The Belle and the Beard

by Kate Canterbary

  "Come on, Jasper. Stop making me wait for you."

  I'd never thought of myself as the kind of person who required words or emotions to get off, not when I had a perfectly reliable clit to handle the job for me, but once again I was wrong because those words set me on fire. There was nothing special about them, not really, but they found a space inside me that desperately needed them and I was done. Just done.

  "There you are," he murmured, his hold on my ass no less vicious than before the orgasm moved through me. "Just like that."

  I dropped my head between my outstretched arms as Linden chased his release with fast, punishing thrusts that I felt too deeply to keep my eyes open. He made a gorgeous, growly sound as he came and slowly unclenched his fingers from my backside. What was left of it.

  Still pulsing inside me, he reached up and smoothed my hair into place. His touch was absurdly gentle in comparison to the nearly cruel pounding he'd just given me. It was like he could dismantle me but then gather all my pieces and reassemble me with the greatest care. I didn't think that was possible. I didn't think anyone could exist within such great extremes without largely residing in one or the other.

  "That's it," he murmured.

  I blinked up at his reflection. "What?"

  "I'm driving you to lunch."

  The only response I could manage was "Okay."

  "I'm so happy we could make this happen," Magnolia said as she clinked her glass against mine and Zelda's. "No one told me the third trimester would be so busy. Let that be a lesson to you two."

  Zelda and I exchanged a glance that said we're not seeing a third trimester any time soon.

  "I'll note that," Zelda said with a laugh. "I hope I remember in five or six years when I'm ready to think about getting pregnant."

  Magnolia waved a hand in the other woman's direction. "Don't worry. I'll remind you."

  I laughed down at my menu. I didn't want to think about babies, not in any personal way. I could handle the abstract notion of babies, even the localized idea of them in the sense that Linden would soon be an uncle, but not when it came any closer.

  It couldn't come any closer.

  "That's entirely enough about me," Magnolia said. "All anyone ever wants to talk about is me and the contents of my uterus, which is entertaining at first but gets old. I want to talk about the beautiful ladies in my brothers' lives. Do you know how long I've waited for a lunch like this? Dude, I was starting to think it was never going to happen."

  Zelda busied herself with unfolding the cloth napkin in front of her and spreading it over her lap. She had a shiny ring of sapphires and diamonds on her left hand. Ash wasn't the one who'd held up Magnolia's fantasy lunch plans. This was about Linden and his long history of casual relationships—and me, the woman who crashed into his life and hadn't cleared out yet.

  I had the overwhelming urge to explain to these women that I didn't know where I'd land next and I probably wouldn't be a fixture of their Santillian girls' lunches and I didn't see how I'd be the one to make it happen for Linden.

  Magnolia wasn't having a second of it. "I know what you're thinking," she said, "and I get it."

  I was thinking my ass hurt, I probably had a bruise across my bikini line from the bathroom counter, and I didn't belong in Magnolia's regular rotation of lunch companions.

  She gave me a kind smile. "Things are new. I get it but I'm still happy you're in Linden's life." With a tip of her head to the side, she added, "Right now."

  That part was for my benefit though it was obvious she hoped for much more. I wasn't sure I could do the same. I wasn't sure I could look more than a few days or weeks ahead.

  "Just don't make her try on any wedding dresses today," Zelda said.

  "For the record, that was my mother. Not me." Magnolia glanced to me. "We were there for my final fitting. There were dresses everywhere. It's not like I planned to put Zelda in a dressing room but it worked out well. She doesn't have to find a dress now. Cross that off the wedding planning list."

  Zelda made a checkmark in the air. "One less thing to worry about."

  The waiter sidled up to the table to take our orders. While the other women requested Caesar salads without anchovies and an order of fries for the table, I planned my pivot. Linden and I could not be the subject of this lunch and we couldn't make it all about me either. God, no.

  When the waiter stepped away, I shifted toward Zelda. "You have the dress. Do y'all have a date?"

  She bobbed her head as she reached for the bread basket. "No, I'm a super huge problem child when it comes to setting a date. My field work schedule—I'm in grad school, by the way—is up in the air for a few more months. I have a good idea what the next year or two will look like but I can't commit to anything until it's finalized."

  "Ash is going to carry you off to Lake Tahoe some weekend and elope," Magnolia said. "Unless he's already done it."

  "I can promise you he has not carried me off to Tahoe yet," Zelda replied. "Mentioned it, yes. Hasn't done it."

  Magnolia glanced to me. "He'll do it. His patience wouldn't fill a shot glass."

  Zelda shook her head in a patient, conciliatory kind of way that seemed to suggest Magnolia knew an awful lot about her brother—but not everything. "I'm not sure I'd say that," she said, her attention again fixed on the bread. "He wants the big party of a wedding."

  "You could have a big engagement party," Magnolia said. "Then go elope."

  "He wants a big party for a wedding," Zelda replied gently.

  "What do you want?" I asked.

  She gave me a quick shrug. "I don't have too many priorities. I just want to end up married." She reached over, patted my forearm. "The party and the whole big event, they don't occur to me as things I'd want because I've never had parties just for me. That's why I defer to Ash. He thinks we deserve a special day to celebrate with our friends and family, and I have to remind myself he's right. He's right and we should wait until we can set a date because it wouldn't be the same without the celebration."

  I found myself staring at her, slightly dazed, as I worked through those words. Then, without any consideration whatsoever, I admitted, "I haven't had many parties either."

  "Then you understand," Zelda said, her hand still fixed on my forearm. "You know how odd it is to plan something big and grand just for yourself."

  "I'm not sure I could."

  She smiled, saying, "That's where Ash comes in. If I tell myself it's for him—and he reminds me it's for us—I can get past the awkwardness of doing something that tends to feel deeply selfish."

  "It's easier to help other people be selfish," I murmured.

  She gave a sage nod. "It is but that doesn't make it right."

  It was my turn to reply with the knowing nod. "It's hardly ever right."

  She glanced away for a second, as if she was considering her next comment. "I know we barely know each other and you're experiencing many shifts in your life"—I snorted out a laugh at that—"so I hope it's not inappropriate for me to say I'm happy you're here. I'm happy you've come into Linden's life but ours too." She gestured across the table to Magnolia. "I hope we get to have many more days like this one."

  "What she said," Magnolia added. "I hope we get more of this too. I already know that once these babies are born, I'm going to need some moments away from all the boys in my life, even if I am wildly obsessed with them."

  "Yes, that. Even if you're wildly obsessed with someone, you need time away from them too. The past year has taught me that it's important to have friends outside of relationships, outside of grad school," Zelda said. "I love my grad school crew, they're great, we can talk for hours. But my life has many facets and the people I spend time with should be reflective of that. I can't throw myself all in one direction and still expect to feel whole."

  I leaned a bit closer to her. "Could you say that again?"

  "I just realized that I need to account for the dimensions in my life," she said. "When I started grad school last fal
l, I met all these wonderful people. Really, the best people. Though they're all about that one thing, and our relationships, even the best ones, are all about that one thing. I love that I have a community because I didn't know many people when school started and they helped me feel like I belonged somewhere—"

  "And me. I helped," Magnolia said.

  "That's what I'm getting at," Zelda said with a motion toward her future sister-in-law. "I had an amazing connection to Magnolia and Ash's family, who made me feel so welcome and loved. And then there were Magnolia's friends, who were like an extra special bonus of connection. I mean, Erin Walsh and Alex Emmerling are some of my favorite people in this entire city. I can't believe I get to know them."

  "You'll meet them," Magnolia said to me. "You'll love Shannon Halsted and Lauren Halsted-Walsh. Andy Asani too."

  I didn't know who any of these people were but I nodded, saying, "I can't wait."

  "I had all these glorious people," Zelda continued, "and I had my school connections, who made me feel like part of the academic community. I'd missed that for years. But I know I can't let school or any one thing become my entire existence. School will end and I'll be forced to start over again because we all know that relationships formed around that one thing rarely last beyond those structures. I have a camp friend from forever ago but that's the exception, you know?"

  I grabbed for my water goblet and took a long gulp because I knew all too well. "Yes. I do understand that."

  "And it's always so awful when you realize people from work or school have moved on without you. That's why I know I have to stop stowing all my community eggs in one basket." She took a bite of her bread. "And, like I said, I'm happy you're here."

  Because my life was a series of unforced errors, I said, "I hope I can stay."

  "Why wouldn't you stay?" Magnolia asked.

  The waiter was kind enough to arrive with our meals and save me from responding for a minute. When he left, I was met with two pairs of curious eyes, both ignoring their food in favor of my response. With a soft sigh, I said, "I'm still sorting out my next steps with work. It's all a bit…wonky at the moment."

  While Zelda accepted this response with a sympathetic murmur, Magnolia pressed on. "But you want to stay here," she said.

  I picked at my Cobb salad, pushing the croutons to one side and the tomatoes to another. "I hope I can," I repeated.

  That was the truest thing I could say. Nothing was definite. Nothing was settled. It didn't matter how much I was beginning to enjoy the little life I'd cobbled together with my burly lumberbear and my DIY projects. It didn't matter that, sometimes, I wondered how I'd ever return to a world where my phone was an extension of my body and I woke up at five every morning only to discover I was already three hours behind on the day. I wondered how I'd go back to run-walking in heels as a matter of course and working weeks at a time without a full day off. And I wondered how I'd give up lazy evenings on Linden's sofa where he explained how, when filming The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, the textually male Riders of Rohan had to be played by women because they couldn't find enough men with adequate horseback riding skills.

  "We're going to cheer you on," Zelda said. "Regardless of where the wind blows you."

  "Yes. What she said." Magnolia wagged her fork at Zelda. "But you're still coming to the anniversary party, right?"

  "I'm sure I will," I said, hoping that put the topic to rest without forcing me into a blood oath.

  "We're shopping for dresses today. You have to come to the party," Magnolia insisted.

  "Sweetie, Jasper is doing her best. She's going to be there if she can, okay?" Zelda turned her attention from Magnolia and grinned at me. "Don't worry about Mag. She gets a little chippy when she's hungry."

  "I'd blame it on the twins but I've always been this way. The twins just make it socially acceptable." She reached into the basket of fries as she eyed us from across the table. "I was wrong. I got it all wrong."

  "No, stop it. You're always allowed to be hangry," Zelda said.

  "Not about that." Magnolia swung a glance between us. "I was wrong about my brothers and who they needed. I mixed it up. I guess that's a good reminder that I have no business in matchmaking."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  She dropped a hand to her belly as she took a sip of water. After a pause, she said, "I had a vivid idea in my head of the people my brothers would end up with—"

  I dropped my fork into my salad bowl. "Oh, we haven't—I mean, we aren't—I'm still—"

  "I know," Magnolia said carefully, "I do. I know that and I understand. And I know it doesn't change the fact I was wrong about them. I had the right ideas"—she pointed one hand toward Zelda, another toward me, and then crossed her arms at her wrists—"for the wrong brothers."

  I didn't know what that meant and I wasn't content with the apparent finality of it but Zelda rescued the moment, saying, "Enough about the men. We don't need them to make us interesting."

  "We do not," I agreed with far more zeal than necessary.

  "Not at all," Magnolia agreed. Then, "Oof. They don't appreciate those comments." She rubbed a hand along the side of her belly, her eyes glowing. "You have to feel this. Come on, both of you. I swear, they're break-dancing. Or wrestling. Oh my god, they're going to wrestle all the time, aren't they?" She patted the bench. "Humor me, please. You have to feel this. It's like a legit stampede."

  Zelda and I shared a glance before joining Magnolia on the banquette side of the table. She grabbed our hands and pressed them flat to her bump.

  "Just wait," she murmured.

  A moment passed, and another, and then I felt very silly sitting here, waiting for something to happen inside Linden's sister's body. Just as I decided to politely pull away, a swift kick connected with my palm. "Oh—oh my," I stammered.

  "That was an elbow," Magnolia said. "He's always throwing those elbows around. I think he's the instigator."

  "Holy bananas," Zelda yelped. "How are you, I don't know, living through this? It's like big, bony popcorn popping but it's inside you."

  "It only hurts when they get curled up under my ribs. Or wherever they are that feels like they're under my ribs and having a competition to see which of them can crack one first. Or when they're stomping my bladder. I barely got any sleep last week because they were having such a good time."

  "That sounds dreadful," Zelda cooed. "I want to have a baby. Not right now, obviously, but someday. I want a little someone who likes to rumble around and throw elbows."

  As another jab connected with my palm, I thought to myself for the very first time, Me too.

  I wasn't keeping score but I was certain I'd measured this porch at least forty times and still couldn't come up with the same numbers twice. As was the theme for this moment in my life, I didn't know what I was doing wrong or the right way to fix the issue but that didn't stop me from trying like hell.

  Since the most recent measurement made no sense whatsoever and I refused to cut the wood until I had these figures correct, I set down my notebook and tape measure, and walked away.

  Midge's yard was just like Linden's in that it extended back to the edge of the forest but he didn't have a dozen-odd wooden planter beds in various sizes, shapes, and states of disrepair. When I'd visited Midge in the summers, she'd put me to work weeding the vegetable garden. She'd grow everything back here. Zucchini, beans of all sorts, ten different types of tomatoes.

  There was always one plant that didn't work out. One year it was the cucumbers. They'd send out tendrils and coil around the support lattice, they'd flower, they'd sprout a spiky little cuke, and then…nothing. We had spiky little cukes, far too immature to harvest, and nothing else. The whole crop turned out that way.

  Now, the beds were tucked under a blanket of fallen leaves. Some were warped and weathered, so much that a heavy rainstorm was all they needed to collapse at the seams.

  I hadn't given the garden much consideration because the growing season had mo
stly ended for the year when I moved in. It would be fun to bring the garden back to its original glory come spring. I didn't remember the specifics of Midge's planting strategy—and she always had a strategy—but I knew I could come up with something. It would be a good project and one that wouldn't require quite so much precise measurement as the porch.

  There were at least six months between now and the spring growing season. I'd have to be here in six months to rebuild this garden, which was ridiculous. I wouldn't be here come April. I couldn't be. If I was still here in April, still picking up random projects and making a mess of them, something had gone terribly wrong.

  I stopped, turned to face the house and the sad skeleton of the porch. What if I was here in April? What if I had a garden? What if I was right here, growing sweet little tomatoes and huge zucchini that required constant comparison to penises? What if I did all the things Linden suggested and just let myself stop worrying about what came next? What if I stayed with Linden and it wasn't temporary?

  Walking backward, I took a few steps into the deepest corner of the garden. From this distance, I could see slumps in the roof and irregular tilts in the gutters. It all needed to be replaced if I had any intention of staying.

  Did I want that? Did I know how to do that? How to stay and stop worrying about the next thing? Not knowing had never stopped me before.

  I could stay here and we could do this. It was an option, one that scared the hell out of me for fifty different reasons, but it was more an option now than it had ever been. I could plant a garden, get an entry-level job canvassing for a candidate or the party, live with Linden. Those were real things and I could have them.

  I took another step backward—and nearly fell on my ass when my shoes connected with soft, slippery, uneven earth. Once I righted myself, I blinked down at the ground, seeing but not understanding the apples beneath my feet. With a glance around, I spotted many more decaying apples nearby.

  "Why the hell are there apples all over the yard?" I asked out loud.