LoveLines

by S. Walden

  “I wanna see all of you,” he said, his voice ragged.

  He rolled over again, pulling me on top of him, and my hands went to his chest for support.

  “Grind on me,” he ordered.

  I moved my hips in small, circular motions, reveling in the feel of little flames licking my inner thighs. He groaned and placed his hands behind his head, allowing me total control.

  “I want you to get off on me,” he said. “I want you to use me.”

  My body had already decided the kind of orgasm this would be: slow and sensual. I felt it coming. No hard pops. No jarring explosions to bang about in my stomach and legs. Just soft starbursts going off one by one, tickling my feet and legs and the swollen folds of my drenched pussy. I wouldn’t need to scream. I thought absurdly that I might laugh instead.

  “Go on,” Reece urged. “Get yourself off.”

  I went to work, finding a rhythm my body liked. I gave no thought to him, if it felt good for him, if he felt anything at all, really, since I wasn’t stroking his cock. Not that much, anyway. I just ground my hips on him, nestling him deeper inside, as my finger went to my clit for further stimulation.

  He watched, absorbed, as I rubbed myself, mewling and writhing in complete abandon. It was hard for me to make love like this in the past—so exposed. Body. Heart. Mind. Opened wide and inviting. I was self-conscious then, believing I didn’t measure up because my mental condition convinced me I was broken. But this man under me saw someone wholly alive—a beautiful, sexual being who craved acceptance. Who deserved it. And that was why his hands went behind his head. He didn’t want to give it to me. He wanted me to take what was mine—the acceptance and love I deserved.

  The stars burst. One by one. I moved my hips in a delicious celestial explosion. Pop! Pop! Pop! Fireworks going off signaling a celebration. Our celebration. A ring. A promise. A hope. And a future.

  I collapsed on him. I let him roll me over a final time, carefully, never breaking our union. I knew what he wanted, and while I was spent, I would never deny him. How could I when he was so sweet? So patient and selfless? He moved in me, and I cried out. He let me cry. For minutes and minutes longer he let me cry and scream as he took his own pleasure from my sensitive body, thrusting hard and deep. Right to my core—the crux of who I was. He stole it, released himself inside of me, and gave it back.

  ***

  My eyes flew open at the sound of the ring. Normally I turn off my alerts before bed, but tonight I forgot. I slapped my hand around the nightstand until I located the phone, answering with a groggy voice.

  “Annie. It’s Annie,” Noah said.

  I shot up. “What’s going on?”

  His voice broke. I grew frightened.

  “Noah, what’s going on?” I demanded.

  “S-She’s in the ER. She couldn’t breathe. They’re t-trying to get her to breathe!”

  “I’m coming,” I said, hanging up. I turned to Reece, who was already pulling on his shorts. “She can’t breathe, Reece,” I said softly, running to the dresser. I yanked out whatever was on top and threw it on.

  “Why can’t she breathe?” he asked, following me into the living room. I snatched my car keys.

  “I didn’t ask,” I said, dazed. “I didn’t even ask!”

  “It’s okay,” he replied and took my hand.

  We said nothing on the car ride to the hospital. There was nothing to say. I had zero details apart from, “They’re trying to get her to breathe.” We raced inside, and my eyes searched frantically for Erica. This was the ER lobby; she would be here. They wouldn’t have let her back in the operation area.

  “Erica!” I called above the bustle.

  “Come on,” Reece ordered, grabbing my hand. I let him pull me along as I kept screaming Erica’s name.

  We found her hovering in a corner near the “Do Not Enter” doors.

  “Jesus,” I whispered and ran to her.

  “Bailey,” she cried. “My baby!”

  “She’s gonna be all right,” I said, hugging Erica hard, feeling her body shudder uncontrollably against my chest.

  “She can’t breathe,” Erica said.

  “Yes, she can,” I replied. “They’re making her breathe right now.” I clung to the false certainty in my words, believing I could transform it into truth. “Now tell me what happened.”

  Erica pulled away and wiped her face. Only then did I notice Noah standing there, grabbing the back of his neck with his hands, looking to the ceiling for an answer.

  “Noah?” I said.

  He didn’t respond. I swallowed and turned to Erica.

  “Where’s Little Noah?”

  “At his aunt’s. He spent the night.”

  “What happened?”

  “Annie got worse. Tonight she started wheezing—like she couldn’t breathe. Noah came home—” Erica paused, unable to talk for the hitching in her chest.

  “It’s okay,” I said softly.

  “—and noticed something was wrong. How did I miss it, Bailey? How did I not hear it on the baby monitor? It’s the worst sound in the world—your baby wheezing!”

  Swelling. It was swelling in the chest. Fluid buildup in the lungs. I researched the flu several years ago when I had a bad case. I was laid up in bed for a week, and because I’m such a control freak, I had to understand every little thing that was happening to my body. In researching, I inadvertently freaked myself out about the rare possibility of dying from swelling and fluid buildup in the lungs.

  I shared none of this with Erica then. I certainly said nothing now.

  “When was the last time you talked to someone?” I asked.

  Erica shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes ago?”

  I tried to think of more questions to ask. I knew if I kept Erica talking, I could keep her calm. There was no hope for Noah. I watched as Reece tried to comfort him, but Noah was somewhere far away, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know if he was praying to or cursing God.

  The doctor emerged, and Erica and Noah ran to him. I wanted answers, too, but Annie wasn’t my child, and her parents needed privacy.

  “Please don’t cry, please don’t cry,” I whispered, watching the back of Erica’s head.

  Reece put his arm around me. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  I wanted to believe him. I watched Erica and Noah nod their heads, and that provided a measure of relief. If something disastrous had happened, Erica would have collapsed on the floor. But she threw her arms around the doctor instead, and that’s when I thought it was safe for us to approach.

  “She’s okay!” Erica cried, gripping me in a bear hug. “Oh my God! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you . . .”

  I’d never seen Erica cry that hard. Ever. The sweetest, most sincere relief. Like her mentality changed in an instant, going from sarcastic, tired mom to sacred life-giver.

  “I love her!” she cried.

  “I know,” I whispered.

  “So much!”

  “I know, Erica.”

  “I’d die for her!”

  “I know you would.”

  “I wouldn’t think twice, B. I’d die for her!”

  I held my best friend to my chest, listening to all the ways she would give up her life for her daughter, and my mind flashed back to that afternoon we sat on the couch at Erica’s and she bemoaned her “bad mother” fate.

  “Erica you’re the best mother ever,” I whispered in her ear.

  She relayed the doctor’s message to Reece and me: Annie had to have an emergency tracheotomy for all the fluid that swelled her lungs. She really couldn’t breathe at all, and the doctor said they were currently monitoring her brain activity to see if any damage took place. Erica didn’t even explore that topic further. She was just happy her baby was breathing.

  We stayed with Noah and Erica for hours, waiting for updates and swapping funny stories about Annie. I thought about the randomness of life—how I could go from naked outdoor sex with my brand new fiancé to an E
R lobby in a matter of hours. I knew life moments happened that way. They made no sense, and I didn’t think we were supposed to make them. I think we were just supposed to experience them, grow from them, and hopefully come out the other side as better people.

  Life is nothing but juxtaposing the good with the bad. We have to learn how to handle both—how to cope with the frightening events and embrace the joyous ones. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. A proposal. A saved life. And love. Lots and lots of love.

  ***

  “Bailey?” my mother said.

  I held the phone up to my ear halfheartedly. “Yes?”

  “Are you busy today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence.

  Yes, I was still angry and hurt. I played nice at Nicki’s wedding because it was Nicki’s wedding, but I avoided my mother at all costs. She’d called dozens of times after that disastrous dinner and even popped by unannounced last weekend. I hid in the storage shed. I know it’s immature, but I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t let her see how her words affected me: “Don’t expect too much.” They played in a continuous loop in my brain, taunting me, making me double my efforts to be the perfect live-in fiancée. Reece noticed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked one morning when I brought him breakfast in bed.

  “I thought you might like this,” I replied, straddling the breakfast tray over his lap. It was filled with all his favorites: scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, hash browns, toast, coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice.

  His eyes went wide. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?” He looked at me and frowned. “I never pulled those weeds yesterday like you asked me to,” he confessed.

  I shrugged. “Who cares?” I leaned over and kissed his stubbled cheek.

  “Huh?” was his only reply.

  Days later an odd cold front pushed through town, and we were forced into our flannel pajamas earlier than expected. I brought Reece his slippers and a mug of hot chocolate dressed with whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings as he lay sprawled on the couch.

  “What is all this?” he asked.

  “I thought your feet might be cold,” I replied. “And I thought you might wanna warm up with something hot.”

  “Thank you?”

  Yesterday I packed his lunch for work. I never pack his lunch. Half the time he runs down to Chick-fil-A for a sandwich and fries.

  “Okay, that’s it!” he said, holding up the brown bag.

  “What?” I replied. “I thought I’d pack you—”

  “I know what you thought. You thought you’d bring me breakfast in bed even though you abhor food of any kind near our comforter. You thought you’d make me hot chocolate and bring me my slippers even though you don’t drink hot chocolate—”

  I opened my mouth to protest.

  “I know you made a special trip to the store for that hot chocolate. Don’t lie,” Reece said.

  I closed my mouth.

  “Now you’re packing my lunch?”

  “Can’t I do sweet things for you?” I asked.

  “Bailey, of course you can, but I’m not a moron. I know the motivation behind all of this,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come off it already. You know exactly what I mean. ‘Don’t expect too much?’” he quoted.

  I winced.

  “Your mother said a shitty thing,” he said softly. “So shitty. The shittiest, really. But I don’t want that changing who you are. I don’t want you bending over backward because you think you have to.”

  I sighed and wrapped the bread.

  “Listen to me. When I said I expect a lot from you because I know you have a lot to give, I didn’t mean that I expect you to wait on me hand and foot and act like my slave,” Reece said.

  The side of my mouth quirked up. “But I thought you liked when I acted like your slave.”

  “In bed? Yes. In life? No.”

  I giggled.

  “I love you just the way you are. Stop trying to prove something to me. And for Christ’s sake, don’t let your mother have that kind of power over you. It was a shitty statement, yes. But it was one statement, Bailey. One. Four stupid words. Don’t let those words define you. You’re better than that.” He plopped the lunch bag on the counter and pulled me close. “You’re stronger than that.”

  I came to at the sound of my mother’s plea.

  “Bailey, please,” she said. “I know I said a terrible thing. I was angry. It’s no excuse, but I was angry and hurt. I wasn’t expecting Reece to ask me for advice. I was taken off guard.”

  “Mom, it’s fine,” I said automatically.

  “No!” she cried. “It’s not fine. I love you very much, and I expect great things from you, Bailey.”

  I wasn’t sure what kind of “great” things she expected. I knew now what Reece expected, but I didn’t think the two were the same.

  “Mom, I may just be a proofreader for the rest of my life and surf and marry Reece. That may be it.”

  “And that’s perfect,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Bailey?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I worry about you,” she said quietly.

  I stiffened. “Why?”

  “Because I want you to be happy, honey.”

  “I am happy,” I said defensively, looking down at my engagement ring. “I’m very happy with Reece.”

  “Good. I really do like Reece,” she said.

  I wanted to tell her that I didn’t give a shit if she liked him or not. But she was trying. I guess, anyway.

  I said nothing.

  “Bailey?”

  “Hmm?”

  “When will you two come over for dinner again?”

  I snorted. And then I coughed to try to cover it up.

  “Soon, Mom.”

  “Your father misses you,” she said.

  Mom knew she could always use Dad to reel me in. All she had to say was that he missed me, and I’d drop everything and be at their house in ten minutes. Why couldn’t she just say she missed me? My only explanation is that she felt that wouldn’t be a good enough reason for me to visit. Somewhere along the way, my relationship with Mom fell apart completely. I wasn’t sure if it was deserving of repair.

  “Your father misses you,” she repeated. She wanted to drive it home.

  “I’ll come visit soon,” I replied. “But I have to go now, Mom.”

  “Okay.” She sounded defeated. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I replied, and hung up.

  I’ll be over soon, I thought bitterly. But don’t expect too much.

  I sprayed the mosquito repellent again, and Dad waved his hand in front of his face.

  “Take it easy,” he said.

  I ignored him and looked out onto the still early morning lake water. I usually didn’t visit my parents at this hour, and I’d only fished early with Dad a handful of times, but something compelled me to go to him today.

  I watched Dad’s line pull taut—ripples in the water the dead giveaway—and I told him to take his time. He chuckled and pulled his rod out of its holder.

  “Bailey, I’ve been fishing way longer than you,” he replied, reeling in the line slowly.

  Another jerky tug, and I knew the fish had realized it’d been tricked. I felt rather sorry for it, even though I knew Dad would throw it back into the lake. Dad pulled the fish out of the water, then stood up and lost his balance for a second before taking hold of the flailing perch.

  “And I was hoping for something bigger,” he said, carefully unhooking his catch. He paused and looked it over before tossing it back into the lake. He carefully sank back into his chair then began the task of spearing another worm.

  “No lures today?”

  “Marvin brought over some bait,” he said.

  I nodded and watched the sharp metal puncture the slimy worm casing. Gross.

  “Poor worm,” I muttered.


  Dad chuckled. “Bailey, I’ve no idea why you eat meat.”

  “Huh?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “Dad? How did Reece ask you?”

  What do you mean?” he asked, standing up again. He cast his line and stood for a moment, reeling it in a fraction until he felt it was in the perfect spot.

  “How did he ask you for permission to marry me?”

  “That’s between us,” Dad replied, sitting down.

  “Please tell me,” I begged.

  “Why do you wanna know?” Dad asked. He adjusted his fishing hat—you know the ones with the lures attached all over—little badges of accomplishments like Boy Scout patches.

  “Just curious. He really fooled me. I’d no idea he was planning to ask you if he could marry me.” I smacked my leg, missing the mosquito by a hair. “Hell, I didn’t know that he was planning to ask me at all!”

  “He said he loved you more than anything and that I’d make him the happiest man on the planet if I agreed to let you marry him,” Dad said.

  “He did not,” I replied.

  “Those were pretty much his exact words,” Dad said.

  “Really?” I breathed.

  “Mmhmm.” Dad inhaled deeply and leaned his head to the left, stretching his neck.

  We sat silent for a time.

  “I’m glad he asked me,” Dad said softly.

  “So he’ll automatically be your favorite son-in-law, huh?” I joked.

  Dad smiled. “Automatically.”

  I stared at the line as it sat waiting in a mirror lake. No movement. No breeze. The lake was frozen in a painting, suspended in time, and I imagined all the activity under the surface stopped cold—a computer glitch—before life moved again.

  “I’m so happy to walk you down the aisle,” Dad whispered. It was the kind of soft talk that comes right before a deep sleep.

  It wasn’t uncommon for my father to fall asleep fishing. The privacy of his fishing spot naturally lent itself to relaxation.

  “I wanted to be the first,” I confessed. “But I’ll take seconds.”