Last Call

by Alice Clayton

  I opened every single cabinet and every single drawer in that kitchen, just to see how my ring looked against each panel. This was normal behavior, I mean, right?

  “I can’t stop looking at my ring,” I confided to Simon as I set a plate in front of him along with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. The juice was freshly squeezed because I wanted to see how my ring looked while my hands were . . . turning on the juicer.

  “I can’t stop looking at it either,” he admitted, pulling me onto his lap for a hug.

  “That’s sweet, babe.”

  “Of course, I’m usually looking at your tits, so this ring stuff is kind of cutting into that time.”

  “That’s weird, babe.”

  “Have you told anyone yet?”

  “Hasn’t really been time. I’ve been too busy fucking my fiancé since it happened.”

  “That’s literally the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Really? How about the time I told you to lick my sweet—”

  The great thing about scrambled eggs is they’re so easy to make again when the first batch gets too cold to eat.

  Moments later, as we lay on the kitchen table, we heard the sound of a plate crashing to the floor.

  “You owe me for that plate,” I said.

  “You owe me for that orgasm.”

  There was another crash. “Oops. Sorry about that,” I said, not at all sorry.

  “When I broke your plate it was accidental, in a fit of passion. Pushing plates off the table on purpose isn’t going to get you anywhere, Caroline.”

  “I doubt that, Simon. Look how fantastic this ring looks on my hand while it’s holding your cock.”

  “Jesus Christ, woman.”

  Moments later . . .

  “I heard you on the phone with Jillian earlier. You really didn’t tell her?”

  “No, I told her I was taking a personal day but I didn’t say why.”

  “Why are you taking a personal day?”

  “To fuck your brains out underneath our kitchen table.”

  “I see.”

  “You have a problem with this?”

  “It’s the best use of a personal day I can think of.”

  “Agreed. Now, let’s get to it.”

  “Are you going to be this bossy when we’re married?”

  “You have no idea, Simon. You have no idea.”

  Hours later . . .

  “I’m seriously hungry.”

  “Me too. Can you control yourself?”

  “Me? You’re the one that was pushing plates off the table on purpose.”

  “Don’t start that again. Let’s grab something on the way to the hospital.”

  “Are you having a heart attack? I know that last round was pretty intense. Thanks for being so bendy, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome, and no on the heart attack business. I told Sophia I’d stop by today, see how she and the little one are doing.”

  “So we have to put on clothes now, I suppose.”

  “If you want to make it past security, it’s a safe bet. Come on, I want to call my mom and tell her the good news.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “You get to call him, and explain why you didn’t talk to him first before asking me to be your lawfully wedded wifey.”

  “Shit. I mean, yay.”

  Simon and I called my parents, who were ecstatic. My mom immediately shifted into wedding mode, asking me all kinds of questions about when and where and had I thought about colors and did I want my cousin Bernice to be a bridesmaid and made me tell her every detail about when he asked me to marry him. I left out the detail about us being naked at the time; that part was for me and me alone. I knew girls who’d been asked in a horse-drawn carriage, on the beach, at the top of the Eiffel Tower, even on the BART. But no one I knew had a naked engagement moment. Oh sure, afterward I assumed most were naked. But during the actual moment? I wanted to keep that to myself.

  We got dressed, finally, piled into the car, and headed back into the city after stopping for cheeseburgers and milkshakes. Did I show my ring to every person working the drive-thru that day? You bet your sweet bippy I did. Here’s me and my ring biting into a burger; here’s me and my ring drinking a milkshake. I even had Simon re-create the moment by sliding an onion ring down my finger. For someone who’d originally questioned the entire idea of getting married and whether it was necessary, I was sure turned around by a sparkly something.

  When we got to the hospital, I turned the ring around, facing the diamond into the palm of my hand. I didn’t want Sophia to see it right away. I knew what Mimi was saying about the thunder stealing. I knew she’d be happy for me, but this was still very much about little Mary Jane, and I wanted to make sure we saw her first.

  We knocked, and Sophia gave us the go-ahead to come in. Sitting up in her bed, makeup flawless and hair shining, she was eating take-out fried chicken while Neil sprawled on the couch, holding Mary Jane close to his chest.

  “Hi!” Sophia called out, pausing from her chicken frenzy for only a moment to say hello. “Sorry, I’m starving and this hospital food was just not cutting it. I just pushed a baby out of my coochie, and all they want to give me is Jell-O? Fuck that, I needed something real.”

  Every thought I’d had about Sophia softening into motherhood went right out the window. Thank goodness.

  Mary Jane let out the tiniest gurgle and coo, and four pairs of eyes locked on the bundle in Neil’s arms. Sophia beamed. Okay, she’d softened a bit.

  “How’re you feeling, Mama?” I asked, crossing over to her and smoothing her hair back. “You look fantastic.”

  “I do, I really do. You should have seen me this morning though, I looked dreadful. Now I know why the Kardashians have the glam squad stop by after every birth; otherwise you look half dead in every picture with your newborn.”

  “You look gorgeous,” Neil insisted. “Before or after any glam squad.”

  Sophia beamed again. Simon had sat down next to Neil on the couch, and was examining the pink bundle.

  “Dude, you can totally hold her, just ask.” Neil puffed out his chest, causing the bundle to rise up and out.

  “I guess I could, just for a minute,” Simon replied, stealing a quick look at me. I grinned back, grateful to get another chance to watch Simon holding a baby. Hello, ovaries, I wondered when you were going to sit up straight.

  Sophia and I watched the two guys transfer Mary Jane between them with all the precision of a tactical nuke team disarming a warhead. It took all I could not to giggle out loud, but it was incredibly sweet. “So how are you feeling? Like, for real how are you feeling?” I asked Sophia, once the transfer was complete.

  “Like I just pushed a baby out of my coochie,” she groaned, biting back into her chicken. “It hurt like a motherfucker. But totally worth it. Have you seen how freaking cute she is?”

  “Pretty freaking cute I’d say,” I replied. “You up for some more good news?”

  “Always,” she said through a mouthful. I turned the ring around. She screeched, showing me her chicken and waking her child.

  “Soph! What the hell?” Neil cried out as he and Simon both looked at each other and then at Mary Jane when she started crying.

  “Let me see that ring!” Sophia yelled.

  “Why is she crying?” Simon asked, panicked.

  “Her mother scared her half to death!” Neil yelled, also frantic.

  “Everyone calm down,” I soothed, trying to move over toward the couch, but unable to do so because Sophia had a vicelike grip on my hand. I expected her to pull a jeweler’s loupe out of her nightgown.

  “How do we make her stop?”

  “Just walk her, Simon!”

  “I don’t know how to stand up with her!”

  “Is this two-point-five karats?”

  “Call the nurse, she won’t stop crying!”

  “Babies cry, Neil.”

  “Someone help us!”

&nbs
p; “Go get my baby from the Keystone Cops, would you?”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” I said, snatching my hand away and crossing to the couch. “Hey, little miss, it’s okay,” I soothed, plucking Mary Jane neatly from Simon’s arms and cuddling her close. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. No more screaming, I promise. Everyone your parents know just happens to be crazy, okay? Shh, shh . . .” I brought her to Sophia, who began to lower the front of her gown.

  “Oh, I, uh . . . I should step out, I, uh . . .” Simon said, getting up from the couch.

  “They’re just boobs, Simon,” Sophia scolded, reaching up for Mary Jane and bringing her to her breast. It was surprising just how natural it all was. Here we all were, four best friends, one of whom had her tits out. And this was just how it was now. Except for Simon’s eyeballs, which were currently staring everywhere but where the action was.

  Neil came over to stand by the bed, and he finally saw what Sophia had been screaming about.

  “Hey, what’s that on your finger there?” he asked, looking down at my ring.

  “What does it look like?” I teased, holding it up for him to see. He looked back and forth between me, the ring, and finally Simon.

  “Dude?”

  “Dude.”

  “Dude!” Neil exclaimed, and picked Simon up off the couch in a giant bear hug. Which he was still doing when Mimi and Ryan peeked around the corner like a totem pole.

  “We came to see Mary Jane and bring presents—what the hell is going on?” Mimi asked, staring at this weird tableau.

  “Ask the bride,” Sophia said, nodding toward me.

  Turns out they frown on screeching in the maternity ward. We were asked, very politely, to leave.

  Once more, I found myself in a hospital waiting room with Mimi, Ryan, and Simon, although this time it was a very different subject from the night before.

  “I can’t believe you’re engaged! This is so perfect. I was just beginning to feel my wedding planning blues. I had nothing new to plan! Now I can get started on yours! First things first, have you set a date? Do you know the venue? Evening? Afternoon? Black tie? White tie? I—”

  “Slow your roll there, peanut,” I cautioned, holding up my hands in the international sigh for stop it, stop it now. “We have literally nothing planned, this whole thing isn’t even a day old. We haven’t planned a thing, and likely won’t just yet,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Seriously. Settle.”

  “Settle. I’ll give you settle,” Mimi said under her breath, shaking her head. “Okay, but, can I just ask one tiny thing?”

  “One.”

  “What do you think your colors are going to be?” she burst forth, excitement coming off of her in waves.

  “Oh boy. I’m going to send you to my mother’s, and you two can plan yourselves into oblivion together,” I said, laughing when I saw how excited that made her.

  “Best idea ever! Oh, Caroline, this is going to be so much fun! I’ll call her tonight, see what she’s thinking. Oh, there’s so much to do, I—”

  “Mimi. Sweetie. I was kidding. Just slow down, okay? Let me be engaged for a minute without all this wedding stuff, okay?”

  Her face collapsed, but she shut it. For his part, Ryan merely said dude a few times, Simon said dude a few times, and they clapped each other on the back. Damn them . . .

  By the time we got home that night, I had thirteen emails from my mother riddled with suggestions about venues all over Northern California, and seventeen emails from Mimi with links to dresses, shoes, bridesmaids’ dresses, and cake vendors. I looked up from the desk in the kitchen where I was going through all of these when Simon came up behind me to rub my shoulders.

  “That one’s pretty,” he said, pointing to a dress on the screen.

  “I can’t believe these two, Mimi and my mother. They’re already starting,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “What, taking over?” he asked, chuckling and digging in with his thumbs and making my head roll back with a groan. I gazed up at him.

  “Totally. It’s going to be a shitshow.”

  “How can a wedding be a shitshow?”

  “I’d let you read these emails, but I think I’m incapable of moving my head right now. Do you know how cute you are when you’re upside down?” I murmured, groaning once more as his hands moved down along my arms, hooking around my elbows and bringing them up to rest on his shoulders.

  “I like you upside down,” he murmured right back, leaning down to dust my forehead with the tiniest of kisses.

  “How does my ring look upside down?” I teased, holding my hand out in front of me to gaze at it once more.

  “Sexy.” Kiss. “Impossibly sexy.” Kiss. Kiss. “Ludicrously sexy.” Kiss. Grope. Grope.

  “Ludicrously sexy?” I asked, my eyes fluttering shut as his fingertips danced inside the edge of my bra.

  “It’s a word.”

  “So is howfastcanyoubenotsodressed?”

  “That’s . . . let’s see . . . one, two, three—”

  “You’re counting?”

  “—four, five—”

  “Simon?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You should stop the counting and go back to touching.”

  “Oh. Babe. I’m getting back to it.”

  And he really just was. His hands were sure, specific, practiced on my body. We’d been together long enough to know what each other liked, and what each other loved. The night before was full of love and passion. Tonight? Would be full of frantic, frenzied, crazy stupid, straight-up fucking.

  His hands went from sure and specific to wild and wanton in an instant, pulling me out of the chair suddenly and spinning me suddenly, tugging at my shirt hard enough that the buttons popped. He pressed me into the wall, my face turned slightly, cheek into the herringbone wallpaper I’d agonized over, but never examined this close up. “Oh,” was all I managed to get out as his mouth closed around the tendon on the right side of my neck, nipping and tugging as he snapped my pants open and guided them roughly down my thighs.

  “Off. Take them off. Take everything off,” he said, his voice guttural in my ear, his hands placed on my body, one at my throat and one on my hip. This is why I’d never get tired of Simon. He could go from loving to crazed in an instant, always able to surprise me, keep things interesting. “Off,” he reminded me, pulling me out of my head and back into the present. Where I could feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against my backside.

  I slipped my jeans down, pushing my panties along with them. I must have been going too slowly, because he suddenly yanked them the rest of the way down, pushing me harder against the wall. I loved sweet and slow Wallbanger, but I loved Wallbanger Wallbanger the best!

  With one hand in the center of my back and the other twisted into my hair, he pressed me against the wall, down and out, angling my hips back toward him. I heard his belt unbuckle, then the unzipping, and then I could feel him ready. Always ready. The hand on my back now slipped down to my hips, anchoring me as he shoved my legs farther apart. I gasped as I felt him, exactly where I needed him to be.

  “Tell me you want this, you want me,” he breathed, heavy in my ear.

  “Jesus Christ, Simon, of course I do,” I panted as his hand left my hip and traveled to my breast, twisting and turning, pinching sharply and making me gasp once more.

  “Tell me you want this,” he said again, accenting his words with a final tug, making me arch into him even more, my hips searching for his.

  “Yes, Simon! I want this, I want you,” I cried out, frantic now for the feel of him inside me. “I always want you.”

  With one hand still tangled in my hair, keeping me against the wall, his other hand now dipped below, finding me slick and hot and ready for him by his words alone. He groaned at the feel of me on his fingers, and then let out the sexiest groan as he sank inside, inch by perfect inch. I reached back with my hands, trying to bring him closer, to get him further inside, but he placed my hands back on the wall, pulli
ng my hips out farther.

  “Look at you—Jesus, just look at you,” he moaned, pulling out almost all the way and then slamming inside almost instantly, bowing my back and making me gasp. “So hot like this, you’re so sexy . . .”

  “When you’re fucking me?” I asked, blinking innocently over my shoulder. Which he then bit down on . . . hard. Then he pulled out. Which I barely had time to process, because the next thing I knew he was on the floor between my legs, with his back to the wall, pulling me against his mouth. Hard.

  Here’s the thing about my fiancé. He loves to take a taste.

  His mouth was furious as his tongue licked and lapped at me. One hand was firm against my backside, holding me against his beautiful face as I rocked my hips into him. The other hand held me open to him, keeping me open as the room began to blur and the colors began to run . . .

  “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop,” I chanted as he circled his tongue against me, his lips and his mouth covering me, sucking and biting and licking and kissing and loving and . . .

  I exploded. He stayed until I exploded again. And then once more for good measure. And when I was boneless and unable to stand, he pulled me down onto the floor, lifted my legs onto his shoulders, and absolutely wrecked me for any other man.

  It’s very possible that I passed out on the kitchen floor. Because when I woke moments or hours later, I was covered by a pea green and orange afghan, and Simon was standing at the kitchen island eating a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Naked.

  The week after Simon and I got engaged went by in a blur. I worked, he worked, we told everyone we knew our exciting news and our phones filled with congratulatory emoticons and best wishes. Jillian even had the outgoing message on the overnight answering service at the office changed to announce my engagement. At the end of the message of course, after our address and operating hours were given.

  I’d always spoken to my mother often, usually two to three times a week typically. Now she called me every day, multiple times. As early as 7 a.m. and once as late as eleven thirty, when I just had to turn on Jimmy Fallon to see an outfit that Drew Barrymore was wearing and wouldn’t it make for a pretty bridesmaid dress? Mimi was unrelenting as well. In her typical bulldog sensibilities, she’d brought every single bridal magazine that was currently in print to my office Monday afternoon, along with her back issues of Martha Stewart Weddings, starting around 2002. Took her two hand trucks and three rides in the elevator to bring them all up, but by god she did it.