“Hey!” I practically burst out the front door, a little out of breath and a lot anxious about the situation.
Eli and Roman on my property.
Eli and Roman meeting my parents for the first time.
Eli with that I-just-fucked-your-daughter look on his face.
Okay, I might be incorrectly reading into that look, but it still feels like a real possibility.
“Hey. Glad you made it home safely.” Eli smiles at me.
“Sorry, I totally got distracted and didn’t pay attention to the fact that you were no longer behind me.”
“Your phone didn’t ring in your car?”
“She drives like a bat out of Hell.” Dad shakes his head. “And if she’s distracted, a fire alarm could fall on deaf ears.”
“You should introduce us, Dorothy.” Mom’s voice chimes right behind me.
“Randy already introduced himself. I’m Eli and this is Roman.” Eli holds out his hand to my mom.
“Kellie. Nice to meet both of you. Dorothy talks nonstop about you.”
“Mom …” I mumble between gritted teeth.
Eli winks at me as Roman tugs on his arm.
“Daddy, look!” He points to my Orville and Wilbur strutting toward the fence. “Listen, Daddy! Listen!”
I laugh. “Let’s go see them, Romeo.” I hold out my hand, and he takes it. “You can come too, Eli.”
“I’m good. I’ll just stay here and chat with your parents.”
“No. You need to come meet my emus.”
He chuckles along with my parents, but after a few seconds, I hear the rocks behind me crunching beneath his footsteps.
“Big bird! Daddy, look at the big birds!”
“Yes. What did I tell you they’re called?”
“Me-yous.”
Oh my god … this kid is so damn adorable. “Emus.” I lift him up as we approach the fence.
“This is Wilbur. He’s a lover.” I stroke Wilbur’s neck. “And this is Orville. He’s a little ornery. You’ll see what I mean. He’s a little more spastic.”
Ruff!
Gemma runs toward them. “And this is my girl, Gemma. She has access to the fenced-in area and the house. Orville has managed to get himself caught in Gemma’s access door more than once.”
“Soft …” Roman says with reverence as he pets Wilbur. “Look, Daddy! A doggie.”
As soon as the emus catch sight of Gemma running toward them, they take off like two robbers fleeing a bank.
“And so the chase begins.” I laugh.
“Who wears out first?” Eli asks.
“Gemma. Those birds can run for hours and then cool off in the pond or kiddie pool.”
“Daddy, look at the me-yous run!”
“They’re fast, huh?”
“Yes!” Roman punches the air with his little fist. “Daddy, look!” He points to my trampoline.
“Oh … that looks … dangerous.” Eli shoots me a tight-lipped smile.
“Daddy, let’s bounce.”
“Tiny fracture to my arm, but other than that, it’s been pretty safe. Let’s check it out while those three wear themselves out.”
I set Roman down, and he runs straight to the trampoline. We jog to catch up to him. I help him in through the mesh doorway and crawl in behind him.
“This view might be worth a tiny fracture.”
I glance back at Eli’s smirk as he stares at my ass. He’s seen his share of it today.
“Perv.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s not my fault you keep putting it in my face.”
We take turns jumping with Roman, having a fun day I didn’t expect. Then we play with Gemma, Orville, and Wilbur once their energy settles into something more manageable for Roman. And by manageable, I mean they are perched on their clean blankets in their shed, letting Roman love on them. I take at least fifty photos.
“What are you going to do with all of those pictures?” Eli asks as I flip through them.
“Put them on their Instagram page.”
“Whose Instagram page?”
“Orville’s and Wilbur’s.”
“What? Your emus have their own Instagram page?”
I hold up my phone.
Eli’s eyes try to pop out of his head as he leans closer to my phone. “Your emus have over five hundred thousand followers? Is that for real?”
“Real.” I shrug. “What can I say? People like animals better than humans. I know I do.”
He chuckles. “Clearly, you might not be alone.” He nods toward Roman asleep between Wilbur and Orville.
I have to snap ten more pics.
“Do you have a personal account? A Dorothy Mayhem account?”
“Yeah.”
“And how many followers does it have?”
I pull up my account and show him.
He lifts his right eyebrow at the screen. “Thirteen people?”
“It’s a private account. I don’t let that many people follow me.”
“So your mom and dad … who are the other eleven?”
“Couple people from work and school. My chiropractor, who my mom has a huge crush on. And several patients who share my taste in awesome tennis shoes.”
He pulls out his phone and moves his thumbs over the screen. A few seconds later, my phone vibrates with an Instagram follow request from Eli Hawkins. I close out of my screen and set my phone down to give Gemma some love since she’s managed to worm half of her body onto my lap.
“Um … did you just see my request to follow you?”
I nod, staring at my emus being all sweet to a sleeping Romeo.
“But you didn’t accept it.”
“I know. I usually think on requests for a while.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
He lowers his voice. “I was physically inside of you just hours ago, but you have to think about letting me follow you on Instagram?”
“Whoa … do you honestly think had I let Warren have sex with me that I would also let him follow me on Instagram?”
“I think it’s messed up that your standards for sexual partners are lower than your standards for people who follow you on a social media site.”
“It’s way easier to stalk someone and harass them on social media than it is to do it face-to-face. I could get a restraining order against you easier than I could shake you from my Instagram life. Do you realize how many creeps have multiple accounts? I mean … some psycho could steal a bunch of photos of say … emus and set up an adorable little account to attract unsuspecting victims.”
“Well …” He flaps his wordless jaw a few times before finishing his thought. “Okay. You think about letting me follow you. Clearly, you weren’t ready for me to follow you to your house, so I waited. And I will wait for you to let me follow you on Instagram.”
“Not funny. I wasn’t trying to lose you. I just had too much going on in my head.”
“Well, I’d love to crawl into your head sometime.”
“No. You wouldn’t. It’s a dark hole with blundering ideas. It’s where good intentions go to be suffocated. It’s a freight train with no brakes. It’s a million scenes from movies, books, and real-life observations, all trying to find where they fit into my own life—all waiting to be acted out at the right time. It’s an incessant replaying of missed cues and misspoken words.”
He narrows his eyes.
I look away and shrug. “I don’t mind being me. No one else can do it better.”
Chapter Sixteen
The G-spot
Elijah
I could fall in love with Dorothy Mayhem. Even though my analytical brain won’t go there, not even a tiny bit. I’m a father. The woman I thought was the love of my life left me because she wants to be someone else without me. My mom is right—I reside in a cave of desperation and depression.
Dorothy doesn’t attract me with her attempts to mimic neurotypical people. She captures little pieces of my heart with her whispered honesty. I fe
el it, just in a different way.
Good.
I’ve been good.
“How are you doing, Eli?” concerned friends ask.
“I’m good.”
“How’s it going being a single dad?”
“It’s good.”
“How’s your relationship with Julie?”
“It’s good.”
“How’s Roman adjusting?”
“Good. Good. Good. He’s good. I’m good. Julie’s good.” It’s all so fucking good.
Except … it’s not.
“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Dorothy says.
I snap out of my reflections of goodness. “Oh. Okay. I’ll wait here. I don’t want him sleeping much longer, but another thirty minutes will make the rest of my day easier because he’ll be in a much better mood on the ride home.”
“Stay as long as you want.” She smiles. “Come on, Gemma.”
Thirty minutes later, Roman is still asleep between the two emus, and Dorothy hasn’t returned. She must have some gastrointestinal issues. I hope it has nothing to do with brunch. She’ll never go back to my parents’ house for brunch. And I definitely want her to go back.
“Roman …” I rub his back as Orville inspects my hand with his beak. “Time to wake up, buddy.”
He stretches out on the blanket, startling Wilbur, who quickly stands up as does Orville. I snatch my son out from between them and carry him to the house. After ringing the doorbell twice, Kellie answers.
“Oh, hey.” She lifts onto her toes to look over my shoulder. “Where’s Dorothy?”
“She ran to the restroom—a half hour ago. Might want to check on her.”
“Oh jeez … she probably thinks she’s dying. That girl is such a hypochondriac.” Kellie steps aside for us to come into the entry.
Everything is tidy. Not overly decorated, pretty basic white kitchen, a few framed photos on white walls. Hardwood floors etched with scratches, probably from Gemma.
“Dorothy?” Kellie knocks on the bathroom door several times then turns the knob. It opens to a dark, empty bathroom. “Dorothy?” She nudges open another door.
All I can see is the bottom of a bed.
“Maybe she went out the back door and you just missed her.” She walks down a short hallway and opens one more door. “Oh my god … what are you doing?”
I slip off my shoes and Roman’s shoes and creep down the hallway behind Kellie.
“What?” Dorothy pulls wireless headphones from her head and pauses her Xbox game.
“You have guests, and you left them to play Xbox?”
She shrugs, glancing past her mom to me, wearing a curious look on her face. “How was nap time?”
“I’m …” Kellie turns toward me, shaking her head and rubbing her temples. “I’m so sorry. I really thought we taught her better than this.”
“Better than what?” Dorothy stands, making her way to us.
“Nothing, Dorothy. Nothing.” Kellie shuffles past us and just keeps walking.
“Romeo, do you like Xbox?”
“I like EssBoss.” He squirms out of my grasp.
“I bought you a Toy Story game while you were napping.” Dorothy brings up the game while Roman grabs the control.
Julie would crap her pants if she knew Roman was playing electronic games. At least that’s what thought comes to my mind. I have no idea what Julie would or wouldn’t do anymore. All I know is Dorothy bought my son a game so he can play it on her Xbox.
“Want me to show you how to play?” she asks, starting to take the remote from him.
“No! I do it.”
“Okay, that’s cool. Have at it.” She backs away, watching him with a grin on her face.
I move behind her and slide my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder, both of us out of Roman’s view. Not that anything is going to tear his attention away from the huge TV screen and his fascination with the remote, which I don’t think he knows how to use. Still, random things happen on the screen when he presses the buttons, and that seems to entertain him.
“You left me in the barn.”
“It’s a shed. And I had to use the bathroom.”
“And play Xbox?”
“You weren’t saying much. So I assumed we were done talking. Roman was sleeping. What’s the problem?” She turns in my arms, pressing her hands flat to my chest.
“I don’t mind being me. No one else can do it better.”
Her words belong painted on the walls of every children’s hospital, every church, every school. If every human could possess Dorothy’s humble confidence, the world would be a much better place.
“No problem.”
“You’re mad that I didn’t go back out to the shed.”
“Nope.”
“You are. My mom’s mad too. Go figure. Dorothy failed Social Etiquette Rule #473.”
I take several steps back and pull her with me, to take us a little farther away from young ears. “I failed to keep my marriage of thirteen years together with a two-year-old child at the time. I attend countless funerals of children who I failed to keep alive. I probably know a lot of social etiquette rules, but they don’t save marriages and they don’t save lives. So fuck the rules. If you want to play Xbox while I’m in your shed, play Xbox. If you want to cancel a date because you’re not prepared for something that might happen, then cancel the date. If you need to take weeks—or months—to decide if I’m worthy of following you on Instagram, then take the time.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
“No. Just really hoping I get to see your secret social media posts.”
She looks at her watch, narrowing her eyes before scraping her teeth along her bottom lip.
“We should go.” I release her from my hold.
“I want to get my walk in. That’s all. You can stay.”
“We can walk with you.” The second the words come out, I know better. I feel her body stiffen even without touching her. And her face contorts into a nervous grimace. “On second thought, we’re going to head home.”
Dorothy makes no attempt to argue, no attempt to make it seem like walking with her would be okay. That is my lesson today. Dorothy needs time alone. It isn’t personal toward anyone else. It’s her personality. More of a good thing is just that … more. Not necessarily better. So even if I crave more time with her, I need to wait. I want the desire to be mutual. The last thing I can handle at this point is having feelings for another woman who wants to get as far away from me as possible.
“Go walk. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to give him a five-minute countdown. He does better if he knows his time is almost up instead of me grabbing him and hauling him out the door.”
“Yeah. Sure. Absolutely. Stay as long as you need to.”
“Thanks.” I slide my hand around her neck to the back of her head and pull her to me for a slow kiss.
She steadies herself by holding my arms. I peek past her to see if Roman is still entranced by the Xbox. When I determine that he is, I slide my other hand to her face to deepen the kiss. Dorothy used to stiffen at this point, like it bothered her to swap saliva or let our tongues touch. But things have changed, and right now she seems perfectly willing and even a bit eager to let our kiss build into something that might require a bucket of cold water to extinguish.
I pull away first because I want to keep her wanting me. And that sucks. Julie stifled my confidence in a way that feels permanent. Will I always wait for the other shoe to drop? Will I bring paranoia with me to every relationship? Will I become the needy person in the relationship who requires constant affirmation that everything is fine? That everything is good?
Dear god … I hope not.
“Thank you for buying Roman that game.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’ll buy him all the games he wants.”
“Well, let’s start with just one.”
“Yeah, don’t want it to turn into an addiction like it has for me.”
“You’re addicted to Xbox?”
“Xbox. Netflix. Certain music. I have a lot of obsessions. If you’re lucky, you might become one of them.”
I swallow hard and clear my throat. “Roman, five minutes, and then we’re heading home, buddy.”
“Six minutes. Listen … listen, Daddy. Six minutes.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure when and how he learned to negotiate, but the kid is hardcore.”
“Hmm … six minutes. Just enough time to show you my room.” She pulls me toward her bedroom.
“Stay there, Roman. I’ll be just around the corner.”
“K, Daddy.”
Dorothy softly closes the door to her bedroom and leans back against the door. I glance around at the massive amounts of books and journals.
“Do you have HPV?”
“What?” I turn back toward her just as she’s shimmying out of her panties.
“Dorothy …”
“Yes or no.”
“Um … no. Why do you—”
“I don’t either.” She folds her panties and sets them on the edge of one of the book shelves before leaning back against the door, one hand on the handle. “Kiss me.”
Roman is definitely down to five minutes, maybe four, not that he is keeping time. But the fact remains that my three-year-old child is ten feet away from the door at Dorothy’s back. She wets her lips, and I can’t say no, so I kiss her. She kisses me back for two seconds before turning her head to the side to break the kiss.
“Lower,” she says in a thick voice that I barely recognize.
I kiss her neck, inhaling the lingering scent of coconut on her skin.
“Lower …”
I kiss along the open area of her button-down shirt, just above her cleavage.
“Lower …”
I start to unbutton her shirt.
“Low…” she fists my hair and pushes my head down “…er.”
My knees hit the ground. Dorothy releases my hair and grabs her skirt, gathering it up an inch at a time. She doesn’t look at me. Her eyes close as her lower lip remains trapped between her teeth as if the need is almost painful.
The moment my tongue breaches the apex of her legs, she grips the door handle and seethes, biting her lip harder as her hips buck away from the door. I know how this will go down—literally and figuratively. I will give her the best oral sex she’s ever had. The six-minute timer will go off in my head, or if we are incredibly unlucky, a little fist will bang against the door and try to push the lever handle down. She will slide her skirt down like nothing happened. The door will open and my painfully hard erection will bust right out of my jeans and jab my kid in the eye.
Keep This Promise Page 181