The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I’m not interested in that, but I really like the idea that the doctors didn’t know everything. They’ve told me I’ll always have a limp and I’ll never get my full fitness back. Well, fuck that. They don’t know me. Caro told me she doesn’t care if I’ve got a limp, so long as I haven’t got a limp dick. No way, baby! No chance of that with her. Fuck! She’s so sexy and she really doesn’t know it.

  Shit! I can’t keep my mind off sex for two fucking minutes.

  Focus, Hunter!

  I also heard that the Wounded Warriors Project takes vets on surfing vacations. Although I’m not sure about getting involved with anything military again … being on the outside now. But I’ll find out about that—maybe I could teach or something. Not that I’ve been back on a board since … but next year, definitely. We’ll both go. That would be cool.

  It’s been weird getting used to doing stuff together. I don’t mean all the relationship stuff, because I fucking love that. But all the day-to-day stuff that I never thought about: joint bank accounts, for one. I really love that we have a checking account that says ‘Mr. and Mrs. Hunter’ but I hate using it because most of the money is hers. Well, given to her by Liz Ashton. I’ve got quite a lot of savings from the Marines because I only ever spent my money on drinking and fucking around, oh, and a couple of motorcycles, but it’s not like I ever had a home to pay for before, so it’s a chunk of cash.

  I talked to Ches about it and he kinda put things in perspective for me. He said I should stop thinking about my money and her money and try and think about it as our money. I get what he’s saying, but it’s not easy. Caro says we’ll get used to it, and she’s not really wrong about this shit. I guess I’m the one who’s fucked in the head about it.

  It was fucking amazing seeing Ches and the kids when Caro and I got married. I really love those little bugs: they’re so fucking honest and open—you know, not afraid to love. I don’t ever remember being like that when I was a kid, but when you’ve had assholes for parents, you learn that if you’re going to cry, you do it alone in your room. I think I stopped crying when I was about six. The only person who can make me cry now is Caro. I think she knows that, but it’s not something we talk about.

  She hasn’t mentioned the kids thing since she stopped taking the Pill and I’m not going to push it. I meant what I said: if it happens that would be fucking awesome, but if it doesn’t, our lives are really rich already. I just don’t want her to miss out on anything because of me.

  “Hey, where did you go just now, Sebastian?” she says, her eyes all soft and full of love.

  The way she looks at me just cracks my heart wide open. It’s like I’ve answered all her questions, just by being alive—I can’t get enough of that look.

  “Been right here, baby. Just thinking how cute you’re going to look in your Christmas stockings.”

  She twines her hand through mine.

  “Sebastian, you do realize that it’s a stocking as in noun: singular—and that you’re supposed to hang it up by the chimney for Santa to fill if you’ve been a good boy—which, of course, you haven’t.”

  “Yeah, well, I think we should start a new tradition. Caro in stockings for Christmas. Hey, that alliterates, too.”

  “Gosh, you do know some big words, Sebastian,” she says, laughing.

  “You taught me everything I know, baby,” and I fasten my teeth around her nipple and tug gently.

  She gasps. “Although I never had to teach you that move, did I?”

  “Mmm,” I say, in agreement, “guess I’m a natural.”

  I tug slightly harder and my right hand moves down to her thighs.

  “Again?” she says, in amazement.

  “Yeah, it’s Christmas, baby, and I want my presents early.”

  Waking up next to Caro is my favorite fucking thing in the world. I mean, yeah, I fucking love being buried inside her and I love seeing her face when she comes, but the absolute best thing is that moment when I watch her wake up. She’s soft and sweet when she’s asleep and then her eyelids blink open and there’s that wicked gleam in the depths of her dark brown eyes. She stretches out and I feel her arms and legs and body brushing my skin. And I know she’s all mine—forever.

  And I really fucking love wake-up sex. Since she told me that trick about her orgasm being more intense if she hasn’t been to the bathroom, I always try and get a quickie in before breakfast. It’s a great way to start the day. She comes like a fucking train—yeah.

  “Merry Christmas, Sebastian,” she says softly.

  God, I love hearing those words. This is the best fucking Christmas ever—and it’s still only 7AM.

  “Merry Christmas, Caro. I love you so much, baby.”

  She leans over to kiss me, sighing into my mouth. And Christmas Day starts really, really well.

  Two hours later, she starts to get up.

  “Uh-uh, baby. I’m going to make you breakfast in bed.”

  She smiles, that lovely sexy, sleepy smile.

  “You can’t cook, Sebastian, despite my best efforts to teach you.”

  Wow, that hurts. I’m a really good cook: I can make coffee and … espresso.

  “You want coffee in bed, baby?”

  She laughs and nods.

  My real reason for getting up is to go fetch her present. I found a really cool hiding place at the back of the closet in the spare bedroom. It’s high up and, being such a shrimp, she’d need to stand on a chair to find it. I’m pretty fucking pleased with myself.

  And I remember to make the coffee. Yeah, she’s got me tamed—and I fucking love it.

  I carry the coffee in two mugs, with the parcel under my left arm. The coffee is in danger of slopping over the sides because I’ve overfilled again, but also because my fucking leg is so damn useless first thing in the morning and my limp is a lot worse. Caro never says anything, but she knows it bothers me.

  I put the coffee down and toss her the gift.

  “For me?”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  She raises her eyebrows and then pulls on the ribbon holding it together. A riot of colorful silk spills out onto the bed. She gazes up, a slow smile spreading across her face.

  “Colors, Hunter?”

  She’s teasing me: my entire wardrobe consists of white, gray, black, and blue jeans. Oh, and a pair of crazily-bright boardshorts that I bought in Italy.

  She holds up one of the pieces of flimsy silk and lace.

  “Yes, ma’am. A different color for every day of the week.”

  “What color would you like me to wear today?”

  “Red: it’s Christmas.”

  She laughs. “Ok, I’ll wear the red. Are we saving black for Saturday nights?”

  Fuck! That sounds hot.

  “Whatever you like, baby.”

  She knows I’m lying and she smirks at me.

  “Your present is under the bed, Sebastian.”

  What? I go to all that trouble to hide her gift properly, and mine is under the fucking bed?

  She laughs at my expression.

  “I learned being sneaky from this hot Marine I used to know…”

  She stops mid-sentence.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I say, quietly.

  Her hands are on her mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sebastian.”

  And her eyes fill with tears.

  “I know, baby. Don’t cry, Caro. It’s okay. I’m not … it’s okay.”

  Fuck. Will I ever get used to this? Being a ‘former’ Marine? Sometimes it just hits me like a fucking sledgehammer.

  “Where’s that damn present that you’ve hidden so stealthily?”

  She smiles, wiping a tear away, and I feel so fucking bad that I made her cry—on Christmas.

  I hang off the bed and look underneath.

  That is a fucking big present!

  I pull it out and even though I know exactly what it is—because she couldn’t exactly hide it—she’s gift-wrapped it in Christmas paper.

 
“I hope you like it,” she says, nervously.

  “Baby, I love it already.”

  She’s bought me a surfboard. It’s a thruster in style, pointed at the nose, but I can see that it’s slightly longer and wider than someone of my height and weight would usually have. The extra width and length will give it more buoyancy—it’s going to make it easier for me to surf on, because my balance is still fucked.

  But when I unwrap it…

  “Do you like it?” she says, chewing on her lip.

  The design is clean and simple: a single blue-green stripe trimming the edge, and across the middle are the words, ‘Semper Fidelis’.

  “Baby, I love it.”

  And I do. I really do.

  She looks relieved.

  I kiss her, showing her without words how much she means to me.

  She kisses me back, weaving her magic around me, and the world disappears.

  When she pulls away from me, I’m hard again, and I try to tug her back, but she laughs and shakes her head.

  “Our guests will be here in 45 minutes and neither of us are showered, let alone dressed. And unless you want Nic, Alice and Jenna to see you in your shorts—which I suspect they’d be thrilled at, by the way—I think you should put some pants on.

  Ah, crap. The three witches.

  Okay, they’re not that bad, but they can be really fucking patronizing. Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat, the way they look at me when they think I’m not watching. I mean, fuck! They’re my wife’s friends. That’s so fucking uncool.

  Caro just laughs and reminds me I’m the one who married an older woman with older friends, so I should just suck it up.

  The other day we were in a store buying groceries and were lining up to pay. Caro realized she’d forgotten some weird cheese she wanted, so she went off to find it. Then this woman in a pant-suit who was standing behind us in the line starts chatting to me. I’d like to believe she was just being friendly, but then she reached over and laid her hand on my chest in this flirty little move. I mean, she’d just seen me with my wife, for fuck’s sake! What is with these women? Caro thought it was pretty damn funny.

  I haven’t told Caro the real reason it pisses me off, because it would upset her; but they’re exactly the kind of women I used to hit on when I was single—tough, career women who told themselves they’d never fall for me—older women who reminded me of Caro.

  I push the thought away because this is our first Christmas together and I don’t want to spoil it.

  Caro won’t let me shower with her: she knows me too well. So I make the bed while she’s in the bathroom and tidy up the kitchen where I spilt the coffee when I was making it. She never says anything when I clear up, but I know she loves it, because she gets this look on her face like she can’t believe I do stuff around the house. She just doesn’t get that I want to take care of her in whatever way I can. Because I fucking love her.

  When I go back into the bedroom, she’s just slipping her cute, black cocktail dress over the red, silk underwear I bought her.

  Fuck! I was too late.

  “Rain check, Hunter,” she says, in a firm voice.

  Ah hell. I’ll just have to walk around with a boner all day, knowing she’s wearing that fucking sexy bra and panties under her dress.

  I take a shower—a cold one.

  I’m just pulling on a t-shirt when a car pulls up outside. I open the front door for Caro’s friends, and she runs out and takes the lion share of the hugging and kissing, thank fuck. I’m relieved when I see Atash’s family walking up the street.

  “As-salaamu’ alaykum!”

  They come in, looking a little nervous, but soon everyone is sitting on cushions on the floor—because we don’t have enough chairs—and chatting away. Atash and his brother Kambiz are the only ones in their family who speak any English but it all works out pretty well.

  And, I’m not going to tell Caro, but Kambiz knows where to get the best hash. I don’t do it very often, but sometimes I just need to chill a bit.

  Caro’s food is fucking amazing, which is a real ice-breaker. She’s made Italian dishes: some weird salted cod stuff, baked pasta, capon, fish salad and a whole bunch of stuff I can’t even pronounce, let alone recognize.

  Kambiz’s eyes are popping out of his head when he sees the Afghan food that she’s made, as well: Qabli Pulao of rice, raisins and carrot with lamb; Mantu dumplings with minced beef and onions; spicy vegetables; and two chalow rice dishes.

  Atash just smiles because he’s had Caro’s cooking before.

  I feel so fucking proud of her. She did most of it herself: okay, well, all of it. I tried to help but she nearly fucking lynched me when I managed to let the rice burn dry … um … the first lot of rice. I’ll do my bit later—all the fucking washing up. Thank fuck she insisted on getting paper plates to eat off of.

  And during the day, I have a revelation. I fucking love Christmas!

  It was a nightmare when I was a kid: lots of drunken arguments, and most of the time I’d try and hide in my room. It got a bit better when Ches and his folks moved to San Diego because they’d invite me over and I’d spend as much time as I could with them. Yeah, those were pretty good. Got to surf on Christmas Day a few times, although Shirley tore a strip off Mitch if he got us back late for the food.

  I’ve had four Christmas’s overseas: one in Iraq with my unit, which was kind of okay, although a lot of the guys were going on about missing their families, and I never had anyone to miss; one in Afghanistan, where we got the fuck shelled out of us on Christmas Day, which kind of put a damper on things; and one where it was just the chaplain going on about some shit or other. Last Christmas I was in Switzerland and I spent it screwing some rich German woman in a fucking amazing hotel in Klosters. Something else I haven’t mentioned to Caro. Did some snowboarding, too.

  Caro knows I’ve done this shit, but she never asks and she never uses it as a weapon when we’re fighting, which is pretty fucking cool of her.

  I could have flown back to spend Christmas with Ches last year, but since I’d fucked Amy’s friend and her friend’s friend, she’s been kinda pissed at me. Not that I cared about that, but I didn’t want to screw things up for Ches, so I stayed away.

  Amy was kind of okay with me when Caro and I got married; it really helped that they got on so well. I think Amy was in a state of shock that I was ‘settling down’ as she put it (several times, for fuck’s sake).

  But I wasn’t surprised that she got on with Caro: everyone loves Caro. She’s just so positive, energetic, kind, generous, and no one is capable of hating her for it; she’s so beautiful but she’s even lovelier on the inside. She doesn’t see it—but everyone else does. And she’s so fucking sexy.

  This Christmas was—perfect. So full of fun and love and laughter. I am a lucky bastard. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such … such happiness.

  I’ve got one more gift for her, but I’ll wait until everyone has gone home.

  Finally, finally, we get the place to ourselves. Caro made everyone take food home with them so at least we don’t have to wrap up a load of leftovers. Atash’s family were really pleased with that. Probably got enough to last them a few days.

  “I’m just glad to see it gone,” says Caro, groaning. “I can’t eat another thing. Never, never show me another mince pie.”

  “You did amazing, Caro. Now sit down and let me do the dishes.”

  Of course, she doesn’t.

  “Don’t be silly, Sebastian. I can tell your leg is hurting you. Just let me take care of it all.”

  “Damn it, woman!” I half-yell at her. “Aren’t you ever going to take a fucking order?”

  “Sure,” she says, laughing at me, “when you tell me to get my ass in your bed.”

  I groan. How the hell am I going to be able to concentrate on anything else now?

  We clear up together and when we’re done, we collapse onto the couch and she snuggles up on my chest.

 
; “Today was fun,” she sighs. “It felt … right.”

  “I know what you mean, baby.”

  “Let’s go to bed, Sebastian. I’m beat.”

  “Yeah, okay, baby … I’ve got another gift for you first.”

  “Does it involve getting naked in a variety of new and interesting positions?”

  Fuck! She’s a mind-reader!

  “Well, yeah, that, too, but … um … there’s something else. I don’t know … you might think it’s lame.”

  She sits up and looks at me.

  “Sebastian, I’d never think anything you gave me was lame. Not ever.”

  “Yeah, well … you might when you’ve heard it.”

  “Heard it?”

  “I … um … I … I wrote a song for you, Caro.”

  She looks stunned.

  “For me?”

  I’ve been trying to learn guitar. It’s really fucking hard—my left hand won’t do shit since I got shot in the shoulder, but it turns out that most songs only have about four chords anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever play a diminished seventh. Fuck it.

  And I stand up to go get the guitar before I lose my nerve.

  I’ve been practicing while Caro has been out. Sometimes it sounds okay; sometimes it sounds like crap.

  I walk back into the living room, but I can’t meet her eyes.

  I position my fingers over the strings and take a deep breath. Fuck. My mouth has gone dry.

  Here goes.

  Just when I’d seen it all

  Just when I’d heard it all

  And the road got weary

  I heard you call.

  I thought I knew it all

  I thought I called the shots

  No colors in my life

  So far to fall.

  Filled with sunshine

  That’s in your smile

  Always loving