by L. B. Dunbar
Her voice softens. “History, right?”
I twist to look at her. Her memory is impeccable, and something pinches in my chest. She knew I was taking classes part time but talking about my studies was the last thing on my mind when Lily was near me. It all fell to shit around the time we broke apart.
“Tell me more. Which history?”
“American, I guess. I like the progress we’ve made, but we have so much more to learn.”
“Yes, we do,” she teases. “What about fatherhood? Was that on your list?”
I close my eyes, not really wanting to discuss Chopper with her. Fatherhood wasn’t ever officially on or off a list. It certainly wasn’t something I thought would happen in the manner in which it did. I can’t explain to her how I don’t regret him. I regret that night. The one when my son was conceived. Stupid, weak, drunken decision.
“I always knew I’d be a father, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I knew I’d want kids, but…” My voice drifts. But not in the way I did. I twist at the neck to look at her, expecting to lose her in the memory, but she isn’t judging me. She’s smiling weakly, looking down at me with something in her eyes. Another form of longing. She doesn’t have any children.
“He’s a great kid.” I can’t deny him even when he is a pain in the ass. This conversation makes me nervous, so I switch the tide. “What about you? What was on your bucket list?”
She waves dismissively. “Oh, my list is fulfilled. The bakery was the only thing on it.”
I raise a brow in question. That’s it? She mentioned love, marriage and babies, but I think better of digging deeper into why she doesn’t have those things. I also hate to notice I’m not on her list. Then again, why would I be a number in her life plan? I scratched myself off it.
The more I think about this, the more I don’t like the cop-out I’m giving myself.
Fucking win her back, my heart knocks on my inner chest. I notice the rain is a soft drizzle behind her. The sky lightens, and the sun breaks for a moment. I sit upright, startling her when I reach for my shorts. I stand quickly and hold out a hand for her.
“Trust me,” I say. Her blue eyes peer up at me, and a small grin curls her lips. Her hand slips into mine, and I tug her up, then lead her outside.
“What are you doing?” She giggles as our bare feet hit the damp wooden planks. A light rain kisses our skin as the sun seems to hover over only our section of the beach. A sun-shower of sorts.
“I’m dancing in the rain with you.” I wrap an arm around her lower back and link my other hand with hers. Holding our joined fingers pressed between our chests, I sway at the hips, encouraging her to follow me.
“Dancing in the rain.” Her voice lowers as she parrots me, but her face fills with sunshine. A wide smile graces her face as she tips her head back, letting the feathery drops caress her cheeks. Then her head lowers, and her eyes widen as she repeats on a whisper, “Dancing in the rain.”
Check one of the things she thought she’d do with another man. Sorry, Brad. He didn’t deserve her, and I’m glad it never happened with him. I want to be her first at something.
In my head, I make my first bucket list. She’s the only item on it.
16
Dining in
[Brut]
After three rounds of dancing, the sky darkens and opens up again. Lily squeals as we take the few steps back into the house. She’s drenched, and my wet T-shirt serves as a second skin. Damn, I like her in my clothes.
“I think I need a shower,” Lily says, and my lips curl.
“I’ll join you.”
Our time spent under warmer water is another game of discovery. We don’t have sex again, but we touch, caress, and massage, and when I can’t take it anymore, we simultaneously give each other hand jobs. Other than the handiwork I give myself, I haven’t had one like this since Lily gave them to me when she was nineteen. Just thinking of her eager fingers back then—hastily unbuckling my belt and slipping her fingers into my pants—makes me shake my head. Why did I ever hold her off?
I didn’t want to ruin her.
Not only was she younger than me, but I always felt as if I would not get where I wanted. I worked hard, but I didn’t want to make any commitments until I figured things out. The shop. School. I wanted more from life, but life asked more of me. When I made one futile mistake, I threw myself off course, and I always look back on that night as a sign—Lily was not meant to be mine.
However, she’s with me now.
Patting dry, she says, “I’ll meet you downstairs.” We showered in my room, which is nearly identical to hers, but her clothes remain in her bedroom. When she walks away, I have the strangest sense of loss. You’re being ridiculous, man. It will only ten minutes. Fifteen tops.
Downstairs, I flip on the television while I wait for her on the couch. The Dodgers are playing, and I’m a huge fan. Wonder if Lily would like to attend a game with me? That’s making plans, I remind myself, and we aren’t allowed to go there, but watching the game makes me think of Tommy Carrigan’s new wife, Edie. I met her at a small dinner to celebrate Hank and Midge’s wedding. She told me her son plays in the minor leagues in the Midwest, and he’s hoping to be called up someday. Lily already knows Midge from various occasions, including the cupcakes served at the dinner. Midge told Lily about this place. Does she also know Edie? Are they all friends? Would we all hang out together when Lily and I return? All questions lead to thoughts of the future, and suddenly, a self-imposed time limit on our sexcation makes me a little nauseous. I don’t really want us to end.
My ankle rests over a knee, and my foot shakes with anticipation. What’s taking so long? I wonder until I hear her behind me in the kitchen. I twist on the couch and watch her. My breath hitches for the millionth time at her beauty. She’s so natural. A smattering of freckles covers her cheeks from her fresh suntan. Her semi-wet hair kinks and curls. Her eyes shift up from whatever she’s doing, and she catches me observing her. I’m disappointed she hasn’t walked over to join me on the couch.
“I’ve missed you.” My voice is quiet, but the words carry to her, and I notice her blue eyes sparkle with my comment.
“It’s only been twelve minutes,” she teases, evidently misunderstanding me.
“No, Lil. I’ve missed you,” I repeat, willing her to interpret my meaning. It’s not the twelve minutes, though I appreciate her exactness. It’s the years we’ve been separated. It’s the time between then and now.
She doesn’t speak, her lip twitching at the corner as though she’s forcing the smile to remain in place. My heart drops as I realize I’ve said too much. Don’t push, I remind myself, wanting to kick myself because it’s clear she doesn’t feel the same way. Why would she have missed me? I made it impossible for that to happen.
“Anyway…are you hungry?” I ask when she still doesn’t respond, continuing to stare back at me from too far away. “I could order something for us?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make us something.” Her eyes drift down to her hands on the island. I sense something’s up, but I can’t put my finger on what it could be. We had a great afternoon, but her quiet unsettles me.
“Want help?” I offer, wanting her to ask me to join her. I’m practically willing her to invite me to the kitchen.
“Can you cook dinner, too?” One eyebrow lifts as she jests, the edge to her forced smile softening.
“Single father, remember?”
“Yes, but I thought breakfast was your specialty.” Another huff of air mixed with the humor, and I think we’ve returned to normal. I tell myself my concerns at her distance are nothing. “Why don’t you just sit there a minute? Watch the game.”
People don’t typically offer this suggestion. I’ve found over the years that no sooner do I sit to watch a baseball game does someone need me: Pop, my son, Hank. It’s foreign for me to just sit, but I nod and ask, “Are you sure?” before twisting back to face the television.
Even though my
eyes focus on the game, I’m listening to her behind me instead. Metal clangs against metal as she removes the pans from the drawer. Cabinets open and close. The fridge does the same. I hear water pour into a pot, and something grainy follows. Next comes a sizzle in a pan. I listen with intent—is this what it would sound like if she were in my home? My gut twists at all I’ve missed and all I don’t have.
When I hear a mixer whirl to life, I spin to watch her instead of baseball. Lily is a natural in the kitchen. The look on her face says she’s in her element. It’s like me working on cars. I concentrate. I’m producing something.
The mixer wheezes to a stop, and she catches me observing her again.
“I promised I wouldn’t do it, but I checked in with Ester. She works for me.” Something in her voice causes my worry from moments ago to return.
“I know,” I admit, and Lily blinks.
“You do?” Her response seems derailed from her initial intention.
“I came into the bakery about a month ago. You weren’t there.” Obviously, I think, and suddenly, I’m nervous to admit I went to her shop in hopes to see her.
“What were you doing there?”
“Buying cupcakes, duh.”
Her responding snort along with a tilt of her head wordlessly questions me.
“Hank told me all about your place. When Chopper admitted he’d been there, too, I guess I was curious. Ester introduced herself, and when I told her to tell you Brut said hello, she looked like she wanted to stab me with a cake knife.”
Lily laughs. “That sounds like Ester.”
“Seems she’s heard of me, perhaps?”
Lily’s face pinks, and she swipes her hair back, tucking it behind one ear. “Maybe.”
I stand, circle the couch, and stop opposite her at the island. “What did you tell her?”
Lily shrugs, noncommittal, as she chews the corner of her lip. My shoulders fall. It hasn’t been good.
“So what did Ester say? How’s business?”
Something in the way Lily’s lips twist tells me business might not be what they discussed. I was the topic of their conversation, and it wasn’t good again.
“It’s fine,” she snaps, and her tone solidifies my fear. Nope. Not good. At. All.
“Whatcha making?” I decide to switch subjects. I don’t want anything to spoil how great this day has been for me, so I’ll play the ignorant card and let things slide for the moment. The combination of grains and vegetables in the pan reminds me of the dish she enjoyed two nights ago when I came in from the bar.
“You’re a pretty healthy eater,” I comment, not scoffing at the food, but I typically need a bit more than what she’s making. Not to mention there’s no meat. “Are you a vegetarian?”
“No. I just watch what I eat. I bake cupcakes for a living, so if I don’t eat right, I’ll weigh three hundred pounds.”
I can’t even imagine Lily on the heavy side, but I do envision a bump on her belly. She’d be beautiful pregnant.
“You’re making cupcakes again?” My question expresses my concern as my eyes drift to the hand mixer. She told me she bakes when she’s anxious. Did something make her nervous? Her discussion with Ester perhaps?
“I don’t typically bake day-old batter, preferring to make everything fresh and from scratch the day of baking, but sometimes, we have too much. I bake the extra and give it to a homeless shelter.”
The comment reminds me her bakery isn’t in the best neighborhood. On top of that, I don’t even know where she lives. Hopefully not near her shop.
“You’re a good person, Lily.” Her face lights up as pink grows slowly on her cheeks. “But your place isn’t in the safest neighborhood.”
Lily turns her back to pop the cupcakes in the oven. She’s multitasking, and once again, I see how the kitchen is her happy place. There’s a rhythm to how she moves.
“It’s all I could afford. Besides, the kitchen was more important than the location. I just needed a place to bake other than my original tiny apartment.”
“Where do you live, Lil?” Her lips twists when she turns back to face me, keeping them locked tight. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.” Admittedly, I’m crushed.
“It’s not that. It’s just…I thought you didn’t want any future stuff, so you probably shouldn’t know where I live.” My head flinches back, startled by her comment.
“Is that what you want? To keep it a secret?” We agreed not to talk of the future, but knowing her address isn’t a commitment. Chewing on her lip, she avoids my eyes as she thinks.
“I already know where you work,” I remind her. She nods slowly, working the corner of her mouth before she speaks. “I live above the bakery.”
“What?!” Maybe this is why she didn’t want to tell me where she lives. She knew how I’d react. “Lily, that can’t be safe.”
“It’s fine.”
“Why the hell do you live there?”
“Because it came with the shop.”
“Are you struggling? Can’t you afford to live somewhere else?” The questions blurt out a bit insensitively. Her business isn’t my business, but I don’t like her arrangement. Her cupcakes are delicious, and when I visited, the shop was busy for an evening. Ester was explaining to another customer about some big order she was working on in the back. Her bakery has to be financially sound.
Lily’s hands pause from stirring vegetables. “No, Brut. I’m just frugal.” Her sharp tone makes me chuckle at the same time as it startles me. I walk around the island and pin her from behind, stretching out my arms to cage her in.
“Okay, Lily pad,” I tease, before softening my tone. “What did I say?”
She ignores me at first but finally speaks. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Brut.”
“I know that. I’m not suggesting you aren’t competent. It’s just…I care about you, Lil. I want you to be safe.” I press a kiss to her shoulder to emphasize my concern.
“Why…?” Her mouth remains open a second before she clamps her lips closed and shifts directions. “I’ve been on my own for a while now. I think I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can.”
I don’t doubt she can take care of herself, but I’m worried about her. I want to take care of her. She doesn’t seem appeased by my words, though, so I dismiss the conversation. I don’t want to fight with her, and whatever has her on edge, I’m ignoring it as well. I want us back to where we were an hour ago. My chin rests on her shoulder, and I peer down at the counter to find a mixing bowl filled with a creamy substance.
“This place is so well stocked.”
“Oh, most of these ingredients I bought, and I always travel with cupcake tins,” she says, flipping the veggies into the air and catching them back in the pan.
“Why?”
“Because I never know when I might be inspired or need the stress relief. In this case, I wanted to test out this new recipe.”
“Are you stressed out?” I mumble the question into her neck, my heart rate slowly rising.
“I don’t know what to think.” Her tone remains low, hesitant, as if something weighs on her mind.
“Don’t think.” I press into her skin. “Not yet.” Please, I beg. Not yet.
She nods, and I wrap an arm around her waist while she finishes cooking our dinner. Holding her against me, I’m afraid to let go. Afraid of ever letting her go again.
17
Close call
[Lily]
I shouldn’t have called Ester. For the first time ever, I didn’t want to check on my business. I just wanted to be, like Brut said. However, my head overruled my heart, and questions bombarded me the second I went to my room alone to dress. Pajama day was obviously over, so I pulled on jean shorts, a tank, and a plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves. I wasn’t going to go for my phone, but the next thing I knew, I had it in my hand.
“How’s the vacay, boss lady?” Ester asked without a formal greeting.
&nb
sp; “Good. It’s really a great house. Nice setup.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, an instant shift from pleasantry to mother bear.
“Nothing.” My voice squeaked, and I scrubbed at my head. I didn’t know what to say next. Ester waited me out, knowing I couldn’t take the silence. “Something’s happened.”
“What?” Her voice returned to playful inquiry, as if hoping for juicy gossip. Oh, this will be juicy all right.
“So, it turns out Brut Paige is here.”
“What? In the area? What are the odds?”
“Umm…no. As in literally staying at this house. The same house as me.”
“What?!” Ester bellowed. “How did that happen?”
I scratched at my forehead, a nervous giggle on the tip of my lips. “You know, I’m not exactly certain.”
“Huh,” Ester huffed.
“Yep.”
“So…”
“So?” The conversation wasn’t going anywhere, and I should have hung up. Instead, I hung on.
“Okay, Lily. I’ll spell it out. What the hell is going on down there?”
“I don’t know.” I fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. My voice lowered as that is the question I’ve intermittently asked myself. What are we doing?
“Oh my God. Did you sleep with him?” Here’s the thing about Ester. She has an uncanny way of reading people, and she’s pretty direct. I closed my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. My silence answered her question.
“Brut, huh? How do you feel about this? I mean, I bet it felt good, but I mean how do you feel feel?”
“Yeah, Brut,” I answered dreamily with monosyllables because I couldn’t form coherent answers.
“That good, huh?”
“So good.” I exhaled. I haven’t felt this physically alive in a long while. My skin practically tingled from his touch. My body hummed for him. But my heart? My heart knocked inside my chest, asking, What are you doing? This is the man who broke your heart. He slept with your sister. He had a baby with her. He never looked at you again.