Tell Me Everything

by Amy Hatvany

  “You asked for it,” he said, and I closed my eyes and let myself go.

  I came home around eleven, having spent two hours more with Andrew than I normally had with anyone else. I’d texted Jake around nine, letting him know that I was staying longer, and he’d replied that I should stay as long as I wanted, as long as I knew that he would be waiting to ravage me the minute I walked through the door.

  Good to his word, he did exactly that. I entered the kitchen through the garage door, and he grabbed me, pushing me up against the wall, lifting my dress.

  “Did you like fucking him?” he asked, reaching between my legs to yank down my panties.

  “Yes,” I hissed.

  “How many times did you come?”

  “I don’t know...I lost count.” I paused our kiss, and pulled back to stare at my husband. “I love you so much, you know that?”

  “I love you, too, baby,” he said, and then he turned me around, bent me over on the countertop, groping my breasts and pushing his pelvis against my ass.

  “Fuck me,” I said, and he groaned, pushing his shorts down. He shoved inside me without hesitation, moving his hands to my shoulders to pull me back against him. I was already so swollen and wet and had come so many times I didn’t think I could do it again, but he reached around to move his fingers between my legs, and a moment later I convulsed, quick and hard, crying out his name.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you were doing,” Jake said, continuing to thrust. “Picturing you fucking him. This stranger. Someone I’ve never met. Knowing you would come home to me.”

  “Always,” I said. Except I hadn’t thought much about my husband when I was with Andrew. I usually talked about him in the midst of things, telling my lover how I would describe it to Jake later. It heightened the experience for me, and kept Jake a part of it, but with Andrew, I’d been so swept up by so many of his words already etched inside my brain—the only time I’d talked about Jake was afterward.

  “He was so big,” I said, wanting to make up for my lack of involving him earlier by engaging him in what had happened, now. “So thick and throbbing and hard.”

  Jake moaned. “You liked it, didn’t you? How big he was.”

  “Yes,” I said. He began to move faster inside me, and I knew that he was about to finish. I shoved back against him, meeting his thrusts, intensifying them, and then he said my name, too, as his body stiffened and shook.

  He fell over and lay on top of my back, both of us breathing hard. “So you had fun,” he said, and I could hear his smile in his voice.

  “I did.” I shifted, and he straightened so that I could stand.

  “You’ve never stayed that long with someone.”

  He said it casually, and without accusation, but I searched his face for any hint that he was upset. “Was that not okay? I didn’t have to...”

  “It’s fine, baby,” he said. He took my hand and squeezed it. “I trust you.”

  I nodded, pushing down a swell of remorse in my throat. As Jake and I got ready for bed, I told myself that being with Andrew wasn’t that different than anyone else. He’s just like Will was, or Tim or Vincent, I told myself again in the shower, as I washed away the scent of him from my skin, trying to combat the sinking feeling that while I might not technically be lying to Jake, I also wasn’t being honest with myself.

  I woke up late the next morning, and had to scramble to get ready for the open house I needed to be at by noon. My muscles were stiff and sore, but in a pleasurable way. After I kissed Jake goodbye, leaving him to lounge on the couch watching a Mariners game, I drove to the house I had listed last week. I opened all the curtains and blinds, then preheated the oven to bake the two frozen apple pies I’d brought with me. “Nothing sells a house like the aroma of fresh baked pastry,” Nancy had told me years ago, when I was just starting out, and she was right. The expression on potential buyers’ faces changed the minute they walked through the front door and smelled the pies or cookies I’d made; in that instant, the property went from simply being a house to their possible home.

  I lit candles in the living room and master bath, and then opened French doors that led to the outside living space, which was decked out with a large grill and smoker, as well as an elaborate bar. When I returned to the kitchen, I found the green notification light blinking on my phone. My stomach twisted in anticipation, thinking it might be a text from Andrew. But instead, I saw that I’d missed a call from my mother. I glanced at the clock, and since I still had half an hour before any prospective buyers might show up, I decided to call her back.

  “I need to come stay with you,” she said the minute she answered, not bothering to greet me. “I’m flying in late tonight. I’ll take an Uber from the airport, so you don’t have to come and get me. Your father and I need some time apart.”

  “What happened?” I asked, feeling a pit form in my stomach. Are my parents going to get a divorce?

  “We had an argument that didn’t end well,” she said. “I’d prefer not to get into the details.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be staying?” I asked, and then instantly regretted it. I didn’t want her to feel unwelcome, but my knee-jerk reaction to the idea of having her in my house for any extended length of time was panic. I also couldn’t help but think that her staying with us meant no more impromptu, bend-me-over-the kitchen-counter sex with Jake when the kids weren’t there.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose I can go to a hotel, if it’s too much of a bother.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Sorry. I was just thinking out loud.”

  “Thinking that you don’t want me to come.” She sounded hurt.

  “No, Mom,” I said, with a hint of exasperation. For someone who wasn’t good with emotions, she was excellent at manipulating mine. “I’m just surprised. I know you two have been having some issues, but...”

  “He needs a little time to experience everything I still do for him, by me not being there to do it,” she said. “Okay? Is that a good enough reason?”

  “Of course,” I said, gently. I imagined it took a lot of courage on my mother’s part to not only make the decision to take some time away from my dad, but to ask to stay with my family. “We’re happy to have you,” I said. “Text me your flight info so that Jake or I can pick you up. I don’t want you in an Uber that time of night.”

  She thanked me, we hung up, and I quickly sent a text to Jake, telling him what was going on. “I’m sorry, babe,” was his response. “I’ll get the guest room ready. And pick your mom up tonight.”

  The muscles in my throat thickened, thinking what a good man he was. And then, as though on cue, a text from Andrew came through.

  “I just woke up,” he said. “You done wore me out, woman!”

  I posed my fingers over the keyboard on my phone, about to type a reply, but something stopped me. This was nonsense. I needed to stop interacting with him so much. I could go to his house, I could fuck him, but I had to stop letting him inside my head.

  I put my phone away, just as a young couple knocked on the front door, which I’d left open for people to easily enter the house. I looked up and smiled at them as they moved through the entryway into the living room, where they stopped and looked around.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I said, cheerfully. “I’m Jessica, the listing agent.”

  They both smiled, nodding in acknowledgement, but stopped short of giving me their names. This wasn’t unusual. People were always wary of anyone who worked in sales, and real estate was no exception. The trick was to give them enough space that they ended up coming to me, instead of me having to chase them.

  “Look around,” I said. “Let me know if you have any questions.” I waved, and then sat down on one of the stools next to the breakfast bar in the kitchen. The sun shone through the large picture windows that overlooked the well-manicured backyard, creating rainbows that danced on the smooth white countertops. I stared outside, thinking about my parents.
Thinking about Andrew and whether or not I should tell my husband the truth about the level of interaction I’d been having with my former co-worker. I worried how hurt Jake would be hearing what I’d kept from him. I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t do that to us.

  Before I could stop myself, I grabbed my phone. “We need to talk,” I texted Andrew. “I’m not sure seeing you is such a good idea.”

  “It seemed like a pretty amazing idea last night,” he said. “What changed?”

  “Can you meet me tomorrow?” I asked, thinking it would better to have this particular discussion in person.

  “I’ve got a busy day,” he replied. “But if you can come to my office, we can talk there. Around noon?”

  He shot me the address, and I told him I’d be there. More people began to arrive, and for the next several hours, I busied myself by talking about the excellent Queens Ridge school district and the benefits of joining the homeowner’s association. By four o’clock, I’d already received two offers on the house and I was both mentally and physically exhausted. After everyone had left, and the owners returned, I presented the offers, and then left them to consider which one they wanted to accept.

  I climbed into my car and sat in their driveway a moment, not quite ready to head home. The kids would get back from Peter and Kari’s around eight, which left me a few hours on my own, if I wanted it. I decided to send a quick text to Charlotte. “What are you up to?”

  “Rough day,” she said. “Want to meet for a drink?”

  “YESSS!” I’d had enough of thinking about the men in my life. What I needed was some time with my best friend.

  Twenty

  Charlotte breezed through the door of the Tipsy Sailor and immediately spotted me at the table I’d gotten for us. It was warm for mid-June, and she wore a loosely cut, light blue linen dress that would have made me look as shapeless as the sky. It swirled around her lithe body as she made her way toward me, and I took another sip of the lemon drop martini I’d ordered.

  “That looks good,” she said, eyeing my drink. Her usually smooth hair was a little wild around her face, full of fly-aways she would normally tame with a flat iron. Her pale cheeks were flushed pink, and her brown eyes looked as long she’d been crying.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, with concern, as she sat down.

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I finally talked with Richard. I told him that I was so desperate that sleeping with another man was starting to look good, and he didn’t do anything! He didn’t call his doctor or tell me he’d go insane if someone else fucked me. He just stood there, with this stupid blank look on his face.”

  “Did you mention Bryan?”

  “No.” Charlotte dropped her eyes to the table. Our server approached, and I quickly asked for a drink for her.

  “Did he mention Bryan?” I asked when we were alone again. “Does he have any clue about him, at all?”

  “I don’t think so,” Charlotte said, looking up at me, again. “He liked him, after they met at the barbeque, if you can believe it. He said he thinks they’d be good golfing buddies!” She released a half-hysterical laugh. “Can you picture it? The two of them out on the course, while Bryan and I send each other secret texts. Ugh.”

  Yes, actually, I wanted to say. I can picture it, because I’ve been “secret” texting with Andrew in front of my husband, too. Jake and I were both already on our phones so much for our jobs, he had no reason to think I was doing anything but dealing with clients or other agents, hammering out the details of a sale.

  “Do you think I’m a horrible person?” Charlotte asked, her forehead creasing with worry. “Be honest.”

  “No,” I said, emphatically. “I do not.” I was more tempted than ever, in that moment, to tell her about Andrew—about all of it—but what was the point, really, of her knowing? Was I looking for absolution? For her to tell me that I should go ahead and keeping seeing him? Because if she asked me, outright, if I thought she should keep talking with Bryan, my answer would be no. Her connection with him was clearly an emotional one—he gave her the kind of attention Richard hadn’t for several years—and had the potential to ruin her marriage. Wasn’t that more dangerous than what I had done? I considered asking her if she was thinking about divorce, that it might be for the best. Maybe she was trying to keep something alive with Richard that had died a long time ago. But regardless of what she ultimately decided to do with her relationship, she still hadn’t slept with Bryan, and because of that, I felt fairly certain that she, considering her history with Alex, would judge what I’d been doing as a worse offense than hers. And besides, I’d already decided that when I saw Andrew tomorrow, I would end things. If I told Charlotte everything, now, it might damage our friendship beyond repair.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking relieved. She waved a hand in the air, as though brushing the issue away, as the server delivered her drink. “What’s going on with you?”

  I quickly gave her the rundown of the call I’d received from my mom, and she clucked with sympathy. “That sucks,” she said. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t want to be in the middle of it.”

  “God, I don’t blame you.” She took a sip of her martini and puckered. “Wow. That’s strong!”

  “I got a double.” I lifted my glass and she clinked hers against it.

  “To marriage,” she said. “The most fucked-up, complicated relationship a person can have.” We both sipped our drinks, and she cocked her head to one side, as though she had just remembered something. “Hey, have you talked with Lacy about the whole ‘ho’ account thing, yet?”

  “Shit,” I said. I’d been so distracted by thoughts of Andrew, I’d forgotten to reach out to Ella’s coach to let her know what was going on with Lizzy, and apparently a couple of other girls on the team. “Let me text her right now, before I forget.”

  “Good idea,” Charlotte said. “Do you want me to come with you, when you see her?”

  “I should be fine,” I said. “But I’ll let you know if I need you to back me up.” I pulled my phone out of my purse and found Lacy’s contact info, shooting her a quick note that I wanted to chat in person the next day, if possible. She responded immediately, and said she was available in the morning, around eleven. After a quick check of my calendar to confirm that I could make that time work, we decided to meet for coffee at Starbucks on Main Street. I should have no problem getting to Andrew’s office at noon. I frowned as I thought about the conversation I would have to have with him.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked. “You look bummed.”

  “Just my parents,” I said, quickly. “I’m not looking forward to dealing with my mom.”

  “I could send mine over as backup,” she offered. “Did you see how they bonded at my barbeque?”

  I nodded. “I couldn’t believe it.”

  She glanced down at the menu on the table in front of her. “I think I need to eat my feelings. Want to split some nachos?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, motioning for our server to come to our table. I looked at my best friend and smiled. “Let’s get some mozzarella sticks, too!”

  “Yes!” she said, and as she motioned to our server to come back, I reminded myself that I’d had my fun with Andrew, but that’s all it was. It couldn’t be more than that—I wouldn’t let it. It was time to end it, before I did something I couldn’t take back.

  JAKE picked my mother up from the airport, as he promised he would, and she was still in bed when I was getting ready to leave for the office the next morning. “Be nice to Grandma,” I told Ella and Tucker, who were plopped on the couch in the family room upstairs, eating cereal and streaming some weird YouTube channel on the T.V. “Maybe you guys could go do something with her while I’m at work.”

  “Like what?” Tuck asked, with his mouth full. Milk dribbled down his chin, and he lifted the hem of his T-shirt to wipe it away.

  “I
don’t know,” I said. “Take her for a walk in the arboretum, or out for ice cream. Or both.” Now that school was out, the two of them hadn’t done much other than laze around the house, so I figured it wouldn’t kill them to help out by entertaining their grandmother.

  “Why’s she here again so soon?” Ella asked, looking at me with her inquisitive green eyes. Nothing much got past my daughter; she could sense something was up.

  “She missed you guys,” I said, not wanting to go into details with them about what was happening between their grandparents, especially because I didn’t know all the details. “She doesn’t feel like she gets to see enough of you.”

  Ella appeared skeptical, but didn’t push the subject. Instead, she said, “Do you really have to meet with Lacy today?”

  I’d told her my plans the night before, after I got home from drinks with Charlotte, and Ella had tried, unsuccessfully, to talk me out of it. I made her show me the Instagram account Lizzy had, along with three other girls Ella knew on the team who also had them. I was shocked when I saw the images of their young, practically naked bodies clad in thong and push up bras, posed provocatively, bending over to show off their ass or cleavage, with headings like, “TBH,” which was a sort of social media game that Ella had to explain to me.

  “It stands for ‘Truth Be Had,’” she said, reluctantly. “And people are supposed to comment what they think, truthfully, of the picture. Of you.”

  “Oh,” I said, as my eyes ran over some of the comments on one of Lizzy’s “TBH” pictures. There were lots of compliments, mostly from what appeared to be other girls, but someone had written, anonymously: “TBH...you’re hot as fuck, but prolly have an STD,” and another, “TBH...my brother said you suck enough dick, your nickname should be Hoover.”

  I looked at Ella in disbelief. “This is horrible,” I said. “Can you imagine how this makes Lizzy feel?”

  Ella shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, but she put the pictures up there, so....”