nephew, but I was glad that Natalie was so much like Shari. It was like having a piece of her left with us in the realm of the living.
Grant came out of his office looking rather tense but then paused at the sight of his children and me giggling. The tension in his body eased and he smiled contentedly at us.
“All right, Nat,” he said, bending over to pick up a couple of toys. “It’s time to get into your pajamas.”
More than an hour passed by the time Natalie fell asleep and Alex went to bed. Grant looked like he was ready for bed himself by the time the kids were settled, blinking too much and yawning frequently. I felt pretty sleepy, too, having lost sleep Saturday and Sunday nights.
“I guess this is where you tell me that you have to get home to your dog,” Grant said and yawned.
I hadn’t forgotten about Dusky. I asked my neighbor to take him out for a walk, but he would have to be walked again by the time I got home. I wasn’t looking forward to that or the ride back. I didn’t know what I would do if I saw that man again.
My apology was sincere as I pulled my keys out of my purse. I wanted to carry them in my hand for both self-defense and to get into my apartment building quickly.
“I’m sorry, but I do have to get home to my dog. Having a dog is like having a child…except, you know, with a lot less responsibility.”
Grant filled a glass with filtered water from the fridge and sipped at it as he stared at me contemplatively.
I stared back at him for a few moments, until I got tired of trying to figure out what was going through his mind. “What?”
“I don’t want you to be sorry, Mayson. I want you to stay.”
I began to object, even as my heart skipped a few beats, but Grant’s voice overrode mine. He wasn’t loud or aggressive. In fact, his voice was soft, but he spoke resolutely, in an authoritative tone that could not be ignored.
“I told you earlier that I needed you. That hasn’t changed. I am man enough to admit that I need the comfort of your body next to mine. I need to feel every breath you take and my hands on your skin. If I wake up in the night, I need to feel the weight of you in my arms.”
He put his glass down and came to me as I stood frozen in place. His fingers played with a few strands of hair on my cheek and one hand held my hip possessively.
“I don’t know what happened to you between the time you left here Saturday night and when I saw you this morning, but I don’t want it to happen again. I need you here tonight for you just as much as I need you here for me.”
I stared up at him with my mouth open and my heart pumping too hard.
I felt like kissing him until our lips were numb, but I also felt like crying. I wanted to rest my head on his chest and bawl until long after my tears ran dry.
Taking advantage of my open mouth, Grant kissed me. It was so damn soft, I barely felt the pressure of his lips. It was the kind of kiss that was full of unspoken emotions and unfulfilled needs. It made me want to chase his mouth as he pulled away, to bring his mouth back to mine and communicate what I felt and to give him what we each needed.
Before I could give chase, however, Grant stepped back with a small grin and held up a set of keys. It took me several seconds to realize they were my own keys that I had been holding in my hand. I didn’t even notice him take them from me.
“What are you doing?” I asked slowly.
“I’m going to go get your dog so you won’t have any excuses to leave here tonight.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s entrapment.”
Grant shrugged as he moved past me toward the door.
“Maybe I want to sleep in my own damn bed tonight,” I snapped as I went after him.
He ignored what I said and kept on walking, not even pausing to speak over his shoulder. “Keep an eye on the kids.”
He was out the door before I could reach him. By the time I made it out, he was almost down the stairs.
“Grant Alexander!” I whisper shouted so I wouldn’t wake the monsters. I wanted to run down the stairs after him, but I didn’t have my shoes on and I wasn’t thrilled about walking on concrete barefoot.
He grinned up at me just before getting into the Land Rover.
“Better go make yourself comfortable, because you’re not going anywhere tonight, Baby Girl.”