Pumpkin and Spice

by Abby Knox

  Monsignor Roberts had made Stoner feel special when he was going through that difficult time. In reality, the old priest was grooming the kid for unspeakable acts.

  While Stoner tells me the whole, painful story, I put a hand on his. I let him squeeze it as he continues.

  “I was in acolyte training and we were alone. He said he had to talk to me about something, so we went back to his office at the rectory. I didn’t think it was a big deal.

  “It was all innocent enough at first. He was taking a special interest in me because he was worried about me not having a father figure at home.”

  I listen intently. The details make my stomach churn. Not because I’m repulsed by him, but because I’m so goddamned angry that anyone would prey on a vulnerable kid like that.

  “I didn’t say anything to my mom, for years. Not until well after high school, when others stepped up and made accusations of their own. Older people, with more influence than I or my mom had. It had been going on for decades. I was finally empowered to speak. To this day I kick myself for not beating the shit out of the guy, but my therapist says it’s not my fault.”

  “It’s absolutely not your fault,” I say, squeezing his hands inside mine.

  “The bastard died before he could be prosecuted. But we all got a settlement. And that’s why the church, school and rectory closed. And that’s why my mom has so few friends left in the neighborhood. A lot of people resent us for the lawsuit. I just wanted you to know. In case that freaks you out and you don’t want to get involved with me any further.”

  I try not to gasp audibly. I don’t want anything I do to seem as if I’m in the least bit put off. “What makes you think I wouldn’t want to get involved? Because some wrinkled old asshole in a clerical collar did things to you when you were a hurting little kid? No, that’s not who I am,” I say as I strive to maintain eye contact with him, though he keeps staring down at the table.

  “OK good,” he says, finally looking up at my eyes. “Because I want you to come over and say hi to my mom tomorrow. She would be happy to see a friendly face from the past. She always liked you.”

  I feel honored that he would think my presence would cheer up his mother.

  “Of course I will.”

  Chapter 4

  Stoner

  “I can’t believe your parents still live here,” I say as we stand on the Novaks’ front stoop.

  But Max gets right to the point.

  “What’s your endgame here, mister? You gonna kiss me or what?”

  I laugh. “Absolutely I’m gonna kiss you, but that’s not the endgame. There’s no game at all. The plan here, Max, is to marry you.”

  If she’s shocked, she doesn’t show it. She licks her lips and the sight of it sends a flicker of desire to my cock.

  “Better let me warm up those lips for you,” I say, and cover her mouth with mine.

  Her lips are cold, and they’re telling me she’s been wanting to do this all night.

  I knew as soon as she walked into my bar that I was going to taste her before the night was over. I’m so glad I was right. Her beachy scent comes crashing back, that scent I haven’t experienced since grad night.

  I pull her in closer and she places her mittened hands on my neck. I can feel her heating up in my arms.

  I kiss her harder and slide my tongue across her lips.

  I don’t know how it’s possible she tastes like toasted coconuts, but I never want to taste anything else again for the rest of my life.

  She’s going to be mine.

  My head fills with images of Thanksgiving dinners at a long table surrounded by rowdy kids and grandkids, pumpkin pies and a fire in the fireplace.

  She makes me want to keep her home and never let her go back to San Diego.

  Fuck California.

  “Pumpkin” belongs to me now.

  Chapter 5

  Max

  I name it The Kiss That Ruined Victoria’s Secret. By the time we finally say goodnight in the frigid early morning air, my slicked undies tell the tale of my yearning.

  It feels like my first kiss, but a hundred times better. That’s exactly the kind of flutters Stoner gives me: like he’s my first kiss.

  I want him to kiss me more, longer, harder. I want to stay in his arms all night long. Or, all morning long, as the case may be. God, the way he grabs hold of me, it’s as if his life depends on it.

  His stubble on my cheeks reminds me that we are indeed not high schoolers anymore.

  He leaves, even though neither of us want him to leave. As I watch him make his way down the street, I want to go with him so badly I could weep.

  As I creep upstairs, I feel the ache between my legs pulsating.

  Nobody has ever produced an ache so deep before.

  I crawl into bed and cover myself with my mother’s handmade quilt.

  I drift off to sleep, and my mind wanders to the past. Now knowing everything that Stoner and his mother went through, it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.

  I wish I could go back in time and be there for him. I silently resolve to make it up to him, somehow.

  Starting with the visit to his mother.

  The martini and dessert hangover have me sleeping in on Wednesday morning.

  Finally my dad rouses me about nine a.m. “Your mom’s got the whole family pitching in to do the prep work for tomorrow.’’

  I rise a little grouchily, for Dad had awakened me from a very nice dream in which I was sitting on Stoner’s lap, wearing a red silk teddy, telling him what I want for Christmas. And Stoner’s stubble was tickling my face and neck as I whispered to him my very short wish list that was comprised of one very big, hard, long thing.

  Dad simply gestures me into the kitchen as I pull on my robe.

  Before I have my coffee, Mom has me at the stove, cooking down cranberries. Mom is baking pumpkin and butternut squash for pies.

  Dad is chopping celery and mushrooms for the stuffing, and that’s when I notice someone is missing.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  Mom waves me off. “You know, she’s sleeping in. She was up late talking to her sponsor.”

  I sigh as I stir the cranberries. I have my doubts about this particular sponsor.

  “That woman seems to give Sam any excuse to ‘take care of herself,’ which in this house translates to, ‘not helping with diddly shit.’”

  “Maxine!” Mom scolds.

  “It’s true,” I say, squeezing the oranges in the juicer. “Nobody ever makes her pull her weight around here because we’re all just afraid we’re going to be the one to trigger her next freakout.”

  “Did someone say ‘weight’?”

  We all turn and see Sam sanding in the doorway of the kitchen, throwing daggers at me with her eyes.

  “Yes, I did,” I say.

  Sam steps in and breezily pours herself a cup of coffee without offering me any.

  “Oh, is that right, Pumpkin? And you just know everything there is to know about me and what I do around here, with the one weekend a year you deign to show up.”

  “That’s not fair, Sam.”

  “And it’s fair that you judge me?” she retorts.

  “I think it’s fair that I judge you for using your recovery to get out of helping.”

  Dad finally steps in. “All right, that’s enough,” he says. “Both of you help in your own way. Sam is helping herself by being in recovery. Max, as always, you’re helping with less…esoteric things.”

  “Dependable Max,” Mom says.

  I’ve had enough. I pour the sugar and orange juice into the cranberries, crank up the heat and stir like a madwoman to get those little fuckers good and cooked as quickly as possible.

  Then I pour a selfishly huge mug of coffee and text Stoner. Ready when you are.

  I hope he gets the message and comes to get me out of here as soon as possible.

  As I sip my coffee on the stairs in my leggings and oversized sweater and boots, he texts me back.
On my way. Can’t stop thinking about that mouth of yours.

  Chapter 6

  Stoner

  When I open the door, she is waiting on the stairs still looking as angelic as last night. She beams when she sees me, and my body lights up in response. I immediately grab her up for a kiss right there in the foyer.

  It’s not a short kiss. I have no idea how long it is before we come up for air.

  “Just making sure last night wasn’t a dream,” I say.

  “It wasn’t,” she says. “But I’ve been dreaming about it.”

  I make an involuntary sound like a grunt and go in for another kiss, but we are interrupted by a man clearing his throat. I turn and see her dad watching us from the hallway.

  I sheepishly re-introduce myself, and he shakes my hand. We make small talk and pretty soon her mom and sister make an appearance in the foyer.

  I can see that this is going to be a difficult extraction, so I say, “Well, my mom is expecting us for brunch at any minute, so we’d better get going.”

  Just then Max’s mom interjects. “What are you and your mother doing tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  I’m surprised that she wants to know, but I answer. “Uh, it’s just us. Me and mom. We usually get Chinese food and watch her favorite old movies.”

  “Why don’t the two of you come to Thanksgiving dinner here tomorrow?” Mrs. Novak says.

  I start to protest, but she interrupts, “We eat at one p.m. Hope to see the both of you then.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I’m sincerely touched at her family’s generosity. But there seems to be something else going on behind Max’s blue eyes.

  On the way back to my mom’s house, I ask her what’s up.

  “It’s my sister. I love her, but nothing is ever easy,” she says.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “Well, she’s a recovering drug addict. Heroin. I mean, thank god she’s definitely done with all of that and I’m grateful every day she’s still here with us. On top of that she has a personality disorder which requires medication. When she’s doing well and feels good, she goes off her medication. When there’s too much attention being focused on me—which there rarely is, by the way—she will decide to have a crisis or an emotional breakdown and draw the limelight back to her. It’s been like that since childhood, since way before she started drugs. But maybe I’m the selfish one. Maybe she’s just more relaxed when I’m here because she’s giving herself a break and letting me pick up the slack.”

  I listen as she talks and am genuinely intrigued by her family dynamics. It occurs to me that when—not if—I marry Max, I will be marrying into some drama and family difficulties. And honestly, it doesn’t flap me one bit.

  In fact, it makes me feel all the more protective of Max.

  In a weird way, it is nice to know she has an area of her life that is not perfect.

  “Max, I’ve been in therapy since I was about 20, for all the crap from school. And I can tell you that sitting around doing nothing is not the same thing as self-care. Everybody needs one day to be a vegetable. But not getting a job because you need to take care of yourself? That’s up for debate.”

  She breathes out a sigh of relief. “God, thank you for saying that. Everyone walks on eggshells around Sam and I’m so sick of it.”

  I park the car in front of my mom’s three-flat walk up and hold the front door open for Max. I say, “Well, you’re not going to like this, but you’re going to have to talk this out with your sister eventually. You know that, right?”

  Max sighs again, this time with resignation. “Yeah. I know.”

  I shut the front door and instead of getting out of the way, I crowd into her, right there in the community hallway. I wanted to wait until we got inside the flat, but I just have to have my lips on her again.

  I lean in and our lips find each other like we’ve been starving for a taste since last night. Or, was it just this morning since we’d seen each other? Does it matter? She’s sweet and pillowy and perfect, and the rest of the world and its timelines are meaningless to me now.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  I grab Max’s hand and lead her upstairs, into my mom’s place. We remove our shoes by the kitchen door and make our way down the hall.

  “Everything’s dark. Where’s your mom?”

  Wordlessly, I pull Max into the small guest room and lock the door.

  “My mom’s at the store picking up food. I lied about the time. I just wanted to get you here early to do something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  “And what’s that?” Max says with a naughty smirk.

  I smile down at her. She fits so nice in my arms, I have to control myself from tearing off her clothes. “I just want to have one official makeout session in my teenage bedroom, just to bring everything full circle.”

  She looks at me like I’m nuts for a moment, and then her face softens. She takes off her camel coat and tosses it on a chair.

  “So let’s do this,” she says.

  Our lips are the perfect fit. She is warm and sweet and her little sighs … shit. I’m throbbing with a need that can’t be satisfied in the time we have before my mom comes home.

  I can’t believe I’m making out in my teenage bedroom with Maxine “Pumpkin” Novak.

  Her skin is baby soft. On top of her beachy scent and coconut taste, I smell something fresh and clean, like cucumber water. Whatever expensive skincare regimen she has, it’s working for me.

  She has the fullest, softest lips. She lets me drift my tongue inside to taste her, and my arms slip around her waist to pull her in closer.

  As I do this, her breasts press against me through her sweater. I’m certain she can feel Stoner’s boner right now, which is pressing against her abdomen.

  “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I say huskily when we come up for air.

  She looks hurt. “Sorry, am I not a good kisser?”

  “Oh shit, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m getting a little worked up and my mom will be home soon.”

  Her face reddens and she whispers, “Yeah, I can tell.” She goes in for another kiss and I’m powerless to resist. Every touch, every scent, every sound, every taste of her drowns out everything else in my world.

  I’m already falling for this woman.

  My hands slide down lower to hold her ass and pull her in even tighter. She allows her pelvis to grind up against my cock as our tongues continue exploring. Her hands are all over me, caressing my back, my shoulders, my stomach, my chest. Every inch of my skin crackles when she touches me, and we’ve still got all our clothes on.

  “I shouldn’t urge you on like this, but I really like kissing you,” Max says.

  “That’s the thing about shouldn’ts,” I reply. “They really ruin the party.” I dive back in for more. I never want her to stop kissing me.

  Our tongues tangle. Our hands squeeze each other’s asses, our groins are locked together in a yearning, rhythmic grind. Eventually, one of my hands lets go of her ass and slowly inches its way up, caressing along her hip, up her side. She lets out a tiny gasp when my thumb grazes the side of her breast. Her kissing becomes more urgent.

  I slide my hand to her front and caress her abundant mound over the top of her sweater. She emits a noise somewhere between a little squeak and a moan. I squeeze, and through the many layers of fabric I can feel her little nipple hardening up in response to me.

  And in return, the hard rod in my pants is demanding to come out and play. I want to bend her over the bed right now and drill until I find my sweet relief in her warmth.

  As if acting on its own, my other hand smooths its way under the hem of her sweater. She’s wearing a tee shirt underneath.

  “Dammit, why are we wearing so many layers?” I say roughly into her neck.

  I soon have both hands inside her sweater, having their way with her peaks, making hard pebbles out of her nipples through her bra and tee shirt.

  She moans when I squeeze again. An
d again. I let my lips part from hers and kiss my way down her jawline, across to her ear, and down her neck. She’s breathing heavy and so am I.

  I’m not sure what’s going to happen next, and then I hear the key in the lock at the kitchen door.

  Chapter 7

  Max

  I cannot help but feel Stoner’s mom’s eyes on me as she cooks.

  “Talbot, can you please get me the baking soda?” she says while mixing up the dry ingredients for scones.

  I had forgotten that’s his real name, and I have to be careful to use it when around his mom.

  “I was so pleased when Talbot called this morning to tell me we were going to have company today. I don’t believe I’ve seen you since graduation,” she says. “You’ve been busy.”

  I tell her about my business in San Diego and about the buyout offer.

  “I know, Talbot told me all about it. He’s very excited to be in contact with you again.”

  I feel a twinge of guilt at her words.

  “Mrs. Spice…” I start.

  “Dianne, please.”

  Even at 38, it feels weird to call a friend’s mom by her first name. Hell, I still call Joy’s mom Mrs. Mazer. But of course I comply with her wishes.

  “Dianne. To be honest, I agree with you. I wish I had been a better friend.”

  Dianne turns and gives me a generous smile. “I’m just happy you’re here now and that Talbot has found a friend he can trust with all the details of his…our…shared past.”

  I sip my coffee and let her kind words wash over me.

  “My mother has invited the two of you to join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Talbot tells me you two usually get Chinese food and watch old movies, which actually sounds a lot more peaceful than what I’m used to on Thanksgiving But the offer stands. Just be aware, we have about 40 people coming over. And it’s a rowdy bunch.”

  Dianne smiles and looks over at Stoner. He shrugs. “It’s up to you, Mom. We can go or we can stay.”