by KD Fisher
“Do you like penetration?” The question felt clinical, but I had to ask. Plenty of people didn’t. It was always best to read the recipe before you started cooking.
A small wrinkle formed between Adah’s straight eyebrows and she sat all the way up. “Not really.” Her voice carried an edge of something that sounded too much like apology.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with is perfect,” I whispered, smoothing her hair back and kissing her temple softly. “Tell me what you like, what you don’t like... I promise you’re not going to offend me.” I winked.
Adah smiled softly, shifting to press her mouth to mine. My heart constricted. That same weird, overwhelmed feeling took over again and I wanted to squeeze her close. I needed to get a fucking grip. To distract myself I pushed Adah back down into the pillows and focused on her eyes. That gorgeous soft green. I had never wanted so badly to kiss someone’s eyes before. Okay, clearly this wasn’t helping. Her breasts. Focus. I kissed down her neck again, nipping and licking her until she started moaning steadily and her hands fisted the sheets.
“Beth.” Adah breathed my name and my whole body clenched with need. Fuck. “Can you please...”
“Tell me what you want, baby.” I kissed her sharp hip bone, grateful for the distraction because where the hell had that term of endearment come from?
Adah half laughed, half groaned. “I’m not used to this much talking, you know.”
“Well get used to it. I like hearing from you.” I swirled my fingers over her clit, keeping my touch feather soft. Her gasp brought a smile to my lips even as my whole body lit up with desire. I wanted nothing more than to make her feel as comfortable and cared for as I did in her presence. “Is this what you want? My fingers?” I dropped my lips back to her stomach, kissing just as gently as I’d touched her. “Or do you want me to eat your pussy?”
“That.” Adah’s voice was raw now and I felt her clench at my words. “Please, that.”
I started slow, dragging the point of my tongue up and down to spread her wetness. I tasted salt and the sweet tang of her desire. Adah’s hands tangled into my hair, and she ground against my mouth. My own body felt flushed and desperate but I focused on Adah. Listened carefully to the cadence of her moans and her rhythmic cries of pleasure, shifting the angle and pressure to get it just right. And when I did, she went rigid and silent against my mouth, her grip on my hair just shy of painful. I was so turned on simply feeling her that I almost came myself.
As she relaxed, I nuzzled against her smooth, muscular thighs. Slowly kissing my way back up until I could plaster myself against her, part of me wanted to keep going. Wanted to see how many times we could make each other come, maybe breaking for a late-night snack. But my body had other ideas. Adah’s arms around me and the warm press of her skin lulled me into the kind of satisfied, hazy half-sleep I absolutely adored. It was like falling asleep in the perfect patch of summer sun.
The rumble of Adah’s voice roused me and I blinked my eyes open, wondering how long I’d been dozing. “Sorry, what?” I asked, taking a deep breath through my nose and rubbing my face roughly.
“Oh nothin’, sorry, honey. Go back to sleep.” Adah kissed my forehead and then I was awake and turned on. Why the hell did that do it for me?
“No. I’m up. What is it? Are you finally ready to tell me what’s been bugging you all night?” I was half teasing but Adah nodded seriously.
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal, just...” She trailed off and her fingers tangled into my hair. I wondered if touching me soothed her. I hoped so. “Work stuff. Right before the, um, cook-off...before you came in, Sean told me he wanted us to change vendors. Like keep saying that we are ‘committed to the finest ingredients’ but actually start buying more from Wesco.”
I bristled, ready to smack that fucking asshole back to whatever pretentious cocktail lounge he’d been shaken up in. But Adah wasn’t finished.
“I didn’t really know what to say, you know? Like, yeah, in theory I’m in control of purchasing but Sean does the budget and he’s our connection to corporate for the most part. But then the next day he told me that he’d canceled all of our contracts with local suppliers. We ended up losing some money because he didn’t bother to read the fine print. Now we get pretty much all of our food from Wesco.” She shook her head.
“Fuck! Are you fucking serious? You guys charge like forty-five dollars a plate! That’s highway robbery. Not to mention...”
Adah surprised me by laughing her warm, low laugh and claiming my mouth in a feverish kiss. “You are really something, you know that?”
Heat bloomed on my face but I shrugged, all easy nonchalance. “There’s more to this sordid tale, isn’t there?”
“You bet. I guess Sean got wind that Marcus is due in town any day now. So this morning I get into work and what do you know. The whole dang menu has been overhauled. He said Ric and the rest of the partners approved it but...” She bit her lip. “That was my menu. It was good food. But that little snake had been developing something with the chef at Per Diem, our sister restaurant in New York. It’s all this weird foam and gel...that molecular gastronomy junk, which I kind of thought was over and done with.” She sighed and her weariness seeped into my bones. “Anyway, I hate the new menu. But what the heck can I do? It’s already approved and up on the website, so that’s that, I suppose.”
I tried, I really did, to rein myself in. Logically, I knew exploding into a fiery ball of righteous indignation was useless. What Adah needed was to be heard and supported. But, unfortunately for both of us, my passion boiled over like an unwatched pot of milk.
“You have to be fucking kidding me.” I sat up, blood rushing to my head and cool air striking my skin as the sheet slipped down. “I would say I’m surprised but if my time at the Gourmet Institute in Sonoma taught me anything, it is that this industry is fueled by pure, unadulterated bullshit.” And now I was on a tear. My brother used to call them my spirals of doom. I liked to think of them as passionate speeches. Either way. “I don’t know what you expected, frankly, working with people like that. It’s all about the bottom line. Who gives a shit about the local economy, right? What the fuck does it matter that the farmers in this state are desperately poor? As long as we can call it innovative and make sure some random assholes from, like, LA like it, that’s the important thing. Plus Marcus is going to hate that.” Somewhere in the back of my mind an alarm bell sounded and I forced my stupid mouth shut.
Adah didn’t look mad. She, surprise, surprise, looked totally impassive. “Our food was good before Sean made all these changes, though. You said you liked it when you came in the other day.” A tiny glimmer of hurt shone at the edge of her words. It should have stopped me. It didn’t.
“Well yeah, your food is great. You’re clearly a talented chef. I mean, you honestly can make a delicious plate of food, honey. I was so fucking jealous when you won the cook-off. But you deserved it.” Good, keep going down this path, Beth. Remember you want to be nice to this woman you cannot stop thinking about. Your job here is to help her feel better, not to throw water on a grease fire. “But, like, the restaurant itself is so designer and slick. Who needs that in Maine? And all that super delicate plating... I don’t know. I just think food should be more honest. But if Marcus was going to have an issue with your sourcing before, he sure as shit isn’t going to like it now. I mean, how dumb do you all think your customers are?” And great, I had been a complete and total asshole. Definitely a spiral of doom.
Before I could formulate a half-decent apology, Adah was up and out of bed. The music cut abruptly and she tugged her briefs up without meeting my eye. “It’s late. I’m just gonna wash up real quick.” The soft click of the bathroom door closing echoed in my ears until I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Adah
It had been a long time since I’d been this tired. Even in the ear
ly days of Pete reverse cycling at the same time I worked the morning shift at the Sunshine Diner, I hadn’t been this darn exhausted. Now, learning a whole new menu, dusting off techniques I hadn’t much cared about during culinary school, and helping Pete finish up his stupid family tree school project had me honest to goodness feeling like I could nod off on my feet at any given moment.
Sean had it on good authority, or so he claimed, that Marcus would be coming to review us by the end of the week, which meant he’d been in rare form, hovering over my every move. And not just mine. He’d told Jay they cracked eggs wrong and called Mac sweetheart so many times she threatened to quit if he did it again. At that I’d told him calmly to get the heck out of my kitchen until he learned how to treat his coworkers with respect. The new menu was a total joke: so fiddly and dull that no one seemed to like cooking in our kitchen anymore. Plus, I’d gotten up at five this morning to make sure I had my son’s meal prep squared away before heading into the restaurant to catch up on inventory. Thank heavens it was Monday. I could toss leftover lasagna in the oven, stretch out on the couch, and read with Pete until we both dozed off around sunset.
But as I lumbered up the weathered wooden steps to the apartment, the steady thump of pop music drilled right into my skull. Usually the young couple that lived above us was quiet as a pair of church mice. It was just my luck that they picked today to have some kind of noisy celebration. A loud peal of laughter drifted on the cool evening air and I felt my jaw tighten. That was Pete’s laugh. Maybe he and Vanessa were doing another one of the calisthenic workouts she’d become fond of. I pulled open the door, trying to figure out a polite way to ask Vanessa to turn it down, only to come face-to-face with Beth.
The source of the shrill music was Beth’s sticker-covered laptop, open on the counter. Behind her, Vanessa and Pete were dancing and laughing. The tension in my jaw radiated down into my throat, my shoulders, lodging hot in my chest.
“What are you doing here?” My voice was a harsh crack. Pete and Vanessa stopped dancing. Confusion overtook the smile on Beth’s face.
“Oh, um.” Beth wiped her hands, which were dusted in flour, on her jeans.
“Sorry, hon, I should have texted you.” Vanessa waved me inside. I realized I was still standing in the doorway, letting the cold rush into the kitchen. “Beth stopped by to surprise you. When Pete and I got home from school we saw the poor thing waiting on your porch and...” Vanessa kept talking. But my head was throbbing now, every heavy bass note making my heart race faster, my head pound harder.
Deep breath. The kitchen smelled good. Toasty and rich with the smells of herbs and cheese. Focus. But I couldn’t. Shards of worries and memories rattled around in my mind. Would Vanessa let just anyone in here? Would I get home from work one day to find the reverend sitting at my table, that slick smile turning the lock to let him into my house?
Without thinking, I snapped the laptop shut, plunging the kitchen into quiet.
“We made pizza, Mom.” Pete’s voice was bright, but his gaze bounced from me to Beth to Vanessa like he was trying to find the source of tension. I’d had plenty of practice at that particular game when I was his age.
This was when I was supposed to smile. Shrug off my coat and ruffle my son’s hair and say thank you. Maybe kiss Beth’s cheek. Instead I stood, teeth grinding, eyes trained to the floor. I’d missed a spot last time I’d scrubbed the tile. A small patch of gray stood out against the gleaming white. Hot anger roared through me and I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. But why the heck was I angry?
“Sorry, I hope it’s okay. I just, um, wanted to surprise you.” Beth’s voice was small.
“Thanks.” My reply was automatic and harsh.
Vanessa cleared her throat and grabbed her jacket from where it hung on the back of a kitchen chair. “Well, I’ve got last night’s Game of Thrones and Chinese leftovers with my name on them. You all set, Addie?” I usually loved the silly nickname Vanessa had bestowed on me. Now it raised my hackles. I nodded and let her leave without another word.
I didn’t miss the confused look Pete shot to Beth and my body didn’t forget to surge with guilt at the mess I’d made. For no reason at all I was making my own kid feel nervous. I was no better than the reverend. My stomach clenched. I needed to go outside, to pull as much fresh autumn air into the back of my throat as possible. To fill myself with fresh and clean and push out all the bad. Then I saw Pete’s hands. The flash of pink glittery polish on his nails catching the golden afternoon light.
The words came out before I could stop them. “Take it off.” A flat command. I’d been doing this all wrong. Focusing on all the wrong things. All that mattered was my son. Not chive foams and cubes of white wine gelée. Not Marcus Blanche. Not even Beth.
What was I going to do when Pete came home from school with tear tracks on his cheeks because kids could take any scrap of difference and shape it into an excuse to be cruel? When Jason and the other kids didn’t want to play with him anymore. When teachers pulled me aside to ask if everything was okay at home. It ain’t right. The reverend’s voice filled my ears.
“What?” Again my son looked to Beth instead of me.
“Your nails,” I snapped. “Take that crap off.”
“Do we have nail polish remover?” Pete asked, genuinely confused.
We didn’t. I hadn’t painted my nails once in my life. I shook my head. “I need to talk to Beth.” I pushed out onto the porch, hoping like heck she would follow. I couldn’t stay in that room another second. But the slap of cold air on my face did little to calm me down.
As soon as Beth tugged the door shut behind her, I rounded on her. My anger was huge and scary. Her arms were crossed over her chest, whether to keep warm or shield herself from me, I didn’t know.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I wasn’t sure if I was being quiet but I couldn’t really bring myself to care. “What the hell were you thinking coming over here without telling me?”
She flinched back like I’d slapped her full across the face. “I’m really sorry. I just wanted to do something nice for you after the other night. I know I was a total asshole and you seemed so stressed so... I don’t know. I really didn’t mean to upset you. I can leave if you want.” Beth’s eyes went wide and glassy. The look on her face was pure hurt. It should have stopped me, but it didn’t.
“And painting his nails! You don’t just do that to someone’s kid without asking.” I rubbed my hands through my hair, giving it a quick, hard tug. “Do you have any idea what the kids at school are gonna say? He’s already the new kid. He doesn’t need to go in there looking like a freak.” Unbidden my brothers’ taunts rushed back to me. Their laughter anytime I tried to get away with borrowing their clothes. Their shock and disgust when I cut off the hair I’d hated for so long.
“Sorry, he said he liked mine and I had the polish in my bag. But honey, I don’t think his friends will say anything. And even if they do, do you really want him buying into all that heteronormative patriarchal bullshit? I think if kids know how to communicate and push back—”
I cut her off, raising my hands. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Beth’s shoulders dropped and she nodded slowly, her eyes so intent on my face I felt like she could see clear into me. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m not a parent. And I’m not really visibly queer so I don’t know what it’s like to navigate that stuff. But, Adah, you are both. I mean, how can you get upset about painted nails when you don’t worry about conforming to gender norms either? And I’m so sorry if I overstepped. I really am. I just wanted to have a fun night in and...”
She kept talking but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. Her words went distant and dull. My focus shifted away, out to the twist of purple and gold clouds on the horizon. I wanted to flow out to meet them, to feel nothing. Instead, guilt clogged my throat, expanding until it almost filled me righ
t up.
The kitchen door banged open and Pete poked his head out, face a mask of worry. My body startled. Had we been shouting? What the heck had I even said? I knew Beth had been quiet. I knew I hadn’t. An apology situated itself on the tip of my tongue but Pete spoke first. “Sorry, I think the pizzas might be...”
With a tiny yelp, Beth darted inside and I followed. The kitchen wasn’t quite choked with smoke but it was hazy and acrid with it. Thankfully, the fire alarm hadn’t gone off yet. Wrenching the window open wide, I shouted for Pete to prop open the door. Beth switched off the oven and when I turned, I saw the two beautifully formed pizzas she’d made were charred through. She transferred them to the cutting board on the counter and the three of us stared at the remains of our dinner for a long moment. I could have salvaged the evening. Could have spit out that apology and pulled the lasagna out of the fridge. Could have asked Beth to stay. Instead when she offered to run to the Italian market down the street to replace the pizzas, I shook my head.
I’d never seen Beth like this before. She seemed unusually panicked: eyes wide, frantic. I realized then, how much I relied on her calm. Now, in its absence, my panic grew too big. I wanted her to touch me, to brush her cool, rough fingers over my cheek and tell me everything was fine. I wanted her to clean up this whole mess that I’d made but I didn’t know how to ask.
“Adah.” She said my name so gently it almost broke me clean in two. “I’m really sorry. What can I do?” She did touch me then, but so tentatively it made me feel worse.
“You know what... I’m real tired. Have to get up early tomorrow.”
I didn’t know if I was thankful or miserable when Beth nodded, said goodbye to Pete, and left without another word.