by DJ Stone
I smile at my sneaker-clad foot, which feels completely back to normal now. And while I’m shocked about it, Pierce was right. Things haven’t been weird between us. It’s been oddly comfortable. Each day we have dinner then we do the dishes; he washes and I dry. After changing into sweats, we grab the remote and catch up on shows, some nights watching half a season at a time while curled up under a blanket. My desire to jump his bones hasn’t exactly subsided, but I’ve compartmentalized it. The logic behind his argument is making more and more sense every day.
Every day I don’t see or hear from Harrison feels like a step forward. It’s been hard not to reflect on the time I spent with Harrison. I push out the good thoughts that creep in and think exclusively of sitting across from my boss as he leered at explicit and personal pictures of me, reminding myself Harrison caused that.
As I move back into the living room I glance around for my next task. Vacuuming. I know I can handle that. I did it in my apartment both times my cleaning lady called in sick. Pierce’s fancy contraption takes me a couple minutes to figure out. I need to hit the lever with my foot to get it going. This thing works awesome compared to the old, constantly clogged, one I had at my place. This little baby has real suction power.
When I start to feel proud of myself, I hear the most unsettling grinding noise, followed by the screech of a seizing engine, and a crash. Apparently that’s what happens when you get too close to long drapes. They get sucked into the vacuum, bind up the spinning parts, and yank everything off the wall, including the rod. The smell of singed rubber fills my nose, and I yank the plug out of the wall and stand completely motionless. The large metal curtain rod left some damage in its wake, knocking over a framed picture—now in a hundred shards strewn across the hard wood floor. The holes in the wall are enormous. There is no way I’ll be able to put them back up the way they were. Not to mention, I don’t know if the vacuum will vomit up the curtains.
Stumbling backward I let my ass hit the couch, thudding hard against the back of it and nearly knocking the wind out of me. I need a plan. Clean up the glass first then work to free the curtains. Rehanging them is a job for Pierce, but at least I can make it look a little better than it does now. I jump nearly a foot when I hear a thunderous banging that grows louder with each thud. It sounds like a monster trying to escape the laundry room. I abandon my efforts to fix what I broke in the living room and instead charge toward the washing machine to see what’s making it sound like it’s about to come through the door on its own.
The clothes inside are sopping wet and all bunched up on one side. The drum thing is tilted in a way that I’m sure means it’s broken. I start yanking the clothes out with every curse word known to man. My cursing grows louder as I realize the dark colors have bled into the lighter stuff, most of which is Pierce’s. The clothes are dripping everywhere. They are too wet to put into the dryer, but holding them isn’t doing me much good. I scoop them into my arms and run like a mad woman toward the bathtub. I toss the clothes into it with a sloshing sound that punctuates my helplessness. Looking at the soggy pink and blue pile of clothes, I start to cry. Having Pierce rehang a curtain rod is one thing but ruining a batch of his clothes is quite another. What if one of these shirts is his favorite or irreplaceable?
Deep breaths. I need to take some deep breaths and figure out how to fix this. Now even the washing machine smells like smoke. Or does it? Something does smell like smoke, but it’s not coming from the laundry room. With an ear piercing, heart-stopping screech, the smoke detector goes off. I turn my back on the clothes now in the tub and dart to the kitchen. The pan I filled with rice is now filled with black smoldering goop, and the smell is overwhelming. I throw it, pan and all, into the sink and turn the knob until water makes the burning food a sizzling but manageable mess. Grabbing a towel, I wildly fan the smoke away from the detector, while begging it to please shut the fuck up. Please just shut the fuck up.
But it doesn’t stop. It continues to blare for another five minutes, and when I think the noise might drive me mad, it’s trumped by an even more frightening noise. Sirens. Red lights come streaming in through the now bare window of the living room, and I feel like my legs are about to give out.
“Jenny?” I hear Pierce calling as he comes barreling through the front door in full gear with two other firefighters dressed the same right behind him.
“No,” I say, planting my hands on his chest and trying unsuccessfully to push him backward. “No, you can’t be here right now. Go.” I keep shaking my head, looking like an insane person. The front of my clothes are soaking wet, and my hair is frazzled and out of my ponytail.
“What’s going on?” he asks, looking over my shoulder. I grab the collar of his jacket to keep him from doing so.
“Don’t look. Please whatever you do, don’t look.”
“Jenny is there a fire?” he demands, clamping his gloved hands down on my shoulders.
“No, I just burned a pan. No fire. You can go now. Go back to work.” I try shooing them all away but none of them move. The two other men just keep exchanging concerned looks.
“You guys can head back to the firehouse. False alarm. I think I’ll call it a day if you guys can cover me.” Pierce gives a pleading look to his buddies, and they nod as they head out of the house.
“Jenny, why are your clothes all wet?” Pierce pulls his gloves off and then steps out of his boots. “What’s going on?”
“I tried to do some things, and they didn’t work out. I need you to leave so I can fix them. If you walk through the house right now you’ll never be able to look at me the same way again. I really screwed up.”
“What were you trying to do?” Pierce asks with a laugh and then falls serious when he sees tears in my eyes.
“I did some laundry,” I choke out, gesturing at my wet clothes. “Then I tried to vacuum.”
“How does someone try to vacuum?” Pierce asks, taking off his protective jacket and exposing his tight gray T-shirt held even tighter to him by suspenders.
“They get too close to the curtains and suck them off the wall, breaking a picture on the way down.”
“That’s no big deal. An easy fix.”
“There’s more,” I admit, clearing my throat as I take his hand and lead him into the kitchen. “That was going to be chicken and rice.”
He is attempting to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth keep dancing upward. “Making rice is actually harder than it looks,” he offers, but it’s all lost on me now.
“There’s more.”
“More rice?”
“More screw-ups.” Grabbing his hand again I lead him to the laundry room. “I broke your washing machine. The drum thingy is all off.”
“That’s happened before. I can fix that.” Pierce leans in and gets a closer look, attempting to set the drum up the right way but laughing a little when it falls to the side again.
“There’s more,” I admit, sucking in a deep breath, “in the bathroom.”
“I’ve only been gone for an hour. What else could you possibly have tried to do?” He is laughing now, only making me feel worse.
“I’m glad you think this is funny, but you might not when you see this.” I point to the tub where our ruined clothes lay soaking wet, a trail of tinted pink water trailing toward the drain.
“Yikes,” Pierce says, reaching into the pile and pulling out a couple of his things. “You really did a number on these. I’m man enough to wear pink though, so it’ll be fine.”
“I’m so sorry,” I huff, wiping the tears away. “I thought this was the easy stuff. Dishes, laundry, cooking. But everything I touched kept breaking or burning. I completely understand if you’re furious. You should be. And when I get a paycheck I’ll pay you back for all this.”
“I think it’s great you were trying. And if you keep trying, you’ll get better at it. We’ll clean all this up, and we’ll make that chicken and rice recipe together tonight.”
“You aren’
t mad?”
“No, not at all. It means a lot that you were trying to do this stuff. I know it’s not your thing. You’re great at so much, but you can’t be great at everything. Not without some practice anyway. Now, grab the dustpan and I’ll get the drill, and we’ll start in the living room.” Pierce leans in and gently kisses my lips, letting me know he does forgive me. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head so I can hear his thumping heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Pierce was right, everything was repairable for the most part, and he spent the afternoon helping me set it right. He was also right that the more I practiced the better I would get. I now manage a couple things around the house without burning or breaking anything. I feel half human again. It’s what Pierce was trying to tell me, and I’m hearing it clearly.
The quiet knock on the front door makes the hair on my arms stand up. It’s the first time since I moved here that anyone has ever stopped by, and I can’t imagine who it might be. There’s a tiny voice in my head that thinks it might be Harrison. Could he have tracked me down again? What does he want from me? What do I still want from him?
I shuffle my feet toward the door and peek, trying to see through the curtains without giving away that I’m here.
“Jenny?” I hear a familiar voice call tentatively, and I see Tracey standing on her tiptoes trying to look through the high window in the door.
“Trace, what are you doing here?” I open the door and then my arms for a hug. I haven’t talked to her since that night in the bar when I thought she was angry with me. The more time I spend with Pierce the harder it is to justify spending time with her, considering the impression she had made.
“I went by your mom’s house to check in, and she told me you moved out. What are you doing moving in with this guy? You don’t even know him.” She’s looking all around as if I’m being held here against my will.
“Come in.” I yank her by her wrist and roll my eyes at her. “Pierce is a great guy, and I needed to get out of my mom’s house. It’s not like I moved in with him as a live-in girlfriend or anything. I have my own room.”
“Oh,” Tracey replies as she looks around the living room. “So wait, you’re like roommates?”
“Well, not exactly. We’re dating but trying to not let the living arrangements make things too weird. And they haven’t been.” I toss the dishrag over my shoulder and Tracey’s face crinkles skeptically.
“You know what’s weird? The idea of you cleaning this house is one of the strangest things I’ve seen in a while. Please tell me this guy is as good in bed as the last one you were telling me about.”
“He might be,” I shrug, my eyes darting away. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You haven’t slept together yet? You’re living here and cleaning and crap and you’re not even getting laid? What the hell do you guys do?”
“You know . . . we watch television and cook together. We go to the farmers market on the weekend. We’re taking time to get to know each other.”
“That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life. You hate those things; you hate people who like those things. If you’re here under some kind of duress just blink three times, and I’ll get you the hell out of here.”
“I know historically I haven’t been keen on settling down and living a normal kind of life, but I’m trying to evolve. I’m working a part-time job. That’s my car in the driveway. I like what Pierce and I are doing here. I think it’s where I’m meant to be.”
“That’s not evolving, that’s regression. If this were a movie I’d slap you across the face right now to snap you out of this. Do you know where you’re supposed to be? In a big corner office changing the world through medical breakthroughs, saving people from the dangers of bad drugs, and having some earth-shattering orgasms along the way. You want to do that with a nice guy who gives you the warm-fuzzies? Fine. But don’t choose between the two. Don’t settle for being someone’s maid and cuddle-buddy. I’m glad to hear you’re getting back to work, but are you sure you want to call this place home?”
“It works out well since the pet shop is only about five miles from here.” I brace myself for Tracey’s response. She knows me and if anyone can see the cracks in my attempt at a confident exterior it would be her. No amount of convincing myself will work to convince her.
“Pet shop? That’s your new job? You’re cleaning hamster cages and selling goldfish to little brats? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head in that car accident? I think you have brain damage. You’re better than this. Way better than this.”
“Maybe I was, but I screwed up. That guy who was so great in bed . . . he did something unforgivable, and I walked right into it. It shook me up, and I’m finally starting to feel like I have my footing back. Pierce is helping with that.”
“What did the guy do?” Tracey asks, softening now that she can see this isn’t just me being an idiot.
“He got me fired.”
“How? Why?”
“How: by having very revealing pictures of us doing some very intimate things sent to my boss. Since it was completely unethical for me to be sleeping with him, considering his position with the drug we were testing, I was fired on the spot. And more than that, my credibility was destroyed. I’ll never be hired in my field again. He ruined me. As far as why, I have no idea. The drug he was pushing was a dud. Maybe he planned to blackmail me or something? All I know is that I can never show my face in those circles again. It’s mortifying.”
“No. It’s illegal. You need to go to the police. He completely violated you, and you can’t put your head down and start working at a pet shop and hanging out with some holier-than-thou dude who won’t put out. Let’s go get the bastard.” Tracey stomps her fist into her palm assertively.
“I can’t. I can’t have anything to do with him.” I roll my head toward the ceiling and sag my shoulders.
“Why not?”
“I fell in love with him. Before the photos I thought I’d met the man of my dreams. He understood me and saw me in a way no one else ever has. I don’t think I’ll ever really feel that way again. He was perfect.”
“Until he sold you out, ruined your life, and violated you.”
“Yes, right until that point. Last week he came to my mother’s house and acted like he was so worried about me. Just seeing him there was almost too much for me. I wanted him again. I need him in a way that scares the hell out of me. If Pierce hadn’t been there I think I’d have left with him. I can’t be trusted trying to get even with him, because I’ll end up in his bed.”
“Damn, how good is this guy in the sack?”
“There are no words. But it’s more than that, he convinced me I deserved more out of life than I was getting. He had me acting the way I always wanted to. And then it all blew up. All of this seems easier.” I gesture around the room at the very normal and simple life I’m living right now.
“It’s not one or the other. You don’t have to settle for this. I don’t know this Pierce guy that well, but it doesn’t seem like he sees all the amazing things about you. You’re one of the most impressive women I’ve ever known. You’ve taken your lumps in the business world, but you don’t have to make yourself small at home. I hope that’s not what you’re doing. I’ve always looked up to you.”
“That means a lot to me. I’m too tired to be impressive right now. I need a break from fighting the world and proving how tough I am every step of the way. I need to lower my expectations for a while.”
“I don’t get it, but I don’t have to. I’ve done plenty of things in the past you didn’t agree with, and you still showed up for me. Tell me what I can do to help.” Tracey throws her arms up in defeat.
“Help me make this roast,” I plead, gesturing to the kitchen. “My mom and her boyfriend are coming over for dinner tonight, and I want to make something edible. Her boyfriend also happens to be my new boss.”
“I don’t know a damn thing about cooking, you know that. So the on
ly help you’ll get from me is my willingness to overlook that you are a celibate pet store clerk who’s cooking and cleaning for your cuddle-buddy while letting a guy who screwed you over get away with it. Not reminding you how ridiculous that is will be my gift to you.”
“Deal.” I smile and roll my eyes. “And maybe get me a vibrator. Mine somehow didn’t make the cut to my mom’s house instead of storage, and I don’t have the guts to give her specific instructions to get it out of the locked jewelry box it was in.”
“Holy shit, woman, you must be like one bottled-up bomb of horny right now.”
“I am, but I’m channeling it into bettering my domestic skills. I scrubbed the grout in the shower yesterday with this homemade cleaner recipe I found online and that took the edge off.”
“Heaven help you, girl. If this fireman has a limp noodle or some kind of micro dick, I’m breaking you out of here and taking you to Vegas. I’m giving this guy one more week to bend you over that kitchen counter you’ve been cleaning. Mark my words if you’re still sexually frustrated this time next week, we’re gone.”
“You’re a good friend, Tracey.”
“I take your sexual satisfaction very seriously.” She leans in, kisses my cheek, and gives me that long look that says: I’m still pretty damn worried about you. But ultimately she sees she won’t change my mind.
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want you to be fine. I want you to be fulfilled, dominating, and taking chances. Fine is for losers.”