by P J Stanley
“Ranger Roy’s arm fell off!” Eli sighed.
“Hey, Eli!” Emily grinned as she ran her hands through his shaggy black hair.
“Hi, Emily,” Eli scoffed, dodging Emily’s hand as he looked to Kate. “Mom, I’m serious! Look at him!” Eli said as he held up the action figure, his right arm gone.
“Well, you’ll have to wait for your daddy to get home so he can fix it,” Kate told him.
“Fix what?” a deep voice rang out as Greg McCallister stepped into the kitchen through the back door. Greg closed the door behind him as he shuffled into the kitchen, tugging at the blue tie dangling from his neck. Greg set his black briefcase on the center island of the kitchen as Eli raced toward him, his little feet zooming across the tile floor.
“Ranger Roy’s arm fell off!” Eli said, holding the action figure up in the air.
“What? No!” Greg laughed as he looked at Emily and Kate at the kitchen table. “Hey, Em!” Greg smiled as he smoothed his long black hair back.
“Hey, Greg,” Emily said, raising her mug to him.
“Break my boy’s toy and drink all my coffee? How dare you,” Greg joked as he walked to the kitchen table, leaned forward, and kissed the top of Kate’s head.
“I did no such thing!” Emily laughed.
“Honey, can you please fix his toy?” Kate sighed as she rubbed her fingers along her forehead.
“Babe, I just walked through the door.” Greg sighed.
“Dad, he’s going to die!” Eli screamed as he waved the action figure around, his sticky hands wrapped around the toy’s legs.
“We will just see about that! Dr. McCallister is on it!” Greg said in a deep voice as he lunged forward, wrapping his hands around Eli’s waist.
“Yes! Hurry!” Eli giggled as Greg draped Eli over his muscular shoulder and headed toward the kitchen doorway. “Go, daddy! Go!”
“I expect a fresh pot of coffee when I come back down!” Greg smirked as he walked through the doorway, Eli giggling loudly as he swayed back and forth on his Greg’s shoulder.
“Yeah, and I expected a clean house when I woke up this morning, but we don’t always get what we want, now do we?” Kate matched his sarcasm.
“Hey, I dusted!” Greg called out from the foyer as he rushed up the stairs.
“Yeah, six months ago!” Kate groaned.
“Isn’t marriage great?” Emily asked sarcastically as she slowly stood up and carried her empty mug to the sink.
“Yeah, when he’s not here,” Kate joked as Emily placed her mug into the hazardous waste bin they call a sink. “Take him with you!”
***
Emily tucked her cellphone between her shoulder and ear as she ran a sponge along the soapy surface of a frying pan in her kitchen sink. It had been an entire hour since she last saw Blair, but she couldn’t help herself. She had been gone for an entire year. She knew she probably just wanted to spend time with Cole, but just hearing her voice calmed Emily.
“I told you I’ll send you the pictures in a little bit. I have to go run a few errands and then me and Cole are going to dinner,” Blair said.
“All right, I get it. You’re tired of your mom.” Emily smiled as she spun the sponge around, massaging the suds on the slick surface.
“No, I am not! I told you I missed you. I’ve just got to run to the bank and then to the dry cleaners. There’s just not enough time in this world, I swear.”
“All right, well, I love you and just text me the pictures whenever you can, all right?” Emily asked as she turned the sink on. The crystal-clear water rained down from the faucet and trickled over the pan, dripping into the sink and circling the drain below.
“I love you, too, Mom,” Blair said. Emily ended the call and set her cellphone on the counter beside her as she heard the back door creak open.
“You’re home early.” Emily grinned as she glanced over her shoulder to see Hank Saunders step into the kitchen.
“I’ve got to go back, sadly.” Hank sighed, rolling his eyes as he closed the door. Emily eyed the concrete smears and dirt plastered all over his red shirt as she snatched a paper towel from the roll, drying the bubbles off her hands.
“I thought today was an early day?” Emily asked as Hank stepped toward her. She reached up and grabbed a tiny piece of wood from his short brown hair, pulling it from the spiked-up strands and dropping it into the sink beside her.
“Well, Bruce said the base we laid down yesterday cracked, so it’s got to be re-poured before we can start,” he said with a sigh. “Trust me, I wanted to be home tonight, too. How was Blair?”
“She was great. I just got off the phone with her,” Emily said, draping her arms over Hank’s solid shoulders.
“Well, that’s good. Hopefully, she can come over for dinner this weekend. It’d be nice to see her. It’s been forever.” Hank smiled as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Emily’s forehead. Emily grinned as she felt the stubble along his chin and upper lip prick against her tender flesh.
“She’s still on this whole marriage kick,” Emily said.
“And you’re not?” Hank asked, smiling.
“You know I want us to take our time. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again, Hank. It took me so long to put the pieces of my life back together after Mitch. It took me a long time to find myself again. For so long, I was Mrs. Mitch Bradley. For now, I just want to be me; I just want to be Emily.”
“Not Mrs. Hank Saunders?” Hank smirked, leaning forward to kiss Emily’s neck. She closed her eyes as she felt his lips suck on her flesh, his teeth nibbling the bottom of her earlobe.
“When the time is right,” Emily said as she bit her bottom lip. Her entire body shivered as she felt his rough, calloused hands wrap around her waist, his fingers tightening around her buttocks, squeezing it firmly through her black jeans.
“I’ve got an hour to kill,” Hank said, his breath tickling the inside of her ear. Emily tilted her head to the right as she felt her legs tremble, her hands growing clammy as she cupped them around the waistband of Hank’s paint-stained jeans.
“Well, that leaves us plenty of time. You’ll even have fifty-eight minutes to shower and eat afterwards,” Emily joked as she unbuttoned his jeans and reached down into his pants, cupping his throbbing member in her soft, slick hand.
“More like fifty-five minutes.” Hank laughed as his wet, warm lips wrapped around the side of Emily’s neck.
“Oh, so you’re including foreplay?” Emily smirked. Hank smiled down at her as he tightened his grip around her waist and lifted her up into the air. “Oh!” Emily cackled loudly as Hank propped her on the edge of the counter and stepped forward, moving his body between her open legs. His tongue danced in Emily’s mouth as her hands clawed down his back, gripping tightly around his muscular shoulder blades. He grabbed the top of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his chiseled, muscular abdomen. He shifted forward, pressing his lips tightly against Emily’s. Emily tilted her head back as Hank’s lips moved down her neck and toward her breasts. His teeth then bit on the low neckline of her V-neck and tugged gently, his eyes staring down at her breasts. Hank then stepped back and reached forward, grabbing the waistband of Emily’s jeans. Hank pulled them forward, pulling them off and dropping them to the floor. He slowly smiled to Emily as he slowly lowered himself to the floor in front of the counter, his face between her legs.
“What are you doing?” Emily smirked as Hank stared up at her from the floor. Hank grabbed the waistband of her underwear and pulled down, removing them from her ankles.
“You said I needed to eat, didn’t you?” Hank grinned as he pushed Emily’s thighs wide open and inched his mouth forward between Emily’ legs.
messages
Emily stared back at the screen of her laptop as the cursor blinked slowly on the blank, white document before her. Her fingers rested on the keyboard as she closed her eyes, trying to picture the last time she had sat in her office, the last time she had written an
ything remotely worth publishing. She used to sit at her desk and write all night, her fingers not moving fast enough as the words sped through her mind, pressing against her brain and clawing for a way out. Poetry was her forte. Her gift was taking the things the heart wouldn’t dare say aloud and painting them on a crisp, white page. Ever since she was little, she knew her passion was writing, building escape rooms in the form of rhymes and alliterations. It was the only way she stayed sane during the horrible years she endured living with her mother. She still had the black shoebox in the attic, filled to the rim with crinkled pages of her thoughts and dreams and ambitions. Most of them were about her mother, from the abuse to the alcohol to the raging fights. There were only so many nouns left in the English language to describe her mother, but she always went back to her favorite.
Bitch.
Emily’s lids fluttered open as the bright light of the screen stabbed into her red, tired eyes. The last book of poems she published did quite well, well enough to cut the cord that bound her to the bookstore on Main street. Sure, she loved working there, surrounded by literary minds like her own. But looking at those books all day — the covers and the spines and the crisp, cream-colored pages inside — fueled her thirst. The thirst to be her own boss. The thirst to bind her own words and thoughts, to place her deepest memories and thoughts on a shelf, wrapped perfectly in a hardback cover. She knew the odds were against her. The world was full of rising talent. But against the odds, she believed in her work. She believed someone out there could relate to her stories and her sufferings and her struggles. Believing that made her feel a little less lonely on this massive rock we call planet Earth. The sound of the high-pitched doorbell then rang through the house, bouncing off the tan walls and ringing in Emily’s ears like an invisible pinball. Emily stood up from her white leather desk chair and shuffled through the doorway, making her way into the foyer as she tugged at her black and white pajama pants that hugged her waist. Emily reached forward, pulling the door open as the hinges creaked. Emily couldn’t help but smirk to herself as she placed her hand on her hip, staring back at her ex-husband, Mitch Bradley, in front of her. The dark shadows sheltered the right side of his face as a half-smile stretched across his left cheek.
“Can I come in?” Mitch asked, his raspy voice stabbing into Emily’s ears like a thousand needles. She had no idea how she had even stayed married to him for eighteen years, let alone listened to his God-awful voice for that long.
“Is Callie with you?” Emily asked, tilting her head to the right as her eyebrows arched.
“No, she’s at home with the baby,” Mitch said, shoving his hands into his denim jean pockets.
“I forgot she has a bedtime.” Emily smiled, stepping away from the doorway, making room for him to enter.
“Yeah, Lexi usually falls asleep around seven or so, well, on a good night,” Mitch said, stepping into the foyer of Emily’s home, the door clicking shut behind him.
“I was actually talking about Callie,” Emily joked, crossing her arms over her white tank top as Mitch’s eyes narrowed on her.
“Funny,” Mitch said, forcing a smile, as he unzipped his black jacket and took it off, draping it on the coat rack attached to the wall beside the front door.
“What do you want, Mitch?” Emily asked as she turned, making her way through the doorway to the right and into the kitchen. Emily flipped the light switch on as the bulbs above shot on, the light filling the room.
“I came to talk to you about Blair,” Mitch said as he followed Emily into the kitchen. He removed his thick, black-rimmed glasses and held them in his hands, rubbing the lenses on the front of his black and blue plaid shirt. “She came back today, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, she landed this morning,” Emily said as she stepped to the stove in the corner and placed a tea kettle on the burner. “Tea?”
“Sure,” Mitch said as he lowered himself on a chair at the small, round dinner table in the center of the bright kitchen. “She hasn’t called.”
“Mitch, are you really that surprised? I mean, she hasn’t spoken to you in a year,” Emily said as she the flame danced beneath the teakettle.
“Well, I figured a year was long enough. Plus, she was in another country, for God’s sake. I figured maybe she’d want to see me.” Mitch shrugged as he ran his hands over his large nose and up through his long, brown hair.
“When she wants to see you, she’ll see you, Mitch. I can’t force her. I can’t make her talk to you,” Emily said as she walked to the kitchen table and sat down in the white dining chair across from him. “You’ve got to just give her time.”
“Well, I went by her apartment and she wasn’t there,” Mitch confessed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back into the chair.
“Did you call first?”
“No, I figured I’d surprise her.” Mitch shrugged, rubbing his hand over his stubbly chin.
“Yeah, because that’s a great way to break the ice, just showing up at her door.” Emily rolled her eyes. Mitch never understood Blair. He didn’t know how to talk to her. He didn’t know her language. He never took the time to get to know his own daughter. He was too busy at the law firm or too busy bending Callie over his desk.
“Well, I know she won’t reach out, so I improvised. Her car wasn’t there, either. I knocked and knocked but there was no answer. I just didn’t know if you heard from her tonight.”
“She told she was going out to run errands and then going to dinner with Cole.”
“God, she’s still seeing that punk?” Mitch groaned, resting his elbows on the table.
“That punk treats your daughter well, Mitch. He’s a good kid.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know. She’s never introduced us,” Mitch retorted.
“Then how do you know he’s a punk?” Emily asked.
“Any guy who dates my daughter is a punk. It’s like an unwritten dad rule.” Mitch snickered as Emily rolled her eyes, standing up as the teakettle whistled on the stove.
“Well, when she’s ready for you to meet him, you’ll meet him,” Emily said as she pulled open a cabinet door and grabbed two white mugs from inside.
“Listen, I know I wasn’t the best husband. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I was, all right,” Mitch said as he stood up, inching toward Emily as she dropped a black tea bag into each of the mugs. “But I always tried to be the best father.”
“Where the hell was I during all of this?” Emily snickered sarcastically as she grabbed the teakettle and filled each mug, the hot water rising to the rim inside.
“I gave her everything she ever wanted. She never went without.”
“Yeah, because that’s what a daughter wants, Mitch. She didn’t want your money. She didn’t want the expensive gifts. I mean, for God’s sake, you got her a brand new iPhone for her tenth birthday. She didn’t want any of that shit. All she wanted was for you to be there,” Emily said as she turned, handing a mug to Mitch.
“I was there.”
“In what alternate universe are you living in, Mitch? You were barely home. You left at seven in the morning and usually wouldn’t get home until ten or eleven. You were there for what? Maybe to watch her sleep.” Emily sighed as she grabbed the other mug and carried it to the kitchen table.
“What the hell was I supposed to do? I was just starting at the firm and I had to build my way up. You know that. You know I didn’t have a choice.” Mitch sighed as he walked to the table and sat down beside Emily. “You know I busted my ass for her. And for you.”
“I never asked you for a dime, Mitch,” Emily said as she sipped from the warm mug cupped in her cold hands.
“Because you never had to, Em. I wanted to take care of both of you. I wanted the both of you to be set for life.”
“Is that what you were thinking about while you were pile-driving Callie on your desk?” Emily scoffed as she rolled her eyes.
“Can we not get into that?”
“Why? You got into that a lot, in
the backseat of your car and in your office and in our own bed.”
“If you are going to hate anybody, hate me, not Callie. She was young,” Mitch said.
“Yeah, and she still is. I’m not going to sit here and fight with you about Callie. I’m over that.”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it. You’re the one who always brings her up.”
“I’m sorry, maybe I am just a tad bit bitter.” Emily smirked as she sat her mug on the wooden table.
“All I wanted was to talk to you about Blair. I figured maybe you could talk to her? Maybe you could convince her to talk to me?”
“Mitch, you know Blair. You know she’s stubborn. She doesn’t do a damn thing she doesn’t want to do. I can’t force her. I can’t make her do anything. She’s twenty-one years old.” Emily sighed.
“I think you like it.”
“What?” Emily asked, her eyes narrowing on him.
“You love that she’s not talking to me. It makes you feel like you’ve won. It makes you feel like you’ve got her on your side.”
“Mitch, grow up,” Emily snapped, shaking her head. “Don’t sit there and blame me for her silence. This is all on you.”
“You didn’t have to tell her everything, Emily. She didn’t need to know all the details about about us and the separation.”
“What did you want me to do, Mitch? What did you expect of me? To sit there and lie? To pretend everything was OK?”
“I expected you to be adult and keep our daughter out of it. There was no reason for you tell her about the affair,” Mitch said, his jaw tightening as a small vein started pulsating beneath the center of his forehead.
“I’m not going to sit there and lie to her.”
“Yeah, because you’d rather be her best friend than her damn mother,” Mitch scoffed.
“You’re not seriously going to sit there and question my parenting, are you?” Emily asked, her eyes burning into Mitch. Who the hell was he to sit here, in her house, at her kitchen table, and make judgment calls about her?
