by K. Anderson
She let herself in with her key, not surprised that it still worked. Mom never changed the locks, not even after Dad moved out – in fact, he still had a key, and had an open invitation to drop by whenever he found himself back in Chicago. He often did come to visit, which Erin had always considered to be a bit awkward. It’s weird seeing your divorced parents being friends, she thought. Especially that time when Dad brought along his girlfriend…
Erin closed the door behind her and looked around. Just like the outside, the inside of the house had the same color scheme for every common room: eggshell white walls with a slight ivory tint to the white paint used on the trim, and white curtains. That had been Dad’s doing, as he would say from an architect’s standpoint that it utilized the natural light coming in through all the large windows and cut back on the need for artificial illumination. Training three kids not to leave dirty handprints all over the walls had been a challenge. At least the hardwood floors gave the place some warmth, honey brown and gleaming. In the front sitting room across from the veranda doors, a large green and gold Oriental rug took up most of the area in front of the large, white marble fireplace. Overstuffed club chairs with matching hassocks faced each other over a low wood table.
Making her way deeper into the house, Erin took her time to familiarize herself with her surroundings. Not much had changed in her four years away in California. She glanced in at the room that served as Mom’s office, just to the right of the closed door leading to the master bedroom suite. Turning left, she wandered by the main floor bathroom and the bedroom that had been hers as a child but had been converted to a guest room where her father had been known to sleep whenever he dropped by.
The hall ended at the large kitchen. While the rest of the house reflected the Craftsman style, this room had undergone a major upgrade. All blond oak cupboards with brushed silver pulls on doors and drawers, stainless steel appliances, and a massive six-burner stove, Erin often imagined it would make Gordon Ramsay wet himself with joy. Again, the chef’s kitchen had been Dad’s idea, as he had come from a large Italian family and loved to cook whenever he could. As for Mom? She could burn water. Erin headed straight to the refrigerator and opened the door, half expecting to find only designer bottled water and yogurt. To her surprise, the shelves had been stocked with all kinds of foods – from fresh produce to meats wrapped in butcher paper. “What the…?” she breathed, staring at the contents. Had Mom ordered some deliveries in anticipation for her return home, remembering how Erin preferred to make her own home-cooked meals and nutritional breakfast smoothies?
Snagging a bottle of water, Erin closed the fridge and continued on her way toward the stairs leading to the second floor. Peter and Brandon each had a room joined by a shared bath. Erin had just started high school when they had taken off to college, and the temptation of having an entire floor to herself had been too great to pass up. She took the center bedroom, which had been Peter’s, and Dad had come back to help her to paint and redecorate it and the bath over Easter break. Directly across the hall from her bedroom stood what had been the attic space, but Dad had finished it and turned it into a recreation room for the boys, where they would study or sit for hours playing video games on the big screen television set in the built-in entertainment center. Erin had claimed that room, as well. She removed all the framed posters of basketball players, sports cars, and swimsuit models, replacing them with art prints of tranquil beaches and ocean life. Removing the smell of gym shoes had been a little more daunting, but eventually and with a new carpet and a lot of air freshener, she had succeeded.
Erin pushed open the door to her bedroom and stepped inside. It did not surprise her that she found no dust anywhere. “Let’s hear it for Molly Maids,” she said, smiling. Being a doctor, Mom had always insisted on keeping her home tidy, almost to the point of OCD. She didn’t have time for housework, though, so she hired people to come in and do it for her. Erin had always insisted on keeping her own area clean. She had always felt uncomfortable about strangers – even bonded ones – coming into her personal space. She didn’t mind them doing it while she had been away at college. Now that I’m back, this room is off limits again.
And it would only be temporary, anyway, she thought, as she dropped her bags on the floor, kicked off her sneakers, and flung herself onto her old twin-sized bed. She sank down into the thick duvet with a sigh and closed her eyes. As soon as she got a job, she would be able to get her own place. If she had to, she knew she could call on some old high school friends she had kept touch with during her time at Stanford, who would be more than happy to take her in as a roommate until she found a nice condo somewhere.
She expected some argument from Mom about that. In addition to being a workaholic and a perfectionist, she could also be a little controlling. Either she would insist on Erin staying here, or she would try to give her money toward an apartment. Erin did not want that. Her brothers had never asked for financial help, and now they both had jobs and homes of their own: Brandon, a physical therapist, lived in Boston with his wife and a second baby on the way, while Peter worked as a civil defense attorney and lived in Miami with his boyfriend. Erin wanted to prove she could be just as independent.
Lack of sleep, jet lag, and the time zone change began to take its toll. Erin found her phone and set the alarm to wake her in three hours. That would give her enough time for a nap before she had to get up and get ready for this dinner date with her mom. Grabbing her pillow, she snuggled in and soon drifted away into sleep.
Chapter Four
When her alarm went off, Erin dragged herself out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom. She made a passing note of the fresh towels artfully draped over the bar next to the tub. Everything had been prepared for her arrival home, just like a hotel. She even found new, unopened bottles of her favorite body wash, shampoo and conditioner. While she waited for the water to get warm, she stripped off her jeans, t-shirt, bra and panties, dumping everything into the hamper. She took a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.
A petite young woman of twenty-two, she had taken after Dad’s Irish side of the family with her fair skin and elfin appearance. Dad’s nickname for her had been “Pixie Stick,” and not just because that had been her favorite candy as a kid. Her copper-red hair had once been long and hung to her waist; she had grown tired of the upkeep and had it all hacked off when she got to California, donating the braid to Locks of Love. Short hair suited her, she thought, both for her chosen career – less hair to fuss with and get in the way – and never failed to earn her compliments from both men and women. Erin still remembered the first time a girl had hit on her, one evening while studying at the campus library. She had found it flattering but had been polite in her rejection.
Zach used to tell her she had a great body. Erin kept herself in shape, toned but not muscular in any way. She still wished her breasts could be a little smaller. She ran her hands over them thoughtfully, taking in her pink nipples sitting high atop milk-white rounds of flesh with visible blue veins running just under the surface of the skin. Her fingers trailed down over the soft curve of her stomach. She had her mother’s body shape, which included child-bearing hips, a nice round butt, and very little thigh gap. The neatly trimmed triangle of russet curls at the apex of her legs pointed to her dainty feet. Zach had always encouraged her to sculpt her bush, claiming that the hair tickled his nose whenever he would go down on her, and for the longest time Erin would indulge him by going with something simple like a little strip just above the vulva. Once they broke up, she had let it grow back in to a more natural look.
She turned away from the mirror and flipped the switch to activate the shower. Stepping inside, she slid the glass door shut before immersing herself beneath the hot spray. She took her time, just enjoying the feel of the water rolling down over her shoulders. Eventually, she lathered up. She found herself thinking about the guy from the Pancake House again. She couldn’t help it that she found him attractive.
She loved that hint of an Irish accent. She liked those broad shoulders, long torso, and narrow hips. She had always been a sucker for blue eyes, especially heavy-lidded ones. What she found even more appealing had been the scruffy face, that “I didn’t bother to shave this morning, so what?” look, and she imagined what it would feel like brushing up against her inner thighs…
Grabbing the detachable shower head, Erin flipped the setting over to a strong pulse. She placed one foot up on the side of the tub and, holding onto the top of the door track, she aimed the water’s powerful jets at her labia. She closed her eyes and moaned as the spray pounded at her clit in a heavy, rapid rhythm. To her, it felt like a warm, wet tongue flicking at her, driving up her arousal to greater heights. It had been so long since the last time she had sex. Zach had been pretty good, very enthusiastic. I wonder what Michael would be like, she thought. He’s older…probably really experienced…bet he’d know just what to do to get me off, make me scream. She imagined him spreading her open, grinning at her with that shark smile before burying his face between her legs. Her fingers tightened on the shower door. She thought about the bristle of his beard like sandpaper as his tongue beat at her clitoris. She gasped, heart racing, and moved the shower head in circular motions. Oh, yes. She could see him looking up at her, just those piercing, ice blue eyes visible above her mons, contrasting with the coppery fuzz of her bush.
She shuddered and let out a long, groaning curse as she climaxed. Panting, Erin leaned her forehead against the wet tile as the waves of pleasure faded. She fumbled to return the shower head to its cradle and turned the dial back to a normal spray. With another quick dowse, she turned off the water.
Orgasm had left her feeling loose and relaxed, which she liked. She finished her hygienic routine, shaving and plucking and primping while the hair on top of her head dried naturally. Wrapped in a towel, she went back into her room and opened the closet. She had left some clothes here when she went off to school. Among them she found every woman’s standard Little Black Dress, a simple number with capped sleeves and a boat neck collar. She pulled it on, not surprised it still fit as her weight had not fluctuated much over the years. She found a pair of modest black heels and some plain silver dangle earrings from the jewelry box on her dresser. Her girlfriends had always been jealous of the fact that she never really needed makeup other than a little color over the eyes. With a bit of lip gloss to make her pouty pink lips shine, she decided she looked good enough for the upscale likes of Boka.
She tucked her California driver’s license into a small black clutch with a shoulder strap, making a mental note to go to the DMV first thing Monday morning to get an updated version of her old Illinois card. Making her way downstairs, Erin snagged a spare set of keys off the hook near the back door and followed the path through the back garden to the detached two-car garage. Mom had encouraged her to leave her Nissan Versa in Chicago when she went out west to college, and sometimes drove it herself to keep it in good working order so Erin would always have her own transportation whenever she came back for a visit. Erin smiled when she saw the silver car. She had driven it down to New Orleans and back last year during Spring Break, taking her high school friend Corrine along as they used that trip to celebrate her twenty-first birthday. I really need to give Corrine a call, let her know I’m back. Mom had asked her to hold off until tomorrow; Erin made a mental note to pay her old partner-in-crime a visit.
She found it odd that Mom’s Mercedes now sat in its spot next to the Nissan. Usually, that half of the garage stood vacant more than not whenever Mom went to work for the day. Wonder if there’s something wrong with it? Of course, Mom would have had it towed to the shop immediately if there had been some problem. She never liked to let anything sit unattended, she always had to have someone right on it, taking care of matters for her. Just like the maid service. She wanted a clean house but she had to be at the hospital, so she hired someone else to do the work. Erin’s brothers used to joke that if Mom ever found a way to clone herself, she wouldn’t need anyone else – she would even go so far as to replace the hospital staff. But she would still be up there, working with them. Erin had often wondered if Mom had a fold-out bed in her office. Yeah, right – she probably doesn’t even sleep.
Putting aside the question of how Mom got to work today, Erin pulled out of the garage and started the drive toward downtown to Boka. She had been to the restaurant several times before as it had become one of Mom’s favorite spots. Erin had always found the décor of weird paintings of animals dressed in period clothing to be a little strange, and the menu to border on the pretentious. She let the valet park her car and went inside. “Hello,” she said to the maître d. “I’m meeting my mother here, Dr. Marianne Dempsey, at seven.”
He made a quick check of his chart before smiling at her again. “I’m sorry, Dr. Dempsey has not yet arrived, but I see here a note that she had called a half-hour ago to say she would be delayed and to see that you are seated at her table.” He stepped out from behind the podium and motioned. “If you will follow me, please?”
“Thank you,” Erin said. She trailed him through the restaurant, past other diners at tables with pristine white linens, gleaming glassware, and polished silver. She took a seat at the spot Mom had reserved and looked around.
A handsome young man with dark brown skin and cleanly shaved head appeared moments later, dressed all in black with the exception of a dark red silk tie. “Welcome to Boka,” he said, with a warm smile. The diamond stud in his left ear glinted in the low light. “Might I interest you in a beverage?”
“A glass of Chenin Blanc would be wonderful,” Erin said.
“I’ll get that for you right away.”
“Thank you.” Erin pulled out her phone and sent a text message to her mother. At restaurant, waiting for you.
A few moments later, she received a reply. On my way now.
Thirty minutes and one glass of white wine later, Erin saw her mother come into the room. An attractive, statuesque woman in her early fifties, Marianne Dempsey carried herself with both grace and determination. Dad had always attributed it to her heritage, coming from Northern Italian stock. She had a light olive complexion, long face, and a narrow nose. Her thick black hair, normally worn up for work, now draped her shoulders in dark waves and in direct contrast with her white silk blouse. Erin had inherited Mom’s hazel eyes while her brothers had taken after her in height. The older woman spotted Erin and broke into a wide smile. Erin stood up to greet her as she approached. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, honey.” Mom kissed her cheek, only to reach up immediately to wipe away what Erin knew would be a wine-red lipstick mark. They settled into their respective seats, Mom smoothing a hand over her black pencil skirt as she crossed her shapely legs at the knee. “Well!” Marianne smiled at her daughter. “You look wonderful, very healthy – and that is not just my professional opinion, either.”
“You look pretty good, too,” Erin said, and meant it. Most women her mother’s age who also worked as hard as she did, always came across as much older. She often wondered if another reason her mother devoted so much time to her job had been due in part to some secret magical pact she had made that guaranteed her eternal beauty in exchange for long hours at the hospital. “So, what –“
“Just a moment,” Mom said, cutting Erin off in mid-sentence as she turned to address the waiter who had just come back to the table. “A bottle of champagne, please,” she told him. She gestured to one of the four standard place settings. “And you can take that; there’s only the three of us, tonight.”
“Three?” Erin echoed. “Who’s joining us?”
Mom beamed at her. “Well, that’s the surprise I told you about.” She craned her neck, looking back toward the entrance, and then raised her hand to signal someone.
Erin looked – and her heart seized in her chest from shock. Threading his way through the tables, dressed impeccably in a charcoal grey suit and a blue shirt that made his eye color pop,
was none other than Michael. Everything seemed to slow down to a grinding crawl as he strode toward them. His gaze shifted from Mom to Erin, and his eyebrows inched upward while his grin faltered. He recovered, however, enough to lean down and share a lingering kiss with Mom. On the mouth. Erin blinked and everything resumed its normal speed, but she still found it difficult to breathe as she watched Michael settle into the chair closest to her mother and they linked hands. That’s when Eric saw the rings on Mom’s finger. “You got remarried?” she gasped out, when she could find the power to speak again.
Marianne chuckled. “Yes. Erin, I would like you to meet Michael Kassmeyer. Michael, this is my daughter, Erin.”
“Your mother’s spoken very highly of you, Erin,” Michael said.
He reached across the table and Erin felt a sense of déjà vu as she shook his hand. How, in all of Chicago, in all places and of all times, had she managed to meet a married man who turned her on so much that she would wind up fantasizing about him while masturbating – only to find out hours later that the guy was her stepfather? Not only that, why was he acting like this was their first time ever meeting?
