by M. Mabie
“I haven’t ridden since New Year’s Day.” My last time was with Troy.
“That’s a long time. How often did you ride before you were working so much?” she asked, as she picked up one of her bags and one of mine.
“Here, let me get those,” I admonished, reaching to take them, but she refused.
“I’ve got them. You get the door and the lights.”
I opened the door for her that led into the laundry room. “What did you ask me?” I asked, quickly scanning for dirty underwear and socks.
It was clean.
Actually, it was really clean. Someone had been there. There were folded towels on the drier. I didn’t do that.
“How much did you ride before you started traveling so much?” she repeated.
“Not every day, but probably three or four times a week. You can put those down there.”
I was curious. Who had been there?
I walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. There were fresh flowers and fruit on the counter. The place was spotless.
“What’s wrong? Oh, those are pretty,” said Blake from behind me.
“Someone cleaned my house.” I laughed as I picked up the folded paper on the kitchen counter.
I passed the note to Blake for her to read and she cackled.
“I think I like her,” she admitted. It didn’t get past me they’d talked some at the party, and for Morgan, my straight-laced baby sister, that was a big step. “I wish I had a sister who cleaned my apartment,” she teased. “My brothers never clean-up for me.”
“You’re funny,” I retorted.
We looked at each other over the island; it was kind of like the moment of truth.
“Does it feel strange having me here?” she asked, looking at the flowers and waiting for me to answer.
Having her there after my mom died, and then having her leave again, was tough after I was forced to be there alone—without either of them. I remember her telling me she couldn’t come back until she was really mine, because it wasn’t fair to me.
However, there she was, in my kitchen, after only six months, and having her there felt so fucking good. There were no stipulations. There was no dread of her running off. It felt right. Complete. Like home again.
Then again, it had to be weird for her, too. Knowing the one time I’d been with another woman—at least, since we’d met—was there. We didn’t talk about it much. Really, not at all. She didn’t bring it up, and I never wanted to either. It wasn’t something I was proud of.
I answered, “I thought it would, but it doesn’t.” She smiled hopefully. “How about you?”
She walked around and looked outside through the big window that hosted a view of the garden, the sun almost completely gone to bed. I went to her and put her hand in mine.
She faced me. That was another thing she was becoming so good at. Facing me. Eyes on mine, and talking. It was rewarding. She was showing me more of the real her. It felt like a gift.
“I thought it would remind me of all the things I did. But really, it just reminds me of all the things I’m working for. Working toward. And now, all of that other stuff seems so far away and everything keeps getting better. I don’t want to ruin it with thoughts of then. I want to make new memories. Here. With you.”
What she said rang true and she was right. We had to start kicking out all of the old bad memories if we ever had a chance at replacing them. She looked peaceful and maybe a little tired. It had been a really long day.
Then she said, “If you want to talk about the past and our mistakes, we can. But talking about our scars over and over won’t heal them, Casey. The only thing we can do is be more careful and give them time.”
I more than fucking loved her at that moment. There were times when she’d said the wrong things, done the wrong things, but she’d changed so much over the past few months. We had changed. And she was right.
It was time for us to start letting shit go.
“I think you’re smart.”
My heart stopped a little when she beamed up at me, shining in my compliment.
“And…” The ornery little shit was fishing and lightening up the mood. I was thankful.
“And beautiful.” I placed a quick kiss on her lips. “And sweet.” I gave her another. “And a good cook.”
“The best cook,” she corrected.
“Yes. And you look good naked.”
“Keep going.”
“And you can eat your weight in cheeseburgers after office sex.”
“And…” She was waiting for me to say something, but I wasn’t sure. I shook my head. “I can’t think of anything else. That’s pretty much it.”
She lifted up on her toes and pressed her sweet lips to mine.
“And I’m all yours.”
I’m glad I didn’t guess that, because I’d never tire of hearing her say it.
She was right about all of it too. But, that had to be the very best part.
Her. All. Mine.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
HEARING HIM TELL ME he loved me, as he claimed me in the very most intimate way a man can claim a woman, would never get old. We made love slowly and quietly, a contrast to our earlier passionate frenzy during my tour of the brewery. But taking our time didn’t make it any less intense, or the words that we whispered to each other any less meaningful.
I peered up at him; he was perfect. He blinked lazily, lust and tenderness in his eyes, as he looked between us where we were joined. He held his weight above me and his chest expanded and contracted with each breath as they became labored, both of us getting closer to our climax.
“I’ve loved you for so long.”
“I love you, too, Casey,” I breathed, but I felt my words more than I heard them.
“Don’t leave me,” he said, and though he didn’t mean to hurt me, knowing that he felt he had to ask, burned. He was so vulnerable, different from his office.
“I won’t leave you,” I promised. “I’ll never leave you.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth, he was off me. His face was pale and he was looking around the room. I wasn’t sure what was happening.
“Casey, what’s wrong?” I asked. My body feeling bereft with him having so abruptly disconnected.
There was a cold sweat on this face and I clambered down the bed to him. He was breathing much harder now, and his eyes were hazy as he looked off into the dark side of the room.
“Hey, talk to me,” I said softly, not understanding. I moved his cheek gently, so we were eye to eye. He’d never acted like that before, and he wasn’t saying anything. He finally moved back, closer to me, and ran his hands over his face. We sat in his bed in the dark, with only the twilight to see.
“So I have this dream sometimes,” he began, and then stopped. He shook his head and took a large breath. I gave him time. Finally, he started again. “In the dream we’re here. Together, like we just were. I have it all the time.”
I smiled. I’d had dreams of him like that, too. What didn’t make sense was why he would stop like he did. Like he was panicked.
“I love when I dream about you,” I confessed.
He pulled me to his lap and I sat facing him. He brushed the hair out of my face and continued, “Well, in this dream, we say those exact same words we were just saying.”
“I still mean them.”
“Thank you,” he said thoughtfully. “But, in the dream, you say Grant’s name and he’s here. Everyone’s here. He tells you to hurry up, so he can take you home.” His face was solemn; the dream had really messed with him. Immediately, my heart reached out to his.
I smoothed my hands over his tattoo and I kissed him. His chest. His neck. His shoulders. Before I said anything, I needed to love him. I wanted him to feel how much I cared, not just hear it.
“No. It’s only a dream.”
“It’s not only a dream, Blake. I know that you love me. I do, but God, what would I do…”
Was that still something h
e worried about? Even if it was only in his dreams, the notion of him being terrorized, by me and Grant, ached.
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m tired of waiting for it to be over with him. I’m in love with you. Not just for right now, Casey. Forever. Do you think that’s what it is, that we’re constantly waiting and dealing with him?” It seemed like a good reason. Grant wasn’t in my life day-to-day, but he was still so present in everything.
“I don’t know.”
“I want to have him served with the divorce papers. Then he’ll have to sign them.” I kissed his neck again. “I want us to be together. I want to be where you are.”
“Where is that?” It was dark, but my eyes had adjusted to the dim light. His handsome face was etched with apprehension. So many things were still up in the air.
“You know how you told me we’re like the fish and the hook?” I asked, but I knew he’d remember.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. And I think maybe we’re those and maybe we’re something else, too.” He held me tighter and his thumbs drew lazy circles on my back as we talked.
“You’re telling me there might be a flaw in the pickup line I was trying to feed you two years ago?” My heart finally started beating again when I saw a small grin break the tension in his face.
“Maybe.” Although, what he fed me might have just been a pickup line, but there was more truth in that little line about bait than in anything else in my life. We did have some crazy force that pulled us together. That was unmistakably true. I added, “But maybe we’re like the wind and a sail, too.”
“Our boats. Did you see them in my office?”
“I did. Stop interrupting me. I’m onto something here,” I teased. “When I bought those ships, I was thinking about that old saying. The one how two ships pass in the night. But that wasn’t right. I think we’re more like the wind and a sail.”
He looked skeptical, but said, “Go on.”
“You’re like the wind, and I’m like the sail. When I go against you, it’s rough, almost impossible to find my path. But when my mind finally submitted to my heart, everything was easier. And the best part was, I got you.”
“Listen to you,” he doted.
“I was just a sail flapping in the breeze until I met you.” What I’d began saying, as just something to lighten the mood, started to hit home. It was exactly how I felt. “You fill me up with so much happiness and you move me forward. Now, I go where you go. Because that’s where I belong.”
He leaned forward and kissed me with such force, we toppled backward onto the bed where we’d been before. Before our words had reminded him of his messed-up dream. Almost like nothing happened, almost like the whole episode was something I’d imagined, we fit back together.
And that time, when I told him I loved him and I’d never really leave him ever again, he said he knew. As we finally reached the high that only our bodies gave each other, I knew he was my only future and our pasts didn’t matter anymore.
“Do you think we need anything else?” I asked.
He pushed the shopping cart, one foot on the ground and one foot pushing him forward—like the big kid he was—at the garden store we’d stopped at after breakfast. After an inspection of his mother’s garden, we both decided it needed some help. And by help, I mean the whole thing needed replanting. He agreed.
“Gloves?” he suggested. “We don’t need you getting any blisters. I have plans for those hands later on.” Then he winked and I swooned, as was customary.
“Yeah, we better get gloves.”
We paid for our supplies and drove back to his house.
Since there wasn’t anything needing tended to inside, after his sister’s way-more-thorough-than-even-my-cleaning job, we got to spend the day playing outside. We strolled down to the red shed and retrieved a few of the bigger tools we’d need. I smiled remembering what was painted on the back of the building.
“Do you think you’ll ever paint over my handy art work on the other side of the shed?” I asked, carrying the hoe and rakes he handed me back up to the house. He pushed the small tiller, which looked like it had never been used.
“Nah. It’s part of the shed now.”
It was beautiful outside and Casey wore long cut off shorts and a loose black and white striped tank top. With his red bandanna, I’d teased him about looking like a pirate pretty much the whole day.
I laughed to myself. “Rrrr,” I replied.
“Oh my god. Would you shut up? I’m gonna go change,” he said, getting tired of my shit. But the smile on his face told me he liked my shit. A lot.
“What are you going to do? Make me walk the plank?”
He stopped dead, in his sexy, pirate tracks.
I was in trouble.
“Come here,” he cried. Letting go of the tiller, he stalked toward me.
“No,” I said, dropping the tools and busting ass to get away. “Don’t. I was just kidding!” I shouted in my own defense. “Don’t touch me you loose-livered sea monkey!” I was really on a roll.
He gained on me. “You think you’re really funny,” he accused.
Then I was in the air, tucked under his arm like a football. He spun us around and I was the one getting sea sick from the sudden motion.
“Whoa. I’m gonna puke. Put me down,” I begged. “No more spinning. I’ll stop.”
“No more pirate jokes?”
“No more-Rrrr,” I said, knowing there’d be a repercussion, but I couldn’t help myself. “That was the last one. I swear-Rrrr.” All right, I had a problem. I couldn’t stop.
He dropped me. I rolled over on my back in the grass, out of breath. Still laughing. And still very dizzy. He stood high above me with his hands on his hips.
“I didn’t know you were so sensitive about your fashion choices.”
“Just keep it up, honeybee.”
“Gonna spank me?”
His eyes lit up with delight, taking my comment out of context. Well, maybe not completely. It was still a spanking, just a different kind.
Instantly, my blood ran hot thinking about the times he’d done it. I was nowhere near being into whips and chains, but in the heat of the moment, when he’d swatted my ass—it had been so damn hot. I couldn’t even lie to myself about it. I’d loved every second of him that way.
The idea excited him, too. He had an I’m-gonna-pink-your-ass-later look written all over his face. I loved finding new buttons to push with him. Every day was something new.
We worked on the garden for many hours. But to my disappointment, it wasn’t ready for all of the veggies, fruit, and flowers we’d bought to replace the ones that didn’t survive the winter and neglect.
“We got a lot done though,” he told me as we cleaned up our mess and put the tools away.
“I know. I just thought we’d finish.”
“Do you have to leave tomorrow?”
I did.
I wasn’t even flying home. I was headed straight to Cleveland for the soft opening of one of my latest clients. “Yeah, I have to go.”
He kissed me on the forehead, as he often did, and said, “Well, then let’s wash up and find something to eat. I’m starving and you need some dick.”
How poetic. It wasn’t Shakespeare or Keats, but it did the trick.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The opening went great. The staff was amazing and the restaurant worked like a well-oiled machine. The chefs were comfortable and happy with the new menus, and dinner service was one of the smoothest I’d been witness to for a complete renovation.
Since it was apparent they didn’t need me, after all, I called and had my flight for Tuesday moved up to an earlier time. On my way to the airport that morning, I called Dr. Rex expecting to get her voicemail. But when she answered, telling me she was between classes, it was even better.
“So how was the weekend? How’d the party go?” she asked. I’d confided so much in her recently. She
felt more like a friend than my doctor. However, she always found a way to bring me back around to the answers I’d had about myself, my relationships, and what I really wanted. I owed her a lot for making me so much stronger over the past few months. Or, rather, showing me how strong I was.
She didn’t like when we had to do it, but as work had become busier, we’d adapted by talking on the phone if I was out of town on a night when we’d usually meet. After I filled her in briefly about the weekend, and stated there was more I wanted to talk about, I was happy to tell her I’d be back in town—if she wanted to keep our session for that night.
“Of course. What time will you get in?”
“I can be there about seven. Will that work?”
“Sure,” she said. I told her I’d see her later when my cab pulled into the airport.
All of my flights were on time, and I was back in Seattle with enough time to swing by my place, drop my things off and get my car. I pulled into the university at seven sharp.
What I hadn’t expected to see was Grant’s truck parked in my dad’s spot. I kept driving and pulled around the building. I’d forgotten to email him to cancel when I thought I’d be out of town. It was luck I’d been able to leave early.
I was nervous. My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel.
We hadn’t spoken verbally since the day he was in my house. Other than that, it was only emails to keep him informed of when I was seeing Dr. Rex. Usually, he’d either email back he was busy or just not show up. Since I decided to move forward with having him served the divorce papers officially, I hadn’t planned on seeing him until our court date.
I didn’t know what to do.
Me: I got that earlier flight so I could see Dr. Rex. Grant’s parked outside her building.
My phone rang.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi. Are you going in?” Casey wasn’t alarmed, but he certainly sounded concerned. “If you don’t want to, just call her and tell her. You don’t have to go in. I think it’s funny he chose today to finally show up. I didn’t think he ever would.” Casey was more mature than I ever gave him credit for. Through everything, he’d only acted with my best interests in mind. He never complained, putting my feelings first.