Return To You

by Leia Stone

  "No clue," she answers, taking the drink I'm holding out to her. "It must be Owen's."

  I stare at her for a beat, searching her face for any indication this watch and the note in the pantry are related, but she just tips her juice back and chugs. Only the slightest bit of panic crossed her face when I first showed her the watch, but it was also when I’d handed her the green drink, so it might just be that. The watch being Owen's makes sense. He's a man who's been coming here weekly for years. I decide to let it go

  "Cheers," I tell Mom, holding up my glass.

  We finish our juice in the sunshine, then go inside and get ready to face the day.

  Linda, my mom's friend at chemo, smiles at me. "It's nice to see you again, Autumn." Her cold cap is already on her head. My mom sits beside her, hair not yet tucked into the cap, and I wonder if we’ll have to shave her head. She lost her hair both times before with the chemo, so I’m trying to mentally prepare myself.

  The beautiful nurse from before situates my mom, making sure she has what she needs.

  "Do you want me to stay, Mom? I can." I pat the purse resting on my hip. "I brought a book."

  "No, no." Mom gestures with her hand. "You go. Call that new friend you've made and ask her to lunch."

  My lips pinch as I consider her suggestion. I haven't seen Livvie since the night Owen's dad needed help, and I wonder how she's doing. I also don’t love the idea of seeing my mom poked with needles.

  "That's a good idea," I agree, shifting to my other foot. "Text me when you're ready, okay? Or if you need anything?"

  Mom sends me the thumbs-up sign as she leans over to Linda to see what magazine she's paging through. I head out of the room, surreptitiously looking around for Owen. I'd been hoping he'd make an appearance at my mom's appointment, but so far, he hasn't been around.

  On my way out of the hospital I pull out my phone and text Livvie, asking if she can meet for lunch.

  She writes back immediately: Do WASP's play croquet?

  I bark a laugh. If I never lived in the Northeast, I don't know if I'd have understood her joke. Either way, Livvie is hilarious and I’m glad she’s in town for the time being.

  We agree to meet at the cafe near her bookstore. It doesn't escape my attention that it's the middle of the day and as far as I know she is the sole employee of her business. Which means she's turning over the “open” sign in the window to meet me for lunch.

  Bad business management or living life to the fullest? I’m not one to judge, seeing as I’m currently jobless.

  When I arrive at the restaurant, Livvie is already there. She wears a black maxi dress, and several gold bangles on her right arm.

  "You look beautiful," I tell her when I get to the table. She stands up to greet me, pulling me in for a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.

  "Do you think it will be enough to make my husband come to his senses?"

  I stop with my napkin in mid-air and stare. "Is he here?"

  She picks up the phone lying facedown on the table and glances at it, then replaces it. "His flight arrives in a few hours. I'll drive down to the valley and pick him up after we eat."

  I adjust my seat and take a sip of water. "Are you excited?"

  She captures her lips with two fingers and twists. After a moment, she lets go and says, "Yes. But I'm nervous too. What if this is it? What if he comes out here and decides he hates it? He might, you know." She picks up the small menu. "This feels like a turning point for us. I still can't believe I convinced him to leave work for a few days and come out here."

  “What are you hoping for?” I ask her.

  She stills, thinking about it. “That he’ll want to move to Arizona, work only eight hours a day, and we can have kids and settle down.” Her voice is small when she says it, like it’s the first time she’s spoken her hopes out loud.

  Reaching across the table, I squeeze her hand. “Then that’s what you ask him for. Don’t settle.”

  She grins, looking confident, and gives me a nod. I move the conversation along and ask her how it came to be that he decided to come out here, and what she will do with him while he is here. She says they're staying at a resort in Phoenix, and she's going to show him that Arizona isn't full of tumbleweeds like he thinks. We order lunch, and continue small talk.

  "Let's talk about you," Livvie says, stabbing her fork into her chicken and hummus. "How are things with Owen?"

  I cock my head to the side and poke at a crumble of feta cheese. "Well…"

  "You rode a one-way train to pound town, didn't you?"

  My face scrunches and I nod.

  "I want details. Oh, Lord, please give me details. I need them." She hammers the table with one fist. "Need them."

  I laugh. "We went to dinner last night at my favorite place. A place that I would call 'our' place. Then we went back to his house—"

  "Yeah you did," Livvie interrupts, eyebrows wiggling. "How many times?"

  I’m quiet for a second before a full-on grin lights up my face.

  "Three," I admit.

  "Ahhhh," she whisper-yells. "Are you sore?"

  "A little." As I say it, a small ache starts between my legs. "Why are you so curious? You've been married forever. This stuff is old news for you."

  "Oh, girl. Just you wait. Married sex is boring. In five or ten years, other people's sexcapades will be interesting to you, too." She takes a bite, then asks, "Do you have real feelings for each other or was this just a physical thing?"

  "Yeah," I say around a bite of food. "He told me this morning that it meant something to him."

  "Hot damn," Livvie says, her voice awed. "Owen the oncologist is in love."

  I spear a bite and lift it to my mouth. "Nobody said the L word."

  Slow your roll, Livvie.

  She gives me a withering look. "Nobody has to. You loved each other before, right? First time love is big stuff. It packs a punch." She grows quiet after she says it, and I know her mind has gone to her husband, her own first-time love.

  We finish eating, and I wish Livvie safe travels on her way to pick up her husband from the Phoenix airport. Safe travels really means, I hope he gives you what you want.

  And I'm certain Livvie understands that.

  That night, I meet Owen at my front door. He looks tired from the day, but handsome as ever. I peek over my shoulder to be certain my mother isn't nearby, then wrap my hand around his neck and plant a fleeting kiss on his lips.

  "I was hoping to catch you at my mom's chemo appointment," I murmur, stepping back and letting him in the house.

  "Me too," he says, voice low. "All my appointments ran late today."

  My mom walks in just in time to hear the last part. "Just one of those days, huh?" she asks.

  "Yep," Owen agrees, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his navy-blue slacks. She turns her back and he sends me a meaningful glance.

  I purse my lips and look down at my toes, painted a bright red.

  "Owen, I'm surprised my hard-ass daughter let you come for dinner on a day that doesn't start with an M." Mom looks at me and laughs. "You must've worn her down on your date last night."

  Boy, did he wear me down. Heat creeps up my cheeks as I fantasize about him wearing me down again and again.

  Owen cocks his head toward me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "She took some convincing, but I was able to show her I'm worthy of friendship."

  "Good," she says, patting his cheek as she passes him. "Come on into the kitchen and help with dinner."

  We both walk behind her, and Owen reaches down, grabbing a handful of my backside and squeezing. I send him a coy look and shimmy out of his grasp with a grin.

  Vegetable and chicken enchiladas are on the menu tonight. Owen chops onions, pretending to cry, and says, "I don't cook much. It's not very fun to prepare dinner for one."

  "Tell me about it," my mom says, acknowledging his plight.

  "I didn't cook much until I came here," I say, dicing zucchini. "I was a sandwich pro."
/>   "Now you're little miss healthy chef," my mom says, her tone good-natured. She bumps my hip with her own.

  "It's fun," I concede, watching Owen use his knife to push the onions from the cutting board into the pan. They sizzle on their way in.

  "I'm pretty happy to have you here," Mom says to Owen.

  Owen eyes me. "Me too."

  I make it a point not to look at him, but my insides heat up at his words.

  We finish assembling the enchiladas, sliding the pan into the oven and setting the timer.

  "I think I'll take a short siesta while those are cooking," my mom says, yawning for emphasis. She twirls her fingers at us and leaves the kitchen.

  I glance at Owen. His eyes are already on me.

  "Well?" I ask.

  "Well?" he counters.

  "We could sit in the back yard and have a glass of wine? Or a beer? I bought beer." I'd stopped by the store on the way home from Mom's chemo and picked up a few items for dinner, grabbing beer for Owen in case he wanted one.

  "A beer sounds great, actually."

  I pull two from the fridge and open them, handing one to Owen. He leads the way outdoors, to the covered seating area.

  We settle in, close but not too close. A safe distance, a friendly distance. Because, I have no idea if last night was a fluke, or something we will be repeating anytime soon.

  "How was your day?" I ask, toying with one of the dangly earrings I'd threaded through my ears before he arrived.

  "Good, actually." He nods happily, running a thumb across the skin between his nose and upper lip. "I got to tell a patient they're officially in remission."

  His eyes light up as he says it, and he has this look on his face, almost a reluctant pride. Because he doesn't think he deserves praise or because he knows a relapse is possible?

  "Congratulations, Owen. You deserve a win."

  He smiles sheepishly. "Now let's get a homerun for your mom too. For the third time. She looks good. I'm hopeful."

  "Why do you think it keeps coming back?" I’ve not yet crossed this boundary with Owen, the one where I ask him doctorly things, but I can’t help it since he’s brought up my mother’s case.

  "There's no way to tell. It's not like she's been a smoker all her life and now she has lung cancer. This was random, as most cancers are. It's not as if cancer looks at your moral constitution and decides if you're a good or bad enough person to multiply within. Sometimes I wonder if it's an arrow being shot into the dark."

  "And a little drunk demon has the bow."

  Owen chuckles. "But the demon lives inside you. That's the thing about cancer. It's a cell gone rogue. Simple as that." Owen's posture changes, his happiness evaporating like spilled water on a hot sidewalk. "You know I'm doing my very best to save her, right?" Desperation outlines the fervor in his tone.

  "I know, Owen. I know." It's all I can say to reassure him. Until now I hadn't considered the pressure on him, the pressure he feels to save the life of not just someone he loves, but someone I love too.

  Silence sets in, and it's a good break from the macabre tone that overtook us.

  We sip from our beers, until Owen breaks the silence. "You were, uh … something else last night. And this morning." His gaze flashes up to me. "Different than before."

  A grin breaks out on my lips. Now it’s my turn to feel reluctant pride. "We were young. Still figuring things out. And I wasn't confident in my body.”

  One side of Owen's mouth pulls up into a grin. "Do you remember our first time?"

  My head shakes and I laugh quietly. "Yes," I say reluctantly.

  Owen pretends to be offended. "Was it that bad?"

  "No," I hurry to say, "but it wasn't amazing either."

  Owen's head moves back and forth as his chin drops to his chest. "Poor sixteen-year-old Owen. I wish I could go back in time and teach him what to do."

  I reach over, patting his thigh. "Honestly, I'm just happy it was with someone I loved. I've heard some horror stories."

  Owen grows serious. "Loved?"

  My eyebrows draw together in confusion. "We were in love, Owen. You know that."

  "I guess it's the past tense part that I'm talking about." His cheeks grow red and I shift uncomfortably.

  Oh. Got it.

  Before I can reply, Owen's hand snakes over the cushion between us, his fingers starting at the ankle I have propped up on the seat. He charts a course up my leg, and I understand what he's doing. I'm grateful he's letting me off the hook for now, not expecting a response when I don't have one to give.

  “You wore this skirt to torture me, didn’t you?” He eyes my outfit, causing a grin to pull at my lips.

  "My mom could be at the window," I murmur, keeping my eyes on his fingers as they trail up to my knee, cascading higher up my thigh.

  He looks at the house. "She's sleeping."

  Goosebumps rise on my legs at his touch. My breathing gets shallow, causing my heartbeat to pick up pace. "The food will be ready in fifteen minutes."

  Everything about Owen’s touch turns me on, and it’s been that way since we were teenagers. After Owen and I went off to college and broke up, I dated a few guys, but none of them I was so passionately attracted to.

  "Sounds to me like we have approximately fourteen minutes." His fingers brush between my legs and I’m already sold on whatever he’s offering.

  "For what?" I ask, pretending my mind hasn't traveled to the carnal place alongside his.

  "Let me show you," he answers, standing and pulling me up with him.

  We hurry through the house to my bedroom, quiet as we can be, and I thank the heavens when we don't encounter my mom along the way.

  I close my bedroom door as quietly as this morning when I snuck in, and Owen stops me before I can turn to face him, pinning me against the wall beside my door, pressing kisses against the heated skin of my upper back.

  "You taste so good, Autumn," he mumbles against me.

  I can't make a noise for fear of being caught by my mom, so I arch my back, pushing against his length. Behind me, I hear the inimitable sound of a zipper, the soft noise of pants falling; the anticipation of what is about to happen pools wetness between my legs. I wore a skirt today. If last night I made it difficult for him, today I've made it all too easy.

  Owen spins me around, taking me by surprise. He bends, winding a hand around the back of my knee and hoisting it up onto his hip. Reaching his fingers between my legs, he parts my underwear and I’m already biting my cheek to cover my moan. He lines himself up with me, and in one swift movement he's inside me. Warm, tight pleasure bursts between my legs as he pulls my other leg around him and supports my weight so that I’m fully riding him. He goes slowly, so slowly, eyes locked on mine the entire time.

  He leans in, nibbling along my jaw, and sets a slow, steady rhythm. Pulses of pleasure start to radiate between my legs and I clench, suppressing a moan.

  Owen's forehead presses against mine, and we share breath, heat, and desire. Owen lets out a gruff grunt and I reach up, slapping my hand over his mouth. He bites my finger and shudders against me. The waves of pleasure that rock through us both are delicious and hypnotic.

  Somewhere in it all, our past melts into the present and I realize something startling.

  I never stopped loving Owen. In fact, I think I care for him more deeply this time around, and that scares the shit out of me.

  “Autumn?” my mom yells from deep in the house, and we both burst out laughing.

  “Shit, go!” I hiss, laughing, as Owen pulls away from me and sets me on the ground, pulling up his pants and running into my attached bathroom to clean up.

  I fix my underwear and smooth down my hair as I slip out into the hallway and prepare to pretend like nothing just happened.

  Just like high school.

  Chapter 17

  Owen

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I stare down at the broken condom in my hands and realize that what Autumn and I have started again i
s about to come to a crashing halt. I knew it was too good to be true. Something had to come along and shatter our perfect second chance. Was I too quick to put the condom on and that’s why it broke?

  I stare at my reflection in Autumn’s mirror. My own haunted gaze looks back at me.

  Not again.

  The first time it was Autumn forgetting her birth control. Now it’s a torn condom. Here we are again. Albeit both of us are more mature and financially well off, but a child … we’ve only recently apologized to each other for the last time we fucked things up. I thought we were trying to explore each other again and see where this could lead, not jump right into starting a family.

  I quickly wrap the evidence in a wad of toilet paper and clean up before grabbing my phone and pulling it to my ear with a shaky hand.

  I need to get out of here.

  Now.

  I can’t think straight, I can’t tell Autumn what happened, not yet. I need a plan or we will be reliving our biggest mistake again and I’ll lose her forever. The panic inside me feels just like it did ten years ago. How can that even be? I’m a fucking adult now.

  I step out into the kitchen, sweat beading my brow, and start to have a fake conversation in my phone. “Push ten milligrams of Zofran, I’m on my way,” I say into the phone as Autumn and Faith both turn to face me. I pull the phone an inch from my cheek for a moment. “Emergency at the hospital. I’m sorry. I gotta run.”

  Faith and Autumn wear matching frowns but both nod. “Come by later? I’ll save you some?” Autumn reaches for me to kiss my cheek and I freeze up.

  “Sure.” I step away from her and hightail it out of there as fast as I can.

  I don’t know what to do, so I start to drive to Ace’s house. My fingers tap a nervous rhythm on the wheel as I weave in and out of the streets.

  You Home? I shoot him a text.

  Yeah. What’s up?

  I think I just got Autumn pregnant. Typing those words makes me want to throw up. I mean I could totally be overreacting. She’d have to be within a few days of her ovulation window, and what are the odds of that? Except I’m a doctor and I know way too much about sperm and how well they can thrive in the viscous fluid of a woman’s vagina for days on end. This is something her body was made to do, and clearly Autumn has no issues getting pregnant.