Fade In

by Mabie, M.

  “No. Wake up. Let's take a shower. I have to meet Winnie.” I find my phone next to the bed and light it up to see the time. “It's already eight. Come on.”

  “What's in it for me?” His gravelly morning voice tempts me to misbehave. He's just too damn enticing, with his disheveled fuck-me hair and his body that begs for my touch.

  “I'll let you smack me around.”

  Ben lifts one eye open to gauge my face. “I'm listening.”

  “Well, I don't have much time. You're going to have to fuck me fast and har—” Before I have the word “hard” all the way out of my mouth, he has us off the bed and me over his shoulder, on the way to the bathroom.

  He smacks my ass while waiting for the water to heat and doesn't set me down until he’s in the stall.

  “I hope you thought about walking down the aisle later before picking his fight. I'm going to make sure you're thinking about me with every step.”

  I love this kind of troublemaking. I hope he does fuck me fast and hard.

  He soaps us both up quickly, squeezing the soap on his chest and puts two big globs on mine, dividing the gel on each breast. He washes me with one hand and himself with the other. I laugh the whole time.

  “Are you going to help or just stand there, baby?” he chuckles and give me quick kiss, dipping his head under the water. He applies shampoo to our heads. I lift to wash my own and he does the same. “I like the way your boobies sway when you wash your hair,” he confesses as he bends down and sucks a nipple into his mouth.

  “Thanks. Your dick does that too.” I peek up at him with one soapy eye closed, but I have to see his face.

  He pops back up with a silly grin, “It does?” Ben looks down as he gyrates his hips, swinging it around like a windmill, then rinses his hair. I laugh until my side splits and beg him to do it again.

  When his hair is free of soap, he helps rinse mine, moving it around and scrubbing to feel if when it's free of lather.

  I kiss his chest.

  “I love you.”

  Who said that? Shit! It was me.

  The rinsing stops and there is no promise of repeat, with either the shampoo or my declaration. I don’t know where it came from. I wasn't even thinking. It just fell out.

  He doesn't say anything. I reach for the conditioner and squirt myself a handful. He just watches me with the most innocent of expressions. I rub the silky cream through my hair, root to tip, the tile becoming more and more fascinating.

  Why did I have to say it like that?

  “Ben?” I say just loud enough to hear over the running water. “I'm sorry.”

  “What? No.” He sits down on the marble seat that's built into the wall. He pulls me by the ass to him. He head presses against my stomach. “Don't take it back.”

  “I wasn't thinking.” I run my hand over his hair and push it back off of his forehead, looking into confused eyes.

  “Did you mean it?” If ever there was a loaded question. Here I am, having just told him that I love him, then I sloughed it off, and now he's asking if I'm a liar, too. The worst part of all is not knowing what he's thinking. How he feels.

  I feel strength come from somewhere. Sometimes you don't get to pick when things happen. Life isn't a script or page we get to read from. Things aren't plotted out start to finish in a neat package. Sometimes your love slips out of your mouth when you're supposed to be having a quickie in the shower.

  I choose to worry. I choose the fear. I want all of it. With him.

  “Yes. I meant it.” And I'm proud of it, too. I love Ben Harris and I want him to love me, too.

  He doesn't say it, although I feel that it is there. I taste it in his kisses. No quickie in the shower for us.

  Although, we do go back to bed. He worships my body and gently guides me to climax more than once with his talented mouth. Our sex is emotional and passionate. Ben watches at me with such pure adoration. When we're both coming at the beautiful end, I confess ten or a hundred more times that I love him.

  I left him lying in his bed, telling him once more as I walked out the door, “I love you, Benny.”

  I'm late getting to Winnie's room. It is shit-show in there anyway. Luis is giving her a blow-out and Molly is arguing with her mom about shoes.

  Winnie looks stoic and unwavering. She appears to be only one who's calm.

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her in the mirror. I'm so thrilled that she's going to be my sister and even happier that my brother is getting the most perfect wife.

  “So do you,” she replies on a sweet smile.

  I look at my feet and then I can't hold it in anymore. “I love him, Winnie.”

  “I know you do.” She's not surprised at all. She looks more relieved than anything.

  “I told him.”

  Winnie turns her head, abandoning our reflections to face me. “What did he say?” she asks quietly so no one will pay attention.

  “He didn't say anything. And that's okay.” It is empowering, the feeling of having everything out there. So much so that I believe and trust his heart. I know I'm in it and that he loves me even without saying it. I don't need his words to justify my own. It makes me stronger.

  She watches my posture strengthen, my resolve set. I smile wide, even as an unwanted tear falls down my cheek. It isn't a sad tear—it is one of relief. Of happiness. My world just got bigger.

  Winnie stands and embraces me like a real sister would and kisses me on the cheek, whispering in my ear, “I love you. And Ben does too. You're incredible.”

  When we pull apart, I wipe my tears and say, “I love you too. Let’s go become sisters.”

  It seems that weddings made me a bit sappy.

  The flowers are gorgeous. Every color surrounds the garden that Winnie and Cooper chose for the ceremony. Every chair is filled. Colorful hats adorn the female guests in the kindly setting August sun. The two acoustic guitarists play leisurely, both in sunglasses and tuxes—a combination that for some reason always looks so bad ass to me. Faces of friends and family litter the seats and then it's my turn to walk.

  I don't have the sore reminder of Ben cursing my steps, but I do think of him the whole way. He is sitting in the second row behind my parents and with our friends from the show. I watched from the lane we were tucked in, sheltering the bride from curious eyes, as he talked and laughed with the people I adore.

  When I walk past him, he makes a kiss with his lips and it distracts me momentarily from everything.

  I managed not to trip or fall over anything, and that in itself was a huge success. My brother meets me in the middle, kissing my cheek.

  “I love you, Cooper.”

  “I know. I hear you love everyone,” he whispers back to me as I step into my place. My eyes are wide with the realization that Winnie already told him about my profession to Ben. Typical.

  Molly trails slowly, probably equally worried about tripping or falling as I am, but for totally different reasons. She looks so pretty, heaving her feet towards the altar with an extra thirty pounds.

  Everyone stands for my luminescent friend. Seeing the bride come down the aisle is a frame-worthy moment. While everyone is looking at the bride, I look at my brother. Seeing her walk towards him on her father's arm, my brother laughs and wipes tears from his own eyes.

  Winnie does the same.

  They are both pussies. Happy-in-love pussies.

  I am a pussy too and use the silk handkerchief—mine from the ones Winnie's mother shoved into all our flowers—just in case.

  They promise the usual things and one of their own—to never give up on their love. When they kiss, the crowd howls with delight. The kiss is storybook, but Winnie grabbing Cooper's ass is all them.

  We dine outside under a massive tent with all four sides drawn up. They hung three chandeliers inside. The soft light that reflects off the ceiling covers everything a warm, romantic glow.

  We eat first and are soon pulled in every direction for pictures. When all the ceremonious t
asks are done, I go to Ben. He's with Molly's husband and a few of the other guys they'd gone out with for Cooper's bachelor party.

  He's sipping whiskey when I catch his eye. He excuses himself from his group and sets the lowball glass on the bar. He saunters my way, and like two magnets, we run into each other, neither of us stopping when we should.

  He holds on to my arms, steadying me from our small collide. “You look so lovely.”

  “Thank you.” I feel a little timid. I guess walking around with my heart on my sleeve can do that. But now I can just relax and have fun with him. “I'm ready to dance with you.”

  “Aren't you worn out yet? You've been going all day.” Concern laces in his voice.

  “I am, but I'm having fun too.” I step up on my toes to lightly kiss his lips. “I want a cocktail and then your ass on the floor.”

  “Let's get you a drink then.” He grins and leads the way.

  I practically chug my first glass of wine.

  Ben and I mingle around for a little while. Cynthia and little Devon came for the night and are staying at the hotel. Sharing a room, I hear.

  We finally make it to the wooden dance floor about an hour later. Wine glass in hand, I hang my arms over his shoulders and we sway to the cover band's version of Wonderful Tonight. It's cliché, but what isn't cliché about wedding reception music?

  “I want to talk to you later,” he says in my ear in a tone I'm all too familiar with, and I can only imagine that it's about what I said earlier.

  “All right. I'll have my personal assistant arrange it,” I joke with a smile.

  “Ha. Ha. I've been thinking about what you said.”

  I place a finger over his perfect lips. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  The wine made me do it. He knows that there's more to what I'm saying, because he waits for me to continue.

  I don't hold back, saying, “We were having such a good time. I want to make the rest of the night easy. Okay? The only complications I'll accept involve getting out of this dress. You don't have talk to me about anything later, Ben. We don't have to discuss it tonight. Please?”

  I beg. “Can we please just do this tonight? Let's just be two normal lovers drinking and dancing at a fantastic reception. This may be the last one I see. Just put a pin in it and be here. With me. Right now.”

  He holds me tighter, and I take that as his agreement.

  So ‘lovers’ is growing on me. Maybe it's genetic.

  If Ben wanted me to tell him how I feel about things, he finally got it. Apparently, if you ever want to get something out of me, then take me to Martha's Vineyard.

  He remains quiet as he leads us around the floor, caressing my back as we dance. His silence drives me mad, so I lean back to find his eyes.

  “Is that okay, Ben? Whatever you think you need to tell me can wait until tomorrow. Let's have fun.”

  He looks conflicted, so I rub my thumb through his wrinkled brow.

  “Tomorrow.” I kiss him. I stroke my hand across his cheek, waiting for his answer.

  He sighs, and I hear the burden weighing on him when he finally says, “Tomorrow.” He squeezes his eye shut tight for a minute, nuzzling his face in my palm. When he reopens them, he takes my hand in his, kissing my wrist first, and says, “Let's have some fun, baby.”

  Whatever it is, he doesn't let it affect the rest of our night. We dance to almost every song. With the dance floor filled, we act like fools doing old dances from college and before.

  Winnie and Cooper leave before most of us do. We hug and wish them a happy honeymoon. Ben and I close down.

  We laugh through the halls on the way to Ben's room and make asses out of ourselves in the elevator when we get busted mid-kiss by an elderly couple.

  They're cool though, telling us, “I have a good night. Just try to make to your room first.”

  We laugh even harder, falling through his door.

  Or energy levels drop rapidly as we hit his bed. We lie on our sides, having sex like tired spoons, and crash the minute we were done. We don't move an inch until morning.

  I lie here somewhere between asleep and awake with Ben the next morning, feeling warm and perfectly at peace. The rise and fall of his chest is hypnotic, and I stay as still as I can, not wanting to disturb him.

  Our clothes are thrown all over the room like we'd ejected from them in an emergency the night before. Which we sort of did. We were a little tipsy and drunk off the fun and excitement of the wedding.

  It has to be midmorning because the sun is coming though the side of the blackout-style curtains, strong and bright. I hear vacuuming in the hallway and carts being pushed by past the door.

  Looking around the room, I see a piece of paper slide under the door and presume it is the checkout sheet. I get up, thinking I'll take a shower and go get us some breakfast.

  We made plans to ride back to the city together since the newlyweds are leaving straight from here for their honeymoon in St. Lucia.

  First, I slip my legs free and gently unwrap Ben's big arm from around my body. Like I'm doing some sort of bed limbo, I slink my way out.

  Stepping onto the carpet as quietly as I can, I make my way over to the bar where my phone is. As I suspected, it is almost ten, and we are to be checked out by noon. I want to make sure my information is right, so I walk over to the folded paper that is lying on the carpet just inside the room.

  When I read it, at first I think that maybe I am still asleep and was just having a really fucked-up dream. I almost laugh out loud seeing that it reads Benjamin Meade.

  Then I am lost. I sink to the rough floor, forgetting that I'm utterly nude.

  Confusion sets in.

  Why does it say that?

  How could the hotel make a mistake like this?

  The only Meade I know is Dr. Evil and Dr. Meade wasn't even invited. Besides that his name is Mark. Mark Meade.

  I has to be a weird coincidence.

  Had my vision gone haywire and now I'm seeing things that aren't really here? It doesn't make any sense.

  I stare at that paper, willing it to say something else, willing it to rewrite itself for minutes before I finally register that Ben is saying my name.

  “Tatum. What is that?” He hurriedly sits up.

  In a voice that isn't my own, I answer. “It's a room receipt. Ben, it says Benjamin Meade on it. Why does it say Benjamin Meade on it?” My pulse quickens and a thin sweat breaks out over my hot skin. I'm so confused, but my gut tells me this isn’t a freak accident

  When I finally find the courage up to look at him, his head is hanging forward and he's methodically running both hands through his hair. From his reaction, I can pick up that I’m not going to like any of this.

  “Just hold on. Please,” he pleads.

  “Why does it say this?!” I shout. “Just tell me it's a mistake. Tell me it's a big fucking mistake, Ben!”

  As if my volume propels me into action, I'm on my feet again. I don't know what I'm looking for. My clothes? My shoes? A good enough reason to make this all a misunderstanding?

  “Slow down. Please.” He finds a pair of jeans and hops into them, slowly coming towards me at the same time, pulling them up the rest of the way with one hand, and reaching for me with the other.

  I flinch back. How is his last name Meade?

  “What did you do?” I petrify right there, staring at him. “Tell me! What did you do?!”

  “Just calm down and let me explain, baby.”

  I don't know what part incited the flash of red. It could have been the calm down. It could have been the baby. It could have been the fact that I was somehow a huge fool.

  “Don't. Don't,” I say as he comes closer still. “Where are my clothes? I've got to go.” I locate my dress and that's good enough. I just need my phone and my purse. It has my room key. “Don't,” I say one more time as he makes another play in my direction.

  “I didn't know how to tell you. I messed up. It just got out of hand.” He
's speaking so fast and following me around, ducking and swerving to land in my eye line.

  “I. Said. Don't!” I whisper so quietly that I'm not sure he even hears it. It takes every ounce of energy I can summon, as it's draining away so fast, just to hold back my angry tears. I have to leave. I have to get out of here before it all hits me for real.

  “We thought it was best to tell you after the wedding. Please. We didn't want to hurt you.” His usually calm and collected voice is broken and frantic.

  So close to the door, now having my dress on and my things in my hand, I pause. Fuck my shoes. They'd take forever to put on anyway. Then one word registers in what he's just said.

  We.

  That one word kills my forward motion. It is a loaded bullet. Coincidentally, I know it will pierce me through the back.

  Like anyone, I know the sound of my own voice. The woman's voice that leaves my lips isn't mine. She is ripping in half, her voice sounding of shredding hope and agony. In a sound so low, I ask, “You said ‘we,’ didn't you? Dammit, you said ‘we.’” My tears pour hot on my cheeks and my face contorts. “Who are you?”

  “Benjamin Meade. Please don't leave, Tatum. Please, let me talk to you. Let me explain. Let me apologize. Cooper thought—”

  I clutch my stomach at the mention of my brother's name. This is all impossible.

  “Cooper thought what?” I choked out.

  “Turn around. Look at me.”

  Ben's voice is pleading, and my heart wants to look. I want to see if he looks like the Ben I know, but I can't.

  “No. Are you Dr. Mead’s son?” I can't make heads or tails. Dr. Meade isn't old enough to have a child our age, surely. Ben told me about his mother and father and his… “He's your brother, isn't he?”

  “He is.” From the closeness, I can sense that Ben is behind me. I can almost feel his hand touching my skin, but it isn't there. Only his shaky voice touches my ears.

  “And he knew, too? Why?” I speak to the door.

  “I don't know. I just wanted to talk to you that day. I didn't know you were hiring anyone.”