The Sex Bucket List

by Lane, Prescott

  “I’m not sure that works on girls.”

  “Well, it got her laughing at me, which was better than the tears,” he says. “It got so bad the waitress asked if she was alright, probably thinking I kidnapped her.”

  “How’d things end?”

  He shrugs. “I told her she has a dad, and that’s not my job. I told her my job is to make her mom happy.”

  “That’s very sweet.”

  “Look,” he says, taking my hand again. “I don’t expect your kids to welcome me with open arms. I know it’s going to take time.”

  Mateo’s managed to handle my ex-husband and eldest child all before breakfast. He’s getting served a big heaping bowl of my crazy. And yet he keeps coming back.

  “Why me?” I ask.

  I asked him before “why now,” but not what it was about me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got some things going for me—I’m an executive, and I don’t look like a troll—but there’s also the stretch marks, mom boobs, three kids who love trying my nerves. Why the hell would he choose this, when he can have any woman he wants?

  “Are you fucking kidding me with that question?”

  “No.”

  Ava opens the front door, sticking her head out. “Mom, Connor just woke up.”

  Without another word, I hustle back inside, wondering what his answer would’ve been.

  * * *

  In my house, we avoid doing any and all homework on Saturdays, so Sundays are complete chaos. And this week is final exam week, so lucky me. Why can’t this be Ryan’s week? Ava is pretty self-sufficient, but Jacob is a different story. Even with accommodations for his dyslexia, it’s still rough. Thankfully, Connor doesn’t have exams yet, so he’s just gearing up for his end of the school year party. Between that and final exams, I’m not going back to Atlanta for over a week. As soon as they finish up next Friday, I’ll be packing them up and getting them ready for their vacation with their dad. It’s a lot to handle.

  Summer won’t be much easier—Ava has a job at the library and volunteers at Hope Cottage, which is Layla and Gage’s charity project; Connor’s camp schedule is insane; and as for Jacob, I’m not sure how I’m going to keep him busy and out of trouble. He’s too old for camp, but not old enough to work a summer job. Poor baby, typical middle child problems. I’m feeling overwhelmed at the thought of running everyone here and there and trying to work at the same time.

  Pushing all that out of my mind, I hustle around, wrangling the kids to get ready for Sunday Mass. Ava doesn’t complain too much. Connor likes that we go to family lunch after, but Jacob hates it altogether. He tells me he doesn’t believe in God. I tell him that’s between him and God, but as long as he lives with me, he’ll give an hour to Jesus every Sunday morning.

  I push them all through the doors of the church, the opening hymnal already playing. We are late again. Every freaking Sunday. We slide in the pew next to my mother, who’s always early. Thank God, she saves us seats. And she’s kind enough to always sit towards the back, so we don’t raise too many eyebrows with our late arrivals.

  Connor immediately finds a bulletin and starts to read it. I should probably make him listen, but at least he’s still and quiet. Jacob sits with a scowl on his face. And Ava fakes like she’s listening but usually is too busy fiddling with her clothes, hair, or nails. My mom gives me a little smile down the pew, seemingly impressed that somehow we at least made it here, as we always do when I have the kids.

  Ryan doesn’t go to Mass at this church, even though we did when we were married. It’s not like we decided that in the divorce decree—who gets which church or Mass time—but it just sort of worked out that way. I have to admit, it’s hard to sit in these pews some Sundays. Divorce is frowned upon in the Catholic Church, so much so that in the eyes of the Church, I’m still married because we never got an annulment. So, if I ever want to remarry, I can’t do it in the Catholic Church unless I first have my marriage to Ryan annulled. I’m not sure how I feel about any of that.

  My mom’s fingers tap the hard wood of the pew, startling me. She’s old school, completely quiet and reverent during Mass. She never even uses the restroom. Jacob uses the church restroom like it’s recess or something. I look up, and her eyes catch mine. Then she scans across the church, her head motioning several pews in front of us and to the side. I follow her line of sight. I can barely make out his profile through the crowd, but it’s him.

  Mateo.

  It looks like he’s alone on one side of the pew. A family of four is sitting on the other end. He’s facing forward, not singing the current hymn being played. Giving my mom a little shrug, like I don’t know what he’s doing here, I study his handsome face. I haven’t had the chance to do this in a long time. I used to admire him discreetly at the office, but it was always so brief. I was afraid someone would notice. Or worse yet, he’d notice. Now’s my chance to really watch him.

  He doesn’t seem to have a clue that I’m here or that my eyes are glued on him, but I know when we walk up to take Communion, we’ll have to walk right past him. Never has Mass gone by so fast before. I spent the whole time watching his every move, or lack thereof. He stays still, almost too still, his eyes always focused on the altar or lowered to his lap. He recites the prayers when appropriate, but never sings.

  He is quite possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. The man who drove all night just to see me. The man I left abruptly this morning. The man I owe an apology.

  My heart is pounding louder and faster as Communion approaches. I watch him walk to the front to take the body and blood, or bread and wine to you non-Catholics. He is quiet, solemn. When he gets back in his pew, he kneels down, making the sign of the cross again, his head lowered, eyes closed.

  Our pew stands. My mother is the first one out, then Ava, Jacob, Connor, and me. There is no way he won’t notice us when we walk by. Especially when my mom places her hand on his shoulder. His head darts up, a surprised smile on his face. He may know my favorite restaurant and how to bypass my house alarm, but clearly, he didn’t know this was my church or that I’d be here. As my mom takes a step forward, he sees Ava, but only for a second, because he flips around knowing I’m not far behind. Connor gives him a little wave as he passes.

  The line pauses with me standing right to the opening of his pew. A tear rolls down my cheek, and he slyly places his hand out of the pew, letting his finger just barely graze the back of my knee. It’s so quick, so subtle, that no one but he and I know he did it. Then the line moves up again. Quickly, I wipe the tear away, not wanting my family to see. I’m sure the priest sees all kinds of emotions at Communion, so I’m not worried about what he thinks.

  I take the body, but not the blood. I never take the wine. Seriously, how many people have had their mouth on that chalice before it’s my turn? Sure, they wipe it and it’s supposed to be blessed, but that’s not stopping the possible backwash.

  I sense Mateo’s eyes are following me the whole way. When I turn to go back to my pew, I glance at him, a little smile on my lips. I want him to know I’m sorry. He doesn’t turn around to see where we are sitting, but he’s knows I’m there. I notice his body is a bit more relaxed, and there’s a little smile on his face.

  Ava gives me a look, and I shake my head that I had no idea. Honestly, I would’ve thought he was on the road by now. And I didn’t even know he was Catholic. When Mass ends, we’re usually the first ones to head out. Connor is always starving, and Jacob and Ava can’t wait to check their phones. This time is no different. Connor is begging to go to a certain place to eat, and Ava is saying the place is gross.

  I’m not even listening. I see my mom waving at Mateo, motioning for him to meet us out front. Mateo walks right up to my mom, and she thanks him for all his help with the situation with Dash. “What on Earth are you doing here?” my mom asks.

  “Gage and I had some business, so I came in,” he says. “I was going to drive back this morning, but thought I’d come to Mass before I head b
ack to Atlanta.”

  He is a good liar, but my mom is better. I know she’s not buying that for a minute. “Why don’t you join us for lunch before making that long drive back?” she asks. Ava looks up from her phone, her eyes wide.

  Mateo smiles politely. “Maybe another time.”

  A quick goodbye, and he walks away. And I’m left second-guessing. Did he refuse because he’s mad? Or because it was awkward with my mom? My mom places her arm around me. “How about I pick up some pizza and soda and we make that lunch? I know you kids have a lot of studying to do.”

  Of course, the kids love that idea. Pizza and grandma are the perfect combination.

  * * *

  Jacob’s with his tutor. Ava’s studying in her room. And Connor is playing some computer game. As for me, I’m trying to make cleaning up pizza look like a hard task. Yes, I’m avoiding my mother. She takes a seat at my kitchen island, prepared to wait as long as it takes. Tossing my cleaning wipe down on the counter, I say, “Go ahead. Let’s get this over with.”

  “I like Mateo,” she says. “Good choice.”

  “I’m terrible at this,” I say. “Then add in living in different cities and the kids. It’s proving to be impossible.”

  “Make it work,” she says, and my eyes bulge out of my head. “It’s time you let someone love you again. I know you can do things on your own. And you’re doing a heck of a job, but we all need love and affection.”

  “There are so many issues, Mom. You don’t even know. Just when I think things will work out, another roadblock gets thrown up.” I look up. “Ava knows about Mateo.”

  “Why is it a secret?”

  “Because the kids don’t need me bringing different men into their lives.”

  “The kids should know you have a life outside of them.”

  “Ava didn’t handle it well.”

  “I wouldn’t expect her to. You haven’t gotten them used to the idea.”

  She’s right. I haven’t prepared them at all. That’s on me. “Ryan went ballistic when he found out.”

  “No surprise there. He still loves you.”

  “I don’t know if it’s that.”

  “Please, Emerson,” she says and waves me off. “You can still love someone that hurt you. Ryan chose hurt over love. He’s regretting that now.”

  Ava walks in, her eyes red. “What’s wrong?” I ask, and she shakes her head a little. “If it’s school pressure, please don’t let that stress you out.”

  “It’s Justin,” she says, glancing at her grandmother.

  My mom quickly gathers her purse and gives us both a hug, whispering in my ear that she loves me. And just like that, I go from a daughter seeking advice to a mother who’s supposed to know how to dole it out. Leading Ava to the sofa, we sit down together.

  “I know I should let go of him,” Ava says, “but I’m having a hard time doing that.”

  “That happens. Your head knows one thing, but your heart feels another way. School’s almost over. You won’t be seeing him everyday. That should help.”

  “Mom,” she says, her wet eyes looking up at me, “I need to tell you something.”

  My stomach flips. “It’s okay, honey. Whatever it is, I will always love you. Nothing changes that.”

  She takes a deep breath and begins. “Like I said, I know I should move on, but my heart is telling me to give him another chance. I always wished you and Daddy would’ve done that.”

  “Your dad and I tried very hard.”

  “I want to get back together with Justin, but I know you’re going to be mad.”

  Damn right I am. I’m fucking furious. “Let’s make a deal. How about you get through exams, through your vacation with your dad, then when you get back, if you still feel the same way, I’ll allow him to come over here to see you. But only here, and only when I’m home.”

  “And you won’t be mean?”

  “I won’t be mean.” I look into her eyes. “I trust you, Ava. Even though I don’t agree with you letting him back into your life, I’m trusting your judgment. Don’t make me regret it.”

  “I won’t,” she says, hugging me. “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Could you go over chemistry with me? Please!”

  * * *

  What’s the difference between mixtures and solutions, acids and bases? Four hours of the periodic table and the afternoon is shot. I’d much rather be working on my list, but instead, I spent the day working chemistry formulas. Then it’s dinner and baths and laundry and more studying, trying to fit in some actual quality time with each kid. Next thing I know, it’s after ten at night.

  When did getting ready for bed turn into a whole damn routine? Used to be, you brushed your teeth, said your prayers, and that was it. Now I’ve got to lotion every inch of my body, comb through my hair, floss and brush. And don’t even get me started on the facial regime. I mean, there are serums and cleansers, moisturizers and better moisturizers. Then there are special gadgets to wash our faces, special ones to zap pimples or wrinkles. I swear it takes forever. That’s why I don’t think I’ll ever get contacts, no matter how bad my eyes get. It’s just one more thing to have to do. Men have it so easy. Whenever Ryan and I would come home after a night out, he’d be ready for bed before I even got my eye makeup off.

  Throwing a little extra anti-aging cream on my forehead, I lift my hair, folding it under, trying to imagine what I’d look like with bangs. I haven’t had bangs in over two decades, but maybe it’s time. Last time I went to the dermatologist, she told me one day soon I’d have to choose between Botox and bangs. Bangs are a whole lot cheaper, so I probably should lean that way, but my forehead is looking okay so far.

  After the marathon anti-aging regime, I grab my phone, put my glasses on, and crawl into bed. I don’t know if you’re like me, but I hate when the little number shows up next to an app. I can’t leave it. I have to update it immediately or check the message. Somehow I’ve gotten over fifty emails today, and there’s one text sitting there, too. One extremely important text.

  Mateo—Since I took your sex bucket list, I thought I’d replace it with a new list. The “why you” list.

  Number one: Have you looked at your ass lately? Well, I can guarantee that every man in the office has. Number two: You are loyal to those you love. You literally gave Layla the shirt off your back. You didn’t think I noticed that, but I did. Which brings me to number three. You have no idea how amazing you are. Number four: The curve of your waist between your breasts and hips. When I hold you, my arms fit perfectly there. Number five: This is going to sound unsexy, but your work ethic. You don’t do anything half-ass, not your job, not being a mom, not when you kiss me.

  His list continues for a couple more text screens. With each word, my heart pumps a little harder in a weird mix of excitement and fear. It’s almost like being on the top of the roller coaster right before you start to fall. This deserves more than a text back. I dial his number, but it just rings—once, twice, three times, four. Finally, his voicemail clicks on.

  I leave him a message, telling him how touched I am, how sorry I am, how I hope we’re okay, and that I’m sad I won’t see him for a week. I hang up, knowing I’ll be up all night waiting for a response, but none comes.

  * * *

  I’m old school. I always tell Ava she’s not to text a boy first, and if she texts him and he doesn’t respond, she’s not to text him again. But it’s noon on Monday, and I haven’t heard from Mateo, and I’m now fighting against my own rules. Sitting in carpool line, the temptation to call him is great. The kids only have school a half-day because of exams, so they won’t be out for another fifteen minutes.

  I push the buttons on the stereo in my SUV, hoping for a song to sing. Why is Justin Bieber always on during carpool hours? It never fucking fails. Every single day, it’s Justin Bieber. Frustrated, I turn to AM, maybe some talk radio. I know there’s some guy who talks food and restaurants, but what channel is it?

 
The one good thing about not sleeping is it gives you a lot of time to think. I did my fill last night, and something became very clear. I’ve tried to keep everything in a category. Work, play, mom, girlfriend—everything had a place. But that approach to life is not working. I’m all of those things, and I need to be all of those things at the same time. Mateo understands that, so it’s time I cut him in.

  A knock on my window startles me. There’s a security guard on duty at the school, a short man with a big attitude. He starts yelling and motioning for me to move up, complaining that I’m holding up the line. Nodding and trying to quickly put the car in drive, my phone rings, and I hit my Bluetooth phone connection, seeing Mateo’s name. “I was starting to worry,” I say.

  “No, you weren’t,” he says. “You started to worry like twelve hours ago.”

  “If you know that, then why didn’t you call me back?”

  “I crashed when I got back to Atlanta. Long drive, no sleep the night before. Long days working with the Dash thing. I guess it all just caught up to me.”

  The dismissal bell rings. “I’m at pick-up. The kids will be getting in the car any minute, so I don’t have long to talk. But I’ve made a decision. I want the kids to know we’re seeing each other.”

  “Okay, when?”

  “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Yep.”

  Laughing, I toss my hands up. “You’re a man of few words today.”

  “You said you only had a minute,” he teases me. “I think this is a good step. It will make it easier for us to see each other. No sneaking around. Right now, I can’t even send you flowers because they might see the card or ask who they’re from. I hate that.”

  “You’ve wanted to send me flowers?”

  “Lots of times,” he says. “So tell me the plan. I know you have one.”

  “When exams are done. Maybe Saturday, before the kids go out of town with Ryan?” He quickly agrees without a moment to even consider his schedule, flight times, drive times. “So I’ll see you then.”