by Jenna Gunn
I laugh; it sounds bitter and wrong to my own ears. “Sometimes. I guess my brain likes for me to make the motion.”
Normally, talking about my leg like this is bad, but I guess her calm, matter-of-fact tone is helping. She’s just asking questions. There’s no pity behind her words, not this time. She’s letting me remain calm - and I can stave off the cascade of chaos as long as I’m calm.
Trisha taps her fingernails on the table in front of her and shifts in her chair. “I think that I owe you an apology.”
I glance up at her. She looks angry. No, not angry - more like...frustrated? Grumpy? She doesn’t seem used to apologizing.
“I was surprised when I...first saw your leg.” Her ears redden; the pace of her tapping quickens. I feel a little awkward, too. “I reacted badly. I was caught off-guard and uncomfortable. I didn’t think what sort of consequence my behavior would have on you.”
She’s not looking at me. I don’t mind. She has one elbow on the table, propping her chin up with her hand, her eyes shifted off to the side. Anyone just glancing at her would just think she’s bored; but I see the stiffness in her shoulders, the rigidity of her free hand as it continues to tap-tap-tap against the table.
It reminds me of me when I have to apologize.
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “No big deal. I overreacted.”
“But talking about it must give you flashbacks or something,” she sighs.
I don’t see a point in hiding it from her anymore, especially since she’s already guessed. “Yeah. I had kind of a doozy after you left.” I almost laugh at my own choice of words - “doozy”? What am I, a 1950’s cartoon character? And what a reductive way to refer to the flashback that knocked me out for the rest of the day.
“My bad.”
It’s two words, but it’s the most sincere apology I’ve ever heard.
I don’t answer as she promptly sticks her straw in her mouth and sucks down the rest of her tea. I take a sip of my own; it’s syrupy sweet, like the kind my mom makes. I don’t realize how thirsty I am until I’ve gulped it all down.
Trisha gets to her feet with her empty glass, and I do the same. “Want some more?” she asks.
“I - ” I don’t get to answer; she’s focused on me, so she doesn’t see Apple darting in front of her, and she stumbles. Neither she nor Apple are hurt, but her glass slips from her hand.
Trisha reaches out to catch her falling glass. I’m faster, even missing a leg; I step forward and snatch it out of the air before it can shatter on the kitchen tile. Angrily, Trisha yanks it away from me.
“I had it,” she says.
“Didn’t look like it to me.”
“I was fine.”
I put my empty glass on the counter next to her sink.
We’re standing really close now.
“You’re stubborn,” I say.
To my surprise, she laughs, and I can’t help but laugh along. She’s not done surprising me, however; still laughing, she steps close to me to put her glass in the sink. Her body brushes against mine.
And then she kisses me. Standing up on her toes.
I may not clearly remember everything that happened the night we had sex. I may not remember all the things that led up to it, or whatever chemistry we might have had.
But my body sure does.
Almost instinctively, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer to me. She kisses me even deeper, sliding her hands up my shoulders and into my too-long hair. Some of her red hair falls in front of my face. I can smell her fruity shampoo - and judging by the reaction happening down south, my body remembers that, too.
Trisha pulls back just enough to look up at me. Our eyes meet. She looks surprised at herself, but I can see the desire there, too.
I kiss her again.
It’s like I’ve confirmed what we’re about to do. She begins walking backward, tugging me with her; we walk out of her kitchen, our lips still locked together, and stumble into what I assume is a living room. Or maybe a den? There are some couches and chairs, but no television, and there’s an actual door on the doorframe, which Trisha kicks aggressively so that it closes with a loud, wooden thump.
“This is a big house for one woman,” I remark.
“Shhhh,” she sighs, and pushes me onto the couch.
“I’ve never seen a living room with a door.”
“Shhh” she growls, getting on top of me. She pulls her shirt up over her head; I reach up to cup her bare breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra this whole time? How could I not have noticed?
God, she really has freckles everywhere. They spray down her shoulders and chest in dense clusters before thinning out so much that her milky-pale stomach has only a few stray dots. I love them all. I trace them with my fingertips as she pushes my shirt up above my head and fumbles with the button of my jeans.
“Careful,” I say, reaching for my leg. “That’s my - ”
“Take it off,” she growls.
“What?”
“Your leg.” She points at my prosthetic. “Take it off.”
“I - okay.” She scoots away so that I can sit up and shimmy out of my pants to start the process.
She’s distracting me. She watches, sliding out out of her own clothes, before pressing herself against me, kissing my neck and shoulders. Her hand drifts into my lap. I pause to let out a moan as she takes hold of me.
“Keep going,” she says.
I obediently continue. My prosthetic clatters to the floor; all that’s left is the sleeve that goes over my stump and the four thick socks stretched over it.
I feel her hesitate as I start to pull off the socks. “What - ” she begins.
“It shrinks,” I say by way of explanation. I don’t really want to talk about it - somehow I don’t think the terms “residual limb volume shrinkage” would be sexy - so I’m glad when she doesn’t ask anything else. Instead, she takes hold of me again and begins stroking slowly.
Her teasing is almost too much to bear. She knows what she’s doing. I struggle to remain focused on peeling off the layers - and then there it is, my bare stump, weird and gross. I flex my knee unconsciously.
Trisha pushes a hand into my chest so that I fall back onto the couch again; she lowers her head onto my lap, grasping my thigh with one hand. I can’t help the moan that bubbles out of my throat as I feel her mouth slide over my erection. The two sensations, of her mouth and her hand, are very intense. Feeling someone else’s touch on what remains of my leg is strange; it’s like all the nerves are alive beneath my skin.
I slide my fingers through Trisha’s thick red hair and close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of her tongue. She really does know what she’s doing.
I’m close, but I don’t know how to signal it to her. My mind’s gone blank. I’ve forgotten how to form words. I writhe beneath her, thumping the back of the couch with my hand, gasping. She’s going to finish me right here before I even get a chance to -
And then she suddenly stops. She sits up and wipes her mouth daintily. I groan, half disappointed, but excited for what I hope comes next.
“Ready?” she asks, her voice low.
“Oh, yeah,” I tell her. “But wait, I don’t have a condom.
She grins and straddles me again. “I have an IUD. I’m clean. Are you?”
I nod my yes. I reach down to brush my fingers over the triangle between her legs earning a moan and a shudder as she presses herself against my hand. She positions herself to align with my throbbing head. And then she slips down, and I’m completely inside her with nothing between us.
“Oh,” she sighs, bracing her hands on my chest as she begins to move. “Did I tell you before that you’re big?”
“No,” I croak. I keep my hand beneath her; she adjusts herself. I move my fingers as she works her hips, she lets out a moan and moves faster.
“You are,” she gasps.
She feels amazing. I rest my free hand on the small of her back; she grabs it and moves it down to he
r bottom. Her skin, all over is so soft, except for her rough, calloused hands. I can see the wiry muscles flexing in her arms and thighs.
“Trisha,” I moan.
Saying her name triggers something in her. She opens her eyes and looks at me with some emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. It’s incredibly sensual. She begins moving at a faster pace, moaning her pleasure. I thrust upward with her movements. She’s already brought me close, so I’m not sure how long I can last.
“Perry, I’m gonna - ”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, but I know what she means. I keep my hand between her legs and don’t stop moving my fingers against her. She shudders with every thrust. Her moans raise in volume until they’re just wordless cries of pleasure; and then she lets out what almost sounds like a yelp, and I feel her squeeze and contract around me.
That does it for me. The arch of her back, the heave of her beautiful breasts, the warmth of her as she reaches her climax - it’s all too much. She twitches as she comes down, and I feel myself explode inside her. She whimpers as I pour myself into her and bucks her hips until I’m spent.
I let out a final moan and lay still, gasping, as she pulls herself off me and drapes her whole body onto my chest. “That was good,” she whispers, pushing her lips to my jaw.
“It was.” I trace a line from between her shoulder blades down to the dip in her low back. She wiggles happily against me. She’s sweaty. I’m sweaty. I don’t care.
I let my eyes flutter closed. This is much better than last time. We’re both sober, and we’ll both remember this.
Suddenly, Trisha sits up and swears with a word so dirty I let out a laugh. “You have to go,” she says, untangling herself from me and snatching up her clothes.
“What? Why?” I ask.
“Because I have to go, and it’d be weird for you to be at my house alone.”
I sit up and reach for my prosthetic. “Where are you going?”
“My best friend is getting married and I’m her maid of honor.” She slips her panties on; they’re cotton, bikini-style, with little blue flowers all over them. I smile. I expected them to be plain and no-nonsense, not floral. “I’m meeting her in Charleston to try on dresses, and I have to leave in - ” She pauses in the middle of tugging on her shorts. “Ten minutes ago.”
“Crap.” I finish with my leg and start on my clothes. “Are you gonna be late?”
“Not if I speed,” she answers grimly, buttoning her shorts. She grabs her shirt, which is inside-out, and starts to fix it. “I need a bra.”
“I’ll get going.” I’ve already gotten my clothes on; I stand and walk to the door to open it. Apple lies patiently on the other side. “Come on, girl. We gotta go so Trisha can get ready. Try not to get a ticket, okay?” I say to Trisha.
She grins and pulls her shirt down over her stomach. “I’ll be fine.”
I hover awkwardly in the doorway - do I kiss her? We’ve slept together twice now - what does that make us? Are we together? Was this just...apology sex?
“Um,” I say as she pushes past me into the hallway, pulling her hair out of her shirt collar. “Thanks.”
She freezes and looks at me, a flicker of a smile passing over her lips. “For what?” she asks.
“Y’know. The…” I look down at her. Her freckled face is full of amusement. “...the tea,” I finish lamely.
She bursts out into ringing laughter. “Right. You’re welcome. For the tea. Hope you liked it.”
“I did,” I reply emphatically.
“That’s great. I’m flattered. Now go - I’m already late.”
16
I don’t know why I was worried about being late.
I pull up to the dress store five minutes early. It’s a nondescript brick building with a slate-colored roof, sitting in a strip mall with other businesses that I’m sure benefit from weddings - a spa, a salon, a flower shop, a restaurant with a sign proudly proclaiming that it offers catering - and some completely random ones, like a hardware store and a holistic pet shop.
Right away, I spot Raina’s car in the parking lot; I park in the empty space beside it and head toward the store. Its double glass doors are sandwiched between huge windows that display mannequins in wedding dresses.
The bell above the door hasn’t ended its jingling when I hear Raina squeal “Trisha!” and she’s rushing toward me.
While Raina catches me in her organ-smushing vice grip that she calls a hug, I look around the store and stifle a grimace. Of course Raina would pick a store like this. Its walls are painted a Pepto-Bismol shade of pink when you can see them at all above the shelves stuffed with poofy white dresses. All the seating is old-fashioned upholstery - the chair Raina just left is a vintage wooden armchair with a button-tufted back, and covered with cream-colored brocade with gold details. Every single decoration has something to do with white roses. It’s like walking inside a little girl’s fairy-tale bedroom.
“Hey,” I say uncertainly, glancing toward the little group sitting on similar fancy chairs. Raina grabs my hand and tugs me over to them.
“I’m so glad you’re here! These are the rest of my bridesmaids.” Raina bounces next to me as she pulls me over. She’s ninety pounds soaking wet, but damn if she isn’t strong when she’s excited.
It’s a small group - there’s only five of us, including Raina.
“This is Alyssa,” Raina gushes, indicating one of the women. “She’s Alex’s twin sister. She owns a bakery here in Charleston!”
“Hi,” I say uncertainly. She tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear and smiles at me.
“Good to finally meet you,” Alyssa says.
I nod. Raina introduces me to Steph, the wife of one of Alex’s work buddies, and then turns to the last member of our little group - an older woman, maybe in her 60s. She’s holding a mimosa, and it’s not clear where she got it.
The older woman holds out her hand for me to shake. “My name’s Linda Logan, but most people call me Lynn or Lindy.”
I shake her hand dumbly. Oh, no.
“She and Mr. Jimmy are my next-door neighbors,” Raina sais brightly.
Jimmy and Linda Logan are Perry’s parents.
“You’re Raina’s vet, right?” Lynn asks. She takes a sip of her mysterious mimosa. “You must know my son, Perry. He just moved down there...oh, maybe a month or so ago?”
I freeze. Words fail me. What am I supposed to say? Lovely to meet you; yes, I know your son, I actually just came from having sex with him?
“I chipped Apple for him,” I blurt out.
Lynn smiles. “So he and his dog are getting along?”
“Uh, yeah,” I reply, still dazed; I’m saved from further conversation by a worker approaching and loudly asking who the bride is.
“Me!” Raina says excitedly. “But today we’re looking for bridesmaid dresses, and these are my bridesmaids!”
The rest of the day is a blur of dresses and pink walls. Raina’s chosen colors for her wedding are green and lavender, and she’s decided the bridesmaids should wear green - something I’m incredibly thankful for, as I’ve been worried she’d try to put me in pink. Pink clashes spectacularly with my hair; I’d look like someone set fire to a flamingo.
We settle on a fairly classy dress - floor-length, off-the-shoulder but with a gauzy lavender shawl. It’s dark when we leave the shop. I’m able to avoid Lynn for the most part.
“I’ll meet you back at my place,” Raina says as we leave the store. The sun has set fully now; the sky is dark. Stars twinkle above us. “I drove Ms. Lynn here.”
“And what a sweetheart she is for doing it,” Lynn gushes. I don’t know how many mimosas she’s had, but she’s definitely tipsy. I still don’t know where she was getting them.
I get into my car and let Raina and Lynn drive off before me as I plug Raina’s address into my GPS. I want Lynn to be safely in her own home before I arrive so I don’t have to field any awkward questions.
Half an hour later, when I p
ull into Raina’s driveway, I’m relieved to see Lynn sitting on a rocking chair on her front porch. An old man sits next to her; her husband, I assume, and probably Perry’s father. My stomach drops. I dip my head and scurry my way up Raina’s yard to her front door.
“Where’s Alex?” I ask. She and her fiancé have been living together for a while now, but I don’t see him anywhere as I enter the living room.
“At the firestation,” Raina replies. “He’s trying to get his schedule switched, but for now he spends two weeks there and two weeks off.”
Her orange three-legged cat meows loudly as he runs up to me; I scoop him up. “Hey there, Monroe,” I say as I settle onto the couch.
“Did you stop and get dinner?” Raina asks from the kitchen; her other cat, a calico named Carmen, follows her around.
“No. Why?”
I hear a thunk; I turn to see that Raina has set a bottle of wine down on her counter. “Because you might want something on your stomach before we have some of this.”
We do as girls do and talk and talk. We eat some random things out of Raina’s fridge, sip some wine, and enjoy just being together. Raina giggles and leans across the table as my phone buzzes.
“Who’s that?” she says teasingly, “You got a boyfriend?”
“No,” I say quickly, eyeing my caller ID. It’s Nathan. I silence my phone and go to swipe it away, but Raina grabs it and looks at it.
“Ooh, who’s Nathan?” she asks gleefully.
“Nobody.” I feel my face coloring. “Just a guy that I went on a date with.”
“That doesn’t sound like nobody.” She holds up my phone. “He’s calling again.”
“He can wait.” I snatch it out out of her hands; she giggles. “So uh, y’know how your next door neighbor asked me about her son?”
“Yeah?” Raina pours herself another glass. The wine splashes a little. She has less body mass than me; she’s stick, a waif, a thin wisp of a woman with a shock of frizzy blonde hair. She is much drunker than I am.
“Well I know him better than I said. I’d just come from sleeping with him,” I admit.
Raina chokes; half-coughing, half-laughing. “You did what? You’ve got this Nathan guy and Ms. Lynn’s son on the hook?”