by Lexie Ray
“Dad’s letting me stay home,” he announced excitedly, as if reading her mind. He jumped gleefully up onto the grey granite countertop of the kitchen island. She rolled her eyes. There were two bar stools there, and he chose to sit on the countertop. Yes, the boy had jumped well over the pushed-in bar stools to sit on the countertops that she had just cleaned.
“You know, those were shining perfectly before, and now they’re pretty likely to have boy-stains mucked all over the top of ‘em,” she decided to reiterate, trying to clue him into getting down.
“The only things that have boy-stains are my sheets,” he joked as he took another bite of his sandwich.
“Crass and disgusting, Lucas. Seriously... get down,” she shooed as her arms flailed about. He laughed. She knew that she was grinning ear-to-ear. She loved that boy’s laugh. She always had. Even when he was a baby, his laugh was something that she reveled in thoroughly.
A tear almost glistened in her eyes as she reminisced. Haley wished often that she had her own children, but then realized that the Lancer children were her children. They may not have been biologically hers, and they may have had great parents – but they were still hers. She loved them.
He hopped down, shoved the remaining half of his sandwich into his mouth, and gulped it down, hardly masticating it as he finished. Definitely a boy. Definitely disgusting. And definitely made her job all the more difficult. But, all the while, he also made it much more entertaining and fulfilling. If it hadn’t been for her love for Lucas, she would have quit ages ago – before Sophie had even been born.
With a burp, he disappeared from the kitchen, and footsteps barreled up the stairs. With a likely excited slam, he was gone. She sprayed the spot that Lucas had just smudged with his rear and wiped it clean. Cleaning was a great pastime for her. It always had been. It was structured, there was a rhythm to it, and it gave her time to think and not be bothered by onlookers.
When you’re sitting by your lonesome, staring off into space – people notice. They ask a string of questions – all pertaining to one similar theme: are you depressed? When you’re cleaning, though, no one notices. You’re up and doing things. You’re – as far as everyone knows – normal.
The audacity of some people astounded her, but she knew that it was all well-placed, generally. Some folks were generally just concerned for her wellbeing. Part of her was grateful, but part of her couldn’t stand the attention. Sometimes we, as human beings, really just need to think through our emotions rather than broadcast them to the world.
What was she going to do, though? This was a real fucking pickle. She knew that she was developing feelings for him over the years, but for fuck’s sake! She never – in a million years – thought that she would give in to her desire and make a mockery of this family! This family was the one thing she had held dear!
Why was she so fucked up? One man and two lustful encounters were not grounds to abandon the love that she had received from the other three members of the family for so many years. Nothing was worth that.
In all honesty, she was not only remorseful and guilt-ridden; she was also immeasurably disgusted with herself. How in the hell did this happen twice? Moreover, she was humiliated that she allowed him to persuade her in that matter, and that she was so easily persuaded. Haley had always had a level head, but knowing who she had been the last two days, no one would ever believe that. They would proclaim “Bullshit!” loudly as if involved in the competitive card game.
Despite all of the negativities that came with it, though, she could not deny that she held a passionate feeling for him still; it was one so deep that surpassed any emotion that she had ever had the pleasure of knowing previously. She had to admit to herself that she really was in love with him.
She gasped, slamming down her sponge. She wanted to cry from all the conflicting feelings swirling about within her soul. Why – why did she find the compulsion to love him? He was married to a wonderful woman, whom she admired and respected. Respected.
“BULLSHIT!”
She wanted to call that glorious accusation out to herself just to make herself throw down the metaphorical cards she held up denoting said respect. If she truly respected her, would she have slept with her husband? Would she still want to sleep with her husband? Would she want to be with him, hold him, and let him love her back? Because in all honesty, that was what killed Haley the most. It was the fact that more than anything, despite nothing being worth losing those she held most dear, she still wanted to be with him. Despite her guilt, her remorse, her disgust, her swirling and conflicting emotions, and her love for the rest of the family – she still wanted him. She wanted to feel his touch forever and be his. Forever.
Mistress. You’re a fucking mistress. She had to continually remind herself of the word. You’re the bad guy. You’re the one we all hate. You’re the bad one. You’re the filthy slut that wreaks havoc in good peoples’ lives. You’re a disgrace.
“Are you done?” she heard a voice call out from behind her. Jumping with fear, she flung her cleanser and sponge. With a soft bang (perhaps, more of a “boing” sound, actually), they hit the tile below. Scowling, she turned around. “Ex-fucking-‘scuse me?” she slithered out, sounding possessed. He had the nerve to ask if she was finished cleaning his disgusting kitchen? He really wanted to ask that after all that transpired between the two of them? It may have been her job, but there was no way she would take this sort of utter disrespe-
“You were in here talking to yourself and putting yourself down. I asked if you were finished,” he finished, his hands extended, trying to ease her demeanor and calm her.
She knew that mechanism. It was as if he were an officer talking down a jumper. In this situation, she was the fucking jumper. What was she doing with herself? She was falling apart.
“You aren’t a mistress. Dammit, Haley – I didn’t want this to happen either. We were friends. I wanted to keep it at that – but I also can’t help how I’ve been feeling. The way you’re acting now, I wonder if my feelings are misplaced. This isn’t you. Today hasn’t been you. You’re always emotionally steady, and that’s what I need in my life. I need something steady and I need something real – and that’s you. At least, that’s what I thought was you...” He walked to her, exasperated, desperate.
As he got closer, she noticed a glistening film spread over his eyes. She had never seen his eyes do that before. What did it mean? She didn’t know what to say or how to act. How could she be herself when she felt so awful about what she had done? But why was the one thing she had wanted more than anything in the world so completely unobtainable? She had so many questions, and no answers. She just knew that she was confused. Confused about what to do, confused about who to be and how to react, confused about what was more important – him or the family as a whole.
“So your wife, who has worked for years to develop a successful business isn’t ‘steady’ enough for you?” she blurted.
“I am not talking about financial stability – obviously,” he responded condescendingly. “I can provide financially for an entire family by myself, and still have money left over. I want something steady sexually, emotionally. I want a steady companion,” he finished, his tone softening and brows unfurrowing.
She wanted to know what was happening between him and his wife, but she feared asking. She feared the truth, but more than anything she feared delving too deeply and hoping for the hopeless. But she did. She hoped for the hopeless; she wanted him; she wanted to be a “them”. This was a fucking pickle, indeed.
Chapter 7
Marissa’s pent up sexual desire soon fizzled as she continued the rest of the day’s tasks. It was evening now, and her exhaustion was finally catching up to her as she went out the back of the bakery and locked the door behind her. At least her work day was finished.
The night’s air was calming and warm. It was the type of night that she used to revel in as she sat on the porch with her grandmother on those spring evenings. Th
ey would sit on that porch for hours with Grubby Bones – the elderly woman’s equally elderly dog. Marissa took a deep breath, wanting to inhale the crisp fresh air like she did in those evenings with her grandmother in Tennessee.
She coughed. City air was not the same. She missed the country. The air was not only fresh and clean, but it was also peaceful. Her ears were attuned to the notorious street sounds, but she thought and listened for a moment. Sirens, loud trucks, the backfires of a few cars – you could even hear conversations mumbling from far away.
In the country the only sounds were those of trees rustling their leaves together, crickets chirping into the open air, and if you were lucky – the small crackle of a campfire. She smiled with great fondness. S’mores. She missed those.
She had never even told Preston how badly she missed home. It wasn’t necessary, really. They had their yearly visit on Christmas, but that was the only time she saw her family. His parents – alternatively – were located conveniently in the city, and would see them every other holiday and some weekends. It was the arrangement which seemed to bode well for everyone. It was what worked. It was what they knew. There was no point in suggesting they visit more often, or even – dare she think it – move there one day.
After all, they met in the city, they fell in love in the city, married in the city, had their first house in the city, had their children in the city; and then got their dream careers and dream home in the city. It just stood to reason that they would remain in said city for the rest of their days.
~~~~
Sophie and Lucas piled themselves onto the kitchen’s bar stools; their elbows propped against the granite countertop, they stared. “What are you guys looking at?” Haley questioned as she poured herself a glass of wine.
“You’re different today,” Sophie said, glaring at her.
“How so?” she asked, chugging the glass of red.
She hoped that she could fool the kids at least. Marissa would be home soon, and if she couldn’t fool pre-teens then she may as well stab herself with the dirty chef’s knife that lay in front of her atop the wooden cutting board. It’d be easier that way.
“Well for one, you’re drinking like a fish,” Lucas began, as he extended his arm and reached over the bar. “Slow down, killer.”
Was she really doing this? Was she really drinking heavily in front of two children while she was supposed to be cooking their dinner? Was she really emphasizing the very thing she was trying to hide: her utter insanity? Jesus, she had to be fucking doomed. Marissa was going to read it all over her disgusting mistress face.
“Kids, can you excuse Haley and me for a moment?” She spit her wine in a spewing ferocity when she heard the man’s voice call from just beyond the kitchen’s doorway. They cocked their heads to the right in unison as they looked at him, both with questioning looks etched across their faces. “Please,” he finished with a pretend plea. Finally defeated, they each shrugged and hopped down from their positions on the stools, a spot they had been glued to for the last twenty minutes.
After their small figures vanished around the corner to the living room, he stepped in – and she saw only darkness in his eyes. “You have got to calm down and gain some composure or I’m going to send you home,” he spoke to her, distant. Was he really trying to pull the employer act at this moment? She couldn’t believe it.
She looked at him, perplexed, anger starting to ooze from every pore. She was trying to understand his angle, but she wasn’t quite sure she was possessed the ability to do so. “Are you going to be able to keep it together?” he asked seriously, and surprisingly calmly. It was as if he were asking a child the question, and she didn’t particularly care for his condescending attitude
“Yes or no?” he repeated.
That was it. She was over it. She turned around, not wanting to face his smugness any longer. Stirring the stew one last time, she turned the stove’s heating element to a low simmer, threw the lid on, and walked away. It would have been much more dramatically effective if she could have gone as soon as he asked the question, but her employee instincts couldn’t allow her the privilege. She passed his stern muscular figure, making sure she shoved him a bit as she went.
“See you tomorrow, kids!” she called out, only glancing at their TV absorbed bodies for a moment before she fled through the living room as quickly as she could while still appearing normal. She grabbed her purse from the foyer’s floor and exited through that stupid overly expensive fucking door and had to practically force herself not to slam it. Not in front of the kids.
“Haley!” she heard a female voice call out. She looked up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! “Marissa!” she feigned a smile as the blonde ran to her. “I finished dinner and thought I’d head out early tonight. I made beef stew. I hope you guys enjoy it,” she finished desperately, hoping that she wasn’t being suspicious.
“Are you not going to eat with us tonight?” Marissa asked, seemingly a bit concerned. Haley always ate dinner with them.
“I thought I would let you all have a family dinner for once,” Haley responded, hoping it would convince her.
“Don’t be silly! You are family!”
Marissa grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards the door. She thought she had escaped. But, as life would have it – she didn’t. As life would have it. As life would have it, indeed.
~~~
The kids were confused when she came back into the house, but Preston acted as if nothing had happened at all. There were no indiscretions, there was no scene that caused her to leave, there was nothing. There was just him, his family, and the steaming stew in front of him.
Haley found herself zoning out of many of the conversations during the actual eating portion of the meal. Her mind was reeling, palms sweating, stomach twisting and turning, and the nausea was surely showing through on her pale face. She just wanted to leave and escape the torment of sitting amongst a family she had humiliated, wronged, and perhaps even ruined.
She had done horrible things to this family, and now here she was, breaking bread with them. She had prepared this meal for them, just like she did every other night, but this time the food was tainted with guilt rather than seasoned with love and gratefulness.
The clank of a spoon scraping at the bottom of a bowl pulled her back to her surroundings. She looked up, her vision steadied and her hearing repaired. However, once she actually heard who was speaking, she wished that she could have gone deaf in that moment – or at the very least zone out again.
Preston was talking about his day – at least, his version of the day. She wanted to throw her food at him and boo him out of the spotlight of the table’s conversation. But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. He had talked about waking up that morning and going on his run. Truth. He then went to get a cup of coffee with a co-worker of his to go over this quarter’s sales. Lie. Then apparently, to top it all off, he had prepared a fifteen page legal contract that could land his company a “huge sale”. Definitely a lie. She nearly snorted stew all over the table, wishing more than anything that she could mock him aloud.
He talked about Lucas coming home early, and when she looked over to the twelve-year-old boy, she saw him look down at his bowl, face red, eyes low. He held a look of embarrassment mixed with fear in his eyes, and a horrendous paleness seemed to sweep over his face. Haley felt bad for him, but also could relate. Her face likely looked almost identical throughout most of the meal.
Marissa looked to him too, just as worried as Haley, if not more so. Preston didn’t seem to divulge why Lucas had come home; hell, she didn’t even know. She assumed that he told his father when they had their discussion, but she could never be sure.
“What’s that about?” Marissa asked, still looking at the young boy.
“Honey, not now. We’ll all talk about it later,” Preston interjected, seemingly doing his best to deviate the conversation to another path.
They all continued to talk, but Haley seemed to question herself.
She wondered whether, if she had been less preoccupied with Preston as of late, she might have known what was wrong with Lucas. She wondered if she had been separating herself from them purposely. Although she and Preston had only just committed the sin of adultery starting last night – she had been developing feelings for him for quite some time. Perhaps her subconscious had more control over her and the situation than she had initially anticipated. Perhaps this all held a much greater meaning than she really ever imagined.
After dinner, Haley cleaned off the table and began the atrocious duty of doing dishes. One less chore she would have to complete tomorrow, she thought gleefully. However, she overheard a conversation that she really wished she hadn’t.
Next to the kitchen neighbored the extravagant living room, and in that room sat the married couple. She overheard their voices as they discussed possible vacation plans. Pet names were being uttered time and time again, sentence after sentence, and giggles and playful slaps filled the air. She hated feeling the way she did about it, but she began to roll her eyes. She wished that it would have brought her joy to know how well they had always gotten along, but it didn’t. It made her more concerned, in fact.
If they were happy, why would he stray? What did that say about his character? What was worse though – what if they really weren’t happy? Was he truly that good of an actor? If so, again, what did that say about his character? What did that say about what he felt for Haley? After all, if he was planning a family vacation it was obvious he had no intention of pursuing things further. Right? Confusion fluttered in again, and her head began to pound.
Chapter 8
What a great fucking end to a great fucking day. Fuck. That was her new favorite word. Nothing made her as fucking crazy as being in that fucking house all day with that fucking man. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The fucking nerve of that man. The fucking absolute nerve.
This was the longest day in the history of long days. It wasn’t the fact that the guilt almost ate away at her every time she breathed in the cinnamon aroma of the house – which was every breath, she might add, and it wasn’t even the fact that the beautiful children that she loved so much were going to be crushed if they should ever find out the truth, and it wasn’t even the fact that she had made love to him again.
