by Sionna Fox
She took the mug from his hands and set it on the counter. “Hey. Remember what you always said when I was freaking out about too many deadlines at once?”
“I know. One thing at a time.” Not that she had ever actually needed the advice, meeting deadlines and juggling multiple projects had never been a problem for her. Sometimes he’d wondered if she’d expressed worry because she thought it was what she was supposed to feel. Now he wondered if she did it to make him feel better about his own anxiety.
“Can I ask you something? Is having me around helping or making it worse? I don’t want to be one more change variable you can’t account for that’s stressing you out.”
Oh god, no. “You’re not stressing me out. Unless you’ve changed your mind after last night.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m here. But I know it’s a lot going on at once, so if you need some space to figure out the other stuff, I get it.”
“Is that what you want? More space?” He held her tighter. He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted her to come home. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say those things to her.
“I’ve gotten used to being on my own, not answering to anyone outside of work.”
“I know.”
“But you can drive me home. Because you need that.” She sighed. “That seems fair, right?”
“Yes. It does. Can I check on you later?”
“You’re going to do it anyway.”
She wasn’t wrong. He would. “I want to respect your space and at least ask.”
“You can check on me later. I’ll probably head over to the coffee shop and abuse their Wi-Fi for a while, but I’ll be around later in the afternoon.”
“Rest if you need to.”
“I will.” She kissed his chin. “I promise.” She shifted out of his grip and picked up her coffee again. “Wanna make me breakfast?”
* * *
He dropped her off, and would have come all the way upstairs to hover over her and avoid dealing with his own looming questions about the future, but Kate insisted she could make it into the elevator on her own, thanks.
Staying the night, eating his eggs and toast, she could do that. She could give him that reassurance that she wasn’t stumbling home on public transit while endorphin-drunk, and she could let him caffeinate and feed her before she left, and check in on her later so he would know that she wasn’t going to crash from either hunger or post-scene drop. But she had gotten used to having her own space, her own routines, and she desperately needed a few boundaries to keep herself from moving back in with him again like nothing had changed.
She liked waking up with him. She wasn’t complaining about the first thing in the morning orgasm either. But those little things—making coffee while he was in the shower, watching him dress for work—those were things she missed. And those little things could lead her right back to where she’d been a year ago.
When they’d met, she had been so eager to be taken care of completely. She’d been staring down adulthood and terrified. School made sense to her. Clear expectations, deadlines, syllabi—do X at a this standard and get Y grade in return. And she had trusted him, wholly and implicitly. His reputation was impeccable, he’d said and done all the right things, and suddenly her whole world had revolved around him. And his world had revolved around her. They both had scars to show for it.
Her phone rang as she was packing up her bag to head out. She’d been avoiding those calls and texts for too long. She braced herself and answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Honey, I’ve been so worried. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for ages. I was starting to think something had happened to you, or what if something had happened to me and you didn’t answer. I could have been in the hospital, or dead.”
“Are you calling from the great beyond?” There had been a time when she would have gently smoothed her mother’s ruffled feathers, apologized for being a bad daughter who wasn’t at her mother’s beck and call from half a country away. She didn’t play those games anymore.
“Obviously not, but you know what I mean.”
“I’ve been busy, that’s all.”
“Oh, of course. Too busy for your own flesh and blood. Are you at least making progress?”
Kate rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and said a small prayer to whatever god kept daughters from throttling their mothers. “Yeah, my dissertation is coming along, and my advisor has been giving me some really useful feedback. I’ve got the courses I’m teaching this semester pretty much sorted, so, yes, making lots of progress.”
She heard the purse of her mother’s lips through the phone, the tiny sucking sound of her tongue hitting the back of her teeth. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
Oh, she knew. Progress meant a spouse—man, woman, enby, she didn’t care so long as Kate was settled, taken care of. She’d fucking loved Ian, in her way. Not because she actually liked him—she’d declared him weird and awkward more than once—but because he owned a house and a car and he had a good job and why did Kate need to get a doctorate? Didn’t she have enough degrees?
Kate breathed deeply. Her mother would never understand that she was basically the reason Kate was so committed to maternal health in low-income communities. She didn’t want kids growing up missing a parent. And she didn’t want kids growing up like she did, simultaneously blamed for their mother’s brush with death and smothered because death lurks around every corner.
“I’m focused on my work right now.”
Her mother sighed. “I still don’t understand why you broke up with Ian.”
“You didn’t even like him.”
“Oh, he was a little odd, but what’s a little odd when you could be secure? Have you seen him? He was a catch, honey, maybe he’d take you back. If he’s still single; it’s been a year.”
Kate tugged on what was left of her hair. She didn’t have time to have this conversation for the five millionth time in her life. She got it, she really did, in her mother’s universe—despite her own personal history with marriage directly contradicting it—marriage meant security, stability, not having to worry about keeping up with the neighbors and making sure your kid had new clothes for school every year on your crappy customer service job paycheck. She knew her mother wanted her to be safe, happy, debt-free. But running back to Ian because she was afraid of the future and how she was going to pay her student loans and her rent was the worst possible reason to be in a relationship. She’d had that security once before, it hadn’t kept the relationship from going sideways.
“Mom, I need to go.”
She sniffed. “Fine, you don’t have time to have a simple conversation with your own mother. I almost died for you, you know. Where would that have left you?”
“I know, Mom. I’ll call you soon, but I was literally on my way out the door.” That at least was true. And it was the only time she would answer a call from her mother, because she always needed a ready excuse to get her off the phone when she started kicking in the martyr complex.
“Well, I won’t be around this weekend. There’s a singles’ dance at the Elks on Saturday. You never know.”
“Good hunting.” Don’t grope anyone, please.
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. Have fun. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Kate finally got her off the phone and clenched her jaw, holding in the scream. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t go right back to relying on Ian because she was in a transitional place and she was scared of making decisions. It made her miss the therapist she’d seen in college. Her mother had placed a few too many phone calls to the dean of students’ office—checking on her baby, she isn’t answering her phone or returning texts, I need to know she’s all right—and someone had kindly suggested that she might want to talk to someone about recovering from being helicoptered within an inch of her life. She’d gotten free, only to tie herself to someone else when hard decisions and uncertainty loomed.
&nbs
p; And she was doing it again. Fuck, shit, double fuck-shit.
She didn’t even know anyone who was in remotely the same boat. She was friendly enough with her cohort, and she was sure they were all wondering what they were going to do now that they were ABD. But none of them were people she could talk to about Ian and everything that went with him. Her kinky friends were all either happily paired off or content as friends-with-benefits, and she’d been less than awesome about keeping in touch with most of that crowd for the last year. Which left Jolene, who would probably get it on multiple counts, but was busy planning a wedding. Jolene needed someone to vent to, not to be vented at.
She could talk herself in circles, and it still wouldn’t change. She didn’t know what she was going to do. There was a ball in the pit of her stomach telling her she was making a huge mistake, she just didn’t know what the mistake was yet. And she had work to do.
Fourteen
After Ian returned to the house and cleared up breakfast, he made lists. Real ones, on paper, that he could cross off when each task was complete. Then he made sub-lists of the tasks within the tasks, breaking down each step. Finally, he copied the tasks and their subtasks onto a clean sheet of paper and closed his eyes, waved his finger around, and placed it on the list. Randomized assignment was the best way he could come up with to choose where to start. Otherwise, he’d sit there staring at the list until his chest started to hurt.
He’d landed on the work sub-list. First, he would go back through his inbox and look at the occasional messages he got from recruiters looking to lure him into other positions. They were infrequent, but he did get them. He typically responded that he was happy where he was, but looking at the most recent missives couldn’t hurt. Perhaps they were offering something that would be more interesting than being the middle man between the client, the sales team, and the actual engineers.
Once he’d done that, he would officially update his resume. Then look at current openings. Then, if he was still feeling brave enough, he might put out feelers to people he knew at other companies. Networking like that had never been his strong suit, but he had a small stack of business cards from people he’d met at conferences and kept in touch with in a vague, we’re connected on LinkedIn sort of way. It was difficult to know who to trust. He certainly didn’t want word to get back to Jeff that he was looking elsewhere. But wouldn’t Jeff assume that? This had to be step one in a process of excising Ian from the company. He’d be foolish not to at least look around.
By the time the sun went down, he’d crossed off several items from the list and knew where he would start tomorrow. The office was still in a total state of disarray, so he’d set himself up at the kitchen table. She’d been right—it was more comfortable to spread out here than it was upstairs. He had easy access to food and water and plenty of room and light. The office would be the next batch of tasks.
But it was dark out, and he had promised to check in on Kate. She answered after the first ring.
“Hello?” Her voice was sleepy; his chest warmed thinking of her tucked under the covers, hair askew, cheeks rosy under her freckles.
“Napping, kitten?”
She yawned with a small groan, a stretching noise. “Sort of, spacing out watching something stupid.”
“Feeling okay today?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Mind if I come by?” He winced. It slipped out without his thinking about it. He’d meant to leave her to her own devices, to let her ask first.
“I’m in my underwear watching TV, but sure.”
As if that image would stop him. “I’ll see you soon.”
He hung up. He was being responsible. He’d been in the same room with her talking to her mother enough times over the years to know she had a terrible poker face, but she could lie through her teeth on the phone. He was only checking on her. He would see that she was okay, that she wasn’t in pain, that she wasn’t dropping. They could talk. That was it. No scenes. No sex. Not tonight.
She buzzed him up and met him at the door in an oversized shirt and no pants. She flopped back onto the bed with a slight air of sullen teenager. He sat beside her.
“This place makes me feel like a creepy old man.”
She snorted. “It could be worse. I could have four roommates again, like everyone else my age. I probably will when my sublet is up here.”
He bit his tongue to keep from asking her to move in. Now. Tomorrow. Yesterday. “Oh, god. I don’t think I could do it. I felt like such a pervert whenever I picked you up at your old place. You’d have to come to me.”
She looked at him, squinting her eyes seriously. “Ian. You are a pervert.”
“Not that kind.”
“And I am ten years younger than you are.”
“You were a consenting adult when we met. And aside from your having been a grad student, I hardly noticed. I still don’t.”
“I do. I see the way people look at us when we’re in public. Like they’re trying to figure out which kind of fucked up I am. Do I have daddy issues? Am I with you for money?”
“Neither of which are true.” Where was this coming from? She’d always tried to pay her own way for things. And her father hadn’t been around much, certainly wouldn’t win any world’s greatest dad awards, but daddy issues? She’d worked out her feelings about her parents in therapy while she was in undergrad. At least, that’s what she’d always told him. Though her mother could still rattle her.
She shrugged. “Eh. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I swallowed so much of my mother’s bullshit I secretly believe it. Maybe I am looking for a man to take care of me the way my actual father never bothered to. Maybe I am fucked up.”
Shit. “You talked to your mother today.”
“So?”
He had to tread carefully. No one liked having it pointed out that talking to their parent had a way of reverting them right back to their fifteen-year-old self. “She tends not to be the greatest influence on your self-image.”
There, put the blame safely in Aileen’s court. The woman did manage to earn top marks in both personal martyrdom and smothering, leaving Kate with a deep sense of guilt and responsibility and a tendency to be easily cowed by the combination.
“She asked about you.”
“Did she?” He’d always been under the impression that Aileen tolerated his presence in her daughter’s life only because he had money to spare on taking care of her. And that he was a stepping-stone to other, more successful, more socially adept men.
“She won’t be happy until I have a rich spouse.”
He half laughed. “Did you tell her I’m currently marginally employed? Quite possibly soon-to-be unemployed?”
“God, no. But are you? Do you think Jeff’s going to fire you?”
“My suspicion is this is all about getting the proper paperwork trail in HR to make a clean break, yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I spent most of today trying to figure that out. I’ve put out some feelers. Responded positively to a couple of headhunters who have contacted me in the last few months.” He shrugged. “I discovered something today.”
“Oh?”
“You were right about the kitchen table. Much more comfortable than the desk.”
“See? I told you.” She elbowed him gently.
He shifted the pillows behind him and tried to find a more comfortable position to sit in. “I don’t know how you sleep on this thing. I’m too old for this.”
“You are not.” She settled against his shoulder, her mother-induced fit of self-doubt apparently soothed for the moment.
He put an arm around her, tucking her closer, and absently stroked her biceps. “Should we talk about last night?”
“I suppose.”
“How are you feeling?”
She nuzzled his chest. “A little sore. But good.”
“Anything you want to talk about? You were a bit shaky for a minute at the end; was everything okay?”
She tensed, and he could practically hear her wanting to say it was fine. But she let go of her breath and answered. “I felt like I was about to cry. But as soon as you got me untied and curled up, I was fine.”
“Any idea what might have triggered that?”
“I think my brain was overwhelmed?”
They both knew that was a bullshit excuse. “We’ve overwhelmed your brain plenty over the years, kitten. But you’ve never been much of a crier. You don’t have to know the answer, but maybe think about it.”
She sighed. “Regret. It’s regret. You were so good to me, and so kind, and you were whispering in my ear about what a good girl I’d been to ask for what I needed and…it could have always been like that. I hate knowing that.” Her voice cracked, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks. He stroked her hair while she buried her face in his chest.
“I know, kitten. But we have to let it go.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Keep having sex like that until we can enjoy it for what it is without comparing it to the past?”
She laughed weakly into his chest. “You’re saying that because it means you get laid more.”
“I’m getting laid as much as this old man can handle right now. And it’s still the only solution I can come up with.”
“Okay.” She sniffed, and he squeezed her tight.
“Okay. So we try to let go of what we regret. What worked for you?”
She pushed away, sitting with her legs tucked to her side so she could face him, and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You mean aside from the clamps and the clothespins and the fucking? Because that all worked for me.”
“I’d noticed. You get sarcastic when you’re trying to avoid answering a question, don’t think I don’t know that.”
“Touché, Sir.”
“Come on, kitten. You know how this works.” He needed to know if the mental parts worked as well as the physical. She’d cried when he was soft with her, when he’d teased and joked and praised her, but he wanted to be able to do that again.
