by Ana Simons
Take your eyes off the goddamn bathroom door!
I also need a distraction.
The sketchbook with the drawing I did last night. It’s still lying on the side table. I turn it over and study her face, trace my fingers along her hair cascading in waves over her shoulders.
Damn, she’s so beautiful...
A few seconds later, my eyes are glued again to that door. I keep imagining the moment she gets out, wrapped up in a towel, a few rivulets of water still running down her neck, her shapely legs finally revealed.
No, she doesn’t get out. I’m getting in. I’m in the shower with her, hot water streaming over her delicate skin and my gaze scanning each inch of her body.
Sliding my arms around her waist, I pull her closer and bury my face in her neck, nibbling her skin, sucking gently. And she gasps in between kisses, moaning my name until the moment my lips close over hers with the same passion that I kissed her last night.
Backing her hot body against the cold tiles, I let my fingers play between her legs, my kisses trailing down her neck, to her collarbone, her breasts. And then to her belly. A moan escapes her as I continue further down, my tongue teasing and stroking the tender flesh, her body twisting and aching for me inside her.
I pick her up.
With her legs wrapped around me, she pulls me tight to her, to whisper I can do anything I want to her. Because she’s mine. All mine.
And between her breathless gasps and sighs, I let myself go and murmur to her the actual truth, that deep down I’ve never stopped loving–
The sound of the doorknob turning brings me back from my wild inner digression. It’s her, finally, humming to the music and drying her hair.
No, no sexy towel wrapped around her body. No such luck.
She’s dressed in my bathrobe, a huge, baggy gown that covers her body from neck to toe, making her look like a sack of potatoes. God is obviously angry with me, I think to myself as I smother a snort of laughter.
“There you are, sleepyhead!” She walks towards me with the warmest smile, to take my cup and sip my coffee. “I knocked on your door, but you were sleeping like a rock!”
“Morning, beautiful. Someone is in a good mood.”
“True! I haven’t slept like that in weeks. God bless your sofa. And your coffee maker!” Olivia takes another sip, puts the cup down and raises a finger, to draw my attention to the music. Bublé’s ‘Close Your Eyes’.
Swinging her body to the soulful rhythm, she sings along, absolutely amused. She puts all her heart into her performance, and we can’t help chuckling at the scene, my mind bouncing back to the many memories of the summers we spent together, to all those adventures, and even some misadventures, in our teenage years.
I like her, a whole lot. She’s funny, genuine and witty and always had this ability to light up my face and spark a laugh. And to tear my guard down.
I’ve missed her too, I missed her like crazy. I’ve missed her so much there aren’t even words to express how I felt when we stopped talking to each other.
On the spur of the moment, before I even have the time to think what the hell I’m doing, I’m already standing and taking her hand, to pull her closer and tighten one arm around her waist. I want to dance with her again.
She responds with an even brighter smile that makes my heart race and follows my lead.
And we dance, light-hearted and cheerful, the realisation it feels so right to be here with her dawning on me. It feels like she belongs here, in this place. In my life.
Towards the end of the song, I give her a tight squeezing hug and she embraces me in return, her breathing brushing my neck, her scent enveloping me. For an instant, I wish I could freeze time and continue to live in this moment forever.
“I’m sorry... and thank you,” she breathes into my ear, still clinging to me.
I pull back and raise my eyebrows, uncertain of what she means.
“For putting up with me last night. My life’s a mess, and yesterday I probably drank a tad more than I should.” A long sigh escapes her lips. “God, I wish I could feel like I have my shit together, if even for a fleeting moment...”
I hold her closer and kiss her on the top of her head, our bodies still swaying slowly. “No problem. You know what I was just thinking?”
“What?”
“What a fruitcake you were, back then! Remember that night you dared us to go for a swim on the beach? But my sister freaked out and ran away?”
“Sure. She returned with my mother, pissed off and ready to smack us all! Sue’s always been such a big scaredy-cat!”
I smile in agreement. “And that day when we convinced a bunch of kids to dance to some Britney Spears song in Plaza Nova? Ha-ha, we practically invented the flash mob!”
“And that time in Majorca? Remember us piling into that shitty old rental car and hitting the road without a destination?”
“That was one hell of a road trip.”
“What about that night I talked you into sleeping outside under the open sky?”
That memory in particular leaves me a bit unsettled; it takes me a few seconds to react. “Course. It was a whole lot of fun,” I say nonchalantly.
“That was truly amazing, watching all those stars streaking down from the sky, wondering where they’d fall.” The memory makes her chuckle. “I wished for free plane tickets to anywhere I wanted. Pretty smart. What about you?”
For you to pick London for medical school.
“I don’t know, no idea,” I say, reaching over to tuck a lost strand of hair behind her ear.
Olivia’s phone begins to buzz and vibrate on the coffee table breaking the quiet. My phone too starts to rattle in the bedroom.
Shit.
She pulls a face when she checks the screen. “We need to go. Get me a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt or something?”
There’s a moment of stunned silence, then “You’re leaving already?”
Damn, Liv, we need to talk.
“We’re leaving. It’s that brunch thing at my uncle’s!” She pulls me by my hand and leads me to the bedroom. “I want to get there and change before the whole circus begins.” She pushes the talk button. “Hello? Mum? I’m coming, give me half an hour.”
“I don’t think I was invited,” I say.
“Sure, you were. My folks and your folks, we’re all supposed to be there. Like old times. Only Jimmy has a good excuse not to come.”
Yeah, by now he should be arriving in Cuba, getting ready to dance the horizontal mambo with his wife. Lucky bastard.
14 FROZEN
WHAT A LOVELY WEATHER! It’s such a sunny and warm August day it almost feels like we’re not in gloomy Britain, but rather back in southern Spain, like in the good old days.
The table is already set outside waiting for the guests to arrive and Olivia has sneaked upstairs to change. I’m comfortably seated on the garden deck, soaking up the sun and watching the Burke brothers discuss the thrills of grilling and all the different techniques each one claims to have mastered. They’re boasting so enthusiastically about their skills, I bet they’ll forget to flip the steaks and in no time, no one will be able to tell the difference between the meat and the charcoal.
Then Raquel and her bad temper will come out spitting fire, threatening to kill them both, and I’ll be watching the whole show right from the front row. I’m already grinning, and it hasn’t yet happened.
I’m sipping my drink, drumming my fingers to the beat of some summer hit song they have on and eagerly waiting for Olivia to come down, with a secret beam of hope we can talk before total chaos erupts in this so-far-idyllic scenery. Because as soon as Johnny arrives with his two toddlers and my sister Sue comes on the scene with her little brood, I doubt I’ll manage to have any of her attention or–
“Brian? Give me a hand, will you?”
My worst fear has just come true.
My sister storms into the back garden in a state of near hysteria, with little Emma by the hand. My
niece is whining and doing some strange pee pee dance and one of the twins is crying her eyes out in the stroller, only God knows why. The other is threatening to do the same any minute and, finally, Josh is grumbling with a huge pout on his face.
I set my tonic water on the table and get up from the deck chair, coming to the rescue. “Hey? Where’s your husband?”
“Mum, why can’t we get a dog?” Josh asks, tugging at Sue’s blouse, trying to get her attention.
“Oh, just take these.” She shoves two changing bags at me. “Mark’s in a coma, let him be; he’ll show up later. Dammit, why hasn’t mum arrived yet? Oh boy, I’m dying here. We had one of those nights.”
“Why? He tried to knock you up again?” I banter, just to loosen her up a bit.
“MUM? Why can’t we get a dog?” Josh insists, this time louder and pulling like billy-o at the hem of her blouse.
Sue throws me a reproachful glare and mouths, “You’re such an idiot!” She then bends down towards her oldest. “We can’t, Dad’s allergic.”
“And when Dad dies, can we get a dog?”
Sue rolls her eyes. “Sure. Why not?”
Josh seems pleased with the answer and runs to the garden, where there’s already a large quilt with cushions and toys, laid out not far from the playhouse and the swing.
Emma jumps frantically and wails again, one tiny hand cupping herself down there, the other pulling at her mama. Marianne’s face, my other twin niece, suddenly flushes and a loud deafening cry flies out of her mouth too.
Man, what a powerful stereo system these two!
I lift my eyes to study my sister’s face. She’s pale and stiff, about to snap.
“Taking Emma to the toilet. Please, change Mathilda, she’s puked milk all over herself.” Trying to ignore the loud screeching sounds, Sue points at the filthy clothes and then rushes inside.
No problem, baby logistics don’t really intimidate me, I can handle this. I’ve been there since day one, since Sue popped Josh out, that twenty-inch little fella who yelled, puked, peed and pooped like no one else. And I often babysit this entire crowd too; it’s my contribution to help Sue maintain her sanity and keep their marriage relatively intact.
I take the stroller to the garden and sit the eight-month-old twins on the quilt. Josh, my little wingman, helps me by entertaining Marianne with a plush bunny, while I’m on my knees getting Mathilda out of her soiled clothes.
“Uncle Brian?”
“Yeah, kiddo?” I ruffle his hair and encourage him to talk. Josh has always had a natural curiosity I find absolutely endearing. It amuses me to watch him trying to figure out how the world works.
“What is sex?”
And why are you asking ME that?
Well, his curiosity is endearing – most of the time. This one’s stopped me in my tracks.
“How old are you again? Almost eight, right?”
He stares at me boggle-eyed. “Yes! Next month. You forgot that?”
“No, that was a rhetorical question.”
He looks at me confused. “I don’t know what ‘erec-torical’ means... I just want to know what sex is.”
Marianne has just taken off her shoe, which she begins to chew, apparently quite entertained. I trade it for a teething ring instead, but as soon as I see a sob crawling up, I concede and let her chew whatever she wants.
Mattie is already stripped down, only wearing a nappy and sucking her toe. Debating on what I should say to avoid getting into trouble, I stop what I’m doing to look at him.
Man, they always manage to come up with questions that stump you. How am I supposed to know what’s the latest educational crap about the topic these days?
After some reflection, I give him what I believe is a safe explanation. “It’s when you have to say whether you’re a boy or a girl. That’s your sex. But why don’t you go inside and ask your mum? I have it covered here, mate. You can go.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’ll take it from here. No problem.”
“No! You sure that’s what sex is?” He still looks sceptical.
I shrug and nod, trying to look innocent.
“But Ben said it’s when people take off their clothes and rub against each other. Is that true?”
Ignoring him, I rummage into the bag. “Go inside and tell your mum I can’t find any vest.”
He fishes one out instantly. “But is it true?”
Hmm... feeling kind of cornered here.
“Yeah, people call that sex too.”
“They take everything off? Like butt naked?”
“I guess...”
“Eww! But isn’t that gross?”
“Huh…”
“But why would they do that?”
Oh, screw it.
“To make babies.”
His mouth falls open. “Mum and Dad did that too?” Shit, the kid seems to be in shock. “But Mum said Dad planted a seed into her belly.”
“He did.”
He frowns and shakes his head confused. “I don’t get it...”
I keep silent, pretending I’m focused on my task while trying to decide if I give him some silly stork tale or the P in the V version.
I remain undecided.
“I think you should ask your Dad, he’s the one who has already put a lot of seeds in there. He should know better than me.”
He reflects upon it for a moment. “Okay. And can I ask you something else?”
I think I’m about to break into a sweat now. “Shoot!”
“Ben’s goldfish died this week. Do you think it went to heaven?”
I sigh in relief. “Oh, that one is really tough too! But you know what? You should ask Auntie Raquel.” I send him to Olivia’s mother, just to mess with her a little. “She and the Almighty up there are really, really close friends.”
His mouth drops open again and his eyes glow, telling me the revelation excited the bejesus out of him. “Wow, you serious? That’s soo cool!”
“There you are, Mattie, all cleaned up.” I sit her next to her sister and give her an activity board. She’s now quiet and seems fascinated with all the poking, squeezing, shaking and dropping things.
I lie down on my stomach and flip through a children’s book full of farm animals. Josh lies right next to me.
“Uncle Brian?”
“Yes?”
“Once I’m done with year three, I’m going to find me a wife.”
I snort out a laugh. “Why, Champ?”
Josh shrugs, apparently forgets about my question, and carries on with his inquiry. “Why don’t you get a wife and learn how to rub too? Then you could plant a baby boy seed in her.” He blows out some air and pouts. “This sucks! Look around: there are only girls, no boys to play with me. It’s really ruining my life, you have no idea!”
I can’t help but chuckle at his misery. Seriously, what’s going on in this kid’s head is often as dumbfounding as it is hilarious.
I’m still smiling, genuinely amused at his innocence, and trying to find the right words to comfort the little guy, when someone sneaks up from behind and sits Emma on my back.
I tilt my head.
Liv!
In a V-neck, sleeveless green dress that matches the colour of her eyes, the skirt, loose and slightly above her knees, her hair pulled up in a perfect ponytail, her elegant look completed with a long chain necklace.
My pulse quickens, and a lump of emotion blocks my throat. Whether it’s because she looks so amazing or whether it’s the heart pendant dangling over her perky breasts, I don’t know. I gave it to her many years ago. That she still has it and chose to wear it today is a complete surprise. Not sure what to think of it.
Swinging her body to the rhythm, she begins to snap her fingers to R. City’s last hit. The twins are ecstatic, giggling with their toothless faces.
Priceless. The whole scene, she and the kids.
I grin to myself because I can’t help it: I’m crazy hooked on the
four of them.
“You don’t have babies, do you?” Josh tugs at her arm and asks, staring at her intently.
“No, sweetie, I don’t.”
“Shit! You don’t know how the rubbing thing works either.”
I shush him. “Don’t say shit. Your mother will freak out.”
“I don’t get this either: how come they invented these words if we’re not allowed to use them?” He stands up, seemingly frustrated, and points at Olivia. “Going to ask your mother, about the rubbing. I needed to speak with her about the fish anyway.”
Olivia watches him heading inside and then looks at me confused.
“Oh, kids!” I wave a dismissive hand, pretending I’m as surprised as she is.
In the meantime, Emma runs to the playhouse, the twins seem busy playing in their own little world and Olivia lies down, by my side, with her eyes closed, facing the sun, her fingers caressing the heart-shaped pendant.
I look at her, in silence, trying to make some sense of all this, last night, what I’m feeling.
Eventually – well, damn it, she’ll be gone in a couple of hours anyway – I hold her hand. “Can I ask you out for dinner? Maybe later this week?”
She wrinkles her nose at me. “I don’t exactly live across the river, you know!”
“I do. But don’t you think we should talk about what almost happened last night?”
She remains silent for a moment, probably musing over my question. After turning on her side, she looks at me with a sad smile. “I’m sorry if I got carried away, but it didn’t mean anything. You’ve seen it yourself: I’m a walking mess.”
I’m certain there’s disappointment written all over my face. “But we never managed to talk about what happened back then.”
Bloody hell, my parents and Jimmy’s brother, with his family! All at the same time, huge commotion and clatter on the deck. What a nightmare!
Olivia is about to get up and leave, but I hold her hand firmly. “It’s only a dinner, Liv. Not a proposal.”
“Brian, why would we delve into the past? We were just kids, let’s leave it at that.”
“Liv?”
“I’m so glad we met this time. I really, really liked seeing you again,” she says, her gaze meeting mine, her warm breath brushing against my face. “And I’ll make sure I call you when I come over again. It’s a promise. But now I think I should go.”
