Hard Choices

by Ellson, Theresa

  “It was massive culture shock. I mean, the school itself was pretty small, but I grew up here. I’d never been surrounded by so many damn people.”

  “Didn’t you like it?” I asked, mesmerized. I’d grown up here, too. Not privileged, like Aaron, though. My mom had worked herself to the bone keeping food on the table for me and my little brothers after my dad died. My grandparents had helped a lot, but it had been tough. My family was incredibly proud when I’d finished college – the first one in the family ever. When my mom passed away a few years later, old before her time, I had been so grateful she’d at least lived to see me succeed. It was all she wanted for her kids.

  “Not really,” Aaron admitted. “My dad was really disappointed when I chose to come home and go to law school.”

  “Wow. I admit, it’s hard for me to understand being disappointed in your son going to law school.” I was proud that Becca was in school, and Danny planned to go. Kyle was working as a journeyman electrician, and I’d finally stopped nagging when I realized he just wasn’t the college type. I was so proud of Kyle; he worked hard, and he supported himself. In fact, when the housing bubble had burst, he’d jumped on it and bought a house for almost nothing. He fixed it up and rented it out. Now he owned his second house, and he wasn’t even twenty-one.

  Aaron shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. He thought I should go to Harvard. Or Georgetown. Dad had big plans to turn me into a senator or something.” He shook his head. “That ain’t me, that ain’t me. I ain’t no senator’s son,” I laughed at his deadpan recitation of the Creedence song. “I am a ‘fortunate son,’ though, and I know it. This town is too small to grow up with money and not see the people doing without.”

  “Wow, Aaron. That’s really admirable,” I said sincerely. “So what do you want to do?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t blowing smoke in my interview, though. I really do want to help the little guy. I also love this part of Idaho. I’d like to do some good in my little corner of the world. This corner. I’ve been fortunate enough to travel a bit, and to go to college in New England. I even did a year as an exchange student in France,” my eyes got wide. That was so far outside my experience. “And oui, oui, I loved those French girls. And they loved me.” He sighed. “Ah, Europe. So free! So liberal!” I laughed at his unapologetic manner. “But there’s no place like home. I love it here.”

  “I do, too. And not just by default, since I’ve never lived anywhere else. But I’d had given anything to spend a year in France. Or a year anywhere,” I sighed.

  “So go.”

  “What? I can’t.”

  “Why not? Lyssa, you are not answerable to anyone anymore. You are a free agent now. There is nothing stopping you from taking a year and traveling around the world.”

  “Ha! My only personal Eat, Pray, Love? That’s not cliché at all!” I laughed and shook my head.

  Aaron shrugged. “Just because it’s been done before doesn’t make it a bad idea.”

  I nodded, and picked up our dinner plates. “You’re right. Maybe I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. You should.” He stood up and picked up our glasses. “Hey,” he asked casually, “is your pussy still sore?”

  “Yes!” I laughed. “I believe you promised me a movie!”

  “I did, indeed,” Aaron nodded. “How about Phantom Menace?” I threw a kitchen towel at him, but he ducked it.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” he backed me into the corner of the kitchen counter. “I think you should be nice to me. I’m nice to you,” he said quietly, his arms braced on the counter on either side of me.

  “You have that look in your eye,” I said knowingly. “I told you, my pussy is still sore.”

  “Then let me kiss it better,” he said, lightly running his lips over my cheeks. My breath was coming faster, just having him this close to me again. “Come on. I’ll make it all better,” he breathed into my ear. Before I could react, he had untied my drawstring pants, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my pants and panties, and yanked them down to my ankles. I stepped out of them. He looked around the kitchen for a second, then said, “I have an idea.” Taking my hand, he led me back to the dining table. He stood me up against it, with my ass on the edge, then pushed me back, so I was lying on the table. He pulled up a chair, and threw my legs over his shoulders.

  I was speechless. I had gotten Scott to try this a few times – never on the dining table, though, that’s for damn sure – and he had not been into it, to put it mildly. Of course I’d read all about it, but I didn’t know what to expect from someone who knew what he was doing. And I was absolutely sure that Aaron knew what he was doing.

  I was right.

  With his face between my legs, he kneaded the backs of my thighs, and kissed his way down the inside. My breath was coming faster now, with anticipation as much as arousal. I felt like a virgin again, like it was my first time (except I knew I wouldn’t end up disappointed and confused when it was all over). I tried to stay still, but I found myself writhing on the table, trying to push myself into Aaron’s face.

  “Patience, Lyssa, patience,” he kissed my thigh again. “We’ll get there, I promise.” I moaned at his tone. That smooth, velvety voice was enough to get me off.

  Finally, he moved his lips up my thigh, barely running his lips across my down. “I like the landing strip, by the way,” he said huskily, “that is so sexy.” The vibration of his speech that near my clit was making me crazy. I felt swollen already.

  His tongue barely, just barely, laved my lips. I shivered. He moved up to my clit… and I went nuts. He really knew what he was doing. He worked my clit in exactly the right rhythm. I moaned and moved with him. It wasn’t long before I came. Convulsively. Violently. My body moved like it was being battered by ocean waves as the orgasm coursed through me. I screamed, really screamed. It was too much. His tongue on my super-sensitive clit was more than I could take. I tried to push away, but he hooked his arms around my legs and pulled me back to his mouth, working my clit some more. I thrashed around on the table as the next orgasm came.

  Finally, finally, he released me. I rolled over on my side and pulled my legs up, laying in the fetal position on the table, unable to move except for the aftershocks from my orgasms. He stood up, smiling smugly at me. Then I remembered something: last night, when he’d fucked me in the garage after making me come so hard… that had been amazing. I wanted to feel that again.

  “Fuck me. Now.” I said, panting. I didn’t need to tell him again. He dropped his pants and kicked them off. “Take your shirt off, too,” I wanted to see that amazing body pounding into me. I started to roll over onto my back, but he stopped me. Still lying in the fetal position, I lay there as he rolled his condom on. With one hand on the small of my back and one hand hooked between my knees, he pushed into me. I thought I’d be too sore to enjoy it. I was wrong.

  I was so swollen and wet, I wasn’t even sure there’d be enough friction for him. But with my legs closed, it was much easier to tighten up the muscles in my core. I grabbed his cock with my inner muscles as he pumped into me slowly, deeply. I knew I couldn’t come again. There was just no way. But I felt him press every inch of himself into me, and I watched his body, the movement of his hips, the look on his face. He picked up his pace as he got closer.

  I lay there, feeling every inch of every stroke. It was like my body had been asleep my whole life. Nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever been so mind-numbingly pleasurable. I didn’t want it to end; I couldn’t take any more.

  When he finally reached his orgasm, he threw back his head and gave a guttural cry. It was so primal, so animalistic, and he was fucking me so hard and so deep, somehow, I came again. He thrust himself into me hard, head thrown back, muscles tensed, gripping my legs and my hip as his orgasm pulsed through him. Finally he shuddered, and collapsed forward, his forehead on my ribs, his arms thrown over me.

  “God. Damn. Woman.” He muttered. “You
are trying to kill me.”

  “Well, I’m the one lying on a hard slab of wood,” I laughed.

  “Oh, sorry.” He stood up, a little shakily.

  I slid off the table, and stumbled to the couch in the living room. I was afraid I’d leave a wet spot, though, so I grabbed a blanket and wrapped myself up. Aaron looked around, saw another blanket in a basket on the floor, and wrapped himself up, too.

  “You’re going to have a lot of laundry,” he leered at me.

  Suddenly, I remembered the blouse Aaron had come all over that morning. After Scott had shown up, I’d completely forgotten about it. I started to giggle, thinking about trying to explain that stain. “Yeah, thanks for ruining my blouse this morning,” I said ruefully.

  Aaron just shrugged. “You can get another one. It was worth it, wasn’t it?”

  “Hell, YES,” I said emphatically.

  We lay for a few more minutes, catching our breath, enjoying the high.

  “What time is it?” Aaron asked.

  “Um,” I twisted around to look at the clock on the wall. “Almost seven.”

  “Sweet. We have time for that movie. Listen,” he said, leaning forward, “I have plans with my family tomorrow, but I’m free all day Sunday. Can we… get together?” he smiled unabashedly.

  “Yeah. That’d be fun. I need a day to heal, anyway,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Jesus, Aaron, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow, let alone go for a run!”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you in shape!” He hopped up and grabbed his clothes. “Where’s your TV? Downstairs?” I nodded. “OK, I’ll meet you down there,” he said as he headed into the bathroom.

  I hadn’t put much thought into what to wear around Aaron. I decided on some comfy pajamas. I cleaned up in my bathroom – gently, barely touching my swollen, tender parts – then threw on my favorite, super-soft baby dolls PJs. Comfy, and they didn’t scream “my husband had no interest in me sexually,” like my flannel winter PJs did. I chuckled to myself, thinking again of Scott’s puce face. Oh well. His loss.

  Chapter 11

  I woke up Saturday feeling sated like I never had before. Sex, hiking, sex while hiking. I had slept even better than the night before. Of course, I’d made it all the way to my bed last night. I’d sent Aaron home around nine, after deciding to text each other Sunday morning.

  “I have to head back to school, but not first thing in the morning,” he’d leered at me. “You heal up tomorrow, and I’ll make sure Sunday is a day for you to remember,” he’d leaned in and bitten my earlobe, ever so gently, filling my body with heat again.

  “Go, now!” I’d playfully pushed him toward the door. “I need to sleep. And rest. And give my body time to adjust to the shock of being used again!”

  “All right. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  Now I rolled over in bed, still feeling the deliciousness of Aaron’s body, my body, and what our bodies could do together. For the first time in… I couldn’t remember how long… instead of hopping out of bed at the crack of dawn, I rolled over and fell back asleep.

  I woke up to the doorbell ringing. I looked over at my alarm clock. Ten am?! It took me a minute to get my bearings, and then I heard knocking and Kyle’s voice calling, “Mom? Mom! Are you OK?”

  I jumped out of bed and ran to the front door. Throwing it open, my son almost fell into my arms. “Jesus, Mom! What were you doing? Were you still in bed? You never sleep in. Are you sick?” I shook my head no, but before I could say a word, Kyle blanched and he asked, “Are you… are you alone?”

  Goddamn Scott. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Kyle come in, so I can close the door,” I said sternly. He skulked in, and I closed the door, not quite slamming it. “Yes, I am alone. But as you can see, I am not dressed. Get yourself a cup of coffee while I throw some clothes on.”

  I stomped up the stairs, fuming at my ex-husband for ratting me out. Fuming at my son for invading my privacy. And just generally pissed that my euphoria was gone. Asshats.

  I threw on sweats and came back into the kitchen. The coffee had been sitting since five-thirty, though, so I decided I deserved some fresh brew. Kyle sat silently while I set up the coffee machine again, acutely aware he had pissed me off, and knowing better than to say anything.

  “So,” I turned around and leaned against the counter with my arms crossed across my chest. “I take it your dad called you.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Kyle turned bright red, but he said, “Mom, it’s not… he’s not one of my friends, is he?”

  “No, Kyle. You don’t know him. You’ve never met him. I doubt you ever will.” Fucking Scott!

  “Is he really… you know, is he young?”

  I shrugged. “He’s younger than I am.”

  Kyle looked so appalled, it would have been funny had I not been livid and barely containing it.

  “Kyle, look, I am pissed at your father, and I will deal with him. But you need to understand something: you don’t live here anymore. You need to respect my privacy. You can’t come over here pounding on the door because you feel a compulsion to talk to me. I am an adult. You are an adult. Call me. Text me. Make sure you hear back from me before you come bursting in over here, got it?”

  He nodded. “Did you really make Dad give you his key?”

  “Yes! Why wouldn’t I? He doesn’t live here anymore, Kyle! I don’t have a key to his place, do I?”

  “No,” he said quietly, “that’s a fair point.” We were both quiet for a minute. “Are you going to get my key back, too?”

  “No,” I took a deep breath and uncrossed my arms, bracing myself against the counter. “But we need to agree that you’re not going to barge in over here. Since you moved out, I’ve always respected your privacy, haven’t I?” he nodded. “Now it’s time for you to reciprocate, got it?” He nodded again.

  “Is he… coming over soon? Do you need me to leave?” he looked so sheepish and so uncomfortable, I walked over and hugged his head, dropping a kiss into his hair.

  “No, honey. I don’t need you to leave. But thanks for asking. Now,” I walked over to the fridge, “I am going to make myself some breakfast. Would you like some?”

  “Will you make home fries?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes!” I laughed. “I will make home fries. But get off your ass and help me dice potatoes. Come on! I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

  As we cooked together, and he filled me in on his life, I realized this was the first time we’d talked since our Big Talk about Amber and moving on.

  “Kyle, can I ask you something?”

  He shrugged, “Sure, Mom – but I reserve the right to uncomfortably change the subject,” he looked at me pointedly.

  “Fair enough,” I chuckled. “Since our talk about Amber, and moving on, has it… did that help you at all? Do you feel like you got some closure?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “You know what the hard part is? The ‘just being sad’ part that you told me to try. Every time I try to imagine my life with Amber, the life I thought we’d have, it… it hurts so much, I… I have to change the channel in my brain, you know?”

  I did know. I’d done that a lot over the years – whenever I started thinking about what I might have done with my life, it hurt to think that I’d let myself down, then it hurt to think about never having met my kids. I was so grateful to get this second chance, to live life on my terms.

  “Well, it takes time, Kyle. Grieving is a process, not an event.”

  “Even that helped, though, Mom,” he turned toward me. “You helped me understand why I was still so pissed at her. I feel like she stole something from me. I know that’s nuts, but I think that’s it. I feel like she used me, and when she was ready to move on, she just dumped me without thinking about me at all.”

  I stared at my son, shocked and amazed and impressed. Kyle had always been the stoic one. Becca was the responsible older sister. Danny was the impulsive baby of the family. In the months s
ince my divorce, I’d had more in-depth, real conversations with all my kids than I ever had before – but mostly with Kyle.

  “You know what, Kyle? If, six months ago, someone had told me that getting divorced from my husband would bring me and my son so much closer together,” I shook my head, disbelieving, “I mean, talk about unforeseen consequences. Thank you, Sarah, for moving in down the street four years ago!”

  Kyle laughed ruefully. “She and her ex-husband sold their house already,” Kyle confided.

  “Yeah, I haven’t seen him around, but I didn’t really think about it much,” I said thoughtfully. “I was so glad he didn’t try to talk to me after Sarah and your dad hooked up. I never cared for him.” I’d really only met them a few times, at neighborhood barbecues. He’d seemed dour and unpleasant, and she’d seemed mousy and inconsequential. I hadn’t pursued a friendship there.

  “Dad says he hit Sarah. A lot.”

  “Oh my god!” I was appalled and felt an instant rush of compassion for Sarah. “That poor woman! She really traded up when she got your dad, didn’t she?”

  Kyle shook his head, “Mom, I swear you amaze me. Aren’t you supposed to hate her?”

  I shrugged. “I know, I know. But there are at least three people in the world who are happier because your dad and I are divorced. I don’t hate her. I never did. I never even felt any animosity toward her. And now, knowing she was trapped in an abusive marriage, it just makes me happier that she got away. And I’m glad she makes your dad happy.”

  “Do you think they’ll stay together?”

  “I have no idea, Kyle. How long was she married?”

  “Um, a long time, I guess. Her kids are still in high school, though. Actually, one is even younger.”

  “Do they live with your dad, too?”

  “Yup. Sarah’s husband didn’t save his temper just for her, unfortunately.”