by Ana Simons
And, besides, I never got the chance to tell Olivia about her, so if this goes on, or worse, if she begins to accidentally bump into us, chances are things could basically go to hell in a hand-basket.
I put on my jacket, button it up quickly and make my way out as fast as possible. This has to stop and it has to stop now, I keep telling myself as I cross the busy street and enter the pub in simmering fury. Goddammit, it’s been over a month already, why can’t she get over it and carry on with her life?
“Hey, what scheme have you been hatching?” I blurt out as I pull up a chair at the table. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you false hopes, but this has to stop, Jo!”
“I just wanted to have a coffee, that’s all,” she says softly, laying her hand on top of mine. “And also, to know how you’ve been doing.”
I cast a glance around to see if anyone has heard me. Staring at her gravely, I force myself to calm down and ask for a coffee. “Okay, but it has to be quick. My father is off on holiday and I’ve got tons of work to do.”
“Thank you.” She smiles, a gentle, warm smile. “Please, don’t think that I’m another needy and desperate woman with little to no self-respect. I’m only trying to reach out to a friend.”
I drag a hand through my stubble, irritation gnawing at me again. “Listen, this isn’t the best time and I–”
“Brian?” She takes a sip of her coffee and remains silent for a while, looking at me with the same tender expression and graceful attitude, one that couldn’t contrast more with my agitation. “You know that feeling, that is so powerful it almost suspends time and makes the whole world seem still? It’s so strong that you’re able to tear down your walls and let yourself be vulnerable again? When you know you’ve found your other half? That after a crappy day, just the mere sight of that person will make it all better?”
I think my heart is jumping with joy. “Oh, you met someone? But that’s wonderful!”
“You know the one-month no contact rule?”
I shrug. Don’t really know what she’s talking about and, honestly, she’s looking and sounding so zen I suspect this is about to become weird.
“You haven’t heard from me for a month because I thought it was important to give myself time to breathe, to meditate on a few things.”
“Good. Feeling better now?”
“I calmed down and tried to put things into a logical perspective, tried to understand how I feel about us, about our relationship.”
We never had a relationship.
“And?”
“I know I told you I didn’t want anything serious, only a few casual dates here and there and have some fun. But then something changed, and I didn’t find the right away, the right words to tell you about it. That I miss you. That I really like you and hope I can make you like me as much. What I want to say is… it would mean the world to me if you’d consider giving us anoth–”
“Jo, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I told you already, I can’t give you that. And, besides, I’m seeing someone else.”
Her face hardens into an expression of coldness, anger even, maybe, her eyes squinting in disbelief. “Seeing, what does that mean? Like, a hit-and-run thing?”
“No.”
She stares at me a long moment before her eyes widen. “But you said–”
I hold her hand tightly. “Jo, listen to me. I’m so sorry, but you should really move on and try to find someone–”
“Who truly deserves me?” She completes my sentence, shaking her head, opening her eyes even wider, her whole face the portrait of near despair. “Is that what you were about to tell me again?”
My stomach twists with unease and I stand. “I apologise again. I have to go now.”
“No, wait. I’ve got something for you.” She grabs a red paper bag hanging on the back of the chair.
“What’s this?”
“Just a present.”
“I can’t take it.”
“Please.”
Eventually, I do take the bag, out of sympathy and remorse. A few seconds of hesitation and I kiss her on the top of her head and say goodbye with a slight nod.
Already sitting at my desk, I open the gift bag, peek inside and fish the content out with a pen. I look at the damn thing in astonishment and the words escape my mouth almost on their own, “Are you fucking kidding?”
28 TGIF
Hell no, this is not for a trip to the grocery store!
I keep pulling the strap of the totally foxy black lace teddy and stare at it with my jaw dropped. Ooh-la-la, it kind of makes me think of Moulin Rouge and hot legs and sexy boobs and, okay, I admit it, a tiny jolt of electricity has just surged through me. Goodness, this sultry all-in-one thingy wouldn’t make me cringe.
A card accompanies the unexpected gift:
‘Already made a reservation at Fiddie’s. Be there at 7. This is just the dessert topping.’
I take a full, deep intake of air.
Almost tempting, but no, thanks. I’m having dinner with that moron of my new roommate instead. Someone has to assist him while he gets drunk, and listen, again, to the epic story of how he got dumped twice in the same night. To that and, of course, to his ramblings about his mistress, who went from being the sexiest, most intelligent and desirable woman on earth to being the bloodiest stupid cow in the universe.
How could she dare tell him to take his feelings and stick them all the way up his arse? Go figure, I laugh to myself, alone in my office. This effing weekend is already looming on the horizon and for a moment I wonder if I shouldn’t reconsider my invitation. I probably should. Oh, sod it.
Anyway, I dump the undergarment into a big brown envelope, seal it, and ask Millie to have it sent back to Jo’s address. A quick text with some polite version of ‘forget about it, come hell or high water it won’t happen ever again’ and that’s it. Hopefully, the problem is resolved.
Things would soon become less civil and polite, though. Jo didn’t appreciate either the gesture or the avalanche of unanswered text messages that followed. Eventually, I blocked her number and the last time I heard from her, last Tuesday I think, it was obvious she was done with meditation and that one or two of her chakras must have gone out of alignment. She called here and insulted Millie, when she refused to put her through.
But Jo and her antics are the least of my problems.
Letting out a long exhale, I throw my headgear on the table and fall into the swivel chair. It’s Friday afternoon already and I’ve just returned from my fourth construction site visit of the day. With eyes closed and hands cupped behind my head, I spin back and forth for a few moments, feeling the tiredness seeping through my bones.
Though eager to call it a day, I make a quick mental check of the people I still need to talk to. Jake and the Warrender Park conservation project drawings. Patel and the Fulham feasibility report. Has Scott already emailed those visit reports? Millie, any news from the surveyors?
I glance around the office, through the glass walls. Everyone is with that face. The welcome-back-bitch-we’ve-been-looking-forward-to-meeting-you-since-Monday face.
Dreadful.
I shut my eyes back again and lean back. Olivia is arriving in a few hours and I still need to think of a plan B for this weekend.
Maybe we could go out and watch a film. What was that musical she wanted to see? What a shitty weather, otherwise we could spread a blanket in Hampstead Heath and have a picnic. Oh, maybe I could take her to Columbia Road market on Sunday. She loves all things vintage and we could have lunch at the Royal Oak. Yeah, that would be nice. Or we could go for a walk in Little Venice…
Damn it, plan A is so much simpler! We don’t get out of bed at all. I make love to her over and over again, until we collapse in exhaustion.
Several images of her writhing body invade my mind. I’m cradling her in my arms and she’s quivering under my touch, biting her lip and arching her back off the bed, her fingers tangled in my hair, her mouth urging me on, screaming my name
right when she’s on the precipice of a big-O. We’re on a free ride to heaven and it’s epic, and I’m near insane too and–
And, Jeez, my body is stirring to life and I need to get a grip.
And maybe get a coffee too!
“All good, Millie?” I ask after I’ve refilled my mug. “So, did you know that the world was supposed to have ended last Wednesday?”
“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t move her eyes off the monitor.
“Just heard about it on the radio. Some American pastor predicted a nasty end for all of us in the flames of God’s wrath!” I chuckle. “It boggles my mind how many people still believe in these stupid doomsday prophecies.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If we’d known that, we sure would have indulged ourselves a better last meal, wouldn’t we?”
Last Wednesday, we both went home particularly late. We had set ourselves to finish a quite important proposal on a very tight deadline, so we were here from the crack of dawn until almost midnight. A lousy sandwich and a coke were all we had.
“Uh-huh.”
Christ, it’s like getting blood out of a stone.
“However, all appears to be normal. Nice, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, seeing Jake now. As always, it’s been a huge pleasure chatting with you.”
She raises her head and mutters, “Dang it, if the world’s still spinning, I guess I still have to pay my taxes, don’t I?”
Oh. A miracle. The woman has a sense of humour.
A tiny flicker of a grin curls up on her lips. “I’m certain if God had such plans, He’d organise a proper end of the world. He’d scheduled it for a Sunday and not in the middle of the sodding week. Why wouldn’t He allow His children to let loose on one last Saturday night? And, besides, it’d suck terribly if we had to work two or three extra days for nothing.”
Oh. And she can giggle too.
She finally looks at me over her glasses. “Hey? You’re doing everything right, don’t worry. Your father will be proud of you,” she says, tenderly, right before the smile vanishes off her face and her eyes narrow at me. “Did you know it takes less than twenty-nine seconds for a woman to decide if she wants a man or not?”
I frown, confused.
“We take it from here, go home now. Do something about that hair and that beard, and have a decent shower before your girlfriend sees you and changes her mind about you. You look like a caveman!”
29 Every piece of myself
I’m where I belong.
I reach across the table for her hand and look deeply into her eyes in silence. Olivia smiles gently at me as I draw circles around her knuckles and I know that I’m the reason behind that smile, that I mean a lot to her. Having her walk back into my life is the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m not afraid anymore to tell her that, that I need her too, that I need her to be part of it, that I want to give every piece of myself to her.
Still caught up in the moment, I stroke her hair, cup her face and leave a long kiss on her forehead before I get up from the counter stool.
She squeezes my hand and leans into me to nuzzle her face against my chest. Then her smiling eyes seek mine, to soothe and comfort me the way only she can, to tell me without words that sure life sucks sometimes, but she’s here, with me, to be my anchor, to reassure me everything will be all right. And it fills me in the most profound and entrancing way, this feeling, the feeling that I love her, that I love her with all that I am.
“May I?” I collect our plates and throw a quick glance at my mobile to check the time. It’s late. Almost eleven.
We have already finished dinner a little while ago, but we lost track of time while catching up, cosy and relaxed, chatting away about life, about these past weeks, about our future.
“…I was betting he’d run screaming out the door, but no, the poor fella just fainted in the middle of the room, imagine that! His wife was so mad she could have jumped off the delivery table and strangled him right there!” Olivia tells me about the highlight of her day and lets out a loud laugh. “I’m fully convinced if men had to give birth themselves, civilisation would have already been extinguished. You can be such wusses!”
I shake my head, smiling, but keep my thoughts to myself.
The idea of seeing your child getting out through a spot where you have already had so much fun, basically through the main attraction of the whole playground, is a bit disturbing. And when one day I’m in that position, I do plan to hold Olivia’s hand, to talk gently to her, to take all those slow, deep breaths—but, for the sake of my own mental health, I’ll be watching it from the headboard side. From the other angle, with full view over the event? No, thank you.
“Dessert?”
She crinkles her nose and shakes her head no.
“You sure?”
“Come here.” She pulls me and leaves a peck on my face. “Thank you for the late dinner, it was great! You’re a pretty damn good cook with a dangerously charming smile. You might have won a few extra cookies because of that.”
She smiles, loose and entertained, one finger absently circling the rim of her glass, one leg stretched over another stool, her body swaying to the soft music floating from the sound system.
Everything is quiet and perfect, just perfect.
“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I’m telling you, a man who can cook will also get to a lot of interesting places.” She glances at me, with bright eyes, her lips slightly curled to a naughty smile and the sly, playful innuendo almost stops me in my tracks. I’m taking a little surprise I prepared for her out of the freezer.
“Hey, sexy. What do you think of this?” A bowl with two scoops of vanilla ice-cream with cherries and walnuts. Her favourite.
Her eyes light up immediately. “Oh my God. Where’s the spoon?”
Waggling it, I lean over to tease her a little by just barely touching my lips against hers. I watch the mischief flicker in her eyes, which are fixed on mine as her fingers lightly trace my jawline.
I lift the first spoonful to her mouth and she tastes it slowly, rolling the cream on her tongue. I kiss her lips, which feel cold and taste sweet, and I’m almost sure I’ve just heard a tiny, little moan.
The fire that has been brewing inside of me since this afternoon comes to life. I want her and need her so badly that if she kisses me back I’ll be damned if I don’t take that as an invitation and in less than one minute I’m not just kissing her lips, I’ll be kissing every inch of her body. On this very counter.
No?
“Thank you, that was so sweet of you. Now give me that spoon! Four minutes of pleasure in the mouth, four years on my hips, but who cares?” Quite enthusiastically she takes another spoonful to her mouth.
No...
“Why do you always do that?” I dip my spoon into my own bowl.
“Excuse me?”
“You, women, you always refuse dessert, but then end up stealing it from us, little by little! Today I’d be lucky to get half of mine!” I sort of complain, not because of the ice-cream, of course, more out of slight frustration. My bad, really. I should have saved it for later.
She narrows her eyes at me, with a feigned menacing stare. “Okay, so if we really want this relationship to go somewhere, we might as well get all these things straight now. Tell me, what else annoys the hell out of you?”
I enter her game and pull up a stool next to her. Then I take a few seconds to gear up and point my spoon at her. “For starters, why do you always spend so much time getting ready? We need to have the patience of a saint sometimes.”
“It’s a lot of work to look good—for you, sweetheart! Hair, make-up and other secrets you don’t want to hear about, like waxing down there, for example, do require some time. Get over that one, darling. Next!” she prompts, amused.
“When you ask us if you look fat in some outfit, what am I supposed to say? My sister, for example, she drives me crazy, she’s always aski
ng me that.”
“Most times we’re just looking for a compliment. Say something nice.”
“I should lie, you mean?”
“Say something like ‘that dress is lovely, but, I don’t know, you don’t look very comfortable in it’. That sounds much better! And it will likely be true, anyway. What else?”
“Why do you keep on asking what we’re thinking? Men like it quiet, we can actually be still and think about absolutely nothing!”
“Well, but women can’t. We have this board in our heads where we keep pinning mental post-it notes with the different reminders, ideas and things we need to do later. Besides, remember that we aren’t mind readers, so if we ask you that, it’s because we care, we want to know about your feelings, we’re encouraging you to talk.”
Clicking my tongue, I wave a dismissive hand. “Another thing, sometimes you put too much pressure on us. You set your expectations sky-high, almost as if you wanted us to change into one of those characters you watch in your sappy films. So not cool.”
She lifts one eyebrow defiantly. “Hey, what’s wrong with sappy films?”
I pull her so she’s standing right between my legs and hold her by the waist. “Nothing. I really love them, especially all those happy endings.”
I do. We have pretty much missed all endings of the films we’ve been trying to watch: we start out cuddling and way before they run the final credits, things have already escalated and we’re lost in each other’s very, very happy ending.
“But do tell me, what’s the big deal about all those chick flicks?”
She shrugs, looking at me with a devilish grin spread across her face. After that, she bites her lip and leans towards me to say, “They’re a lot of fun. Because if we were in a novel or in one of those films, you’d be already doing me on this counter and we’d be contorting our bodies to positions that aren’t even possible. What’s not to like in that picture?”
My heart lurches the instant I pick up on the subtlety. And my pulse begins to race like mad, causing my thoughts and emotions to crash against each other. Not wanting to wait for another second, I pull her to me and cover her mouth with mine.