by Mia Malone
“Tolkien humor, you would not get it,” Matthias said, and I grinned at him, grateful for the deflection.
When we’d bantered some about preferring to read Lord of the Rings versus watching the movie, Jeff went to the restrooms and came back to announce that he had settled the bill and that we were encouraged to move over to the bar so others could have a meal.
I tried to pay for a round of beer but that only me got laugher and a glass of a surprisingly excellent Pinot Grigio, which I almost splashed over my dress when someone bumped into my back. Matthias calmly walked up to my side, locked eyes with the younger but burly man, and raised his brows. Some kind of manly message passed between them, but then the man muttered a reluctant apology, and Matthias was standing behind me instead. We started sharing skiing stories while we finished our drinks, and I tried really hard to ignore the way his breath slid over my neck when he leaned forward to laugh with Len about their latest trip to Colorado.
It was late when I finally announced that since I was leaving the next morning, I had to get back to my big hotel at the waterfront.
“I could escort you home,” Harry murmured while we were exiting the restaurant. “Make sure you're safe, get invited for a night-cap?”
Oh.
I assumed this meant he was part of the fifty percent who felt that I should not be alone with myself. My startled gaze met Matthias’, and he couldn’t have heard what his friend suggested, but the lines around his eyes deepened in a smile.
“That is so nice of you, but there’s no need,” I said casually. “It’s a two-minute walk that I can manage quite well on my own.”
I smiled at him, and he grinned crookedly.
“Gotcha,” he murmured with a wink.
When I was in bed back at the hotel, I slowly slid my hands over my ribs to cup my breasts, and then down over my belly. Matthias hadn’t struck me as the kind of man who’d just walk away from something he wanted, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t been part of the fifty percent who wanted to walk me to my hotel, but it was him I thought about as I moved my vibrator slowly over my clit. The way he’d smiled. How his warmth had felt against my back. I arched my back slightly and imagined him over me, slowly pushing inside, and the image made a soft orgasm rush through me.
As I relaxed into the pillows and let myself slide toward sleep, I thought about the evening and how nice it had been to not spend it alone. A one-night stand hadn’t been in my plans, so I wouldn’t have let Matthias walk me back to the hotel even if he’d been interested.
But there had to be other men like him out there, so perhaps it was time to start thinking about dating?
Chapter Three
Sleep well my darling
Nina
I fucked up.
Royally.
When I got back from my electricity malfunction induced minibreak, Bobby Sunshine handed me a bill that was just as enormous as he’d warned me it would be and told me that I wouldn’t have to worry about any wiring in the next fifty years. I shared that this was a relief since we both would be pushing up daisies by then, got a wide grin, and then I went to pick up my dog and my youngest daughter, Meghan.
Meggie and I spent the last days before she was due at her college in a frenzy since her father had been unable to help her get the stuff she deemed essential. I remembered how it had felt when I did the same thing and didn’t protest when she filled the cart with a gazillion pillows in various mismatched colors, a huge piece of fabric with a mandala pattern and frames for a thousand photos she didn’t have but assured me she would somehow acquire.
The night before leaving, we packed the car, and then Ashley texted to check our progress. The girls had handled the divorce well after the initial tears, and it felt as if we’d even grown closer when it was just them and me.
When we were done filling the car, I asked if Meggie wanted to drive over to her dad to say goodbye, but she casually informed me that Dave was on a date. I asked gently how she felt about it, and she’d shrugged in a way that felt as if she really didn’t have a problem with it.
“You’re both happier now. I wanted you to stay together, but Dad has to actually do stuff around the house now, and he said he enjoys dating.”
I wasn’t going to discuss my social life, or Dave’s, with our youngest daughter, so I just smiled and said something about how nice it was for him.
“You can date too, Mom,” she said with a small grin. “I won’t mind.”
“We’ll see,” I said vaguely. “Maybe.”
“I can’t have a mom who’s a crazy dog-lady,” she said with a giggle. “I know guys have asked, so you should say yes next time.”
“Um,” I mumbled, not sure what to say and a little uncomfortable with the topic.
“Gonna call Ash now,” she mumbled and started tapping her phone in that rapid way only teenagers seemed to master.
I’d miss having Meggie with me, so my smile wobbled a little with sentimental gloom as I listened to my girls chatting excitedly about anything and everything which mostly seemed to be about the possibility to fit a small fridge into a dorm room. And boys. I remembered that too, so I chuckled and winked at Meggie as I made tea for us.
The day after, we left to get her settled into her college two states away, although since the states were small, it was only a three-hour drive. She hadn't been three hours away from me for more than occasional weekends, though, so we both choked up a little when I was supposed to leave. Meggie was the first to recover and promised to come home so many weekends I'd be totally fed up with having her there. I said I'd look forward to that, and hoped she would be back all the time at the same time as I wanted her to love her new life so much she wouldn’t have time for me.
Then I went back home and sat on the patio, which would be fantastic with a proper deck, sipping on a glass of prosecco and thinking about what to do.
Like he had more than once since I got back, a smoking hot man popped into my mind, and I winced.
Why the heck couldn’t I just forget about him?
I could probably find out quite easily who he was because Matthias wasn’t a very common name, and I also knew he’d be the CEO where Len Jackson worked. Lay would know what company that was.
“No,” I murmured to myself and tilted my head back to look at the sky.
Doing that had too much stalker vibrations for my taste, and I was a goddamned grownup. Grownups didn’t have stupid crushes on men they’d just met briefly. That was what Hollywood was for, right? Brad Pitt and the likes should do well for my late-night fantasies.
Except they didn’t, and I decided that yes, indeed.
I would start dating.
***
The first date was with a man I’d worked with almost ten years earlier, and he was a pleasant guy, so I went out with him a few more times.
Then we had sex, and it wasn’t bad at all.
I had an orgasm.
He had an orgasm.
It was nice.
And it left me wondering if that was all it was supposed to be.
Nice?
I had loved sex back when I met Dave. We’d been young and enthusiastic, and I couldn’t quite remember, but surely it had been better than nice?
Settling for nice just didn’t feel right, so I told my former colleague that we wouldn’t work out. He told me he was sorry I felt that way and that he hoped we would still be friends, which I agreed to, although I meant for it to be the kind of friendship where you didn’t really spend any time together.
Then I had sex again, although this time with a friend of someone attending a party held by Mrs. Moretti, who lived a few houses down my street. The older woman had visited the day after I moved in, and I’d liked her, so when we bumped into each other outside a small coffee shop, I joined her for coffee. She talked a lot about her children, who seemed to be my age. Most of all, she shared information about her son, Luca, and I got the distinct impression that she wanted to set me up with him. Going on a date
with a tall police detective of Italian heritage whose mother was hilarious seemed like something I would enjoy, so when she invited me to what she labeled a small get-together, I happily accepted.
There had been a crowd filling the backyard, but Mrs. Moretti’s son was nowhere to be seen. She informed me sourly that the foolish boy was working, but I enjoyed myself anyway, and my good mood was fueled by an endless supply of drinks. I usually didn’t get drunk, and especially not at parties with a lot of people I didn’t know, but I was decidedly tipsy when I ended up discussing yoga with a guy standing next to me by the margarita blender.
He was slightly older than me but good looking and funny, so when he moved the discussion along from yoga to tantric sex, I smiled and listened to his description of what apparently was the best sexual experience a woman could have.
A couple of margaritas later, one thing led to another, and we moved things to my home. After an hour of swaying slowly and humming weirdly, I climbed off him and shared that I was tired and getting hungover, so the experience would have to happen some other time.
He was insulted by my lack of enthusiasm about his sexual prowess and said some things. I said some things too, and then he left.
Both experiences made me feel a little bit slutty, but neither were fuck ups, or at least, not really.
Layla laughed so hard she spilled half a glass of wine over my kitchen counter when she heard about my latest foray into debauchery.
“Nina, seriously?” she squealed.
“What was I supposed to do?” I asked and tried not to laugh. “It seemed like a good idea.”
“Oum,” she chanted and raised her hands, pressing thumbs and index fingers together.
“That’s what he said,” I muttered. “I’m not going on another date with anyone.”
“Sweetie,” she said, suddenly serious. “You went out with a man you many years ago described to me as milquetoast and had a drunken one-night stand with someone who thinks he’s Siddhartha Gautama. There are others.”
“I don’t want others,” I protested, but a soft sound suddenly caught my attention, and I slowly put my glass down. “Peaches?” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”
A ball of ice-cold fear had settled in my belly suddenly because I knew what was wrong. My dog was old, and now her breaths were stuttering in a way they’d never done before.
“Nina?” I heard Layla say, but I ignored her and went over to go down on my knees next to my darling girl.
“Peaches,” I whispered again. She made a feeble attempt to lift her head, and I felt tears run down my cheeks as I stretched out in front of her on the ratty blanket she'd had for a long time. “I love you so much,” I murmured and put my arm around her, curling my fingers into that soft hair just behind her ear like I’d done so many times before.
She licked my cheek a few times, and our eyes met.
“It’s okay, my lovely,” I whispered brokenly. “I’ll miss you so much, but it’s okay. Sleep well, my darling.”
There was a slight rattle in her breath as she exhaled.
And then she was gone.
I started crying softly and held her to me, burrowing my face in her neck and breathing in her scent while I rubbed my cheek against her fur for the last time.
“Oh, Nina,” Layla whispered after a while, and I felt her hand on my shoulder.
“I can’t let go, Lay,” I murmured. “I know she’s gone, but I can’t let go just yet.”
My whole body shook with deep sobs, and she got down to embrace my dead dog and me until the worst had passed.
“What do we do now?” she asked when I finally calmed down and let go of Peaches.
I inhaled and fought back another round of tears because I had planned for this. She had been a big part of my life for a long time, so I would do what was right for my dog.
“Can you please get a white sheet to wrap her up in. I have already been in touch with a company that will handle the –” My voice hitched, so I swallowed and said, “I’ll call them.”
Then we lifted her onto the white sheet, and I brushed her fur one last time. Before we wrapped her up, I covered her with the beloved blanket and put two of her old tennis balls next to her.
“Have fun with these in doggy-heaven, my lovely,” I whispered.
They came to take her away just half an hour later, and I stood in my door, crying as the car drove off.
“I’m so sorry,” Layla whispered behind me.
“I know,” I said and closed my eyes for a second. “Let’s go inside and make a cup of coffee.”
Peaches had loved coffee in general and a proper latte with foamed soymilk in particular, and I’d always let her lick the last drops out of my cup when I was done, so it seemed like a fitting thing to drink.
Then I’d have to call my daughters.
And, crap. I’d have to call Dave.
We’d barely talked since I moved out, mostly because we had nothing to say, but he’d loved Peaches too. He’d let me have her, and I suspected it was since he didn’t want the trouble of early morning walks and hadn’t felt like paying for someone to take care of her during the work weeks, but he’d loved her too.
“Okay,” Layla said. “I’ll make two lattes while you talk to the girls. Then I’ll call Dave.”
I nodded silently and swallowed when she caressed my arm briefly. Then we went inside, and I called my daughters, who barely could remember life without Peaches. They cried with me and promised to be there to help me spread the ashes. Layla talked to Dave, who offered to come over, which she thanked him nicely for but rejected.
We’d just toasted my darling with our lattes when my phone rang, and I smiled when I saw the name on the screen.
“Hey, Jacob.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
I exhaled when I heard his voice and blinked away a few tears while I explained what had happened. He offered to get in the car and make the three-hour trip to the city, but I told him Layla was with me and that I was fine, or that I would be, anyway.
“When are you coming for a visit?” he asked, voice full of very fake grumpiness.
“Soon,” I promised.
I took the next day off and spent it packing up Peaches’ things, letting myself wallow a little in my grief.
Then one of my colleagues sent a message asking how I was doing.
And that’s when I fucked up.
I told him about my dog and how I was a little messed up about everything going on in my life.
He offered his shoulder in case I needed to lean on it.
We started sending short texts several times each day, and they started out friendly. Somehow, they turned a little bit flirty, and for a few weeks, I let myself enjoy feeling giggly and young again.
He was friendly and funny. Laughing at me and with me, like I hadn’t had a man do since what felt like forever. It made me forget the loneliness waiting for me when I got home in the evening, and it made me smile. I knew people noticed and caught them looking at me curiously when I sometimes just couldn’t seem to stop myself from smirking. They wouldn’t suspect it had anything to do with him, though. We worked in different divisions and didn’t have any contact in the office.
I should have ended it, but for a long time, it hadn’t felt as if I’d ever have that again, that sparkle of silly in my belly and that twist of my mouth when a flash of whatever ran through me in that ridiculously jittery way.
It wasn’t as if we were having an affair, I told myself. Our conversations weren’t explicitly sexual, and he hinted at it, but we never made plans to actually meet outside the office. There was a barely veiled undertone in just about everything he wrote, though, and I didn’t stop him.
Which I should have because he was married.
Then he suddenly stopped texting and didn’t respond when I asked if everything was okay.
A week later, my phone buzzed as I was reviewing what felt like an endless document detailing the assumptions our regi
onal managers had used to complete their first draft budgets. In reality, it was mostly a list of bullcrap to cover their backsides when they missed their targets, which they inevitably would because they were as usual unrealistic.
“Hey there, how are you doing today?”
I stared at the screen and didn’t feel giggly or happy.
“Good. How are you?” I answered, thinking that it seemed sufficiently polite.
“Good.”
I put the phone away without answering but picked it up with a sigh when it buzzed again.
“I’ve been away for a while.”
I knew that. I’d overheard some colleagues talking by the coffee machine, so I also knew that he’d visited his in-laws.
“Okay,” I answered and stared at the small gray dots indicating that he was typing another message.
“So, did you do something wild and crazy when I was off the grid?”
What the heck? I’d spread Peaches ashes together with my daughters, ex-husband and best friend, which was something I’d told him would happen. Suddenly, I wondered what the hell we were doing. I’d spent a lot of time while he was incommunicado thinking about this thing we had going, and I hadn’t liked it. I hadn’t liked myself much either, and as I sat there by my desk, I knew that I’d end it.
“Let’s stop this messaging, please. Things are a bit messy on my end with the budget season in full swing, so I don’t really have a lot of time.”
There. Surely he’d get the hint?
“No time for your friends?”
Nope. He hadn’t gotten the hint, and also – what the hell was he thinking?
“We aren’t exactly friends.”
“Ouch.”
“Gotta run, see you around, okay?”
“You have to eat. Are you going to the deli?”
“Please stop.”
I was getting angry, and part of that was out of guilt. Some of it was the result of me feeling like a fool. Mostly, it was because he wouldn’t just back off.
“Wouldn’t mind bumping into you in the queue.”
“Okay, no. Just stop this now.” I frowned and added, ”We shouldn’t talk like this. I’m sorry we started doing it, and it’s not fair to your wife.”