by L. B. Dunbar
“Those look a little green,” he said and my eyes shifted to the ones not quite ready.
“They’ll ripen over time,” I purred, and his hand slid back up my hip bone. When he reached my side, the edge that pinched and rolled a little over my waistband, I flinched away. His large hand tightened his grip on the area once labelled love handles, and now considered lusty lumps.
“Yes, all the best fruits do.” His sultry voice made me shiver. “Over time.”
I swear, I wet myself. A trickle escaped and if his hand delved under my skirt like I wanted, no, needed, he’d find an area over-ripe with desire and ready for ingestion. I squirmed at the thought. My nipples peaked under my bra and the firmness of my shirt exposed my excitement.
“Looks like another delicacy might be ripe.” His voice rolled seductively slow across my breasts, the brush of that sound a tender, teasing tickle. My nipples stood further at attention as his head gazed over my shoulder.
“God, I wish I could read your mind,” he said, a smile in his tone. He squeezed at the hunk of tough flesh on my side, and then stepped back from me. I spun and searched into those dark eyes that mesmerized me. Despite the youthful face at his age, the crinkles near his eyes spoke of wisdom. And something more: pain. The gleam in his eyes hid a secret. He actually looked tired.
“Mary Elizabeth?” someone questioned and I turned to face a man I didn’t recognize. My mind was too clouded by the nearness of Merek. When Merek took another step to the side and returned to his inspection of the bananas, I got a better glimpse of the man who called out my name.
“I’m sor…” Then it hit me. His rounded, clean shaven face was more weathered than I remembered. Vaguely familiar, detailed wrinkles marked his murky green eyes which sparkled in recognition of me.
“Rod?” I questioned. “Rod Stanton?” I stepped away from Merek, still conscious of his presence, but uncertain how to proceed. Did I introduce him? Did I acknowledge him? He answered my unspoken questions for me.
“Thanks for the tip with the bananas, ma’am,” he spoke, his eyes narrowing. His calling me ma’am, implicating my age, made me wince. It seemed cruel, and he didn’t need to be. He set the rules, not me. It was just sex, nothing more. I watched Merek retreat. His taut back in the dark suit spoke volumes. I was dismissed.
Spinning away from Merek, I stared at eyes that haunted my memories. Rod Stanton. He certainly didn’t look like I remembered from high school. A little slimmer back then, the shy boy smile that greeted me was the trigger of reminiscence.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. I was a bit jealous he still had his original hair color. It wasn’t exactly fair. Why did men age well?
Entering the parking lot, I paused next to my van. The lot was dark and I lowered my forehead to the driver window.
Rod Stanton just asked me out.
Could I do this? Could I flirt? Could I date?
“Just pick someone. One date. Test the waters again,” Gia had said. “Who knows? The temperate lake might heat to hot tub levels!”
Rod was sweet, but I just didn’t know if I could go back in time. I rolled my head side to side slowly against the glass, and then stood up straight.
“If you need anything…”
“Jesus!” I yelled, spinning to face Merek. His eyes searched my face, fierce looking for a moment, and then softening.
“You scared the bloody hell out of me!” My heart raced under my hand, letting one set of grocery bags dangle from my wrist before my body as a shield.
“If you ever need anything, have an itch to scratch, remember to call me,” he said, lowering his head and leveling his eyes with mine. “I’ll scratch it for you.” His mouth twerked up and my heart nearly exploded at the onslaught, startling me. Then he further surprised me by leaning forward and brushing his lips along my cheek. I held my breath as he pulled back, the wetness of a milk jug, chilling the plastic bag against my chest. I didn’t respond as he walked away, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Shaking my head, I opened the side door of the van and set the bags inside. The ice cream shop was right around the corner and Rod waited. I don’t know what I was waiting for. I did have an itch, and it needed more than a scratching.
When Rod asked me if I had some time for coffee, I laughed with my rejection. I didn’t drink coffee; it was that simple. His smile told me I hadn’t offended him.
“I should have remembered,” he grinned sheepishly and my heart blipped at the thought.
Rod Stanton had been a summer fling before my freshman year of college. Handsome as a teenager, he was a little paunchy around the middle as an adult. However, his face and his hair looked nearly the same as his youthful self. I saw in him the boy he was and his smile was a reminder of a time long ago.
He asked me to have ice cream instead, and the suggestion wasn’t lost on me. It was how we had our first date. He had friends. They dared him. I said yes. We hit it off and I was in love: summer love, that is. He wasn’t from the neighborhood but visiting his aunt. She’d introduced him to some of the neighbor boys and they were instant friends. I was a casualty of acquaintances, but it had been a long time ago.
Seeing Rod again brought on an onslaught of memories. Young, fresh, and exciting ones. I giggled awkwardly like a teenager as we sat and licked ice cream cones.
“So how have you been?” His eyes questioned me, and that’s how I knew, he knew. Nate was dead; I was alone. I sighed heavily, but didn’t want to give in to sad memories.
“I’m good,” I offered, my voice rising an octave higher than necessary. I grew so used to the lie I actually believed it over time. In fact, I was good. I survived that dreaded first year. Milestone complete, I was ready to move on. Slowly, but moving forward nonetheless. Sitting here with Rod was one small sign of that happening.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’ve actually moved here.”
I nearly dropped my ice cream. Twisting the sugar cone, I used my tongue to reposition the scoop of ice cream and Rod’s eyes focused on the motion. He swallowed hard, and averted his eyes briefly, but they returned quickly. I swallowed down the frozen lump I’d bit off in an effort to cool the slight heat I felt when he looked at me. We locked eyes as I tried to recover from what he’d said.
When Rod returned back to his home in Florida, at the end of that summer, the euphoria of our love affair came to an abrupt end. I’d really liked him, but we were young. I’d seen him on occasion when he returned to visit his aunt, but by then the feelings had passed. Still, there was always a special place in my heart for that type of summer affair: a connection of shared memories, simple pleasures, and first discoveries. Rod was it for me, and here he sat again in my life.
“Wow, what brings you here?” I asked.
“Job. I lost mine six months ago. When something opened up in Chicago, I jumped at the chance. I’d inherited my aunt’s place a few years back when she passed.” He gave me that awkward look again. Like mentioning the death of someone else would lead me to recall the death closest to me, which it did, but I wasn’t going to start crying hysterically because people died.
“Anyway,” he grinned slowly. “I’ve always wanted to come back here.” His eyes narrowed in on me, “and now seemed like an opportune time.” Something in the tone of his voice made me smile and shiver.
I hated grocery shopping late at night. It was lonely and depressing. Lost souls were the only ones in there after dark, which explained why I was there so late. Alone seemed to be my middle name, although that wasn’t really true. I was surrounded by people often, but it didn’t fill the void I often felt lately. What a pleasant surprise, then, to see her. Fresh fruit — the section suited her. She was refreshing, even if she had ditched me. Initially, I intended to blow off what happened, telling myself I would never think of her again. It seemed incredible that the woman who wanted sex would disappear before it happened. What I really wanted was an answer.
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br /> Why did she walk away?
I didn't think I had done anything wrong. Actually, her response led me to believe I'd done everything right. The way she melted against my fingers. Her sighs of pleasure, genuine and intense. The way her hands clutched at me, like she couldn’t hold tight enough. So, it weighed heavy on my mind that she’d left. Most women wanted to stay. They wanted to cuddle. They wanted breakfast and a sparkling ring the next day. I'd already been in that position. Once.
I hadn't intended to lean against her. It was a reaction. I was ready to ask her what happened, why she’d left, but she distracted me by the subtle reflex of rubbing against me. I lost thought, and the bananas sidetracked me. Clean up, in aisle three, they were going to call over the loud speaker, if her ass swiped against me again. Ripe for release, I was rock solid.
Asking her to join me for a drink, or even worse, a romp in the car, the words were on the tip of my tongue when some wanker interrupted us. He was large, polished, and a little too pleased to recognize Mary Elizabeth. The expression on her face was priceless. She didn't know what to do, and her awkwardness showed. It shouldn't have hurt my feelings. It didn't, but the urge to be spiteful arose.
"Thanks, ma'am," I spat politely, my innuendo about banana advice clear. The sudden confusion in her eyes pinched my chest. Glancing back at the man in his open suit coat, too comfortable in his own skin and sporting perfect hair, I took the opportunity to escape before more damage was done. It was only my pride. I could walk away. I'd done it before.
After startling her in the parking lot, I realized I was bordering on stalker level, especially with my open invitation. I itched all over and I wanted those delicate fingers to scratch me. She was parked in the row opposite me, and I decided I’d wait for her to leave the parking lot. I watched for the tail lights to reverse from the space. Instead, I saw her walk to the ice cream shop around the corner. I pulled my truck forward through the open spot, and that's when I noticed the polished wanker in the shop with her. She smiled up at him, and that pinch turned into a clench inside my ribs. It shouldn't have mattered. Walking away from me proved she had no interest in my proposal, but the memory of her leaning against me returned me to my question: Why not?
Seeing Rod had renewed so many memories and a few old feelings. He was the one that got away, in some respects. When summer ended, so did the relationship, especially when he had to return to his home in Florida. But, he lived here now and the possibility of exploring who he was presently intrigued me. Rod was safe. He wasn't a random MatchMe hook-up. He wasn't a friend of a friend that my friend tried to set me up with. I knew Rod. Or at least, in the past I had.
We chatted easily while sharing ice cream. He told me more about his aunt's death and his inheritance from her. His new job was with the firm of Becket, Bennett, and Walters as a corporate attorney. He’d been married briefly. He was easy to listen to, animated in his storytelling, drawing me into his experiences. Here's what he didn't do: He didn't ask about me, and my mind drifted at one point when I heard the burning rubber screech of a muscle-sounding truck in the parking lot outside the window.
“Damn kids,” Rod scowled, shaking his head in disgust.
“So no children for you,” I teased.
“I never thought I wanted them, until it risked my marriage. Then I begged for one. It was a pity child,” he said sadly. “She got pregnant to save the marriage, but when she miscarried I took it as a sign. It was time to part ways.”
My heart ached. I'd always felt fortunate to have my children: two healthy daughters. I wanted more, but Nate didn't. There's enough estrogen in this house as it is, he had teased. Not able to guarantee him a boy wasn't worth the risk to him. Rod watched me while these thoughts swirled in my head.
“So tell me about you?” he finally asked, and I suddenly felt tired. How could I possibly shove twenty years into one ice cream shop? Smiling slowly, he interrupted my thoughts.
“You know what, why don't I take you to dinner and you can tell me all about you?” His green eyes twinkled and the idea of being asked out without having to proposition someone, like a certain rugged-looking man on a patio bar, was refreshing. The possibility of being wanted warmed my insides, and I agreed to dinner on Thursday.
So there I stood in front of my full-length mirror, dressed in clothes I might have worn to work because I didn't know how to dress for a date. I didn't own flirty, fun clothes, as my daughters generously pointed out to me when I asked for help. I had casual work clothes, slumming at home shorts, and an informal sundress which I wore to meet Merek, who hadn't called me since our run-in at the grocery store. Whatevs, as my girls would say, but I didn't feel so cavalier about the situation. It was me who walked away, and yet I'd sadly hoped Merek would chase. Stupid, I reminded myself. He was too good looking. He probably dated young girls like that waitress at the patio bar. He was out of my league with his polished suit in the grocery store late at night. Not knowing what he did for work, I imagined he must be some high-powered business man. It was the aura he gave off. Take charge.
As I stared at myself, one more time in the mirror, my phone rang. Fumbling to find it under a pile of rough notes on the nightstand, I missed the call. When it was finally in my hand, it binged a text.
- It's ME.
I had to giggle.
- Hey, ME, it's ME, too.
I laughed harder then realized what a dork I sounded like.
- It's Merek Elliott, actually.
I sighed as he obviously didn't appreciate my silliness. Hovering over the keys, wondering how to respond that would rectify sounding like a child, a message came through instantly.
- Want to take a ride?
Oh, my God, but I laughed in spite of myself. The euphemism wasn't going to go away.
- Got an itch to scratch?
What felt like an eternity passed, while I once again cursed myself for trying to sound witty, and failing. I didn't understand text messaging. It was part of the reason I had limited social media experience. I loved human conversation. I couldn't interpret what was behind a screen.
- I do, but this is a bona fide offer.
I could have gone all kinds of places with the bone in that phrase, but I was trumped into silence. Was Merek asking me out? My answer came in another text.
- How about a boat ride on the lake?
My head shot up to glance out my bedroom window. The evening was glorious, blue skies, with a lazy setting summer sun. I hadn’t ever been on a boat ride on Lake Michigan, as crazy as that sounded considering I lived here my whole life.
- I… My finger hovered. I’d love to, I instantly wanted to respond, but a sinking feeling told me I couldn’t respond so easily. Erasing the letter I, instead I typed: When?
- Now?
My shoulders sagged as I assumed this would be the timing. Merek appeared to live in the moment; I was a planner. The only way to make it day-by-day and week-by-week after Nate’s death had been to schedule small milestones. Grocery store on Monday. Laundry on Saturday. While I’d lived by the calendar previous to his passing, it wasn’t the same after he was gone. I wanted to be spontaneous. I wanted to say yes.
- I can’t. I'm so sorry.
- Hot date?
Envisioning the smirk of his lips, I smiled weakly. Yes, after twenty years with one man, and one year alone, two men had asked me out for the same night. What are the odds of that happening? Unfortunately, only one of them had my curiosity. I didn’t know how to answer, other than honestly.
- Yes, actually, I do.
The silence that followed was endless, but the message was loud and clear. When there was no further response, I finally dropped the phone on the bed. The doorbell rang, and I took one last look at my phone before powering it to silent and exiting my room for my “hot” date.
Rod took me to a local mom-and-pop Thai restaurant. He produced a bottle of red wine while I scanned the menu for something mild to eat. I didn’t have the heart to tell him; I didn’t like Th
ai food. I didn’t typically try new things. I wasn’t a risk-taker like that. I wanted to be, though. This whole night was a risk. If I was going to jump into dating and new experiences, trying different foods had to be on my virtual menu. Spontaneous had to be a theme. So I ordered the chicken ginger and sipped the dry red wine that Rod offered as I began a narrative of my life over the past twenty years.
Marriage. Children. Career. I had wanted so many things over the years, which included for better or worse, richer or poorer, until death did us part. The wine was making me melancholy as I listened to my life in rewind. I defined it by things I did as a stay-at-home mother before returning to work, then continued to define it by the accomplishments of my children. Listening to myself, I realized it hadn’t been about me, but about them: my girls. This list should have made me proud. Raising amazing daughters was praiseworthy. Returning to work as a college professor was notable. Twenty years of marriage involved dedication, and yet it didn’t seem like enough. Listening to my life pour forth like the wine, I bored myself with what I heard.
Rather, it was what I wasn’t saying that surprised me. Where was the excitement? Where was the spontaneity? What happened to all the promises made for travel, companionship, and adventure? The wine soured in my throat as I had one of those moments of dismal regret for what I hadn’t done compared to what I had. The conversation slowed while we ate, and I determined I’d talked Rod into boredom. We fell silent.
“Remember when we went to the condo?” he asked, interrupting the gentle scraping of forks against plates, and the quiet process of chewing spicy poultry.
The duplex had been owned by the McCarthys, a family who lived next to Rod’s aunt. Reese was their son, roughly the same age as us, and his family rented the home to families visiting Chicago for a one week stay. There was a lull between the Saturday departure, and the Sunday arrivals, and it led to Reese using the place for private parties. Rod and I had gone to a summer bash celebration. People branched off into separate rooms for whatever nefarious purpose. Eventually for Rod and I, it had resulted in teenage sex. It was a strange memory to disrupt my rambles. My mind wandered at the simplicity of young decisions, drifted to the difficulty as an adult to be so carefree and careless, then skipped to Merek. Sex only. It seemed simple enough. It certainly was spontaneous. Rod’s mention of the past was an attempt to reminisce about our youth, but my body knew it could only live in the present.