Cake Walk

by Abby Knox

  I take the sponge from her and lather it up, rubbing it over her back, massaging her shoulders while we share a silence.

  I should have anticipated this, and I should have already decided what to say.

  “I…I’m fine with that, Cara.”

  Her face changes and I know instantly she’s putting a mask back on. She lolls her head back and laughs, then points at me. “Gotcha!”

  This is what she needs right now, to save face. She nearly let her emotions get the better of her, and she needs to make a joke.

  I wish she would just tell me.

  That night, I spoon up behind her in bed and wrap her tight in my arms.

  She sighs. I lose myself in her hair.

  “What’s my retired husband going to do tomorrow?”

  “Oh, probably go 18 holes with Bill. Or probably get my teeth knocked out by his five iron.”

  “Maybe don’t tell him you married his daughter and instead have a nice 18 holes, my love.”

  The way she says “my love” grips me, squeezes all the juice out of my heart.

  I want to hear her say it again. Every day. For the rest of my life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cara

  * * *

  When I arrive at school the following day, I hand the checks over to the school principal on my way to my classroom.

  “You sold some cake!” Mrs. Walker says, examining the checks.

  “I sold some of them twice,” I say, adding, “never mind,” when she throws me a curious look.

  “Why are these checks both from a Michael Brennan?”

  I explain to her how it all played out, and she looks bewildered but waves me off. “Whatever gets the job done. Thank you.”

  I head to my sensory play classroom early and fire up my laptop as I sit at a kid-sized table surrounded by bean-bag chairs, soothing lights, and play tunnels. I don’t mind not having a desk or an office; this classroom is my happy place. Well, now it’s maybe your second-happiest place, I think, setting aside the fact that I might be the only person in my relationship with Michael letting the husband/wife play get into her head. Then the horrifying thought occurs to me: what if there’s more than one? The man is experienced, has a strong sex drive, and all the time in the world on his hands. What if I’ve just let myself become one of several women at his beck and call? What if…

  As I recall, he’d said, “You’d be surprised at how many women hate it.” But that doesn’t necessarily mean…

  Stop it. Stop it, and get on with your day. Later, you can grow a spine and come right out and ask. And then, you can deal with the fallout later. If he breaks your heart, consider yourself lucky that you have four sisters to run to with your problems.

  Taking several deep breaths, I get on with my work. The leading teaching team and the other assistants will be here soon, and I want to tackle my weekend email beforehand. When I finish with that, I log in to the shared spreadsheet on all the upcoming pre-K fundraisers for the school year.

  “That’s odd,” I mutter out loud to myself.

  Every date is blank. The cookie dough sale, the wrapping paper sale, the silent auction, even the book fair. Thinking I must have logged into the wrong file, I check again. But no, this is the one.

  I shoot an email to the lead teacher, apologizing that something must have corrupted the file but that I’ll put it back together today.

  Just as I hit “send,” there’s a knock on the open classroom door. I look up, and there’s an enormous delivery of yellow daisies—so massive I can’t even see the face of the delivery person. “Cara Williams?”

  “Yes?”

  She comes in and sets the glass vase of flowers on the tiny table in front of me and has me sign for the delivery. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything on me to tip you with.”

  The delivery driver waves me off. “Don’t worry about it, honey. That man of yours already tipped me enough to cancel my credit card debt. I don’t know what the flowers are for, but I suggest you hang on to this one.” She practically skips out of the room, and I snatch the card buried inside the bouquet.

  “These reminded me of you,” is all it says.

  I blush and smile, remembering how many ways Michael violated my yellow daisy sundress.

  Then something the delivery driver said gets my attention. He canceled her credit card debt? Based on his actions on Saturday, I believe it. But does that mean…

  I look back at the blank fundraiser spreadsheet, and at that moment, I receive a call from the lead teacher, who is on her way in. “Got your email. All the fundraisers have been canceled as of this morning. An anonymous benefactor has set up a trust fund for the entire Exceptional Pre-K department. I’m running late because Walker just got emergency approval from the super to post three new teacher positions for us, and she wanted my input.”

  I have to pick my jaw up off the floor when we end the phone call, and I immediately call up Michael.

  “Good morning, baby girl.” He sounds like he’s still in bed, and my aching muscles would like to crawl back under the sheets with him right now.

  “You’ve been busy,” I say.

  He laughs. “Nah. My accountants have been busy. Now you’re exceedingly not busy, and you never have to head up another fundraiser again. Nobody in your department will. And apart from teaching, I get you all to myself.”

  In the background, I hear knocking on his door.

  It could be another one of his pets.

  I bite my lip. “You gotta go?”

  “Yeah, more HOA bullshit, probably. But Cara?”

  “Yes?”

  “I…I miss you.”

  It feels like he means it. It doesn’t sound like someone with a corral full of women. There was real emotion there. Almost like he wanted to say more.

  “I miss you too.”

  “Come see me as soon as you’re off work.”

  Every muscle below my waist tightens at the promise behind that command. I bite down on my lip to control the whimper of need. My heart knows we need to have a serious talk. The rest of me wants another night of mind-blowing orgasms before approaching that subject.

  “I want you to stop taking the pill.”

  I blink up at Michael in astonishment. I’ve done exactly as he said: appeared at his door just minutes after getting off work, with a stop on the way here for groceries, both because he needs them and because I’m getting into the wife character. And because you love him, silly girl.

  “That’s a fun game. Adding Russian roulette to the game, are we?”

  I smile and brush past him and head to the kitchen to stock his pantry.

  “Cara. I don’t want to roleplay anymore.”

  I whirl around, hurt but also confused. “You want me to go because I questioned your birth control suggestion?”

  Now Michael looks confused. “What? No. I meant what I said.”

  There’s a slight lump in my throat that’s beginning to bubble up. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll ‘stop taking birth control’ for you, my husband.”

  Both of us are thoroughly confused now.

  “We’re not doing this anymore,” he says.

  Do not cry in front of this man, Cara. Bravely, I nod and say, “I’m sure one of your other female friends does a better job at pretending and not falling in love with the idea of the real thing.”

  Michael scrapes his fingers through his hair, then grabs me under my arm and marches me through the house and into the backyard. Outside, by the pool, he takes a knee and pulls out a tiny red box.

  “This is some elaborate roleplay.”

  “Cara, I did this all wrong. I don’t want to pretend anymore because I want you for real. There’s nobody else in my life. Nobody has ever broken through to my real heart. You’re it for me. I want you as my wife. And I want babies with you. As soon as possible.”

  That lump in my throat grows bigger by the second.

  “I need you to back up a minute because I need to catch my breath.”r />
  “Marry me. I love you, Cara, and I want you to marry me. This isn’t your pretend husband asking. This is me, Michael, your dad’s best friend, asking you to marry me.”

  He opens the small red box, but I’m suddenly feeling faint because I’m hyperventilating.

  “Is this real or the matrix? I can’t decide,” I breathe.

  Sensing my weakened state, Michael stands and catches me quickly, wrapping me up in his strong arms, caging me in from the world.

  “Dammit, woman. I should never have suggested role playing. I should have just asked you to marry me the second I realized it was you in that daisy-yellow dress because I knew I would never think of anyone else in the same way as you. You’re in my head and in my heart, little one.”

  I let him kiss me, and I kiss him back.

  “You know what we have to do now,” I say.

  He nods solemnly. “Right. You stay here. I’ll speak to your parents. They arrived back from vacation this morning.”

  I shake my head. “No, sir. This is all part of being a grown-ass woman. Facing the music with my real-life husband.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Michael

  * * *

  “Well, Mom and Dad,” Diana says, arms crossed, an amused look on her face, “At least they didn’t ruin your vacation.”

  Cara glowers at her sister, but it’s Chloe—attending the Williams family meeting via FaceTime from Warwickshire—who reins in the middle child. “Diana. Let’s just hear what they have to say. After all, Cara’s not the first person to fall for an older gentleman.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Cecily says, shuddering in her armchair in the Williams’ three-season porch. Apparently, this serene deck with its pretty wicker furniture surrounded by soothing greenery and bird feeders is where the Williams all prefer to go when they need to hash out complex subjects. Or extremely awkward ones, such as best friends proposing marriage to daughters half their age.

  Cecily being the youngest and the most outspoken, I’m not surprised by her reaction. Diana has been aware of Cara’s crush for years. Cherise is oddly quiet and sits on her hands, making eye contact with no one, instead focusing on some hummingbirds buzzing around.

  As for the opinions that count the most—that of Corrina and Bill—I just have to wait.

  After Cara had requested the family meeting, I thought it best to be as straightforward as possible.

  “I love your daughter, and we’re going to be married. As soon as possible,” I’d said at the outset.

  Bill and Corrina have been sitting there together on the floral-cushioned wicker love seat in stunned silence for the better part of five minutes while their five girls talk at each other.

  “Cecily,” Chloe warns, pausing to let Cara point the camera in Cecily’s direction. “I thought you’d come around on the idea that age is just a number.”

  The baby of the family goggles at her oldest, married, and pregnant sister. “No, you all decided we were all fine with this, and I was told I would warm up to the situation. Well, I haven’t.”

  “Cecily, you’re going to be an auntie in less than a month.”

  Cecily throws up her hands and shouts, “I’m twenty-one! I’m too young to be an aunt!”

  Cara cuts in. “Why? Mom and Dad had Chloe when they were 19 and 20.”

  Cecily wretches. “I’m not super cool with that idea, either.”

  “Maybe not,” Cara says, “But you do recognize the fact that they are much younger than most of our friends’ parents. Twenty years’ difference is not that significant.”

  Diana scoffs, “Maybe Cecily is just horrified because it seems like gold-digging is starting to run in the family.”

  “Hey!” Chloe shouts over the phone.

  “Stop it, that’s not helpful,” Corrina says over Chloe’s shouts. And in the next moment, the entire meeting has devolved into shouting and name-calling and arguing.

  Bill still looks stunned and silent. Finally, I catch his eye, but his expression is unreadable.

  Finally, it’s Cara—sweet, soft-spoken, innocent Cara—who commands the room. “Everyone shut up!”

  Surprised, everyone quiets down and gives Cara the floor.

  “I know this is uncomfortable considering Michael’s friendship with Dad. And Dad, I know this is a shock, and you might even feel betrayed. But I want you to promise me you won’t take it out on Michael. I…well, Diana already knows this, but I’ve had a crush on Michael forever. He never once—never—looked or said or did anything inappropriate with me. Not ever. We hadn’t seen each other in four years, and then we ran into each other on Saturday. And to be honest, I instigated things.”

  “What do you mean, instigated?” Corrina questions.

  Cara juts out one sassy hip and says, “Mother, I seduced him. So if you’re angry with anyone, be angry with me.”

  Corrina blows out a breath and slumps back into the seat cushions, processing.

  “Bill,” I say. “I’m going to need you to say something. Anything.”

  Bill stands and says, “I need a drink for this,” and leaves the room.

  I follow him and leave the Williams women to hash things out among themselves.

  When I arrive in the kitchen, Bill is halfway through a can of beer, and I don’t begrudge him not offering one to me.

  Having grabbed a second can for himself, he slams the fridge door and glares at me.

  “You want to hit me? I’d prefer you hit me instead of silence.”

  Bill swallows his gulp of beer and says, “I heard you’re subsidizing the entire special education department.”

  I clarify, “The pre-K section, but yeah. Sort of.”

  “Why? To impress my daughter? To give my daughter permission to go after her dad’s best friend?”

  I shake my head no. “Because whatever she loves, I love. Because whatever Cara’s passionate about, I’m passionate about.”

  “No disrespect, but you’ve never been passionate about anything except building skyscrapers and making money.”

  “Is that what you think of me?”

  “No. That was the anger talking,” Bill says, taking another sip of beer. “But we’re all going to need a minute. Can you give us that?”

  “Anything you need, I’m there. Cara cares about your opinion more than anyone else’s, and I want to make sure, even if we’re not friends anymore, that you can continue to have a relationship with your daughter.”

  Bill taps the bottle against his bottom lip, then says, “You do realize how this is very different from Chloe and Phillip? Even though he’s even older than you?”

  “I do,” I say, hoping against hope that I’ll get to hold on to the essential people in my world: Cara and her parents.

  Finally, Bill crosses to me and holds out his hand to shake mine. I heave a sigh of relief. “This isn’t my blessing. This is just me letting you know I’ll be okay, eventually. A pre-blessing.”

  Dammit, why is my face wet? All I can do is wipe my stupid eyes on my stupid shirt sleeve and thank him.

  “What else did he say?”

  My Cara and I stroll down Hunter Drive at dusk, going over the events of the evening. The sun sets over the golf course in the distance, and teenagers are out walking their dogs. Even I have to admit; this can be a nice neighborhood. Sometimes.

  “That’s it. He just needs time,” I say.

  Cara presses me, wanting to know the exact wording, facial expressions, body language, and tone. And I tell her everything I can remember.

  “You’re killing me, Mr. Brennan,” she laughs.

  “Remind me to get better at observing people if this is how conversations are going to go for the rest of our lives together.”

  She stops in front of the Hurleys’ yard and presses against me, weaving her fingers through mine. “I hope that doesn’t make you sad.”

  I squeeze her fingers. “What are you talking about?”

  “The rest of our lives. If I have a baby, you’ll be
in your sixties when they graduate high school.”

  I pull her tighter against me, aware this is the first time we’ve shown public affection, apart from groping each other in my doorway, of course. We’re probably going to have to get used to people staring at us.

  “Weren’t you the one who told me to stop doing the math and just be happy?” I remind her.

  “I am happy,” she says. “Unless this is an elaborate roleplay in which you’ve enlisted my family, so if that’s the case….”

  Her face is too close and too anxious for me not to hush her up with my kiss. Grabbing her tight to me without a care in the world, I claim my bride’s mouth with mine. My bride that I’m going to get pregnant tonight if I have anything to say about it.

  Bill might need time, but as far as I’m concerned, I can’t start living my authentic life soon enough.

  As we kiss, we’re both suddenly surprised as the Hurleys’ lawn sprinklers pop up and start spurting cold water all over us.

  Shrieking and laughing, Cara tries to dash off to my house—or our house, as I see it. But I pull her back to me and lift her feet off the sidewalk in another deep, mind-melding kiss. She sighs against me, and when we pull away, we’re both soaked to the skin.

  My Cara has a wicked look in her eye and tugs me toward the grass.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, watching her let go of me to run circles around the sprinklers, jumping and dancing in the water.

  “Uh, it’s not that kind of sprinkler,” I say, noting how I’m going to have to pay for the Hurleys to re-lay that fresh sod she’s trampling right now.

  “Come on, don’t be such a fussy old lady,” she calls. Her white dress is completely soaked through, and the peepshow is too much for public consumption. Just then, Mrs. Hurley steps outside to inspect the current commotion.

  “Ah, fuck it,” I say and join my wife. I hold her in my arms as we twirl through the water, laughing, snorting, and getting completely soaked.