“I don’t want him to rush to grow up,” she insisted. “He’s so innocent. So happy. We can’t force adulthood on him. It happened to both of us, and it might have turned out good for you, but it was shit for me. So please, Grady, let’s just not.”
I understood her point. I was forced to be an adult in a number of ways, but I still had my mother’s love to fall back on. I was never without a soft place to fall, but until she met me, Cassie was always without one.
That was our first parenting argument. We had several more, including whether or not to let Chloe get her belly button pierced. I said no, Cass said yes, and after much heated debate Chloe decided she wanted her nose pierced instead. Cassie and I agreed that hell would freeze before we allowed that, and we both told Chloe she could wait until her eighteenth birthday to poke holes in her face.
We also argued about other things. She had some ridiculous fit about a girl I went to the movies with in high school, and I got a little touchy when we ran into the Nordic Douchebag one day at the mall. He was with his wife and little girl, but it was still awkward as hell to stand there and have polite conversation with a guy who’d seen my wife naked. I’m no raging alpha male, but that was too fucking much, and my mood was so sour I drove her back home and retreated to my own space alone to get myself straight.
But there's been a lot to be thankful for. I have dinner at the house several times a week, and the kids are no longer surprised when I show up. We watch family movies, play board games, and eat breakfast together every Sunday. Though it would taste even better if all I had to do was roll out of bed, kiss my beautiful woman, and eat it, I can’t complain. Despite some growing pains, things are good.
When the kids aren’t around, we get down to the business of rediscovering each other. Sometimes we lay in bed for hours catching up on all the things we’ve missed. I play with her fingers and watch her face as she talks, and I fall in love with her all over again. Sharing memories of our happiest times together, being careful to celebrate the good without placing blame for the bad, helps to bond us back together. Making tender love to Cassie and telling her how much I’ve missed her is so intimate it takes my breath away.
Other times I take her in random parts of my house or hers, clothes pushed aside, rough and fast, and we communicate only with our primal grunts of satisfaction. It’s new for us to be so uninhibited about our desires with each other; there’s an undercurrent of honesty between us now that never existed before. In those moments I feel like I’m discovering a new Cassie, a more grown up version of the girl I loved, and it’s erotic and comfortable and painful all at once.
* * * *
We both spent a long time being single, and it seems we’ve developed certain habits that we weren’t about to give up just because we were back in each other’s lives. From time to time we brush up against those habits and work through them together. Mostly it’s the little stuff - who sleeps on which side of the bed, which radio station to listen to, what type of bread to buy. But there are other things, too. And one night, about a week before Thanksgiving, I make a discovery about Cassie that’s incredibly fucking hot.
She’s in the living room on the sofa, reading on her tablet while I shower. Imagine my amusement when I come down the hall and hear a brief, albeit very distinct, chorus of groans coming from her device.
Porn. Huh. New for her. Very new for her. She’s loosened up a lot since we were younger, apparently. And my body reacts to that information immediately, even as my mind wants to tease her about it a bit.
“Whatcha watching?” I ask as I walk silently up behind her. She jumps about ten feet into the air before stuffing the tablet into the couch next to her.
“Nothing,” she mumbles, flushing instantly. “Something a friend sent me.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask innocently. “Something hot?”
At that point she knows she’s busted. She licks her lips and I can see she’s debating exactly how much to confess. “Um… Yeah, I guess. My friend Shannon sent me this clip…”
“Of?” I probe.
“Of… Uh… just this movie.” I didn’t think it was possible for her to blush any harder, but she’s bright red, her eyes wide and guilty as I continue toward her.
“Yeah? Sounded pretty hot. Is it hot?” I tease.
“Sure, yeah.” She tries and failed to be nonchalant.
“Mmm. What was so hot about it, exactly?”
“They were… Uh… You know.”
“I don’t,” I say, enjoying the way her eyes beg me to put her out of her misery. “Kinda why I’m asking.”
“They were…” her voice drops to a shy murmur. “They were, you know… touching themselves for each other.”
“And you found that hot? A sexy woman playing with her own pussy? A guy fisting his own big, hard cock?” I reach the couch and lean my hip against it, and she twists her head back and up to look at me.
I don’t miss the little shiver that runs through her when I say it. Oh, yeah. My girl acquired some dirty tastes while she was away from me, and I can’t wait to put them to the test.
I lean on my forearms right next to her. “Just a clip or a whole movie?”
“I… Uh… A whole movie.”
She practically whispers the last bit, and I can tell she has no idea where I’m headed with all this, so I decide to have mercy on her. I twine my hand through her hair, tilt her head so her neck is exposed to me, and bend to plant a feather-light kiss just under her ear. Nuzzling her earlobe, I murmur, “So how wet are you right now?”
She gasps and squirms but doesn’t answer, so I let her go and walk slowly around the couch. Her eyes never leave me, and the look in them is part curiosity, part nervousness, and mostly lust, so I go for it.
Kneeling in front of her, I pull the foot she has tucked up under her knee so her legs are straight. Then I tug her pink flowery pajama pants down over her hips and toss them over my shoulder. I remove her socks, one by one, then toss them aside as well.
“Shirt,” I command, and she quickly peels it from her skin. When all that’s left on her body is a bra and panties, I quickly unhook her bra and fling it over the back of the couch.
“Grady,” she murmurs. She has this way of saying my name that shoots straight through me and makes my craving for her kick up another notch. I have half a mind to just fuck her like she wants me to. But I don’t want to waste my opportunity.
I nod to the cushion where she’s stashed the tablet. “Continue.”
Cassie draws her feet back up on the edge of the couch as if trying to protect herself and looks at me like I have three heads. “What? No, I’m… She just sent it to me. I don’t need to watch it right now. You’re here now.”
I chuckle and rock back on my heels, loosening my towel and dropping it on the floor to expose my erection. I take one of her pale, pedicured feet in my hand and nibble the arch before dragging it across my cheek, making her toes flex and curl. “I can keep myself busy,” I assure her, taking my stiff cock in the other hand. “Turn it back on, baby.”
She stares at me for a good long minute, but as soon as I wrap my lips and tongue around her pink-tipped toes she grabs the tablet and pulls up the clip.
And while she watches, I suck her toes and her kiss her feet, nuzzle her calves and lick and nip my way up the insides of her thighs, all while stroking myself to her soft, rhythmic panting and the groans coming from her tablet. Her eyes flicker from the couple on the screen to my fingers wrapped around my cock.
“Oh my God, Grady…” she moans, and I stop jerking myself off and yank her panties down to her ankles.
They’re soaked. Sopping. Eyes glazed with lust, Cassie doesn’t hesitate to answer when I ask if she’s ready to come, and my fingers are inside her before the “yes” is even out of her mouth.
I suck her clit in tandem rhythm with my fingers until her thighs are shaking. The tablet tumbles onto the cushions and she grabs my hair and thrusts against my face, fucking my mouth with her pu
ssy, crying out and shuddering as her climax sweeps over her. She’s still coming when I kneel between her legs and slide into her, catching the last few contractions around my dick as I sink as deep as I can go.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads. “Please… just don’t—”
“I’m not going to stop for the next hour,” I vow. “You’re gonna come again with me buried inside you, and I’m still going to keep right on fucking you and fucking you until that greedy pussy of yours is finally satisfied.”
I make her come twice more. Each time she begs me to come with her and each time I deny her, although my balls ache with the need. As I finally release what feels like my entire life force inside of her, she cries out and shudders under me again.
“Was that number four?” I ask through my post-coital haze.
“I think it was just… aftershocks or something,” she pants. “Jesus. What the hell got into you, Grady?”
I pull my face out of her neck and grin at her. “I think it’s hot that you watch porn.”
“Apparently.” She smiles, still breathless. “If all I have to do to get you to attack me that way is open Shannon’s e-mails when you’re around, life is about to get very interesting.”
“Babe,” I whisper against her damp skin, “It’s already very interesting.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cassie
“I commend you both for being here,” Dr. Gaul says to us. “You have your homework. See you next week.”
As always, I walk out of her office after our couples’ therapy feeling rubbed raw. These sessions are hard, because I want distance from everyone in the world and instead I have to head to work. When Grady kisses me goodbye at our cars, he holds me an extra beat.
“I know you hate this,” he says. “That’s what makes you so brave.”
I don’t feel brave. I feel exposed and unmoored. This session was spent discussing my parents and their co-dependent marriage. For opening that can of worms I deserve another week off work. In Bali.
There are times I resent Grady for his happy childhood, and although it was awful to say those words out loud I felt better when I said them during our session today. He didn’t look surprised or angry, only sad for me, which got my back up even more. But that’s something I’m working on with Dr. Gaul - my quick trigger - so it was healthy to put it all into practice. Now I slump in his arms, unwilling to leave him, even though half an hour ago I was a bitter mess who would begrudge a sweet man his well-adjusted upbringing.
I’m an awful person.
Grady walks me to my car, and when I’m buckled in he leans in through my window to kiss the tip of my nose. “I love you,” he says. He doesn’t wait for me to say it back - he knows I can’t, not yet. That came up in our first session, too, and surprisingly I’m the one who feels uncomfortable about not having said it. Grady is completely okay with it.
“She’ll say it when she’s ready,” he assured Dr. Gaul when she asked how he felt about his verbal expressions of love not being returned.
His confidence in me is staggering and unfounded. Watching him climb up into his truck, a lump forms in my throat. I know how lucky I am. He’s been beyond patient with me and my nuttiness since Delaware. About every other day I have a mini-breakdown about keeping our relationship hidden from the kids, wondering when and how we can actually tell them. I keep picturing Chloe’s angry face, Caden’s shock and horror, and I can’t. Not yet. But that’s limiting the amount of time we can spend together, and it’s frustrating Grady.
I get to work at nine-thirty, catch up with Jai, and start checking my e-mails. About halfway down the list I see “Sandra McSwain” in my inbox, and my gut roils. Sandra and I haven’t spoken since the night of our argument. I walked out of that restaurant pissed off, and she hasn’t made any attempt to contact me since. Our business together is finished - she sent the graphics off to the printers after we finalized it, and I had Jai send her a check for the discounted rate we’d agreed on. I haven’t gone to our yoga studio, either, preferring to just catch a class here and there at the Y rather than face her.
I’ve had a lot of time to think about what it was that set me off during our conversation over drinks. I should’ve been able to tell her politely to fuck off. Instead, I ran from the table. And I know I did that, at least in part, because Sandra reminded me a lot of my mother with her patent disapproval of Grady. The fact is, Sandra doesn’t know Grady. She only knows what I told her in bitter moments, which is only part of my truth. So the only person to blame for any misconceptions Sandra might have about Grady is me. She’s brash and straight to the point, and I got pissed off that I didn’t get the reaction from her I wanted.
So I ran, and then I avoided her. Just like I did with Grady. And my parents. And Adam.
Adam is happy in his new life, and we could be friendly again, although I don’t see us double-dating anytime soon. My parents are total lost causes; I haven’t spoken to them in years and have no plans to speak to them ever again. But Sandra has been a good friend to me, and I’ve missed her. I don’t know how she and I can move on from this, but I really hope we can.
Pressing e-mails from the Dragon Lady - three of them, to be exact - take precedence, and it isn’t until later that I gather the nerve to open the e-mail from my friend.
To: Cassandra D. Mahoney
From: Sandra McSwain
Subject: Apologies
Hi Cass,
I’m an asshole. I’ll grovel if you let me buy you another margarita and explain.
As Jim Morrison once said, “A friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself.”
I’m sorry I wasn’t that friend. Please call me.
S.
Her e-mail makes me smile in spite of my bad mood. The nervousness I felt about opening her message is gone as I re-read it and type my response: You ARE an asshole, but I’ll take that margarita anyway. I know I overreacted. I’ll call you tonight.
Later, when I’m driving home from work, I call and she answers immediately.
“Thank you for calling,” she says. “How are things?”
I’m not yet ready to go into details with her about Grady, but I do want to share a little about what’s happening. “Good,” I say. “We’re taking it slow. We’re seeing Dr. Gaul every week.”
“I’m glad,” she says, and there’s only warmth in her voice. No phony cheer, no passive-aggressive bullshit. Suddenly I wish she was here so I could hug her.
“How about you? How’s the trainer?”
She laughs. “Oh, that’s been over forever. There’s a new one now.”
“Of course there is,” I tease. “What does your schedule look like next week? We should have dinner one night.”
“I’d love that.”
We pick a date and I text Grady to give him a heads-up that he’s on dinner duty that night.
Glad you’re patching that up, he texts back.
Me too, I reply. With my heart just a little lighter, I head home.
* * * *
Later that night I call Renée. She sounds exhausted when she answers the phone, but she brightens a bit after we start chatting. When she tells me Jacob called someone a “poop-face” last week at school and got in trouble for it, we laugh about the fact that since there are six-year-olds bringing weapons to school these days. Calling another child “poop-face” seems mild in comparison.
“He got it from Addie, which is the worst thing. She said it one day and the boys both loved the sound of it. Do you know how much of a workout our naughty step has gotten in the past couple weeks over the expression ‘poop-face’?”
“How do you make them stop when all three of them are doing it?”
She sighs. “I’ve told them all that the next person who says it gets no apple juice for a week. I may or may not have also told Noah that I will write a letter to Spiderman. That’s as good a threat as any to him. It’s been pretty ‘poop
-face’ free around here for the past few days, so I’m thinking it’s done.”
We talk more about the kids, Grady, and Donna before I finally ask the tough question. “How are you, sweetie?”
There’s a pregnant pause before she admits, “I don’t know.”
Something in her voice doesn’t sit right with me. “What do you mean? Are you not feeling well?”
“I want to get back to work,” she confesses. “I have the leave time to stay home a bit longer, and Sophie’s still nursing. I hate pumping, it’s a pain in my ass, and right now I don’t have to do it at all, which I’m happy about. But I could use the money, and I miss work. I miss adult company. I sit in this house and I’m surrounded by memories of Carl all day, and…” She trails off in a wavering voice. “I’m not sure it’s healthy.”
“Can you go back part-time?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I just need— I can’t—” Finally she gets her thought out. “I thought it would be better to be home, but I’m not sure it’s really the best thing. I need a new routine for myself. The kids are okay, but I feel like I’m just… not.”
“Are you talking to anyone?” I ask.
“There’s a grief and loss group at my church,” she says. “I went once. There was no one there I could relate to. There were a bunch of older women who had all lost their husbands, but they’d been married for decades. And then there’s a mother there who lost both her sons to SIDS. I can’t be around that right now, it just gives me nightmares that I’ll walk into Sophie’s room and find her not breathing.”
“Maybe a different group.”
“Maybe.” She sounds skeptical. “I don’t know, maybe I’m not the kind of person who gets anything out of therapy. I feel like I need something else. Not talking.”
“You might,” I agree. “Whatever works. Let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ll hop on a plane if I have to. In a heartbeat.”
For Life Page 22