by Carmen, Roya
I wait. I wait to be taken away from all this. From my life.
My breath hitches when I see a white SUV drive up and stop right in front of our building.
As I run to the elevator, my phone pings. I don’t check it — I know it’s him, telling me he’s here. The elevator is empty and it can’t move fast enough. I sprint out and run outside, as fast as my heels will let me.
The SUV window lowers as soon as I approach. Joel’s face is just as beautiful as I remembered it. We haven’t seen each other in quite a few days. I’ve missed him.
I swing the door open and climb in. Neither of us says a word. I shoot him a shy smile before gazing up at Orchard Heights. A lone figure stands at a window on the third floor — my husband is watching us.
I turn my head and look ahead. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for being here for me.”
He smiles. “Ditto, buddy.”
He parks in the lot behind his studio. It’s dark and abandoned. He takes my hand in his and leads the way. I close my eyes for a second, reveling in the amazing feel of his warm skin on mine.
Unfortunately, he lets go when he unlocks the door. He invites me in, and closes the door behind us. My heels click-clack on the tiled floor. It’s dark and quiet, eerie.
He throws his keys on the counter and closes the distance between us. “What was your fight about?”
My heart sprints into overdrive — the proximity makes me nervous. “Brian says I meddle too much, that I should mind my own business. He thinks I’m crazy.”
He inches even closer, so close I inhale his familiar scent. “But aren’t you though?” he teases.
I smile. “You know me too well.”
“I do.”
The energy between us has shifted, has entered foreign territory. I feel warm all over, lightheaded. I also feel so wretched and so tired. I just want to be taken away. I want Joel to take me away. Far away, if only for just a little while.
But we can’t do this. I can’t do this to Brian.
Yet I can’t back away. I’m pressed against the counter and he’s got me caged in. And more importantly, I don’t want to get away. I feel protected, cared for. My heart is throbbing furiously, my sex too. He’s so beautiful… I want to reach out and taste him.
“What was your fight about?” I ask.
“You.”
His eyes are dark as they fix mine. He bends down and our mouths meet. His kiss is tentative at first, measured — he’s testing the waters. When I respond eagerly, when my tongue explores his mouth, tastes him properly, his kiss intensifies. When I tangle my hands in his hair, his own slide down my neck, over my breasts, all the way down and around my ass. When a soft whimper escapes me, he presses against me harder. When I moan at the feel of his hard-on on my belly, he slides his large hands under my thighs and hikes me up on the counter. When I run my eager mouth against the stubble of his chin, his own greedy hand slides between my legs.
I’ve gone too far to go back. I rub myself against his hand, completely out of control, desperately craving that release. I know he can take me to a place where I can forget everything, where my problems don’t exist. A place where there’s just him and I.
He slides his long lean frame down mine and hikes up my blouse. He runs his tongue up my stomach until he reaches my chest, slides a finger under the delicate lace of my bra and releases my breast. I throw my head back when he takes my breast in his hot mouth. I know this is so wrong, yet I can’t stop him. I haven’t felt this wanted, this alive, in a long time. When he pulls away, I ache.
He travels slowly down my body, pries my legs open and buries his head between my thighs. I rake my hands through his hair as he presses his warm mouth on my pussy, as he bites at the fabric of my leggings, as I fuck his face. He brings me to climax in no time, despite the fact that my panties and leggings are still on. When I reach my release, loud desperate guttural moans escape my throat and echo off the walls of the large empty space.
When I finally settle down, he ventures back up and we kiss softly. I slide my hand down his torso and reach for him, but he grabs a hold of my wrist. I study him curiously — his brows are knitted together, a strained grimace traces his lips. He’s restless, tense. “I can’t let you do that. You don’t belong to me, Mischa. It wouldn’t be right.”
“But I want to…” I say quietly. I want to give him the same pleasure he’s just given me. I want to help him forget all his troubles.
“I need to take you home,” he says. “I can’t do this to Renee.”
He’s too good for his own good. He knows about Renee and Grant, yet he still won’t cheat on her. I’m not surprised at all by this turn of events. “Aren’t you rock-hard right now?” I tease.
“Actually, I’m kind of in pain,” he jokes. “Don’t worry about me… I’ll take care of myself as soon as I get you home.”
“I thought you wanted to talk,” I say, confused.
“If we stay here one second longer, we might do something we’ll both regret forever.”
My gaze pulls from his. His words sting.
He grabs my chin, and pulls my face to his. “You’re amazing, Mischa. And if I were to step out on Renee, there’s no one else I would choose. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have started this. We’re both married, and I couldn’t live with myself…”
“I understand.” I really do.
We’re driving back to my place, and an old Peter Gabriel song is playing on the radio. “Why were you fighting about me?” I ask.
“Renee doesn’t want me to see you anymore.”
“Oh, I see.” Interesting. She gets to hang out with Grant all day, but he doesn’t get to hang out with me. It doesn’t seem fair. But of course, I don’t say anything. It’s none of my business.
The rest of the drive is quiet. I’m not sure how I feel. I’m more confused than ever. I care a lot for Joel, but I still love my husband. But that kiss… I’ll never forget that kiss.
When we get there, he leans over and gives me a sweet peck on the cheek. “Good night, Mischa.”
“Good night, Joel.”
As I step out, my eyes well up. I don’t know why I’m crying. Possibly because I know there could never be anything between us. As perfect as we could be together, we just aren't meant for each other.
I wave goodbye and turn away, my heart heavy.
37
When I get home, Brian is sitting in our living room, a glass of red in hand. The boys are nowhere to be seen. I haven’t been gone for very long, but in that short time, I’ve committed a multitude of sins; lust, pride, wrath and the list goes on. I regret them all now.
I feel dirty, undeserving of Brian’s love. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
I sit next to him and stare down at our area rug, spotless of course. I almost laugh at the sight of our flawless living room; everything in its place, color coordinated, and set up just so, not a dust bunny in sight. We give off the illusion of perfection when in reality, our lives are a mess. We desperately need to tidy things up, to communicate, figure our life out. We need to fix this Ava issue, for all our sakes, especially hers.
“Who was it?” he asks in hushed tones. “In the white SUV?”
I turn slowly to face him. I’m not going to keep any secrets. “That was Joel. Ava’s dad.”
He doesn’t say anything for the longest time, just stares down at his glass of wine. “So… you and Ava’s dad are friends now,” he deadpans. He’s not surprised in the least.
My gaze darts around the room — the boys must be in their rooms. “I told you I’ve been a bit obsessed with them… ever since I discovered that photo of Ava. You know how I get.”
“I do.”
“His sister owns a yoga studio not too far from here. I joined. I knew he went there.”
“What did you want, Mischa? What were you hoping for?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Answers. I wondered if he knew about Ava.”
/>
“Does he?”
“I don’t think so.”
He rubs at his face, the way he always does when he’s stressed. “Fuck.”
“He should know.”
He jerks his head up. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
“No,” I promise. “It’s not my place. But I really think he should know. We need to make everything right, Brian.”
“I know,” he says. “But Renee doesn’t want me to be part of their lives.”
“Well, Renee doesn’t get to choose,” I point out. “Ava does.”
“I could never mess up her life like that.”
“Her life is already messed up,” I tell him. “More than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“She knows that Joel is not her biological father. She read it in her mother’s diary. She’s completely torn up about it… angry, confused, scared.”
“Oh shit.”
“Probably the reason she’s been cutting,” I point out. “The girl needs help. She needs to know who her dad is.”
“She’s been cutting?” he asks, his eyes dark.
I nod. “She needs to know the truth.”
He shakes his head. “No… I can’t fuck up their family like that.”
“They’ll get over it. Trust me, Ava needs this now.”
He glances down the hall. “And what about you and the boys? You’re okay with all this? You’re okay with having Ava in our lives? Because if we do this, Mischa, I’ll be all in.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
“I’m not going to tell her I’m her dad, and then ignore her. I plan to be part of her life.”
I smile. “She’s a wonderful girl. I’d love to have her be part of our lives. Finally, a girl to shop with… mani pedis.”
He smiles. “Yes, I can picture the two of you… girl talk… feet up.”
I think of Joel. This is going to be hard on him, but he deserves to know the truth. And I’m sure his love for his daughter won’t be any less — the man has so much love to give.
“I’ll talk to Renee,” he says.
“Good, because I’m not allowed to. If I go anywhere near her or her family, she’s getting a restraining order apparently.”
“What?”
I smile playfully. “True story.”
We both sit in silence for the longest time. I wonder what the boys are up to. I rub the palms of my hands on my leggings, brought back. Joel was all over me just an hour before, and here I am, sitting quietly next to my husband, acting like the perfect dutiful wife. I’m such a phony. Unlike my husband, I’m hopeless when it comes to keeping secrets. “There’s something else…” I say quietly.
He turns to me. His eyes are so tired — he doesn’t want to deal with anything else.
“Joel and I…” I hesitate before forging ahead. “We developed a strong friendship.”
He nods quietly. He knows exactly where I’m going with this.
“We sort of fell for each other…” I really don’t know how to explain our relationship — it’s so complicated.
Brian’s face has turned to stone. “Are you fucking him?”
I shake my head. “No, we’re just friends now. We agreed. We won’t be seeing each other anymore. But we… once… we made out, pretty heavy.”
I don’t tell him everything. I don’t tell him that he made me come less than an hour before.
Unlike me, Brian is very restrained when he’s angry. He doesn’t throw things, he doesn’t yell. He sets his glass of wine on the coffee table. His movements are measured, his face unreadable. He stands and turns to me. “This is Anthony, all over again. I can’t believe you.”
He leaves without another word.
And I sob late into the night.
Part V
Absolution
38
I wake up, full of aches. I’ve fallen asleep on the sofa, a silk cushion under my head, a cozy throw covering my body. Tristan is sitting in the armchair across the coffee table. His gangly legs are crossed, he’s on his device, still wearing his pajama pants — a typical Saturday morning. He smiles at me. No matter where I find myself in life, his impish grin and freckles always cheer me up.
“I’ve never seen you sleep on the sofa, Mom. What’s up with that?”
Your father hates me. “I just fell asleep here, is all.”
“You have mascara under your eyes. You look like a raccoon.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“He went out for a run.”
“Where’s Trevor?”
“In his room, reading,” he says with a scowl, as if that were a contemptible thing.
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
He shrugs. “No.”
Of course not. “You want a smoothie? Some eggs and toast?”
“Sure.”
I get up and face the day. If I act like everything is normal and dandy, perhaps it can be.
I press the button on the blender and get lost in the familiar buzz it makes. For a short time, while I make breakfast for my boys, I can pretend everything is fine. I don’t hear Brian coming in. He’s sweaty, haggard looking. He still looks wrecked, like he’s just been punched in the gut. And I’m the one who clobbered him.
“You want some breakfast?” I ask softly.
He nods and takes a seat at the table. I hurry to prepare our breakfast and call out to the boys. We all sit as a family, in our usual spots. Trevor and Tristan bicker as usual, and Brian and I are quiet, enjoying the normalcy. We both don’t want to let go of this.
I’m surprised when Brian finishes off his plate. He might be a wreck but he hasn’t lost his appetite. I, on the other hand, can barely eat a thing. I’m too consumed with guilt, with worry. I walk to the counter and reach for my meds. With all that’s happened, I’d almost forgotten to take them.
The boys clear the table as they were taught. Brian lingers, and I move to the kitchen where I load the dishwasher. Once the boys are gone, Brian joins me.
“I barely slept,” he tells me.
I dry the bottom of a glass. “Me either,” I admit. “I cried all night.”
He chews at his bottom lip. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.”
I stack the plates. “Me too.”
He reaches out and grabs a hold of my wrist. “Stop… stop this.”
I glance down at the dishcloth in my hands. I set it down on the counter and give him my undivided attention.
“I realize that I’ve put you in an impossible situation,” he starts. “I mean… you find out I’ve had a daughter all this time, and never told you,” he whispers. “That I’ve cheated on you a year into our relationship.”
I don’t say a thing. I have nothing to add.
“I know you have a hard time dealing with intense situations. Every time something bad happens, you go off the rails a little. And that’s what you’ve done with Joel… I get it. That’s what you did with Anthony.”
He’s right.
Anthony. I haven’t thought much about him lately. It was so long ago, when Tristan first started school. He was a fellow parent at the boys’ school. A crime fiction writer, originally from Brazil, unlike anyone I’d ever met. Extremely charming. A hint of an accent. A lover of women. A lover of words. Not into sports or cars like most guys. There was something quite feminine about him, but he was definitely all man.
I fell for him badly, and looking back, I now realize it was because I was vulnerable. My life up to then had been all about the boys, and now I found myself an empty nester. The boys were both in school — they no longer needed Mommy. I was bored to death. I wasn’t working at the time and longed for excitement in my life, for a reason to get up in the morning. Brian had just started at his present position. He was all caught up in his work, happy, excited. And I resented this. Brian had also been unusually distant. And to top it all off, I was also stressed because Trevor was being bullied.
When I first confront
ed the bully’s father, my life changed forever. Said bully’s dad was Anthony Santos, a Casanova with a capital C, if there ever was one.
I thought I was special to him. Foolish me. I was no better than all the other bored housewives he seduced. At first, I was completely blind — perhaps I just didn’t want to see the truth. Every compliment made me blush, every kind gesture made me giddy. Now that I look back, from an objective point of view, I’m appalled with myself. I was a desperate pathetic woman. When he bought me a beautiful silk scarf and told me he’d like to tie me up with it, I told him I’d like that too.
And that’s exactly what he did. He tied me to the posts of his bed with silk scarves. His bed was smack in the middle of his ‘office’, a lofty bachelor studio. When I first stepped in, I was weak at the knees. Books lined the wall. An old antique desk housed a laptop, a radio and a stack of folders and notes. A little kitchenette was tucked in the corner, and at the center of it all — the bed. He told me he couldn’t write at home — too many distractions. He hadn’t published a book in three years. I should have seen it right then. His ‘office’ wasn’t an office at all… it was a shag pad.
I found myself naked and tied to his bed posts on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. He stood over me, shirtless, with a visible erection under his trousers and a wicked smile on his face. I wondered what Tristan and Trevor were up to right at that moment. Was Tristan coloring? Possibly sitting in story circle or napping. He hated nap time. Trevor was probably diligently practicing his lettering, reading along with his teacher. He already loved reading at that age. And Brian was at the head of his class of young students, making a difference, expanding minds.
And here I was, naked on a strange bed, legs spread wide for this gigolo. What the fuck was I doing? I panicked. I told Anthony I couldn’t do this.
When he persisted and lowered his long lean frame over mine, I squirmed. “Let me out. Let me go, please.”