by Erika Vanzin
I burst into laughter, grateful she wants to steer the conversation toward a completely safe subject. “Have you ever had hot milk and cookies? Really, it’s the basis for every happy evening. Sofa, TV, and hot milk and cookies. There’s nothing better.”
“Lucky for you I didn’t eat any more lasagna, so you can give me a live demonstration.”
Her proposal is so simple and disarming that I feel the air leave my lungs and return with difficulty. Sleeping together is one thing, preparing her dinner, a little more private but certainly not intimate like spending the evening watching a movie on the couch eating milk and cookies. That tastes like home, feels like family, something I lost years ago.
“Go pick the movie on Netflix while I prepare the meal of the gods.”
Iris laughs as she walks away from the kitchen, and I’m glad she didn’t hear the panic in my voice. I grab the phone as soon as she’s out of earshot and try to call Michael. He’s the only one who can reason with me and make the panic that’s settling into my stomach disappear. His phone goes directly to voicemail.
“Shit!” I whisper, setting mine on the kitchen counter.
*
I enter the dark living room, illuminated only by the moon. Iris is in the bedroom, sleeping, but I couldn’t fall asleep. The evening slipped between the warmth of a blanket, a cheesy movie, and the comfort of something I did as a child with my family. Sharing such a heartwarming moment with Iris brought me closer to her in a way that I didn’t think possible. In my heart, it feels like this red-haired girl, with her sarcastic humor, has been in my life since I was a kid. Back when I was happy. Sharing this piece of happiness with her was so natural it frightened me. Because Iris is now a fundamental part of my heart, she helped transform my survival into a joyful existence, and I wish I could savor this joy with my family. I can make love to Iris as many times as I want, but sex with a woman can never fill that void that family fills.
I sit in the spinning chair and look at the darkness that is Central Park right now, hoping to make sense of the thoughts that crowd my mind. I look at my phone, and without thinking about it, I start scrolling through the names. I get to “S” for Sarah, a name that no longer exists in the registry, but will always be the one I said a million times when I was little. My sister is now called Margaret, a name I never liked and will never be able to accept.
The temptation to press the call button, hear her voice again, is strong. I haven’t done it in the last ten years. At least not personally; I’ve always pushed my lawyers forward, and I’ve always found a wall on the other side. Again, like every other time, I turn off the phone before I can change my mind.
It will soon be Christmas and, like every year, I’ll find myself wandering around FAO Schwarz on Fifth Avenue among thousands of toys I’d like to buy, and I’ll eventually leave empty-handed. I don’t know anything about my nieces or nephews: their age, their names, their tastes. Every now and then, I wonder if they look like me, if they like music, if they’ve ever listened to anything of mine. We’re famous worldwide, even in Australia, but I don’t know if my sister has ever told them about me. I wonder if she changes stations when they hear our song on the radio.
Iris brought back a flood of feelings that I can’t handle. Memories I want to forget, wounds that have never healed. It was hard watching the movie with her tonight because she snuggled up by my side, eating milk and cookies, like I used to do with my sister when we were kids. We watched Christmas movies, and she was always angry because I thought they were stupid. I basically liked them, but I wouldn’t admit it out loud. There are so many things I’ve never said to her, like ‘I love you’ or ‘Thank you for taking care of Mom.’ As a child, I was ashamed to say certain things. Now, I wish I could shout them from the window of this building, so loud it would reach her on the other side of the world.
I’m staring into Central Park as tears cloud my sight, then fall down on my cheeks and turn into sobs that shake me until I’m trembling in this chair.
“Hey,” Iris’s whisper almost sounds like a cry at this time of night.
I’m so surprised to see her here that a sob dies in my throat. She rests a hand on my shoulder as I wipe tears on my arm.
“Do you want me to help you bake cookies?” She smiles as she sits on my legs, wrapped only in a light blanket she found at the foot of the bed.
I smile at her attempt to save me from embarrassment and make me feel better. “No, Claire will kill me if I bake another batch.” A half laugh escapes my lips as Iris caresses my hair, kissing my head and making my sadness slip away.
I grab her hips and scoot her further into my lap, resting my head on her shoulder and holding her tight, chasing away the fears that grip my chest.
Iris puts two fingers under my chin and forces me to raise my head and look her in the eye. She lowers toward me and, with light kisses, wipes the tears from my cheeks. My hands slip under the blanket to caress the soft skin of her hips and the curves of her butt.
Her lips rest on mine, and what begins as a chaste kiss soon turns into a clash of tongues and desire that awakens every part of my body. My fingers sink into her flesh, pulling her against my erection in an almost primordial need. Her lips blend with mine in a kiss that leaves us breathless.
When I caress her opening with my fingers, I find her ready to welcome me, releasing a guttural groan that makes my chest ache. Iris slips her fingers into my hair and, with a decisive gesture, pulls me toward her bare breasts while the blanket falls on the floor at my feet. I rush to the pale skin of her breasts, her nipples, teasing them until she gasps and, when I sense that neither of us can wait any longer, I lower my boxers just enough to free my erection and sink into her with a single decisive movement.
A cry slips from her lips while, helped by the movement of the armchair, Iris moves sinuously on me, dictating a rhythm that leaves me no choice but to follow. She doesn’t feel like playing, pausing, and prolonging the pleasant agony; her movements are determined and make me sink into her like never before. She is the first to orgasm, with her eyes closed and her lips open in an expression of pleasure so sensual I plunge with even more vigor until I explode.
Panting, she slumps on my shoulder, her breasts against my bare chest. I wrap her in a hug and hold her tightly, thanking her in silence for not asking me more about my tears, for not forcing me to confess something I wasn’t ready for.
I get up from the chair with Iris in my arms and, taking her back to the bedroom, I lie next to her, clutching her to my body until we both fall asleep.
I open my eyes, and for a moment, I’m lost. I’m not in my room, and only after a few seconds do I remember sleeping at Thomas’s. It wasn’t planned, but after making love twice, I wasn’t physically able to stand up, get dressed and take a twenty-minute taxi ride back to the apartment. When I reach out my hand, I feel only the cold sheets. He must have gotten up a while ago.
I get up and use the master bathroom, with a shower so large my entire bathroom could fit in it. Hell, my whole apartment would fit inside this room. I smile at the idea as I wash my face and get dressed.
When I get to the kitchen, I find Thomas drinking a cup of coffee while reading the newspaper, shirtless except for a pair of basketball shorts. His back is toward me, and I could spend all day admiring that perfect body full of muscles, those arms and shoulders defined by years as a drummer. I feel like nibbling on that perfect body while I stick a hand down those shorts.
“Do you like what you see?” he asks without turning around, a smile in his voice.
I blush violently at getting caught staring at him. “Yes, definitely.” It’s useless to try and act demure after two out-of-control orgasms in his bed last night.
Thomas turns around, giggling, reaches out, kisses me on the lips, then goes to the coffee maker and pours me a cup, adding two tablespoons of sugar the way I like it. “I took the liberty of ba
king some croissants,” he says as he beckons me to the lit oven.
I give him a wide-eyed stare and shake my head. His culinary ability is getting downright overwhelming. “Did you make those too?” I ask, astounded.
Thomas laughs and shakes his head. “No, that would be a little over the top. I became friends with the pastry chef of a cafè I love here in Manhattan, so I convinced him to make croissants and freeze them before baking them so I can take them home and put them in the oven whenever I feel like it.”
“The perks of being famous,” I tease him, raising an eyebrow and folding my arms across my chest.
“If I don’t take advantage of these things, what’s the point of being a rock star?” He raises his hands innocently.
I can’t help but smile and approach him, kissing his chest before peeking into the oven. “How many of us are there for breakfast, exactly?”
“Just the two of us, why?”
“There are six rolls in here!” I point, stunned.
Thomas smiles and drinks some of his coffee. “I didn’t know what kind you like, so I made two of each: berry, cream, and chocolate.”
My mouth is already watering. As I expected, breakfast is nothing short of fantastic, relaxing, and a glimpse into a routine that I could get used to very willingly. That’s why I’m particularly annoyed when the phone vibrates in my pocket insistently and, when I pull it out, my heart stops for more than a beat. Albert’s name flashes menacingly on the screen. I get up and move away just enough not to be heard by Thomas.
“What?” I answer briskly.
“I have information for you. It’s big, huge, apocalyptic.”
The excitement in his voice makes my legs tremble. It must be bad news, at least as far as my relationship with Thomas is concerned. “I told you to let it go,” I reply in a low voice, hoping Thomas won’t notice anything strange. I look at him, but I see him intent on reading the paper.
“I suggest meeting in person. I can’t talk about this on the phone, trust me. I’ll text you the location of the coffeeshop I’m at.”
My stomach tightens in a vice. I want to yell at him that he’s a complete idiot, but then I’d have to explain to Thomas what the hell I did. “I’m coming,” I tell Albert in a choked tone, and the panic overtakes me. I should scream at him that he didn’t have to do any research, that I didn’t ask for it, that he should have listened when I told him to stop, but who am I fooling? I knew he would do it, I was just hoping he wouldn’t be able to find anything out, given the little information he had.
When I get back to the table with Thomas, I put on a fake, tight smile.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes...no...it was Emily. She said she stopped by my apartment, and Dexter made a mess with the litter. I have to go back before the little devil decides to destroy my house.” I’m surprised at how easily I’m able to lie to him.
Thomas chuckles while he gets up and takes away our now empty plates. “I love that cat.”
I should smile, or at least make some sarcastic joke, but I’m paralyzed on the spot, my heart pounding in my chest and the bile rising up my throat. The reasonable thing would be to tell Thomas that a friend of mine has some “bombshell news” about him, so he can unleash his lawyers and his press office, but I’m still hoping to persuade Albert to keep his mouth shut. I’m going to have to sweat to convince him, use his feelings for me to get what I want, but I can’t tell Thomas I betrayed his trust again. This time he could never forgive me.
*
I enter the café feeling like I’m going to throw up. It’s one of the big chains where everyone has a MacBook, and no one really drinks coffee. I immediately spot Albert in the corner and make a considerable effort not to punch him. I told him not to snoop. And at the same time, I know this is my fault. That nausea I feel isn’t anger at Albert it’s my own guilt. I realize now that I was colossally wrong to be so casual about the information Thomas shared with me in confidence. I’m terrified the situation is getting out of hand, and I don’t know how to fix it. To silence my brain, which was trying to piece together information that didn’t make sense, I planted suspicion in a person I no longer trust and who scares me. I don’t know how bad the news is, but if Albert wants to see me, it must be huge.
“I told you to let it go,” I hiss in a desperate attempt to make him feel guilty.
“Do you really think that after you come in making a scene at my office over someone like him, I’d be good to stand by and watch while you earn thousands of dollars? I need whatever source of income I can get. Honest or not.”
I used to think he was an ethical guy and, a few years ago, maybe he was. But he probably discovered that morals don’t pay the bills, and quickly learned how to work the system. I’m not entirely convinced, however, that he only did it for the money. I think he’s angry because I’m sleeping with Thomas.
“Let me see what you found.” I decide to get to the point. It makes no sense to beat around the bush now, better to know immediately how serious the situation is and manage the damage.
Albert hands me a court document with names and addresses crossed out with a black marker. He runs his fingers between his ash-colored curls, and I notice behind those thick-framed, huge glasses, his pale brown eyes look almost fiery. I have to reread it three times before my brain can process the information in front of me. Panic begins to invade my stomach.
“It’s just partial information. I went looking in various school yearbooks. Apparently, your boyfriend now uses his middle name and his mother’s last name. He’s got a sister who doesn’t live here anymore, and his parents are dead... I had to make several phone calls to some friends in the police department and ask for favors, but I managed to get this in the end. I’m not one hundred percent sure it’s him, he’s almost completely erased his previous life, but it seems your friend was in jail when he was a teenager.”
His explanation is confusing, but it becomes more than evident in my head as I’m reading. The tone Albert’s using confirms this is not about the money. His arrogant expression reveals all the satisfaction he feels rubbing in my face the fact that I sleep with someone who, in his eyes, is just a convict. Someone you’d never bring home to meet your family, someone who’s worthless.
The names are deleted because he was still a minor, but it appears from the documents that he was convicted of drug trafficking. That information doesn’t match the picture I have of Thomas. He’s a sweet, kind, caring guy who loves to cook. How could he have been convicted of drug trafficking? For crying out loud, the man bakes cookies to donate to charity! That’s not a criminal pastime. Trafficking isn’t dealing. It means he was some kind of drug courier, caught carrying large amounts of that crap back and forth.
“It’s not the same person. It can’t be...I know him. It can’t be.” My words come out weak, and the chuckle from Albert confirms he doesn’t believe what I’m saying either.
“Are you serious? Look at the rest of these papers I printed out. Birth certificates, his parents’ marriage certificates. This information is worth thousands of dollars, and I want my share. You either sell it to that magazine piece of shit you work for or directly to the Jailbirds in exchange for keeping it quiet, but I want half. Ironic that they’re called Jailbirds, don’t you think?”
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to keep this to yourself,” I spit out all in one breath, not knowing what else to do.
Albert widens his eyes at my proposal, studies me for what feels like forever, and then smiles, almost amused. “You know this information is gold. Think about my proposal, I expect your call by tonight with the amount, or I’ll find someone myself who can use it and make it pay off.”
Helpless rage almost makes me jump up and punch him. “Why didn’t you just do it yourself? Why did you come to me?”
“Because unlike you, I have an honest job. If rumors fly a
bout me and my unprofessional conduct, they’ll fire me, and no other newspaper in the state would hire me,”
I find myself wishing with all my heart that it will go exactly like this while I watch him walk out of this place, barely hiding the mocking smile planted on his face once he realizes he has me where he wants me.
Another wave of nausea hits me and I run to the bathroom to empty my stomach of the incredible breakfast I had less than an hour ago with the man I’m about to ruin.
*
I’m out of breath from running to Thomas’s apartment, and now that I’m out front, I lose the courage to ask the concierge for permission to go up to Thomas’s apartment. But I have to. I have to warn him of the mess I made before Albert starts contacting the papers. Before this shit hits the Jailbirds like a tsunami. I feel mean, dirty. How the hell did I get myself into this when Lilly and Damian went out of their way to help me? How could I be so ungrateful?
The concierge looks up and immediately recognizes me, since I just left here less than two hours ago. He looks a little perplexed at my distressed expression when I ask to talk to Thomas. But he calls him, and immediately walks me to the elevator where he slides the magnetic card before punching the apartment code. The ride seems both endless and too short. When the doors open to Thomas’s smile, it occurs to me that this will be the last time I’ll see it.
“I made a huge mess,” I blurt out as he comes to hug me, and his arms stop in mid-air.
“Okay…” his answer is almost a question, perhaps even a little suspicious.
“Before you get mad, know that I didn’t do it for the money. I was drunk, and I caused a disaster of catastrophic proportions.”
My choice of words is terrible, because he looks at me suspiciously, not even inviting me in, leaving me to stare at the windows on the other side of this immense entryway.
