Menopause to Matrimony (Fortytude Series Book 2)

by Hickman, Shelly

  At last, the three of us are in bed, and Kiran and I kiss each other goodnight over the sleeping angel between us. “Tonight was nice,” he says. “I mean, not for the kids, but…” He looks down at Claire. “This.”

  “It was nice. If only she could be this agreeable while conscious.” We both chuckle.

  “Maybe… we could do this more often?”

  “Of course,” I say softly. “I’m sure the kids would welcome the break.”

  We lie down, both of us facing Claire, and in the dark I see Kiran hold the small hand that rests on her stomach.

  NINETEEN

  The following day, I’m going through client treatment protocols at my desk while Claire sits in the cushy chair in the corner of my office. I so hope Carly and Jason take today to do something relaxing and maybe work out some of their disagreements as of late. Although, that doesn’t really fall under the category of relaxing.

  The kids have limited Claire’s reliance upon the iPad over the past several weeks, so her new obsession has morphed into an mp3 player. No iPod for this little lady as she’d still have access to all those ever addicting apps. Music only.

  Oddly, she is totally into Miley Cyrus at the moment. She’s way too young to be interested in Hannah Montana reruns, but I suppose she must have heard her on the radio at some point. She sits with a book and listens to Miley with earbuds, and I can faintly hear the same song playing over and over again. I turn my attention back to my work when Claire starts singing in her sweet little voice. “I adore… you-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooh.”

  Smiling to myself, I take a sip of my coffee. That smile turns into a chuckle as she tries to sing along with the rest that she clearly doesn’t know. Though her words are mostly gobbledygook, she’s got the melody down pretty good from what I can tell. I’ve heard the song before, but never paid much attention to it. Since Claire is so captured by it, I get up from my seat to join her.

  Lifting her into my lap, I ask to have one of the earbuds so I can listen with her. We sit in silence as I absently play with her curls, and in no time I am taken with the sound and words of this song.

  It’s gorgeous.

  Leaning back into our chair, I pull Claire back against my chest, and the sentimental, emotional me enters the building. It sounds completely corny and melodramatic, but without consent, my feelings for Kiran suddenly overwhelm me, all because of this damn song.

  Mixed with the gratitude of having met him is the silent but present fear of loving someone so much. So much, that the thought of losing him is almost suffocating, and the image of Kiran lying on the ground in that restaurant forces its way into my head, as it often does.

  A sniffle escapes my nose and I stare at the ceiling. Claire shifts in my lap so she can see my face, and I give her an embarrassed smile. She frowns at me, and without a word, wraps an arm around my neck and softly pats my shoulder.

  I nearly lose my composure and take a deep breath. It’s the first time I’ve seen her exhibit any kind of empathy for another. Though I doubt she has a clue as to why I’m emotional, she senses Nana’s having a moment.

  Pulling her into my arms, I squeeze her tight as we finish listening to the selection. “I think you just helped Nana choose the song for her first dance with Papa Kiran at our wedding.”

  ***

  At lunchtime, Claire and I meet Hayden and Geena at a well-known area bakery to sample wedding cakes. Hayden normally has no interest in such mundane affairs, but he insisted on being present for this activity.

  Ever since he was little, he’s had a gripping addiction to baked goods. Around the age of ten, he started making all sorts of baked items, from snickerdoodle cookies to German chocolate cake. From scratch. Luke and I thought for sure he would become a pastry chef or something of the sort, so naturally, he views himself as a connoisseur in that department. His cooking skills are not the best in other areas, but if it involves anything with sugar and flour, he’s all over it. Although I’m certainly not a baker, he comes by his love of sweets honestly as I have a bit of a sugar addiction myself.

  The four of us sit at a corner table by the front window of the bakery. In front of us sits a sampling of creative flavors, including Lemon-Thyme, Toffee Temptation, and Grasshopper Heaven.

  “Shouldn’t we be sticking to more traditional samples?” I ask. “I don’t want to choose something that people will dislike or find odd.”

  “Don’t be so boring, Mom,” Hayden says. “Where’s your sense of adventure? No one wants to eat tired old white cake all the time. Or even chocolate.”

  Claire takes a bite of the Zesty Mexican Hot Chocolate cake and immediately spits it onto the floor. “Ewww!” she complains. “That’s gross. I need milk, Nana. Milk!”

  “Claire!” I reprimand in a hushed voice. “That’s what your napkin is for.” I hand her one before quickly swiping her chewed up cake from the floor while Hayden and Geena chuckle.

  “Please, Nana. Milk!” she orders.

  “I’ll get her some.” Hayden goes to the counter.

  “And this is why we shouldn’t be considering cake that has chili powder in it,” I say. This experience reminds me of when I took the kids to the Coca-Cola store several years ago to sample flavors from around the world. While most of the flavors were tasty, a couple resembled mouth wash or parsley.

  Hayden returns and sets a small carton of milk on the table in front of Claire, which she eagerly opens and begins chugging.

  “Claire, what do you say?” I ask.

  She takes a few more gulps before setting it back down. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Claire Bear.”

  Just then, Gretchen enters the bakery with a gentleman about our age. They are laughing and talking, and she doesn’t notice me at our corner table.

  “Geena,” I say quietly. “That’s Gretchen. The one Seth invited over the other night.”

  She darts her eyes in her direction. “Oh! The one who said she really likes him?”

  Hayden’s back is facing the counter, so he turns to look as well.

  “No, no. Don’t!”

  “Why? You know her, right? She’s going to see us. What’s the big deal?”

  “Because I don’t know if that’s a date and I don’t want to make her feel weird.”

  Clearly confused, he looks to Geena for assistance.

  “Look, it’s complicated,” I explain. “I’m meeting her for lunch next week, and I’d planned to talk Seth up because he seems to genuinely like her.”

  He rolls his eyes. “What is it with chicks?”

  After placing their order at the counter, Gretchen turns in our direction and spots me. “Anna?” It may just be my imagination, but I detect some discomfort on her part.

  Feigning my surprise, I say, “Gretchen, good to see you!”

  She and her companion take the few steps toward our table, and I introduce Geena, Hayden, and Claire.

  “So this is your lovely granddaughter!” Gretchen says, smiling, then turns to the man next to her. “This is my… friend, Dominic.”

  He nods hello.

  I try not to make judgments about people based on their appearance, but this poor guy looks like he may have been in suspended animation for the past forty years. He reminds me of our next door neighbor when I was growing up, with his printed polyester shirt, pants that fit too snugly, and gold chain hanging from his neck.

  When Hayden turns back in my direction, away from Gretchen and Dominic, his eyes bulge in amazement.

  The young woman behind the counter calls their order. “Well, it was good running into you. I look forward to lunch next week,” Gretchen says.

  “Same here.”

  Dominic has already returned to the counter to fetch their order, but Gretchen lingers a moment longer. “Please tell Seth I said hello.”

  “Of course!”

  As she walks away, Geena and I smile, exchanging knowing looks.

  “What?” Hayden asks.

  “She made a point to tell
Anna to say hello to Seth,” Geena says. “That means she wants her to know that whoever this man she’s with is no one special.”

  He leans forward with his arms on the table and brings his foam cup of coffee to his mouth. Before taking a drink, he squints at us and says, “Women are devious.”

  TWENTY

  Courtesy of Marie, Seth managed to get his hands on some tickets to the Michael Jackson Cirque du Soleil show, and invites Kiran and me as a thank you for our hospitality. Though dying to see it since it opened, I haven’t been able to bring myself to pay the ticket price. I’ve been to many concerts in my lifetime, but one regret of mine is never having seen Michael Jackson perform live, so this show is the next best thing.

  After a little nudging from me, Seth invited Gretchen along. To my dismay, aside from the occasional phone call or text keeping things friendly, he had not asked Gretchen out since the evening at our house. What the hell? No wonder Gretchen was under the impression he had no more than a casual interest.

  My lunch with her proved to be fruitful, for it gave me the opportunity I was hoping for—to determine if she still liked him, despite his major faux pas, and to assure her the feeling was mutual.

  Yes, I realize I’m playing a dangerous role here. Things could very likely go south on this, but I just think it would be so great if Seth could find himself a real companion.

  We attend the seven o’clock show so that we have lots of time to enjoy some drinks afterward without nodding off. I have no intention of overdoing it this evening. Three drinks max. And this time around, Kiran and I book a room at the hotel to avoid the hassle of a drive home.

  The show is absolutely amazing. The costumes, sets, and effects are out of this world. Even before I became this pitiful creature in the midst of peri, I have always easily choked up during live musical performances, and this one is no different. In fact, it may even be a little worse. As ridiculous as it may sound coming from a forty-eight-year-old woman, I was devastated when Michael Jackson died because he was so strongly tied to my youth. I imagine it was the same for many when Elvis passed away. So not surprisingly, I have to make a concerted effort to keep my sentiment in check during the “Never Can Say Goodbye” number.

  The other three seem to find me amusing as I gush about the show when we sit in the casino lounge afterward, and Seth sees fit to give me a hard time about my love for MJ. “I didn’t realize your lady was such a fan girl!” he says to Kiran.

  “Say what you want, but when he died, it felt like a huge part of my youth died with him.” Wrapping my arms around Kiran’s bicep, I continue, “Besides, Seth, who were you into as a teen? Probably the Doobie Brothers.”

  Even he joins in with Kiran and Gretchen’s derisive laughter at my smart-ass remark. “Oh, so that’s how we’re gonna play, huh?” Seth says with raised eyebrows. I simply take a sip from my martini.

  “Ironically…” Kiran eyes Seth, who is seated across from him. “You did really like the Doobie Brothers, as I recall.”

  “Shut up.” Seth points a teasing finger at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “Sorry, Seth. He’s my partner in crime now,” I say as I give Kiran a flirty grin. He returns a slow smile that makes my stomach all fluttery, then to my surprise, slides his hand dangerously high up my inner thigh beneath my dress. As a reflex, I place my hand over his and silently issue a playful reprimand for his naughty behavior. There’s a fire in his eyes that excites me, but at the same time makes me uneasy—almost like he’s someone I don’t know.

  What the hell is going on with my guy? I’ve never been one for over-the-top public displays of affection, and neither has he. In fact, I hate it when other couples do it. It seems overly showy and a call for attention.

  There is no way that Seth and Gretchen saw what just transpired underneath the table, however, our interaction appears to have made Seth fidgety. He smiles nervously at Gretchen, and he’s not at all the touchy, complimentary being he was with her at our house. Then again, none of us have had the amount to drink that we had that night. Still, I can’t quite figure out if he no longer has an interest in her, or if he likes her so much, he’s not sure how to act.

  After what feels like several long moments of awkward silence, Seth says, “Let’s see what musical tastes we can give Kiran some shit about.” Then tentatively, sweetly, he takes Gretchen’s hand and holds it in his lap. She gives him a shy smile.

  Awww! They are so freakin’ cute.

  “Sorry, but my tastes in music have always been impeccable,” Kiran says.

  Seth chuckles with a hint of mischief. “Is that so? Am I to conclude that Musical Youth falls under impeccable?” He does what I would call a merengue move in his seat and sings, “Pass the dutchie on the left-hand side. Pass the dutchie on the left-hand side…”

  Kiran can’t help but laugh at his antics. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Ah, don’t try to pretend you don’t remember, cousin! Your secret is out.”

  Gretchen slaps him on the arm. “Stop giving him grief. We all have our guilty pleasures when it comes to music.”

  “And what’s your guilty pleasure, love?” he asks, leaning into her.

  She blushes, and I don’t think it’s because she’s about to share some embarrassing fandom. “Barry Manilow,” she replies.

  “I love Barry Manilow!” I chime in. “My mom used to play her Barry Manilow eight tracks while she did housework.”

  Seth curls his lip and shudders. “Ugh!”

  “Go away.” I wave him off and lean forward on the table to address Gretchen. “What’s your favorite Manilow song?”

  She looks up and considers the question. “Probably… ‘Mandy.’”

  “Oh Mandy,” I sing, placing a hand to my heart, and Gretchen joins me for the rest. “Well, you came and you gave without taking…”

  Seth shakes his head at Kiran and rolls his eyes.

  “Sorry, beautiful,” Kiran says. “But that is most definitely worse than ‘Pass the Dutchie.’”

  ***

  After Seth leaves to take Gretchen home, Kiran and I have a walk outside by the pool before heading up to our room.

  “…So Jason has finally agreed to go with Carly to check out this support group for parents of special needs kids,” I continue.

  “That’s great!”

  “But she’s still telling me about this Michael’s opinion too much. He says this. He says that, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I have this bad feeling he’s playing some sort of game with her.”

  Kiran nods thoughtfully. “Carly’s pretty in tune to people. If that’s what’s going on, she’ll figure it out.”

  We stop by the edge of the pool, and after gazing at me a few moments, he pulls my face to his and kisses me softly. Then he takes me by the hand and leads me to an isolated area of the grounds. What is he up to?

  Hidden by trees, he encloses me with his arms, his palms against the wall on which I lean. I smile up at him, and his resumed kisses soon become fervent. Within moments, he’s slowly pulling up my dress, and my heart races when I realize what we’re about to do.

  Holy… holy shit! I don’t think I’m cut out for this.

  Our eyes lock, but I can’t read his. Because this is so unlike him, I’m too busy trying to make sense of this anomaly that I’m not sure I’m even participating. What am I seeing in his eyes? Is he asking me if I’m into this sort of thing? Is he telling me he always has been, and testing the waters to see if I’m okay with it? What the bloody hell?

  Honestly, such a spontaneous act is hot and sexy in a book, but all I can think about right now is what if some couple comes strolling along with their kids?

  Okay, relax. Just relax. Be in the moment. Look at him. Look at this sexy beast before you. Can you even believe you have a guy this hot? This sweet? I mean, come on! This is the stuff dreams are made of.

  A bird suddenly takes flight from the tree above us, making a loud flapping
noise that scares the living crap out of me. I can’t help but start and look up, however Kiran is not distracted as he takes my face into his hand and deliciously delves his tongue into my mouth. For a brief time, this move draws me back and I’m coaxed into feeling like I may be able to surrender to this after all.

  Unfortunately, the rough texture of the cement wall is now scraping my back, and I sigh inwardly with disappointment.

  Nope. This ol’ bod is not cooperating. It’s bad enough having a lower libido as of late, but I just can’t take all these distractions.

  Face it, Anna. You’re gonna have to fake it. You cannot let him know you’re not feeling this and destroy the fantasy.

  So I tolerate the exfoliation by cement wall for as long as I possibly can before beginning my performance, but I can’t be too loud. If we draw anyone’s attention, I’ll be mortified.

  ***

  Later that night, Kiran sees the damage to my back while we’re in the shower, and although I try to assure him it’s not a big deal, afterward he makes me lie on my stomach on the bed so he can have a better look.

  “Anna, I’m so sorry.” He lightly traces his fingertips over the scrapes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t even notice it was happening. It’s fine.” I sit up and kiss him on the shoulder.

  He responds with a give me a break look. “Did we pack any Neosporin?”

  I offer an amused smile. “I didn’t think we’d need Neosporin for a one-night stay.”

  “I’m going down to the gift shop.” He gets up from the bed and starts getting dressed.

  “Oh, come on. Really? It’s a little scrape!”

  “No, it’s not, and I don’t want that getting infected.” He leans over to give me a kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

  Plopping back onto the bed once he leaves, I contemplate tonight’s odd play of events. I don’t know what to think. Is Kiran not the private, reserved, and courtly man I thought he was? Is there a wild side that’s been hiding underneath that I suddenly have to contend with?