by M. C. Cerny
“Marley!” All four of us yell at the dog who escapes the second I crack the door open.
Our thieving neighbor shouts, “That’s my food!”
Marley tries to chase the delivery guy who runs down the stairs uninterested in which door he left the food.
“Hey!” I yell into the hallway grabbing the dog by his scruff. Mr. Totter has stolen my dinner, the grouchy jerk slams his door shut and I hear him slid the chain lock in place. As if I’d do anything more besides cry a little. Marley looks pleased after almost getting a chunk out of the delivery guy. My phone rings. Marley licks my face and I think I understand a little better why animals try escaping the moment you open the door to freedom. What I wouldn’t give for a tiny bit of freedom right now, but that’s not happening.
“Come on buddy.” I bring him inside and answer Van’s call.
“I got the text confirmation of delivery, are you ready?” His excitement is palatable through the phone and sweet.
I wince hating that I’m about to ruin the moment.
“Yeah, about dinner…”
12
Van
“I can’t believe that happened.” Laurel recounts the whole episode and I imagine her trying to wrangle the dog, the door, and the neighbor in one shot.
I start laughing and then I can’t stop. It’s like the universe has conspired against us from the beginning and I’ll be damned if I let it win. Nope. Sorry. Try again because this girl is mine and I’m not giving her back. Even if I have to wait a hundred days more and another hundred after that. I feel committed to this moment entirely, to her, and this burgeoning relationship I never expected. I don’t want to miss out on anything with her.
“Are you laughing? Seriously, Van? I’ve had my dinner pilfered by a man in his eighties and Marley came close to committing murder.” Images of the small yapping dog make me snort attempting to hold back my laughter. I want to ask if he made a contact bite, but I don’t think this is the time for that.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but this whole thing is honestly hilarious. Let me call in another order.” My eyes tear up and I’m wiping my face. I swear I see her lips curve upward, but she’s trying hard to remain so serious.
“After what I just went through? No. I’ll burn my cheap frozen pizza in the oven and drink my sister’s stash of stolen airport bottles of liquor. I thought Marley was going to run out of the building.”
“Terrible, I agree.” I’m nodding and clutching my stomach to keep the laughter in. She looks forlorn on the face time call and all I want to do is hold her and kiss her and shower her with everything I have.
“Alright, you eat whatever and I’ll make something quick.” She props me up in the kitchen against the wall and I’m treated to watching her float around the tight space before hunting in her freezer for the frozen pizza. Her dress skims the back of her legs and I’m adjusting myself out of view.
I swipe an app on my phone and order a delivery of a dozen cupcakes making sure I tip them exorbitantly. I realize it’s extravagant sending multiple delivery people to her door in the midst of a citywide shutdown, but I can’t stomach whatever she’s about to put in the over from a box.
“So what’s for dinner honey?” I ask trying to decipher her attempt at cooking.
“No pizza. My sister must have given it to my niece so it’s garlic bread for me and it looks like red wine and gin.” She holds up two small bottles clinking them together.
“Not at the same time I hope?” I don’t want her to get sick.
“Maybe just the wine then.”
Since my meal is already prepared, I wait for hers to bake. Sure enough twelve minutes later she’s waving a dish towel and clearing out a smoky kitchen. Her garlic bread looks a little chard on one side, but she assures me it’s edible. I don’t believe it.
She stops eating to look at me through the phone. “Why is my door buzzing?” I shrug and wait for her to answer. I hear her yell my name through the phone half angry and half happy. I’ll take it.
“What did you do?”
“Sent dessert over?”
“Van, these are adorable.” She shows me the inside of the box and sure enough a dozen cupcakes topped with fondant rolls of smiling toilet paper are there.
“Not sure if I should eat one. I might need it later.” She laughs, her smile back in full force. So despite an awful dinner and the distance we manage to pull off our date. Laurel puts the cupcakes away and heads into her bedroom a little tipsy from the wine and the quick shot of gin she snuck when she thought I couldn’t see her.
She’ll have a headache tomorrow, but she looks adorable.
“Lay down with me?” I ask and she sleepily nods propping me up on her night stand.
“What’s something you’re afraid of?” Laurel says as I take in her relaxed face and the way she curls her hands under her cheek.
Immediately I answer, “I’m afraid of the dark.”
“No you’re not.” She giggles.
“True, but my brother is. He still keeps a bat by his bed even in his house.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but he’ll kick my ass for telling you.” I wink. “What are you afraid of?”
“Probably everything. My shadow. Failing. Succeeding. Dying a virgin if this thing never ends.”
There’s a lot to unpack in her statement, and I don’t know where to start first besides de-escalating it. I forget I have a few years on her in more ways than just age. She isn’t being coy, this is just her natural disposition.
“I said too much didn’t I? I’m absolute shit at this dating thing.” Laurel’s words slur together as she yawns covering her pink lips.
Her words hit me hard and softly I say, “Baby, I feel like you cocked the chamber of a loaded gun there.”
“It’s true.” She mumbles into her pillow. I’d never let her die a virgin, heck if it made her feel better I’d drive over and pop her cherry now despite how awkward it would be making love to her in her mother’s house.
I want her here with me, and the selfish thoughts come tumbling out before I can hold them back.
“Laurel?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you come stay with me?”
She yawns out loud and murmurs before falling asleep, “But then who would take care of my mother, sister, and niece?”
He eyes flutter shut and I yearn to tuck her in and kiss her forehead. I’m glad she isn’t alone, but I’m beginning to resent her family’s inability to care for themselves excluding the seven-year-old who doesn’t have a choice in this situation. Why did my girl have to be the responsible one?
If I could, I’d wrap her up in silk and kidnap her back to my condo like a pirate. Impossible. Illegal. Immoral and definitely a slew of other things totally wrong, but I’m reaching my limit of patience and fucks to care. More than that, I want her safe and I doubted her family’s ability to keep her that way.
“Laurel? Sweetheart?” I watch the screen for a moment hoping she’ll wake back up. After a few minutes I know she’s out cold. The lines on her face smooth out and I hope her dreams are filled with happy things, fat squirrels, sugary cupcakes, and me. Lots of naked me if I could jump inside her head. I push the top of my laptop down shutting it. There were plenty of other things we could do, experiences we could have, I just needed to be patient.
13
Van
When Laurel suggests a campfire for our next date, I am concerned for the fire codes in her building. What I like about her so much is her unpredictability. For all the playing safe she’s done in her life, she surprises me in these little, yet momentous ways. However, city resources are strapped to the max and the idea of the fire department having to respond to a fire started by roasting marshmallows over a stove seems like a terrible idea. It’s her pouting lips over the webcam that suck me in and agree. I don’t think I’ve consumed marshmallows since boy scout camp, but I’m willing to try.
I set up my lapt
op in the kitchen, my stove range behind me and a factory line of graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows are queued up ready to go. How many of these things will I have to eat, I’m not sure.
My screen pings and I open the camera to see her face. Glasses, wild bun and a t-shirt that reads: these meetings could have all been emails. I agree except for any meeting where Laurel is present from now on. Is it awkward that we technically work together? I haven’t decided yet, but we’re not in the office so I don’t think it matters.
“Hi.” She waves at the screen and I wave back. I’ve done nothing but think about her, and a man alone with his thoughts is a dangerous thing I’ve found. I keep thinking of all the things I’d like to do with her, and to her, but can’t. It’s created this never-ending erection that’s been increasingly hard to handle – no pun intended in the shower.
“Hi Laurel.” My plan is to keep things as PC as possible. I haven’t broached the idea of remote fooling around, but I want to. I really want to.
“So…” Before Laurel can say anything more a tiny person launches herself at the screen.
“Hannah! Stop.” A micro human that looks vaguely like Laurel is dancing in front of the screen jumping up and down. A dark possessive side of me wants to ask if this child is hers. I don’t recall a dependent in her HR file which yes, I shamelessly scoured the digital files for before I recall her saying she has a niece. A deep sigh of relief fills me.
“Who is this little person?” I ask with fingers crossed behind my back.
“This is my nosy little niece.” She picks her up and perches her on her hip. The kid, though small could easily be half Laurel’s size.
“My name is Hannah.” She boldly pronounces and Laurel shrugs.
“Well, Hannah, I’m Van.”
“I know. You’re the boy on the phone my auntie likes so much. We make kissy faces and she gets mad.” I think I love Hannah. She’s adorable and the cherry cheeks on Laurel’s face make it worth the encounter.
“Ok Squirt. Go hang out in the living room with Gram and I’ll make you a s’more.” The child scampers off, but not before I hear the sound of lips smacking and Laurel’s groan.
“So…you like me.” I taunt her drawling the words out.
“Like is a heavy word. Tolerate your company?” She taps her lips with her fingernail, lips I’m desperate to kiss.
“Ouch.” I pretend injury and rub my chest.
“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers in this social distancing age.” Laurel sasses back and I know if things ended right now I’d be heartbroken.
I present an alternative so she isn’t feeling quite on the spot.
“But what if…I like you?”
Her hands cup her cheeks, and she blows out a deep breath. “Like…like me, like me.”
“Yeah, totally into you.” I lean over the counter giving her my best I want you look. The kind of look that I imagine would melt her clothes right off and turn her into a gooey marshmallow, slow roasted and practically falling apart.
“Um, okay, I get it. Stop.” She’s shy and retreating so I let the matter drop. I’m hoping there will be plenty of time later to revisit this conversation. Hell, I’d give anything to make it less awkward, but that’s impossible. So I go with the next best thing, focusing on our task.
“Two pieces of chocolate or one?” I hold up my candy bar.
Laurel holds up her bag of marshmallows. “Seeing as how graham crackers are a standard size in this equation, I think it depends on these fluffy balls of condensed sugar and gelatin.”
“Ah.” I concur and open my bag pulling out a big one pinching it between my fingers.
“Why is yours so big?” She shakes her head as she says it and blushes all over again.
“Mine are always big.” I grin showing her as I bite into it, but she isn’t having it with my double-entendres tonight.
Her eyes narrow into angry slits. “That seem likes cheating.”
“Hey, I showed you mine, now show me yours.” I puff up my chest arms out challenging her.
Laurel’s bag has small ones so she has a hand full instead.
“We only keep the hot chocolate size around here so I’ll have to heat them like a skewer and then pluck them off and onto the cracker.” She holds up a long wooden stick and proceeds to stick about five of her small ones on it.
“Please be careful. No apartment fires.”
“We’re good.”
We both heat our marshmallows and I find myself eating more before they’re ready while Laurel gets her nice and toasty.
“I imagined this date going so much differently.”
“Hmm?” Laurel builds her S’mores and plates a few extra presumably for the cute niece.
“Yeah, I was hoping we’d be at my place upstate outside for real, or even here at my condo. I’d wrap you in a blanket or make you wear one of my flannel shirts to keep you warm.”
“Wait, hold up.” She puts her hand up blocking my view of her pretty face.
“What?”
“Donovan Ward owns flannel? This I gotta see.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
I don’t know what possess me, but I peel off my t-shirt and stalk back to my bedroom. I tear through my closet and find one of my flannel shirts. I push my arms through the sleeves and stalk back out to the kitchen to find a gape jawed Laurel staring back. I don’t bother buttoning up my shirt, instead I let it hang open and let Laurel get a view of my gym honed body.
“So you going to show me yours?”
“Van!” She whispered hisses at the screen looking away for a moment.
“I showed you how big my marshmallows were and my flannel. I’m starting to feel like I’m doing all the giving here.” I joke.
“Oh my God, behave.” She hisses swinging her laptop around blocking my view of anything in her apartment.
“I’m teasing. I’d never ask to see your, um. You know.”
“Please.” Laurel pleads and I can’t tell if I crossed a line or not. I’m kidding, perhaps in poor taste.
“Laurel, I’d never expect.”
“I know. I know. This is…”
“Challenging.” I offer and she agrees nibbling her lip. She’s got a tiny bit of melted chocolate in the corner of her mouth and damn if I don’t want a taste.
“Everyone is still up and about, I should go.”
“Tomorrow then?” I hang onto her every word.
“Definitely.” She ends the call with Hannah demanding a s’more and I’m left feeling distinctly unsatisfied and frustrated through no fault but of my own.
14
Laurel
Another dinner like date at home and we’ve devolved into our typical teasing banter.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Van’s eyes have that mischievous look in them and I bark out loud laughing.
“What?”
He can’t be serious, but I can tell he is in that Donovan deep think sort of way that unbalances me. Every day he draws me in deeper down the rabbit hole of lust.
He repeats with a cheeky grin, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“That’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard. You need some new material.” I chortle so hard it sounds like a piggy snort and Van joins my merriment.
“Come on.” Before I can say yay or nay he’s pulled off his tight-fitting shirt showing me his six pack of abs. His stomach ripples and my hand shyly touches the screen as if they’re real.
“Yeah, they’re real.”
“Oh my god!” I cover my face hoping the heated blush is also my imagination.
“I like when you blurt what’s on your mind out loud. Saves me from wondering.” Van practically preens on the other end of the screen while I struggle to regain my wits. This man.
His voice drops as he looks intently at me. “I dream of doing dark and dirty things to you.”
I cover my face completely peeking out from between fingers. Nope. He�
��s still on the call, but he’s leaning back in his big bed arms crossed covering his god-like looking chest. His comment should feel creepy, but it’s fired a shot of need, want, and desire straight between my legs.
Van mutters. “Now I just feel all porny.”
“Well no one said you had to take your shirt off.”
“So I should put it back on?” He reaches for the cotton.
I wave my arms in a ridiculous attempt to stop him.
“What? No! Of course not.”
Van pouts. “I feel completely objectified.”
No he doesn’t.
I know for a fact he swims daily or at least he did until his pool closed. His body hasn’t been suffering one bit from his treadmill workouts that I can tell since this whole world went to hell.
Taking a fortifying breath I adjust myself sitting cross legged on my bed and reach for the hem of my t-shirt. I say a tiny prayer that my lace bra is doing me justice and slowly lift my top. This is it, my big reveal and my heart pounds as my hands sweat. I cross my big toes where he can’t see and pray no one in my house walks in right now.
What will he think?
What will he do?
“Wait.” Van’s command halts my hands.
My eyes pop open.
“What now?” I grumble. “I thought we were doing this?” I check down the V of my shirt and my pink lace bra looks fine. Better than fine, but he won’t see it if I keep my top on.
“You don’t have to do this, you know that right? I’m just being playful. Inappropriate.”
“Is this going to be one of those I’m your boss now things, because I thought we worked that out.” I cock my head to the side trying to gauge where his sudden change of mind is coming from.
I whisper, “HR doesn’t have to know, right?” I feel a bead of sweat form between my breasts and my anxiety ramps up.
“I’d kind of like to try something, but only if you into it. No pressure.”
