by Penny Reid
“Oh! What did you get?”
“Tacos.”
I grinned. Over the last month he’d frequently brought New York takeout for dinner. I suspected he did this in an attempt to win Sam over. It worked. The first time he arrived with lasagna from Little Italy she forgave him for everything.
I further suspected he picked up dinner so often because it was informally exempt from my sharing expenses rule.
Upon my insistence, we’d decided to split everything for our new apartment down the middle—rent, utilities, groceries, everything. Strangely, I didn’t have to insist at all. Martin didn’t argue. I surmised he recognized how important my financial independence was to me; he understood I needed to prove to myself I could make a living as a musician.
I did mostly lose our argument about furniture though. He didn’t mind second-hand furniture, but he didn’t like the idea of pressed particle board and plastic. He liked sturdy hardwood antiques—real furniture made from real materials—Mission or Shaker style and time-period. Most of the items that ended up filling our living space—a turn of the century walnut desk, matching end tables, mirror, and chest, art deco-stained glass lamps, and a black leather loveseat sofa with two matching club chairs—were well outside of my price range.
But he valued genuine and he valued comfort. In the end I relented because we kept my mattress. Honestly, the only items I was attached to were my keyboard, my guitar, and my mattress.
As well, he kept his New York apartment. He owned it outright and it made financial sense as an investment. Plus, it was fun to visit the city (and my piano) on the weekends.
I was about to question Martin further about the tacos when I heard the distinct sound of another vroooom.
“You’re using your hands free, right?”
“Yes. I’m using the car’s Bluetooth.”
“Okay…just…just be careful.” I worried. I didn’t want him rushing through traffic and killing himself.
“I’ll be careful. I love you, Kaitlyn.”
“I love you, Martin. Bye.”
“See you soon,” he said instead of goodbye, and then he clicked off.
As I hung up my phone, still in a cotton candy haze of happiness, I realized that Martin never said goodbye. The entire time I’d known him, he’d never said the words to me.
Huh…
Aaaand I was smiling again.
I was still smiling when I opened my laptop and signed into Skype for the weekly call with my parents. I hadn’t yet told them about Martin and me, but I did ask George to add an item to the agenda this week entitled, Kaitlyn’s new address. I figured I’d give them the heads-up once we came to the topic. They would make note of it. We would move on.
That is not what happened.
As soon as the video image of my parents came up on my screen I could see that my mother wasn’t smiling. This was atypical now that we did our calls via Skype. Usually she was happy to see me. Today she looked concerned and preoccupied.
Furthermore, she started speaking immediately. I didn’t even get a chance to greet my father and George.
“Kaitlyn, some pictures were sent to me today from an associated press photographer of you and Martin Sandeke. And my office received calls from several newspapers asking about the status of your relationship.”
My attention drifted to my dad. He looked grim, like he’d just recently argued with my mother. They didn’t argue often, so I could tell when they did because he always looked grim afterward.
“Uhhh…” I gathered a steadying breath and said the first thing that came into my head. “Do you want to skip forward on the agenda?”
“The agenda?”
“Item number seven, my new address.”
My father’s eyes lifted, he was now looking at my image on the computer screen with curiosity. George was taking notes, appearing neutral as usual. My mother was obviously confused and a little stunned.
“What does your new address have to do with…?” I could see she’d answered her own question before she’d finished asking it.
I gave her a moment to absorb reality, my eyes flickering again to my dad. He was giving me a small smile.
“Oh, Kaitlyn.” My mother shook her head, bringing my attention back to her. She looked concerned. “You didn’t even consult with us about this.”
I stared at her for a long moment, unsure how to respond, especially since old Kaitlyn and new Kaitlyn had two completely different instinctual reactions to her statement.
Old Kaitlyn was mortified I’d disappointed my mother.
New Kaitlyn was pissed.
New Kaitlyn won, though, and I felt myself flush with mortification and discomfort. “Mom, why would I consult with you on where I live?”
“Not where you live, it’s with whom you live. Your decisions affect more than just yourself.”
“That’s right. They affect Martin and me.” I started to sweat.
“Yes. They do affect you. Martin’s father isn’t likely to let the fact that his son absconded with one hundred twenty million dollars go. Eventually he’s going to try to make Martin’s life very difficult and you will be caught in the middle.”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have complete faith in Martin that he’ll be able to deal with his father.”
“But that’s not the only factor. Kaitlyn, you must see,” she leaned forward in her chair, her voice held a note of pleading, “my opponents will insinuate that you and Martin have been together this whole time. All the denials I made back in the spring will ring false.”
“And I’m sure you have a staff that can help you handle these kinds of issues.”
My mother sighed. It was not a pleased sigh. “Are you being purposefully obtuse?”
“No. Are you?” I said through clenched teeth.
She stared at me. Or rather, her face on the screen stared at me, and I couldn’t tell if she actually saw me or saw a problem to be solved.
After staring for a good while, during which I refused to look away, she shifted in her seat, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “I am curious, how is it that—”
“Nope.” I cut her off, feeling a spike of bravery paired with my spike of irritation. “No. You can be curious, but I’m not answering any of your questions. This is not a senate committee meeting and I am not under oath. I am an adult, as you like to remind me, capable of making my own decisions. As such, the identity of my boyfriend is my prerogative, who I live with and who I decide to love is my choice. I love Martin. What you do for a living is your prerogative. If your job has a problem with who I love, then maybe you should stand up and tell your job to mind its own business.”
I could see my dad off to the left. He smirked then tried to cover it by rolling his lips between his teeth. When that was ineffective he hid his smile behind his hand.
George, as always, looked bored while taking notes. I could just imagine reading the meeting minutes later…
My mother’s calm exterior fractured a little. She appeared to be frustrated, she also appeared to be reluctantly proud. Even so, she surprised the hiccup out of me when she finally said with another sigh. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Clarify what you mean by okay.”
“Okay, your points are valid ones. I cede that you are an adult and your decisions are your own. I apologize. I will issue a press release that who my adult daughter dates is no one’s business but hers and has no bearing on my career.”
“So, you’re going to point out the obvious.”
My dad chuckled like he couldn’t help himself and shook his head.
To my mother’s credit, she cracked a smile. “Yes. I’m going to point out the obvious. And I’m also going to redouble my efforts to respect your boundaries. But if Denver Sandeke ever…I mean…I hope you know that I…that—”
I took pity on her. “Mom, it’s okay. I promise I’m not going to do anything— on purpose at least—that might clo
ud or take away from the work you’re trying to do. You do good work.”
“But again, Kaitlyn, Denver Sandeke is not to be underestimated.”
“Yes. I agree. I promise I will let you know if Denver Sandeke ever shows his chinless face. But I have a life to live.”
“And I want you to live it.” Her eyes were full of uncharacteristic emotion and she appeared to be truly repentant. “We’ve made progress, you and I. And I don’t want anything to jeopardize that progress.”
“Me either.” I nodded, giving her a warm smile, impressed with myself that I managed to keep my outward cool. I exhaled my relief, feeling like I’d just run a mile.
“Good.”
“Good.”
And it was. It was good. We were figuring this out, every call and interaction forging a new path, and I was immeasurably thankful she was just as invested as I was in making this work.
George eventually cleared his throat and said in a very George-esque way, “So, back to the agenda.”
I was granted a reprieve to calm down. We restarted at the top of the agenda and covered various and sundry topics like where they were vacationing for summer recess, whether I would be home for spring break, and thank-you cards I needed to write to family members for Christmas gifts. My aunt Donna on my dad’s side always became a bit twitchy if I didn’t write a thank-you note.
Then we arrived at agenda topic number four. I tried not to grimace.
“Have you made a decision about performing in May? At the fundraiser and the benefit concert?” George prompted, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses typically rested.
“No.” I shook my head. “How soon do you need to know?”
I hadn’t decided. On one hand I was warming to the idea of pushing myself out of my comfort zone. The benefit for Children’s Charities in particular sounded like it would be awesome. I liked that there would be kids there and I could compose something specifically for them.
On the other hand…
My mother leaned forward again, her tone was infinitely patient. “I wish you would do it. I think you’d really enjoy yourself.”
I glanced at my dad and he spoke up as well. “Katy, you’re amazing. It’s important to share your talents. I agree with your mom.”
“I still need some time.” I frowned at them both.
My mother sighed, again frustrated. “You know we just want what’s best for you. And I can’t believe that you’re happy serving coffee and playing weddings every weekend in that little band.”
I felt my defenses raise. “Believe it. I’m happy. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I don’t need to be important—”
“You are important—”
“You know what I mean. I don’t need to be notable. I love playing and composing music. And that’s enough for me.”
My dad placed his hand on my mother’s arm and shook his head, then turned his attention back to me. “Just think about it. It’s hard as your parents to see you with this remarkable talent, capable of great things, and not sharing it with the world or getting the attention you deserve.”
I gave my father a hard look. When I flew home for Thanksgiving I’d played him some of my compositions. He couldn’t have been more proud and excited. I figured that was only because he was my dad, he’d always been equivalent levels of proud no matter what I did—whether it be a finger painting or defrosting chicken.
“Just think about it,” George chimed in. I was surprised to see him also giving me a pleading look.
“I said I would. I’m thinking about it. I just need some more time.”
“We need to know by March first.” George refocused his attention back to his notes and I was relieved the conversation moved on to the next topic.
The rest of the call was uneventful and we signed off with sincere I love yous and I’ll see you next week. Although my father threw in at the very end, “I might have a business trip at the end of February in New England. Maybe I can take you and Martin out to dinner? Meet this boy who has captured your heart?”
I only managed to stutter and nod before the screen went blank. My dad was a sneak. Of course he tossed it out there like an afterthought. As far as he was concerned the issue was settled. He would meet Martin at the end of February.
I stared at my monitor and realized I was grinning. I was excited about the prospect. I couldn’t wait for them to meet. I also wanted Martin and my mother to get along. They’d started out on the wrong foot and I knew—once they grew accustomed to each other—they’d probably hit it off.
The sound of Martin clearing his throat pulled me out of my thoughts. I glanced over my shoulder and found him standing in the doorway to the bedroom—our bedroom—a small smile lighting his face.
“Your dad is coming at the end of the month?” he asked, looking pleased peppered with petrified.
I jumped up from my place at the desk, but then meandered to him, liking how he looked after a day in his corner office—tie gone, jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“How long were you listening at the door?” I asked as I ogled.
Martin reached for me, wrapped his arm around my waist, his grin growing as he admitted, “Long enough to hear you call me your boyfriend and tell your parents we’re living together.”
“Oh, so you’ve been prowling like a creepy lurker the whole time?”
“Yes…” He paused, and his face grew surprisingly solemn. “You should know, you’re completely safe. My father isn’t going to come after me. He’s cut me off, but he won’t do anything else.”
“Why not? You’ve told me at least a dozen times how wicked he is. What would keep him from seeking revenge?”
“Because I had ways to collect information while I lived in his house. Bribing senators and corporate corruption aren’t the worst of his sins.”
My eyes widened as they moved between his. “Do I want to know?”
“No.”
“So…you’re blackmailing him?”
“Not actively. Let’s just say he has incentive to leave us alone.”
I tried not to smile. I tried and failed. “And you’re not going to use this incentive for revenge?”
“Nope.”
I narrowed my eyes on him and gave into the urge to say, “I’m really proud of you.”
Martin grinned at me and stood a little taller, like I’d pinned a badge of awesome on his chest. We shared a stare of mutual admiration.
Then his gaze softened and sobered, and he said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For choosing me. With your parents just now, thank you for choosing us.”
My heart did a funny little dance in my chest—both happy and sad—and I lifted my hands to his face. His was a man’s face, his jaw stubbly and rough. I loved my man’s face. I lifted to my tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss, and he tasted like coffee and mint gum.
Then I gently rubbed my nose against his before I leaned away. “You know I love you. But it was also the right thing to do. ”
He smiled again. “And Kaitlyn Parker always does the right thing.”
“Not always. For example, I’ve fiendishly hidden all of your clothes.”
He lifted a single eyebrow in obvious delighted surprise. “Have you?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not that big of an apartment, I’m sure I could find them.”
“Who said they’re in this apartment?” I gave him a meaningful look.
The truth was, they were in the apartment. I’d hidden his boxes of clothes in the front closet.
His smile turned into a devilish grin, baring his wonderfully sharp teeth. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
His hands smoothed down my back, into my cotton yoga pants and underwear, gripping my bare bottom. “Should I hide your clothes?”
“No need. I plan to be naked for the next twelve hours.”
He groaned. His mouth crashed down on mine, and he walked me backwa
rd toward the bathroom, his hands now turning greedy and searching. How we made it successfully into the tiled room was a miracle, especially since we were doing the clumsy de-panting dance on the way. Martin whipped off my top and found I was braless. This elicited a pleased growl as he pressed me against the sink. Meanwhile I worked on the buttons of his shirt.
Stupid business shirt with all the buttons.
We were in a frenzy, our hands covetous as our mouths mated. He slipped his fingers into the front of my underwear, teasing me but not touching where I needed.
I tilted my hips forward, trying to force him to ease my suffering.
“Touch me, Martin. Please.”
His head bent and he captured my breast with his mouth, drawing tight circles around the center with his tongue.
I felt his hot breath against the wet spot he’d created when he answered, “First the shower. Then the kitchen table. Maybe the desk.”
“What…what are you talking about?” I arched against him, my hands sliding down to his boxer briefs and stroking him through the fabric.
“All the places we’re going to make love tonight.”
A surprised laugh tumbled from my lips followed by a rough intake of breath as he parted me with his skilled fingers, rubbing my center.
“I thought…” I had to moan before I could continue; he was making me brainless. “I thought you wanted to start with our mattress.”
“We’ve done that, thanks to your trickery,” he responded darkly, referencing the three times I’d seduced him over the past month. Martin withdrew his hand just long enough to discard his shorts and reach into the shower to start the hot water. “I want to make memories on all the other surfaces.”
I smiled, through my haze of love and lust for my Martin, and teased, “Starting with the shower?”
His eyes cut to mine as steam rolled out of the stall, his hands back on my body, peeling away my underwear. His expression and his voice were deadly serious as he said, “Yes. Because I have been thinking about it since Christmas and I need to take you against the wall while your perfect tits and perfect body are slippery and wet, sliding against me.”
A flush of feral desire pooled in my belly, making my body feel tender and heavy. His words did that to me; his dirty talk made me feel wanton and bold.