Keep Happy

by A. C. Bextor

  The mirror told me what I didn’t need confirmed—I looked happy.

  For the first time since Mason left this sleepy, nowhere place, there was nothing but selfish elation.

  Of course, I’d been overjoyed the day each of my children were born. But this happiness was different.

  For once, in a very long time, this happiness was mine. Just as I told him the truth when I got here. Mason had been mine, long before my life’s choices led me to where I am.

  Being with him, I’d been reminded of the person I used to be.

  With Mason, I’m not a Katherine Dyer, an obedient wife and caring mother.

  I’m Katie Morris—a grown, carefree woman—having truly tasted life as an adult for the first time. A fun, smart, free spirit. As selfish and ridiculous as the notion may seem to others, I’m thankful for the reminder.

  I’ve missed me.

  As I stood in his room, watching him sleep, I took time to appreciate how beautiful, natural even, sleeping next to Mason had been.

  How he’d held me when he slept, so tightly in his hold, as if he was afraid I’d be gone when he woke.

  How when I’d manage so much as an inch of space between us, his arm would reach out in aimless search before hooking his hand around my waist, pulling me back in the spot where he felt I belonged—as close to him as I could be.

  A place I decided years ago I wanted to be.

  Mason and I need to have the tainted conversation, which keeps our adulterous affair as honest as one can be. I don’t know what comes after my marriage ends. With the guise of happy all but torn away from the girls, my priority stays on them.

  “Something’s on your mind, baby,” Mason observes. “Talk to me.”

  He’s sitting across the table, bare chested and sleepy-eyed. His hair is disheveled and his jaw has three days’ growth. But his contemplation is knowing.

  Clearing my throat, I set my coffee cup down.

  “Last night,” he starts, his voice coarse. “I won’t—”

  “Last night was beautiful,” I give, not wanting our time together marred with empty excuses or apologies. “So beautiful.”

  “Beautiful isn’t enough,” he returns, locking his gaze with mine and demanding an answer to his unasked question.

  Am I staying?

  “No,” I relay the truth. “Beautiful isn’t enough.”

  “You’re not stayin’ with me,” he quietly surmises.

  Shaking my head, my eyes sting with tears I manage to beat back. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”

  I’ve thought about it. Thousands of times over the rocky years in my marriage, in fact. I imagined picking up the girls from school and going in search for him.

  I’ve wondered what a life with Mason would bring for not only me, but them.

  Somewhere I’ve always known if given the chance to know Mason as I do, Averie would adore him. And she does.

  I also always knew, with the guarded walls she so carefully erected around her, Amelia would be a challenge. But eventually, I’d hope she’d see I was happy and come to be that for me.

  “You’re thinking about Averie and Amelia,” he guesses. “As you should be.”

  “Them, of course. But—”

  “I can’t promise I’d be worth it,” he tells me, reaching over the table and placing only the tips of my fingers in his palm. “Breaking them from Thomas.”

  I sit back and give Mason what I realized a long time ago. “Thomas broke all of us when he slept with Grace the first time.”

  “I know that. Fuck, I always knew,” he agrees. “But you being who you are, it took longer to get there.”

  “Being who I am?”

  “Single-minded. Stubborn. Hard-headed…”

  “Maybe you should stop talking.”

  Back to subject, Mason says, “You loved me once.”

  “I still do,” I assure.

  His hand squeezes mine as he brings his coffee to his lips. I adjust in my chair, shifting to enjoy the view of him in a way I never have. His arms thick, the cords of his neck strained, the veins in his hands vast, and the broad chest I slept against last night hard.

  Finally, all of this is mine for the taking, yet somehow I don’t know where to start.

  “So, what now?” I question.

  Mason smiles, twisted and cruel. “I’d like to date you,” he tells me.

  Never expecting this solution, I laugh. “You’d like to date me?”

  Mason’s expression is serious. He searches my eyes and my smile falls.

  “I’m going to take you out. Hold your hand across the table. I’ll pay for your dinner. Then I’m going to drive you home. I’m going to kiss you goodnight, then you’re going to agree to let me do that all again.”

  “You want to date me,” I whisper to myself.

  To be honest, I’m surprised. I thought being as he’s always been, Mason would be set to move me in his home before the divorce had been filed. I figured he’d have the girls nestled in their own rooms, doing this with or without their consent.

  “I’m not sure I should say yes,” I tease. “You’re so much older than me. And don’t date, remember?”

  Mason relaxes. Another smile, this one sinister. “You don’t want to date, fine. I’ll drive us to an open field. I’ll park, lay you out in the back. Then I’ll give you beer and fuck you ‘til you ache. And this time we’ll do it in daylight, so I don’t miss the look on your face when I come inside you.”

  That sounds perfect.

  “You don’t have a truck,” I prompt.

  Mason misses nothing. He leans across the small table until he’s so close I smell the soap he used in the shower last night.

  “Finish your coffee, baby,” he requests. “For now, it’ll be fun to improvise.”

  AS BEST WE COULD, THOMAS and I did right by the girls in way of explanation and reassurance.

  He’d called this evening after he put a deposit down on an apartment near his office. We agreed once that was done, we’d all go to dinner as a broken but healing family.

  While Thomas and I explained the change that would be coming, there was no resentment toward the other. No cold shoulders to conceal. No bitterness to hide. Nothing that used to be.

  Amelia, being sensitive and more susceptible to hurt, was surprisingly in agreement. She didn’t speak to her father, or me, but made general statements indicating she understood this was for the best.

  Averie’s reaction was a surprise. Once Thomas spoke for us both, summarizing all that needed said, our youngest daughter stood from her seat. She was silent as she traded glances between her father and me. When we’d finished, tears sprang to her eyes. In a semi-crowded restaurant, she rounded the table with hurried steps into her father’s awaiting arms.

  It was then I knew we were going to be okay. And I let a few tears fall.

  “So, Dad’s apartment place has a pool?” Averie questions, sitting at the kitchen table with her sister at her side.

  Averie’s eyes are still red, the remnants of her tears still visible. But other than a quick burst of tears on the way home, she seemed back to her old self.

  Amelia appears stoic, maybe in disbelief.

  “And he said it has a gym?” she questions further. “With a tanning bed?”

  “Yes, to all,” I reply, setting down the glass of water Amelia requested and chocolate milk Averie had. “But you’re not tanning.”

  “Dad didn’t look sad,” Averie notes, changing subject. “I mean, he looked sad, but he didn’t look sad.”

  “Your father and I love you both very much.”

  “You don’t look sad either. Are you?”

  “Yes, honey,” I assure. “But now that Dad and I see you’re both okay, then he and I will be okay.”

  “But I don’t really understand. You and Dad said you still love each other, but you’re getting a divorce.”

  “For the tenth time, Averie…” Amelia affirms. “They love each other because of us. They aren
’t in love.”

  Amelia understood what was discussed this evening. I’m grateful she listened, even though at times during dinner it appeared she had stopped.

  “So?” Averie counters. “There’s a girl in my class and she says her parents have separate rooms.”

  “Mom,” Amelia huffs. “I have homework. Can I go to my room?”

  Nodding, I reach over the table to grab the top of her hand. Amelia flips hers, palm up, to take mine.

  “If this was because I said what I said at Grandpa’s…” she starts, tears welling in her eyes. “School sucked. The other girls…”

  “Are those witches still being snarly Smurfs?” Averie stresses, her tone as lethal as I’ve ever heard. “’Cause we can take ‘em down,” she swears.

  Amelia smiles. Her first in many days. She shakes her head, releases my hand, and stands.

  As she scoots in her chair, she looks to her sister and says, “I’m good now. But thanks. Good to know you’re ready to throw down.”

  Averie, being as rambunctious as she can be, flexes her arms about her head. “You got the brains, I got the brawn.”

  “I’ll be here,” I tell Amelia, trying not to laugh at Averie. I don’t want this moment jaded in false humor. “If you need me.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’m okay,” she assures.

  As Amelia walks away, Averie stares after her. “She’s being nice to me,” she murmurs. “It’s kind of scary.”

  Standing myself, I grab Amelia’s empty glass. “Give her time, honey. She’ll be back to herself soon.”

  “Mom?” Averie calls and I turn. Her expression has lost its luster, her jovial play gone.

  “Averie?”

  “Does this mean you and Dad are going to start dating other people?”

  “What?”

  “Jordan’s mom is online,” she tells me, “like a lot.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “And she’s gone all the time.”

  “Averie,” I try.

  “I’m not sayin’ online dating is the way to go, but I bet you could get a lotta guys that way.”

  Oh, my daughter.

  “Have you finished your homework?”

  Averie scrunches her nose but stands. With nothing for it, she smiles. “I bet Cole has an online dating profile.”

  Shit.

  “Homework,” I assert.

  “Just sayin’. Bet he does.”

  “Averie Marie, not now.”

  “Bet Mr. Hensen from school has one too. And, Mom, I know he’s our teacher, but all the girls talk about him.”

  Oh, dear God. Please, someone make her stop talking.

  As she comes to my side, she smiles wide and hands me her glass.

  “I’ll see what I can do for you first. Dad’s up next.”

  Christ. I was so worried the girls wouldn’t handle the news of the divorce as easily as they did.

  My concern has shifted to now wondering how much time will be spent with the girls worrying about their parents being alone.

  “Love you, Mom,” she utters, walking out of the kitchen.

  Whispering to the window as I look out to our backyard, I answer back, “I love you so much more.”

  “I NEVER SAID YOU LOVED it. I just said you enjoyed it,” I tease, pushing my heel against Mason’s.

  We’re lying on opposite ends of his couch, stretched out watching a movie. Our legs and feet have been tangled together for hours.

  After talking to Amelia and Averie, listening to their concerns as well as their hopes for what’s to come, I waited until they were off to school then called Mason.

  He took the day off. I rushed over. We didn’t have sex as I thought we would. Instead Mason wanted to talk, to spend time getting to know each other again.

  We did talk, for a while. We talked about his job, how it’s mostly safe. We talked about the girls, how they’re doing in school. We talked about Thomas, about how our divorce discussions are easier to decipher than our marriage ever was. We talked about giving my family time to heal, if that takes a day, a week, or year.

  But soon talking lead to touching. Touching led to making out. Making out was heading toward the bedroom. I would’ve gone. Mason stopped us, deciding we wouldn’t.

  This did not make me happy. You don’t give a cat a ball of yarn only to lose sight of it on the first unravel.

  I suggested we sit on his large leather couch and watch a movie together.

  I was skeptical at how easily the big brute agreed to watch Steel Magnolias.

  I made him promise to stay quiet and keep an open mind. He made me promise him I wouldn’t cry.

  He kept to his word.

  I couldn’t.

  I belted out a ridiculous sob when M’Lynn Eatenton, standing in funeral clothes and surrounded by close friends, railed on about life being unfair after losing her only daughter. I always cry at that scene because I understand her sorrow of frustration and loss.

  “I never said I fuckin’ enjoyed it. I said I finished it,” Mason hisses back.

  Lies.

  Pushing this, he minds, “I’d watch a movie with you and a young Julia Roberts together, though. And I’d enjoy it a fuck of a lot more than watchin’ her die like she did.”

  No, he did not just say that.

  “A young Julia Roberts?” I snap, rolling up from the couch halfway to direct my question. “What’s wrong with her at the age she is now?”

  “Don’t get pissy,” he remarks. “I’m sayin’ at that age…” He points to the now muted television screen which is running credits to finish with, “She was hot.”

  “At that age?” I shriek. “Oh, my God!”

  Rolling his eyes, Mason lies on his back and looks to the ceiling. “Here we go.”

  “Oh, fuck that,” I slip, rolling the curse word out with no chance to cover it.

  Terrifying silence ensues before a low reverberating growl breaks from Mason’s chest. I don’t have to be next to him to feel it. The air around him tenses, closing our distance on its own.

  Oh no.

  “What’d you just say?” he clips, his eyes narrowed and jaw ticking.

  Shit.

  Playing off, I reply, “I’m just saying what you said was rude. Women age, Mason. We grow old. We can’t do anything to stop it.”

  Sitting up, Mason holds his weight to his hands behind him. He’s staring blankly in my direction as if he’s just seen a ghost. This goes on long enough I almost twist my neck to check beyond my left shoulder for Casper come to life.

  “That’s not even close to what I’m talkin’ about and you know it. What else did you say?”

  Shit. Damn.

  “I said let it go.”

  “Wrong again, Katie Mae,” he voices, this time with a playful smirk.

  Shit. Damn. And seriously!

  “Mason,” I call, lying back and raising my hands to block him from pouncing.

  “Woman, you cursed,” he accuses with challenge, shaking his head. Changing position and crawling up the couch, he adds, “And you cursed the really bad one.”

  Titan stands on all fours, readying himself to join Mason’s fun. Mason turns to him, giving him a curt nod. The puppy slowly reassumes his resting position on the floor at my side.

  Once above me, Mason’s mouth goes straight for my neck. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down my back and between my legs. I spread my thighs, waiting and anticipating more.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I smart.

  “If you tell me what you said, I’ll fuck you the way you like me to,” he baits in return.

  “How’s that?” I query.

  There are many ways Mason has with me. All of which I’ve so far enjoyed. Picking just one would be wrong.

  We’ve had sex rough with passion, as the first time on his floor.

  In the shower after, quick and easy.

  In bed, slow and sensual. He took his time there, reminding me of how we once were together.

  Roug
h, tough, and dirty, though, I haven’t had enough of.

  Biting the skin of my neck, he insists, “You like when I take your pussy hard.”

  God. He’s right. So tempting, but still, “No.”

  “You love when I play with your body until you moan my name.”

  Damn it.

  He’s going to have his way with or without my verbal consent. My body’s primitive reaction is going to give him my unspoken permission.

  “Tell me you want my cock, Katie,” he demands.

  “You’re being crass.”

  His hand traverses slowly up my thigh, lifting his shirt I’m wearing with every inch it glides.

  “Tell me you wanna fuck me then,” he insists.

  “Mason,” I deny, holding his wrist but my attempts to fend him off are futile.

  “You want me to stop?” he questions, slipping his hand between my legs. He finds my clit, rolling his finger over it with persistence.

  “No,” I admit.

  “Then tell me you want me to fuck you.”

  “I want you inside,” I compromise.

  “Stubborn,” he utters, unbuttoning his jeans.

  His chest muscles move, giving tell to his stroking his already hard, sleek length. I’m trying to be patient as his eyes darken and he shifts in place, but I’ve lain near him for almost two hours. I’ve been a suffering mess the entire time.

  Finally, once Mason readies himself between my legs, he states, “Gonna fuck you hard, baby. I’m gonna take what I want, when I want, so catch up with me or not, I’m going in.”

  Oh God. Please do.

  Yet, nothing happens. Mason remains still. He lifts his head from my neck and his dark blue eyes pierce mine with arrogance.

  “But I won’t do anything until you admit you want me fuckin’ you dirty.”

  Lifting my head, my mouth reaching his ear, I brace my hands on his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist. I know as soon as I say the words, Mason won’t delay. He never does.

  “Fuck me dirty, honey,” I whisper.

  At this, he strikes. Fast and hard inside until he’s seated at the hilt, filling me with all of him.

  I sigh.

  He moans, followed by a string of abrupt, quiet curses.

  I could live a happy life with this memory alone. My insides clench, my belly flips, and my fingernails score his back at the thought I won’t ever have to live in memory of Mason again.