Tripped Up Love

by Farley, Julie

  Chapter 11

  Heather and the kids got up and went to Starbucks on Saturday morning. Heather felt a little sluggish after several beers the night before.

  “Are you going out with that guy tonight while we are at Nana and Papi’s?” asked Hayes.

  “I think so. Is that ok?”

  “I guess. If I said no, would you stay home?”

  “Probably not, but if you really had a problem with it I would listen to it.”

  “It’s just weird to have a dating mom.”

  Heather knew Hayes was easily impressed, and it might make it a little better if she shared who Peter was.

  “This guy is a famous author. His name is Peter Adamson.”

  “The guy who wrote Killer Jury?”

  “Yeah, that guy.”

  “Sweet. Can he get me a part in a movie?” asked a finally interested Henry.

  “Doubt it hon. Do you guys mind if we run in Target? I need to get the snacks for baseball tomorrow.”

  “Only if we can push you in one of those carts, Mom,” said Henry.

  Heather acquiesced, and all three kids agreed to help push her. When it was just the four of them, it was easier for Hayes to forget he was an almost teenager who thought he was too cool for school. Henry and Gracie kept him young and helped him keep things in perspective. Heather needed to get the snacks for baseball, but she also wanted to get new underwear. She wasn’t sure how she was going to slyly slip some non-mom underwear into the cart, especially when they were pushing her. Heather didn’t feel right about wearing any of her lingerie she had bought when Hank was alive. She needed something new without his memory attached to it. She asked the kids to wheel her towards the underwear area so she could get some new ‘socks.’ Heather got off of her perch and wandered through the aisles hoping the boys would be too horrified to follow. It wasn’t Victoria’s Secret, but neither was she. Heather found a three pack of lacy thongs and threw them in the cart nonchalantly.

  “Ewww, does that part go up your butt, Mom?” asked Henry in an outside voice.

  “It’s underwear, Henry.”

  “But why would anyone want that string thing hanging in their butt crack?”

  Heather rolled her eyes and moved towards the checkout line.

  “Look, Mom. Do you think this looks comfortable?” Henry asked. Heather turned and saw him holding his bunched up underwear in his hand around his waist with just a little sliver of it coming out of his visible-to-every-eye-in-the-vicinity butt crack.

  “Please guys, let’s go home,” said an exasperated Heather. Heather looked at the check out girl and pleaded with her to go quickly.

  When they got back from Target, the kids and Heather did their Saturday morning chores. After they each packed a bag for Donna and Phil’s house, they were free to do whatever they wanted. Heather and Gracie did each other’s nails, Henry played Wii and Hayes played on his Xbox in between texting his friends. It was a quiet morning and afternoon, just what Heather wanted.

  Donna came to get the kids. Heather knew she had to tell Donna she was going out with Peter. She tried to sound as blasé as she could about it. Donna told her she hoped she had fun. She planned on having the kids back before 9:00 so Donna could still make it to church. Heather kissed everyone good bye and off they went. He, Peter, would be here in three hours. Three hours would seem interminable and all too short at the same time. Heather had the light bulbs out for Peter to do his token task before he whisked her away for a night of romance. Most days she walked around the house wishing she had someone who would catch her if she fell. Peter reminded her what that felt like. Now that she’d had it again for a little less than two weeks, she didn’t know if she could give it up.

  Peter arrived at the door bearing flowers. A wild bouquet of white calla lilies, orange tulips and pink ranunculus. The bouquet took Heather’s breath away. Hank used to bring her flowers. She had saved petals from each bouquet and kept them in a box on top of her dresser. Her room was filled with dead Hank memorabilia. Heather took the flowers and walked into the kitchen with them. She set them on the counter just as Peter walked up to hug her. Not the friend hug that ends with a pat on the back. The kind of hug that sucks your whole body in so you can feel the other person’s heart beat. The kind of hug where his hands rest dangerously low and as the hug ends he slides them across your hips, again dangerously low. If this was what hugs felt like with Peter, Heather could not imagine what anything else would feel like.

  “Where are your light bulbs? Let’s get these chores over with.” Heather showed Peter her pile and pointed him in the direction of a ladder. She put the flowers in water while he worked outside. She could see him up on the ladder from the window over the sink. His button down stretched across his chest and she could see just a little bit of skin as he lifted his arms over his head. She didn’t see any more tattoos. She knew in just a few hours she would know if there were anymore or not.

  Peter finished in lightning speed and came in to get her.

  “Ready?”

  “I think so.”

  They walked to the car, and Peter reached over and kissed her as soon as he got into his seat. Her hair was loose and curly. He tucked it behind one ear so he could get at her lips. This kiss gave her butterflies and filled her with anticipation.

  “I’ve been waiting for five days to do that again. There won’t be that much time between our lips again,” said Peter. “Ohh…sorry. Was that too intense?” Peter asked in a mocking tone with a smile.

  “I don’t think you know how not to be intense with your brooding blue eyes,” said Heather.

  “Hmmm. Do you like sushi?”

  “Love it. Well, not the real raw sashimi stuff. But I like most sushi. Is that what you’re making?”

  “I’m not making it. It’s being delivered.”

  “Great.” Eating sushi was always one of the most awkward things Heather did, and that said a lot since she had a habit of making the easiest things look awkward. Her mouth was small, and it was always hard to stuff a roll in one piece into her mouth.

  Heather sat quietly holding Peter’s hand and studying the tattoos on his arm. Tattoos - Heather had an obsession with them ever since she was in college. She had even gone to a tattoo parlor with a friend to watch the whole process and see if she was too chicken to get one. Hank was not a fan. Her mother thought people with tattoos got AIDS from the needles. There was too much pressure from all around to be the good girl Heather. Twenty years later, she found herself still wishing for a tattoo.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Does what hurt?” asked Peter.

  “Getting a tattoo.” Forgetting he wasn’t a mind reader.

  “Not that much. Obviously I have done it over and over again.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a white tattoo on my wrist.”

  “White? That seems like a cop out. I’m not letting you do that.”

  Heather rolled her eyes at the idea that he wasn’t going to let her do that. She didn’t want to be controlled. She had made it for the last year and a half without anyone’s help. Yes, she was a mess in so many different ways, but she was surviving. She got through each and every day, and she was raising three kids on her own. This guy had rescued her when she needed rescuing, but most of her days she didn’t need a white knight. She would like to have one, but she didn’t need one. There was a big difference.

  “Good thing it’s not your choice.” Heather barked back.

  Peter looked at her face and furrowed his dark brows. He had several days worth of stubble on his face. It was hard to be annoyed because all she wanted was his stubble to rub across every inch of her face.

  “No, it’s not my choice, but you will regret going through all of it if you can only look at it with a black light. Unless, of course, you want me to change all of your light bulbs to black ones the next time I’m over.”

  Heather didn’t answer and just watched as they pulled into the parking garage. Peter parked the car. Heather o
pened the door and flung her good leg out of the car and used it to propel herself out on her own. It was much easier to get out of the van than the low-to-the-ground Lexus. Peter gave her a hand and whispered into her ear.

  “Love the black lace.”

  Fuck, she thought. She had just flashed him as she got out of the car.

  Peter guided her towards the elevator and pushed the button for the 7th floor. The top floor, Heather noticed. They stepped off of the elevator, and Heather saw only one metal door in front of them. Peter got out his key and opened the door to a wall of glass overlooking the James River. The room was huge. One big, modern living room and kitchen. The fireplace was lit, leaving Heather wondering if someone had been there to light it. A full spread of sushi was laid out on the black marble dining table that sat between the kitchen and living area. It was twilight, and Heather could barely make out the trees on the other side of the James. She hobbled to the windows. To the right, she could see the Richmond skyline. To the left, she saw a hallway and several other doors.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “Thanks. I like it,” said Peter, handing Heather a glass of something,

  “What’s this?”

  “Local microbrew beer. You do like beer, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Heather usually stuck to Bud Light or Miller Light, choosing to get her buzz off the fewest calories possible. But she was in desperate need of this beer to take the edge off.

  “Dinner is ready. Have a seat.”

  There were two seats set at the table. One at the head of the table facing the window and the other on the side of the table right next to the other. Peter pulled out the chair at the head of the table for Heather.

  “Dinner magically appeared while you were picking me up?”

  “My assistant took care of it for me.”

  “Assistant?”

  “Yes. I have someone who keeps my schedule and takes care of things so I can spend my time writing.”

  “I need one of those.”

  “Yes you do,” said Peter with all the seriousness in the world.

  Heather laughed. She would make her assistant go to the bus stop and to Bunco for her. And make her clean the boys’ toilet.

  “Did you get a lot of writing done this week?” asked Peter.

  “A bit. Some editing too.”

  “How many words do you have?”

  “About 70,000.”

  “That’s a great length for a memoir. Don’t busy yourself with too much of the editing. Has anyone read it?”

  “No. Not brave enough.”

  “You need some other opinions. I could help you.”

  “I’ll think about it. It’s kind of weird to let you read my love story. Don’t you think?”

  “No. I want to learn more about you. Hank and your love for him are a part of you.”

  Ugh…more serious talk from Peter. Heather was careful not to knock anything over this time as she reached for her glass. She slugged down her beer and took a large breath. And then burped. Heather’s eyes grew to three times their normal size, and she threw her hand up in front of her mouth.

  “Excuse me. I am so sorry!”

  Peter laughed. He had never ever been with anyone like Heather.

  “I do not know what is wrong with me. You make me so flustered. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Relax. Have some sushi. Drink slowly. You need to have something in your stomach. I could hear it growling in the car.”

  Heather ate, covering her mouth up while she stuffed some rolls into it. They sat in peace, and she looked out the windows. With Heather’s luck, she would fart while they were kissing.

  Chapter 12

  They finished dinner - uneventfully and quietly. Peter cleared the dishes and brought them to the sink. Heather made her way to the couch with a refilled glass of beer. Peter joined her.

  “What are you doing with me?” asked Heather.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You could have anyone in the whole city I am sure and you are spending your Saturday night with someone who just burped during your romantic dinner.”

  “I like you. I like myself when I’m with you. I like thinking about what’s underneath your dress.”

  Before Heather could reply, Peter kissed her and pushed her back onto the couch. His body pressed against hers. His left hand held her side and his right hand ran through her hair. Heather hoped he would never stop kissing her. She couldn’t think when he was kissing her, and that was the most relaxing thing she had experienced in the last year and a half.

  But, Peter stopped and held Heather. He knew he was going to get to a point of no return quickly. He wanted this mess of a girl and her black lace thong. He knew she could tell he wanted her. There was no hiding it. He also knew they needed to talk about it.

  “You have to tell me when to stop. I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “We can kiss all night, or we can take it to the next level. It’s your choice. This is a big step for you, for us, and I don’t want you to have any regrets or feel like I forced you into anything.”

  “I want you, but I don’t know if it’s too soon. I’ve only known you for two weeks.”

  “And I’ve taken you to the ER, seen your thong, met your mother-in-law and heard you burp. We can wait as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere, but I’m afraid to know what you’re going to do next.”

  “Thanks for reminding me of all of my missteps.”

  “They weren’t missteps. They were cute.”

  Peter kissed her again. He was confident she would never really be sure what she wanted. He could tell from her little moans and sighs she was enjoying herself. Peter moved his arms across her thighs and under her dress. He rested his hand on her stomach and they kissed for a while longer. Her skin was so soft. His thumb ran up and down her side. Heather had goose bumps. She was so happy she had bought new underwear. At least she felt a little better in it than in the mommy underwear she had been sporting for the last eighteen months.

  “I can’t do it Peter,” whispered Heather.

  “It’s ok,” said Peter pulling away slightly.

  “When I’m with you, I forget. I forget Hank’s dead and my kids don’t have a father. I forget I am sad. I forget I need a job. I forget my sister-in-law is mad at me. I forget I feel like I am wearing a scarlet letter. You make me forget.”

  “But how do I make you feel?” asked Peter with the slightest bit of doubt in his voice.

  “You make me feel relaxed and happy and like a complete and utter mess,” said Heather.

  Peter laughed. “You are a beautiful, stunning mess who makes me feel like things are possible I never dreamed about before. And I can wait. I am willing to wait as long as you need to.”

  “Then show me around this place.” As Heather stood up, she looked out the wall of glass and could see the stars. Heather walked to the windows and looked for a minute. Just as she was about to turn, she saw a shooting star jetting through the sky across the river. The kids always said a shooting star was a sign from Hank saying everything would be ok. That was just the sign Heather needed to know whatever she wanted to do with Peter was ok.

  Peter showed Heather his office with his oak desk and leather chair facing the James River. His oversized iMac sat on the desk obscuring the view. His walls were lined with bookcases filled with plaques and books. So many books. So many old books. Peter noticed Heather checking out his shelves.

  “I collect first editions.”

  “Wow. Quite an impressive collection, Mr. Adamson.”

  “When I like something, I become kind of obsessed,” said Peter with a smile.

  The next room was a guest room with its own bath. And the final room was Peter’s. His bed faced a wall of windows. Heather could see his bathroom and a massive shower. She was compelled to walk in and check it out. Peter followed her and put his arms over her shoulders.

  “That is one
impressive shower!” Heather could see at least three showerheads. The shower was granite and had an inviting bench on three sides. Peter started kissing her neck while she stood in awe. Heather caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror. She saw his strong hands splayed on her stomach. Seeing him wrapped around her body gave her the shivers - good shivers. Heather turned around to return his kisses.

  “How waterproof is that cast?” Peter asked in between kisses. “We can try the shower.”

  Peter didn’t intend to push her past her comfort zone. He was sure though there were plenty of things they could do without passing her limits.

  “It’s pretty waterproof. I don’t think I could submerge it in the tub, but I have been showering. It just gets hard to stand up after awhile.”

  “I have a bench.”

  Peter kissed Heather and reached his hands under her dress and started to lift it up over her head. He was prepared to stop if he needed to but was hoping that wouldn’t be necessary. He took off her dress and dropped it to the floor. He ran each hand down her sides giving her goose bumps. Peter reached over with one arm and turned the water and steam on. Heather watched as water fell from the ceiling - a rain shower. As the steam rose, Peter unclasped her bra and let it fall on top of her dress. Standing in front of her, Peter would never guess she had three children. Her body was perfect. Peter hooked his thumbs into her thong and slid it over her cast.

  “Shower time,” said Peter.

  Peter helped Heather into the shower and she sat on one of the benches with her legs stretched out. Nervous, but buzzed enough from her beer not to care. Heather could barely make out Peter through all the steam, but she knew he was behind the glass door getting undressed. It had been decades since Heather had seen a man other than Hank undressed. She was holding on to the star. She had to believe it was a sign. A sign to stop worrying and over thinking - something Hank always told her.