Use Somebody

by Megan Hart

  “She’ll crash in about fifteen minutes,” he said confidently, though to my eyes Leah looked about as far away from sleep as a kid could get. “Then we’ll really catch up.”

  I watched my niece gnaw on the edge of one of my expensive, dry-clean only pillows and bit my tongue against the words that would have made me sound like my mother. “I’ll go make some coffee, okay?”

  “Sure.” My brother grinned, though the force of his love was directed at his daughter now, and not so much at me.

  I didn’t mind, I told myself in the kitchen as I ground beans and measured them into the brand-new, complicated coffee maker Dan had bought when we moved in. I still wasn’t entirely sure how to work it.

  I didn’t mind that my brother was happy. I was, in fact, nearly overwhelmed with happiness on his behalf. We’d grown up in a house fairly devoid of joy, and I’d been an adult before I’d even begun to allow myself to believe I wouldn’t be pretty miserable for my entire life. Instead, he’d met Luke. I’d met Dan. We’d both managed to escape the past and make a present; I had no reason to believe we wouldn’t both create a joyful future, too.

  Hell, I’d even forged a relationship, of sorts, with my mother. Chad hadn’t managed that yet, though I hoped the fact he and Luke had moved back to Pennsylvania from California with the only grandchild my mother could claim would change that.

  It absolutely wasn’t that I was jealous of my brother.

  “Coffee –” I bit off the words when I saw Chad put a finger to his lips. Leah, sprawled on top of the cushions and covered with her blanket, had indeed fallen asleep. Chad made a barrier with more pillows to keep her from rolling off, and gestured to me.

  We broke our silence in my new kitchen, with all its new appliances and dishes and pictures on the walls. Chad took the coffee from me with a grateful gasp and drank back half his cup in a large gulp.

  “God,” he said. “I swear to you I’m living on caffeine now. She’s finally starting to sleep through the night, but it’s been a hellish six months. The pediatrician says at twenty-two months she should be sleeping through with no problem, but she’s having adjustment issues.”

  I liked to sleep. Really, really liked it. Was pretty unfunctional without enough sleep, as a matter of fact.

  “So, has she said anything about us?” Chad didn’t waste time. He got up to pour himself more coffee and helped himself to a muffin from my fridge. Only the slope of his shoulders gave away his tension.

  “Oh, Chaddie, do you want to know?”

  He turned. “Yes, Ella. I want to know.”

  He’d used my old name, the one my mother still insisted on using. Point taken. “She asked if I’d seen her. Meaning Leah. I said yes. She wanted to know….”

  The words lodged in my throat. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to repeat them. Chad was the one who’d always called my mother The Dragon Lady, after all. He wouldn’t be surprised, but he would be hurt. I didn’t want to hurt my brother, not even by proxy.

  “What?”

  I sighed. “She wanted to know how dark she was.”

  Chad’s expression went so carefully blank I knew he was furious. “Uh huh. What did you tell her?”

  “I told her,” I said, “to stop being so damn ridiculous.”

  He smiled. “Did you?”

  “I did. I can’t make excuses for her, Chad, but you know how she is.”

  “It’s bad enough I’m gay, I know. But that I have a black daughter…God. What will the neighbors say?” Chad grimaced and slugged back more coffee. “And she wonders why I don’t come home.”

  “At least she’s asked you to,” I pointed out, drinking my own coffee. “At least she’s not pretending you don’t exist.”

  He made a derisive noise. “If she doesn’t accept Luke or Leah, then she still doesn’t really accept me. End of story. She can kiss my ass.”

  I knew his partner’s name, of course, and his daughter’s, but hearing them together that way made me giggle. “Luke and Leah.”

  “What about them?” He must have heard it, too, the sound of two names that paired brought to mind one of the most easily recognized film references from the past forty years. “Very funny!”

  But he was laughing, and my kitchen filled with giggles and chortles we tried to stifle so as not to wake his child. All our best efforts went to ruin in the next minute, because I heard the front door open and a booming voice carry down the hall.

  “I’m hooooome!”

  Leah’s thin, high wail followed a moment later. Chad was already off his chair and I went after him. We were too late, both to shush Dan and to quiet Leah.

  “Hey, there, little girl,” Dan was murmuring, the child in his arms already when I came down the hall and into the living room. Leah looked up at him with wide eyes, but no more tears.

  My heart melted.

  That night I brushed my teeth, washed my face, smoothed cream into my skin. Every step of my bedtime ritual was the same as it had always been, steps to be counted without even thinking of it. A routine that provided some small measure of comfort in its perpetual sameness, no matter what had happened during the day. Yet when I lifted the white plastic case containing my birth control pills, I didn’t simply pop one out of the silver foil and swallow it with a swig of water the way I always did.

  I thought about punching out the pill, letting it drop into the sink and running the water to flush it away down the pipes into darkness. That one small pill which had been my womb’s only protection since the day Dan and I had stopped using condoms. I’d trusted my life to those small white discs of compressed hormones.

  In the end, I swallowed the pill. I also took the last dose of antibiotics, because even though my infected finger had cleared up days ago the instructions on the pill bottle had said to finish the medication. I wasn’t then and doubt I ever will be the sort of woman to throw caution to the wind and ignore even something as simple as a doctor’s prescription.

  I thought about it, though, as I slipped my nightgown over bare skin and pulled back the blankets to get into bed beside my husband. He’d been reading a paperback novel with a lurid cover, but now his chin had dropped to his chest. The series of small, puffing breaths that always announced his slip into sleep had begun. His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose.

  He woke when I removed the narrow wire frames and set them on the nightstand. His breath gusted hot against my chest and his arms went around me.

  “What a nice view,” he murmured into my cleavage.

  It had been more than a week since we’d made love in any traditional fashion, if you could call whatever love we’d ever made traditional. It was the longest I’d gone without him inside me since we’d been married. For a couple who fucked more often than we exercised, this had been an eye-opener.

  Dan looked pleased when I straddled him, and even more so when I undid the row of tiny pearl buttons at the front of my gown. His hands slid up my sides to cup my bare breasts and push them together. I shivered when his tongue flickered out to taste me. My pulse instantly sped up.

  He nuzzled his face against my skin, then used his mouth to pull gently on my nipples. One, the other, then back to the first. Underneath me, nestled along my cunt and ass, his cock got hard. The soft flannel of his pajama bottoms rubbed my bare skin. I wanted to rock my body against it, but held still.

  “Take this off.” He didn’t wait for me to comply, but lifted my nightgown over my hips as I tugged it over my head.

  The tips of my breasts brushed his bare chest as I leaned forward to kiss him. His lips parted at once. Greedy. Hungry. I kissed him hard and threaded my fingers through his hair. I tipped his head back to gain access to his throat, where I nipped and sucked until he groaned and his cock pulsed beneath me.

  I was naked, Dan still partially dressed, but I felt no disadvantage. If there was power being played, I was the one in control. If I’d had any ideas about drawing this out, they fled when his hand slipped between us and his thumb settle
d on my clit. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had any orgasms in the past ten days, but I hadn’t had any with Dan inside me, and I could no longer stand to wait.

  He made the noise I loved when I lifted myself to grasp his cock and guide myself onto it. I was already so slick with wanting there was no resistance when I slid all the way down. His eyes closed for a second as he arched to push himself deeper.

  We sat that way without moving, our breath coming faster. My heart had started to pound. His thumb pressed again on my clit and a spasm of pleasure rocked me. I moaned.

  His eyes opened. “Fuck, Elle, I love that sound.”

  I laughed and moved on him; the laugh stuttered into a groan as he made small circles on my clitoris. He knew just how to touch me. I sat up, my hands on his chest for support, and rocked on his prick.

  We took our time. In this position he couldn’t thrust too hard, too fast or too deep. I could set the pace, but I had to do the work, too, and with my clit pressing his thumb every time I moved, I was content to go slow.

  If marriage had made any sort of change in our lovemaking it was that we more often did it in the dark, now. In bed, the way I imagined most “normal” couples did. I hadn’t turned off the bedside lamp, though, and I was glad for the light to show me Dan’s face. I loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the beads of sweat that formed at his hairline and turned his sandy hair the color of wet sand. I loved the way his blue-green eyes darkened as his pupils dilated with arousal.

  I loved everything about this man, not just each piece but how they all fit to make the whole of him. I’d bound my life with his and never regretted it. So why, then, did I fear so much sharing one more piece of myself?

  I wanted him inside me harder, faster, deeper. I leaned forward to kiss him and he pumped upward. I no longer needed the help of his hand. My clit rubbed his belly as he thrust, and I cried out into his mouth as I started to come. My cunt clenched on his erection and he grunted. His hands gripped my sides, sliding on my sweat-slick skin. I tasted salt on his mouth.

  I wanted to close my eyes when I came, but I kept them open so I could see his face. His mouth tightened. He thrust so hard he moved my entire body. He blinked, his gaze going far away, and knowing he was so close sent another thrill of climax jittering through me.

  “Elle,” Dan panted. “Is it okay?”

  “It’s great, baby,” I murmured. Sex makes even the silliest sentences all right.

  He shook his head a little, still thrusting. “No, baby. Is it okay?”

  He hadn’t meant my orgasm. He meant his. I hadn’t made him use a condom, I still had the antibiotics in my system. I loved him a hundred times more for his concern.

  “It’s absolutely okay.”

  It was like I gave him permission, because that’s when his body tensed and he let out a long, low groan. His cock throbbed inside me and he thrust upward once more before clutching me to him and kissing my mouth.

  I couldn’t feel him spurt inside me, but I imagined I did. In my head the army of small swimming sperm surged upward through the welcoming territory of my womb, seeking their target. Would one find its goal tonight?

  Had we made a child?

  And if we did, would it really be all right?

  Chapter 3

  Nobody in their right mind would have ever asked me to help plan a baby shower, but Marcy’s sister Linda didn’t know me. Or maybe she wasn’t in her right mind. At any rate, as Marcy’s self-proclaimed best friend, I’d been strongly encouraged to help her sister with organizing this party.

  It was supposed to be a surprise, but getting Marcy out of the house and to the restaurant where dozens of her friends and family waited was harder than I’d thought.

  “I’m a whale,” she complained from her place on the couch. “A frigging whale, Elle. I’m not going out of the house like this. I can’t buy shoes. My feet are way too swollen.”

  “It’s BOGO at Neiman Marcus.” I had no shame. I also had fifty people and a buffet lunch waiting for us. “C’mon. Get your lazy ass off that couch.”

  “I’m not lazy,” Marcy said reprovingly. “I’m knocked up.”

  “Shoes,” I said sternly.

  “Fine. Bitch,” she said and held out her hand. “Help me up.”

  I wanted to laugh. I wanted to run away. I most definitely did not want to be the woman sprawled on the couch with a belly so big she wouldn’t be able to see the shoes I was supposedly bullying her into buying. I tugged her to her feet. In the car I had to help her buckle her seat belt and we both laughed until I felt sick to my stomach.

  I also didn’t want to be the woman weeping at the sight of her friends shouting “surprise.” Marcy’s tears didn’t seem to embarrass her, but little did. I, however, would’ve been mortified to break down like that in public. It would have been like wetting my pants, or throwing up on myself. I never wanted to be that woman with such a precarious hold on her emotions. Not ever.

  “You’re quiet.” Marcy, plate laden with cake and pasta salad, wore a hat festooned with ribbons and bows from the packages she’d spent forty minutes unwrapping. “Everything okay?”

  “Absolutely.” I smiled. “You made out like a bandit.”

  “I love you,” Marcy said suddenly. Tears welled in her eyes again.

  I’ve never been a hugger, but there wasn’t any graceful way to avoid her embrace. “Oh, Marce. Hush.”

  “This was the b-b-best…” She sniffled and then dug into her cake. “You’re the best friend ever!”

  “I just helped, that’s all.”

  “Thank you,” Marcy said. “I mean it, Elle. I’m so…thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I told her, because there wasn’t much else to say.

  Marcy was pulled away by some other friends who wanted to take her picture, and I was left alone for a moment to look around at the heaps of baby items she’d received. Diapers, wipes, blankets, tiny little outfits in pale colors and decorated with ducks and bunnies…only a few months ago she and I had gone shopping for sexy lingerie and now her entire life had changed. Her entire focus had turned toward the stranger in her belly.

  She didn’t notice when I slipped out.

  I drove for a while before going home, just trying to clear my head. When I pulled into my driveway and saw a familiar car parked in front of my house, I wished I’d driven a lot longer.

  My mother rarely visited us, but when she did she never called first. I think she knew if I had warning I’d probably make excuses about why she couldn’t come over. Since my father’s death, her life had changed a lot and so had our relationship, but it would never be the sort to write about on a greeting card.

  My mother might not view me as the perfect daughter, but she loved Dan. This brought me no end of amusement and surprise, because she’d been set on hating him at the start. I never knew what changed her mind, aside from the fact I didn’t see how anyone could not love Dan. Still, my mother wasn’t known for loving anyone, and every time I saw her smile at him I couldn’t help wondering when she was going to sink the knife in his gut.

  Dan, on the other hand, had no doubts about his ability to charm my mother. I watched them through the kitchen door before I went in. He poured her coffee and offered her the creamer. He was talking about something, his hands waving, and she watched him, nodding. I might have been jealous if I really wanted her to like me as much as she liked him, but thankfully I’d managed to get past yearning for that.

  “…rip out the floor and put in hard wood.”

  Ah. He was telling her about his grand plans to renovate the house. Dan talked a lot about what he wanted to do. I talked a lot about how much it would cost. We usually found a compromise.

  “Elle.” My mother looked up from her coffee. “You’re home.”

  I bit my tongue on the sarcastic “duh” that wanted to come out. “Hi, Mom.”

  Dan came to kiss and hug me. “How was the shower?”

  “Fine.” I wanted some coffee and helpe
d myself.

  “Shower? What shower?”

  “My friend Marcy is having a baby,” I said.

  “How lucky for her mother,” my mother said. “She must be thrilled to become a grandmother.”

  Dead silence filled the kitchen. I glanced at Dan, but he was getting ready to flee. My husband is a smart man.

  “Mom,” I said mildly, turning with my cup in my hand. “You’re a grandma, too.”

  “I’ve got some…stuff…to do…in the place….” Dan said and exited the kitchen before my mother could reply.

  “I need a cigarette,” my mother said. “Come outside with me.”

  I’d learned to pick my battles. I went outside. My mother lit up at once, smoking and looking out over our small back yard. I waited for her to talk.

  “He sent me a picture of her.”

  “Her name is Leah, mom. She’s adorable.”

  My mother glanced at me sideways and blew twin streams of smoke from her nose. “I know you think I’m being awful. But I just can’t, Ella. I just….”

  “Oh, why not?” I asked, weary of her drama. “Because she’s black? Because he’s gay? What the hell is your problem, mother, really?”

  “Because I’m not sure how to be a grandmother!” She cried in a thin, high voice nothing like her usual one. Her hand shook as she stabbed out her cigarette and lit another.

  I couldn’t speak at first, not until I’d swallowed some coffee. “I thought you wanted to be a grandma. God knows you keep dropping hints about it.”

  “It would be different with you.”

  “How would it be different?” I demanded.

  My mother looked at me. “You are my daughter. It’s different with a mother and a daughter, that’s all.”

  I hardly thought our relationship qualified, but I didn’t say that. Sometimes the things we most want to say are the same that should never be said. “She’s just a little girl, mom. All you have to do is…all you have to do is love her.”