by Vesper Young
We went through the rest of the questions. Ryan pushed the sheet aside and dunked a cookie, a reward for good investigative journalism.
“If I had kids, would Grandpa be their grandpa too?” he asked. Crumbs dotted his mouth as he thoughtfully chewed his cookie.
“No, kiddo, then Grandpa would turn into Great-Grandpa. And Grandma would be Great-Grandma.”
Ryan reached for another cookie. “And you’d be Grandma?”
I nodded. “I’d be Grandma. But not for a long time, right?” I gave him a long look.
Ryan readily agreed, declaring girls to be gross. I wondered how many years I had until that phase ended.
“So who would be Grandpa then?”
And there was the question that had popped up in various ways over the years. I made a point not to lie to Ryan, but I’d also convinced myself I had a few years before I really had to dig into the nitty-gritty of becoming a twenty-year-old mother.
“Well, I guess whatever girl you had a child with might have a father that would be your babies’s grandfather.”
“What if she doesn’t have a dad?”
I shrugged. “Then you’ll have two grandmas. Or maybe just me. Maybe I wouldn’t share any of my future grandbabies.”
Ryan wrinkled his nose. “You want more babies? They’re gross.”
I laughed. “You brought it up, kiddo. I thought you were thinking of getting some of your own.”
He gave a long, exasperated sigh, which I suspect was an imitation of a very deliberate sight my mother sometimes let out. “I mean, it’d be fine if they were a kid like me. But not a baby. Babies are gross,” he repeated.
I tried not to laugh. Kid logic was a strange logic indeed.
Still, after Ryan left to go “chill in his room” (saying you needed a nap because you were exhausted from a fun-filled weekend was incredibly uncool), I sat in the kitchen for a while longer.
As I dunked the remainder of the cookies in the milk, I thought about what it would’ve been like, raising Ryan with a father. What it would be like now to make the switch. Or even what it would be like to have another adult in our space.
A secret part of me was convinced Lucas would be completely fine with spending an afternoon over milk and cookies like it was the most important thing in the world. Could he treasure those times like I did? I wasn’t sure.
Meeting Lucas had been intense and we’d moved at lightning speed. Parenthood had been even more sudden and unexpected. But maybe this time I could do things differently. On my terms. In control.
Maybe it wouldn’t be completely stupid to let my heart have a vote this time.
16. Lucas
When the snow had started falling Friday night, I’d been excited to see the city covered in white. You don’t see weather like that in San Francisco. After Kara left Sunday, I’d stayed in my apartment for a while, looking out the window. Frost coated everything, the bits of snow that decorated high up perches. Not something I’d seen in a long time. A cold reminder of how much I’d forgotten.
The whirlwind of a weekend I’d had with Kara had ignited parts of me I’d forgotten, too. Somehow all the nights imagining my woman in my arms had failed to make anything that compared to reality. I could remember the magic feeling of being surrounded by fresh snow as a kid, but when you aren’t around it for a decade, you forget. The same was the case with Kara. Little things suddenly hit me with her. The texture of her hair against my fingers, her quick wit that came out in playful bursts. I’d remembered it being good. I’d forgotten how alive I felt when I was around Kara. Invigorated, that was the word. She put some kind of magic on me, the same way the snow charmed me. In a way that memories don’t do justice.
Come Tuesday morning, the snow was far from its white perfection that had persevered through the weekend. Trampled, black slush lined the sidewalks. People stomped by, wrapped up, already looking sick of the winter, hurrying to make their way down the icy sidewalk to wherever was important to get to in a hurry. I had spent the morning staring at the snow.
Specifically, staring at it from behind the bar. That was about all that was left, just about. The old beat-up furniture had been cleared out around six this morning by a moving company I’d hired. At six forty-five, the new furniture had been delivered. The Rattler wasn’t a huge space, so I was confident I could get things into place in time for the bar to open; bad comes to worse, things would get finished tomorrow.
I left the supplies to their plastic confines. Kara wasn’t able to start consulting before nine on any given day, so I’d known that it would be a couple hours. I didn’t unpack, less because I desperately needed to adjust the color scheme of the website and more because I wanted to see her reaction when she got to open up her selections in person.
Sure, she’d technically consulted and all purchases had been group decisions. But the reality was I’d deferred to her for just about everything. I imagined her seeing the new booths and wall art. She’d doubtlessly run her hands across everything. I’d yet to see Kara buy something without touching it thoroughly, as if she had to get another sense involved to decide if something would fit. She’d gotten me a velvet Star Wars throw pillow for my birthday back in college. I could still remember her excited expression when I opened it and she told me I had to feel it with my fingers. It had followed me to California and back again.
The smile that had been playing on my lips slipped off when I gave another glance out the window. I’d secretly hoped she’d break her nine o’clock prohibition. She was excited about the furniture coming, after all.
And because my anticipation of her answer was killing me. I’d told her to think about it. I’d meant it. I wanted Kara to be sure about us. Because if she told me yes I had no plans to ever let go of her again.
I thought about how she had to touch the furniture to feel sure about its place in whatever area she wanted to decorate. That was sometimes how I felt about Kara. Not that I doubted that I wanted her, but when I had my hands around her, I could understand that she wanted me as badly as I wanted her. Once she left, it was like she tried to distance herself from those emotions.
I shut my laptop, giving up the illusion of work, and just waited. I looked around the bar. Empty, though her usual workstation was untouched. I’d spent a lot of nights watching her work in this very space, making conversation and drinks in equal measure. If she didn’t get here soon, I was going to need a shot of something to deal with my nerves and since it was around six California time, I suspected that would thoroughly be crossing the realm into day drinking.
The people walking by outside blurred together until there was a flash of red. It was like some Pavlovian reaction. I saw red, I thought Kara, and I waited on the edge of my seat.
At about half-past nine, Kara came in. I tracked her bright red coat across the sidewalk until she turned inside.
She walked slowly, almost tentatively, taking in the empty space.
“Wow,” she breathed. “Was this all done this morning?”
“Yeah.” I tried to sound casual. This was technically consulting time, and since the whole boss-employee thing seemed to bug Kara, I wouldn’t push for her answer now, even though it killed me not to. If she didn’t want to say anything, then I wouldn’t either.
“The shipment arrived, too.” I gestured to the quarter of the room filled with giant moving boxes and wrapped furniture.
She reached out with her arms, hands grasping like pincers. “Ooh, lemme see.”
I chuckled. “Your wish is my command.” I went over and started cutting away plastic with my pocket knife. As the discarded wrappings fell to the floor, Kara reached out and hugged the newly opened booth to her.
She inhaled noisily. “Mmm! Smell that.” She turned her head away from the apparently good-smelling furniture and gave me an expectant look.
I obliged, leaning down to sniff the booth. “Smells like wood,” I said. And a bit of lingering plastic from the seats.
“I know. Isn’t it aw
esome? Real wood, no cheap paint, and it’s not covered by the vaguely gross smell of sticky beer from years of use.” She ran her fingers over the top embellishments.
“Okay, next one,” she said, pointing to another wrapped bit of furniture.
I obediently went over to the next bit of furniture and cut away the bubble wrap. A similar process. Kara ran her hands down the length of the new chair, keeping her knees straight as she bent all the way to the floor to check out the little pads under the chair legs.
I wasn’t looking at the chair. Though she hadn’t worn those leggings again today, the jeans she had were almost painted on. I was tempted to run my hands over them the way she did the chair.
Kara lifted slowly and caught me ogling. A small smile played on her lips. I wanted to pull her in and kiss that smile.
Instead, I started on the next chair, and the one after that. Then the unboxed tables, which again required a lot of bending over and inspecting.
I knew she was teasing me. Occasionally she’d give me a look, half flirty, half uncertain, as if to check in if I was okay with this game.
Another look at her body in those pants had me adjusting my own jeans slightly. I was very okay with this game, even if it was a bit torturous.
“That’s everything,” I said, snapping the blade shut and slipping it back in my pocket.
“It’s just like Christmas. So many choices! But I think I know what I want to do. If my boss is cool with that.” She gave me a sly look that made me hope she was loosening up about the boss thing.
“I’ll defer to your expertise.”
She slipped her boots off and stood on one of the new chairs.
“Better vantage point,” she explained, looking down at me.
I followed her lead, undoing my laces so I could stand on the chair next to her.
She looked me up and down.
“I kind of liked being taller.” Her bottom lip jutted out for a second before she grinned. Then she turned and took a step onto the table behind the chair.
“Better?” I asked.
She gave an enthusiastic nod. “Definitely. Great view.”
I made a point of lowering my head so I was looking straight ahead. At this height, that happened to be right at her chest. “I agree.”
Instead of crossing her arms over her chest, she put them at her hips and arched forward. “Just think of all the boobs you missed out on by being so tall.”
I laughed out loud. “As I recall, I had managed to get my hands on some despite my… hmm, shortcomings doesn’t seem to fit, does it? Especially not considering the reality.” I let the innuendo hang.
A small choked sound came from above me.
“Hmm, the new booths can go in a similar style to the old one, and we put the new big ones in the corners. We leave a few of the tables right up close to the windows, maybe sideways.”
“Got it.”
She continued, laying out her vision for the place. As she went on, she got more confident, excitedly pointing around while I tried to keep up.
Once she’d settled out the basics, I started moving the booths. To Kara’s credit, she tried to help me but quickly realized that letting the guy who could bench our combined body weight do the lifting worked out better.
In a way that was a change. In the past, she would’ve insisted on doing everything I did. Instead, she readjusted, helping me by directing me when I couldn’t see and bringing over the chairs as after I put some tables on the desired locations.
A couple hours later, sweat dripped down my back so I went outside for a break of some cold, fresh air. Kara chased me out with a coat.
“You’re gonna catch a cold,” she chastised me.
I snorted. “I’m burning up. It feels good. Besides, I haven’t had a cold in years.”
She shook her head. “You haven’t experienced the cold in years. Gee, I wonder if there’s a correlation.”
I laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll go back in.”
“Good. Plus you still need to hang the new clock.”
“Slave-driver.”
Older and much more mature than the girl I’d left behind, she stuck her tongue out at me.
“It looks good,” I said as we re-entered the bar. Walking in we got the full effect. The bar was the same as always, a familiar piece to the new set-up. Kara had been adamant the stools remain, since they were comfortable and she swore up and down there’d be a riot if they were touched.
But the rest of the room was completely fresh. Not totally unlike the Rattler, but newer.
The old high top tables had been lowered, to make for more comfortable dining. We’d started putting together a menu that I expected to have ready for printing next week. We weren’t doing any fancy re-opening. Kara informed me word of mouth was plenty for these things. The booths were arranged to be a bit more private, not so much that people were shut off from the rest of the space, but done in a way a family wouldn’t be totally out of place if one wanted an easy night out.
It looked damn good, if I said so myself.
“It’s gonna work so well with the clock,” Kara declared.
The moment Kara had seen the clock, she’d apparently declared it was perfect, having gone so far as to cut out the item picture and tape it to my office door. We had left most of the wall hangings, taking down one or two that really needed to be retired and replacing them with slightly fresher images. The clock would hang on the exposed brick, dark ornamentation surrounding its big face.
Kara thought it was perfect. So I set about figuring out the set-up. I’d already installed the hinge, so it was just a matter of getting it level.
“Just a little lower on your left,” she told me.
I moved the clock up on the right.
“No, too far. Go back.”
I went back.
“Too far back. A bit lower on the left again.”
That went on for about ten minutes until I turned around and saw Kara trying to hold in her laughter.
I hopped down from the table and closed the distance between us in a few steps.
“Good enough,” I told her.
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know, still looks a bit crooked.”
“Good enough,” I repeated.
“If you want to be sloppy. But really it ought to be fixed.”
Her eyes were light and happy. Her hair was haphazardly tossed up, with stray strands falling out and framing her face. I reached up and brushed a few out from her eyes. She was beautiful, and I wanted her to be mine so badly I ached. My hand lingered on her face, slowly tracing along the softness of her skin.
“I’m going to kiss you,” I told her.
Arguments about the clock died on her lips. She gaze was fixed to me, unwavering and expectant.
I bent down and she leaned forward. The first thing that hit me was relief. Like a starving man getting a sip of French onion soup, the kiss let me breathe again. She opened for me, letting me feel her. Her hands drew around my back, her nails digging through my shirt as if to keep me closer.
I pulled back for a moment. It was agony, but I didn’t want this to end with Kara running off again, scared of her feelings because she was scared of the crazy magnetic attraction that kept pulling us together.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Yes. But slow, Lucas. I need slow.”
“I can give you slow,” I promised. “Whatever you need, baby.”
I leaned in again, the next kiss slow so I could savor her reaction against me. Kara practically purred against me, a sound coming from her throat going straight into me. If she did that again, nothing would stop from taking us to the nearest room and coax that sound over and over again.
So I eased away.
“Unless we want our coworkers to come and see us make out, I’m afraid we’re going to have to pause.” I gestured behind me to emphasize the time.
Kara glanced over my shoulder. “I hate that freakin’ clock.”
***
The new set-up was a hit with the staff. There were only two drawbacks. One, the computer system wasn’t set up for the new arrangement. It would have to wait until tomorrow, causing no small amount of frustration. Tonight, being a Tuesday, wasn’t very busy. It was the night of some minor hockey game. That meant busy enough that I couldn’t take the few hours needed to adjust it. The second drawback was I had to wait an unreasonable amount of time to have Kara in my arms again.
Kara managed to take an extra-long break. I’d have to brush up on the state regulations for breaks, since I wasn’t sure if making out with her boss for almost a half-hour counted. When we finally broke apart, Kara didn’t look like she’d be reporting me to OSHA. She looked like she wanted to keep the door locked and have her way with me. A plan I was entirely on board with. But a sense of duty won out, and Kara fixed herself up and headed back to the main room.
I took a seat at the bar a while after. Kara’s expression brightened when she saw me. It wasn’t quite a smile, because she still held that back with people around, but her features softened. Tentative happiness lit in her eyes.
A few faces I’d come to recognize were at the bar as well, half-watching the game on TV while nursing drinks. No crazy binges tonight. One man had a notebook open in front of him. He was a bit older, thinning hair that had long since passed grey into white. Kara had once pointed him out to me as Marco.
Kara plucked an empty martini glass from in front of Marco. “Another?” she asked.
“Ach, I shouldn’t. Well, make it a weak one,” he said.
Kara gave a little salute before turning around to fix the new drink. When she gave him the new one, she turned to me. “Can I get you anything?”
I was tempted to say Something you’ll have to go to the stockroom for. Instead, I told her to give me whatever beer.
“That’s a mistake,” Marco said.
