A Home Like Ours

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘Should we go and talk to someone about it?’

  He flinched. ‘Jesus, no. I’d clam up with a stranger. It’s hard enough talking to you about it. We never had to talk about it. We just did it and it was amazing.’

  She ached for him and for herself. Why did Parkinson’s have to impact on every single part of their lives and force them to adapt? Why couldn’t one thing be free of change?

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing. Something. I don’t know.’ His leg jiggled up and down, jerking wildly. ‘I don’t want to ask you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Jon,’ she said softly. ‘In the last year, I’ve offered you almost everything in the playbook that I’m comfortable with. You hated it.’

  ‘I didn’t hate it. I hated what it meant. I gave you orgasms with my tongue, but you don’t think it’s enough.’ His guttural words sounded like they’d been wrenched out of him. ‘That I’m not enough.’

  She hated that she’d made him feel less of a man and rushed to reassure him. ‘That’s not true—’

  ‘Come on, T. Be honest! We’ve been having sex for ten years. I know what turns you on and you’ve always liked it best with your legs up around my waist and me in buried deep.’

  It was true. An orgasm from oral sex and masturbating was perfectly enjoyable, but she’d always considered it the prelude as it left her vagina twitching to be filled by him.

  ‘You’re right. I do.’

  ‘And now I can’t do that with any guarantee of success. I might get hard but not have the rhythm, or the other way round.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘So basically, we’re screwed.’

  She groaned at the joke. ‘Metaphorically anyway.’ She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘I’m sorry I made you feel bad when you gave me oral sex, but that was before either of us knew exactly what was going on. I thought when you rolled away from me, you were rejecting me.’

  ‘I was trying to be close to you. I should have told you I was having problems, but jeez, T. Admitting to not being able to get it up is soul-destroying. I hate that it nearly broke us. That it still might.’

  She gripped his shoulders. ‘It’s not going to break us if we talk about how we’re feeling.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘And I just love doing that. If you ever doubt my love for you, remember this conversation.’

  She laughed and stroked his cheek. ‘I don’t want to put any pressure on you. When you’re ready we can try Viagra. Or I could get involved with a pump? Make it part of foreplay.’

  ‘What? Like a sex toy?’

  ‘Why not? Just because we’ve never used them together doesn’t mean we can’t try.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Did you buy a vibrator and not tell me?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to upset me?’

  She sighed. ‘I bought it months ago when you—’ lost it ‘—got upset about the Viagra. And about that—I’m sorry. Lorraine’s made me understand that I shouldn’t have asked for the prescription. It’s your body and your decision.’

  ‘Yeah, but my ED affects both of us and I was sticking my head in the sand. We both did things we probably shouldn’t have.’ He was silent for a bit. ‘Won’t it seem weird using sex toys together?’

  ‘Probably. At first. But until you got sick we always laughed during sex, remember? I mean a pump can’t be any weirder than my fanny farts. The first time that happened after I had Flynn I almost died of embarrassment. You just laughed and said it was the Chinese equivalent of burping after a meal. You taught me sex can be noisy and messy and that’s part of the fun. Maybe we can make a pump fun.’

  ‘If you want to get involved with a pump, then I’ll get involved with the vibrator.’ He ran his hand under her hair, cupping the back of her neck. ‘I hate that us not having sex made you think I wasn’t attracted to you. From the moment I saw you on the resort tennis court, all long legs and cute behind, I was a goner. All I want is to make you feel like the gorgeous and sexy woman you are.’

  Her heart squeezed and a rush of love thickened her throat. She rested her forehead against his. ‘I know how hard it is for you to talk about your feelings, but the fact we’re talking about sex makes me feel treasured and blessed.’

  Shadows filled his eyes. ‘Sorry I let my ego and pride get in the way.’

  ‘Sorry I went a bit nuts, but let’s leave it in the past. Today we’ve made a new start and we’ve done it without either of us yelling or getting upset so that’s huge.’ A thought struck her. ‘Hey, maybe we need a codeword for when one of us wants to talk about sex. You know, to give each other a heads-up.’

  ‘It would need to be something the kids didn’t twig to.’

  ‘What about James Bond?’

  He grinned. ‘Okay, Moneypenny.’

  ‘During the dark days I did a lot of reading. All sex therapists say talking about sex should never be done in the bedroom.’

  He stroked her hair. ‘The deck seems like a good place.’

  ‘It does. I think we need to take the pressure off each other. Why don’t we sit here and channel our teenage selves.’

  ‘We didn’t know each other when we were teenagers.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I bet you did a lot of this.’

  Shutting out everything, she pictured the first time she’d seen Jon. He’d been striding across the resort’s lawn, making a beeline towards her and ignoring the protesting yells from the gardener to ‘use the path!’ Tall, and with the loose-limbed confidence that comes from knowing what you want and how you plan to get it, he’d kept his gaze fixed on her face and a smile on his own. With one look, he’d made her feel as if she was the only person in the world and she’d shivered with anticipation. She did the same now and lowered her head, kissing him full on the lips.

  His lips were warm and he opened his mouth to hers. She took her time exploring it as if she was kissing him for the first time. At first he was passive, accepting what she offered and savouring it. Then he groaned and deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth and infusing her with his yearning and his essence. It was as erotic as it was intimate and the tiny part of her brain not flooded by lust wondered why they’d always rushed kissing and raced to sex.

  Then rational thought disappeared and she immersed herself in the kiss—the touch of his hands in her hair, the pressure of his mouth on hers, the heat streaking through her and the way his tongue demanded her response. His thighs jerked underneath her, reminding her that although his body struggled to respond to her in the way they both wanted, his desire for her was as strong and urgent as it had always been.

  Right now, it was enough.

  CHAPTER

  32

  Jade rewrote the fourth draft of her article so it was legible to type up the next day. It was too big to type on her phone so she’d booked a computer at the library and organised for Bob to mind Milo. She planned to upload the article to Medium, then email it to the list she’d collated of online news companies and print newspapers.

  Her pen stalled on a garden statistic. She wished Helen was home to check the figure, but it was a park food night so she and Bob were out feeding her homeless friends. Helen had never invited Jade to tag along, and Jade didn’t want to ask in case Helen said no and took back her ‘you’re a good mother’ compliment. Did good mothers drag their kid out to a park at night when he was tired, had a runny nose and should be in bed? Probably not. And she knew Helen would tell her as much.

  The other night, Jade had pushed out Milo’s bath and bed time because she was desperate to finish reading Lost for Words. Milo had been fractious and Jade tried fobbing him off with a DVD. Helen had muttered something about ‘the importance of routine’.

  All Jade had wanted was to dive under her doona with the book and hide from the world until she’d read the last page.

  ‘I’ve only got fifty pages left,’ she’d said. ‘Can you ba
th him?’

  Helen had given her that just-sucked-on-a-lemon look. ‘I could, but he’ll scream for you and then all three of us will be miserable.’

  ‘He only yells because you don’t give him much attention.’

  ‘He’s not my responsibility.’

  Frustration surged. ‘I thought old ladies loved children!’

  ‘I’m not old!’ Helen had stomped into her room, leaving Jade with a crying child.

  It had been their first argument since the truce. They’d been managing cooking and cleaning together, sharing a TV and not getting in each other’s face, but Jade resented how Helen just tolerated Milo. Worse, she hated that she wanted Helen to love him.

  She rewrote the final sentence and chewed her pen. What would Mrs Kastrati say about the article? Sometimes her English teacher had returned her essays covered in red lines and circles, and other times the only red was Nailed it. Jade took a photo of the article and used some of her precious data to email it, even though she was uncertain if Mrs Kastrati still taught at Finley High.

  Switching off her data, she wondered about starting a new book, but she was still mourning finishing Lost for Words. She was reaching for the TV remote when she heard the throb of a diesel engine. Corey? Her heart thumped but not in a good way. He didn’t know Helen was living here and chances were he’d go ballistic.

  It’s none of his business.

  Milo’s his kid.

  A knock shook the wire door, making her jump. Corey never knocked. Macca? She dismissed the thought. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d taken the PlayStation and that suited her just fine. Perhaps Helen had forgotten her key.

  Another knock followed. Worried Milo might wake up, Jade ran to the door and used the peephole. A fluttery feeling, similar to the times she’d received a school prize at assembly, danced in her belly.

  She opened the door. ‘Lachlan?’

  He wore a yellow T-shirt, black pants, a cape and was holding a garden broom, bristles pointing skyward. Even for him, it was weird.

  ‘Bit early for Halloween,’ she said.

  He grinned and picked up an esky with his free hand. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Ah, sure.’ She stood back, giving him space to walk through the door. He smelled of sunshine, laundry powder and cologne—fresh and clean. And sexy. She gasped on the thought and immediately coughed.

  Lachlan frowned. ‘You okay?’

  The coughing continued so she waved and nodded, trying to indicate she was fine. He strode to the kitchen and poured her some water.

  ‘Drink this.’

  She drank, coughed, drank again, then cleared her throat. ‘Thanks.’ The word came out low and husky as if she was a pack-aday smoker. ‘Want to tell me why you’re dressed like a bee?’

  He rolled his eyes and tapped the small logo of a badger on his chest. ‘If I was a bee I’d have wings.’

  It took her a moment to work out what he was talking about, but then the colours and the broom suddenly made sense. He was one of the Harry Potter characters, but in his typical left-of-centre way he wasn’t wearing the house colours of Gryffindor or Slytherin, but Hufflepuff. Of course he’d chosen Hufflepuff—he was kind, hardworking and honourable. The fluttery feeling intensified.

  ‘Well, Cedric Diggory, I hope you brought butterbeer.’

  ‘I did actually.’

  Lachlan flipped off the lid of the esky and lifted out butterscotch schnapps, vanilla vodka, cream soda, whipped cream, a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, chocolate frogs and all eight Harry Potter DVDs.

  ‘Fancy a Harry Potter night?’

  Stunned, Jade stared at her kitchen bench now crowded with confectionary. She opened her mouth but words failed her. She couldn’t work out if she wanted to cry or squeal in delight. Both responses unsettled her.

  ‘Unless of course you’re busy?’ Worry carved lines across his forehead. ‘Hell, you told me once you don’t like surprises. I should have called you first or gone with a traditional date. I was going to ask you out, but I didn’t want to stress you about babysitting or hear you say no. Shit, I’ve stuffed it, haven’t I? Sorry.’

  His sincerity baffled her. She wasn’t used to anyone apologising to her, let alone a guy. And part of her would have liked him to ask her out, even though this sort of surprise was kind and thoughtful.

  Lachlan put the bottle of schnapps back in the esky.

  Say something!

  ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleared my schedule and dressed for the occasion. Now I’m going to have to squeeze you in between talking to Beyoncé and finding a cure for Ebola.’

  His eyes sparkled like morning dew on rainforest moss. ‘In that case I feel very privileged.’ He handed her a bag. ‘Sorry if I got this wrong too.’

  Confused, she opened it and pulled out a blue and grey scarf. ‘Ravenclaw?’

  ‘Yeah. You’re always reading and spouting fun facts.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She wrapped the scarf around her neck, trying not to think about how Cho Chang from Ravenclaw had been Cedric Diggory’s girlfriend. Was Lachlan trying to tell her something?

  Shut up!

  She got out glasses for the butterbeer. ‘Did you know that The Three Broomsticks in the movie is a real pub in Oxford?’

  ‘I did not.’ Lachlan mixed the ingredients and dolloped in cream. ‘Did you know they laid carpet and hung wallpaper with the Hogwarts emblem in the Princess Theatre in Melbourne just for Harry Potter and the Cursed Child?’

  ‘I did not.’ Tickets to the show cost more than half her fortnightly Centrelink benefit. ‘Sounds amazing. Have you seen it?’

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and she realised he didn’t want to tell her. She didn’t know if she was offended he didn’t want to make her feel bad or annoyed with him that it had crossed his mind.

  He handed her a butterbeer. ‘Uncle Bob and I went to see it soon after it opened.’

  ‘I bet it was amazing.’

  ‘Almost as amazing as this butterbeer.’

  ‘That’s probably overselling it.’

  He grinned. ‘I dunno. I’ve spent a lot of time perfecting this recipe. Cheers.’

  She clinked his glass and took a sip. At first she could only taste sugary sweetness and then the alcohol swooped through her veins. ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Told you.’

  She laughed and picked up the chocolate frogs and the box of Bertie Bott’s Beans before walking to the couch. ‘So are we watching Goblet of Fire?’

  ‘You do realise Cedric dies in that.’

  She grinned. ‘Yeah, but he goes out a Triwizard champion.’

  Lachlan looked unimpressed, but he slid the DVD into the player and joined her on the couch.

  Jade momentarily wondered if he’d do what most men she knew would—cop a feel as payment for the food and drink. Of course he didn’t. Nerd that he was, he got into the movie, quoting most of Cedric’s lines and making her laugh.

  When they paused to make a second butterbeer, Jade realised it was almost ten. ‘I wonder where Helen is? She’s usually home by now.’

  Lachlan’s neck flushed red and he busied himself with the vanilla vodka.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yeah, nah. Something.’

  He sighed, his face now bright pink. ‘I might have asked Helen if she’d mind going to Bob’s place until eleven.’

  Jade didn’t know what shocked her more—that Lachlan wanted to be alone with her or that Helen had gone to Bob’s when she didn’t have a reason.

  ‘I … that’s …’ But her usually quick brain was floating in a warm bath of vodka and schnapps. Before she could stop herself, she said, ‘Do you want to kiss me?’

  ‘Only if you want me to.’ He met her gaze. ‘Do you?’

  Did she? No guy had ever bothered to ask her the question before. The men she knew just moved right on in whether she wanted them to or not. She and Corey had sex the f
irst night they met, which she’d been fine about, but he hadn’t asked if she wanted it—it had been a given. Jade fiddled with the hem of her faded T-shirt. Was Lachlan a wimp for not swooping in for a romantic kiss or was this what respect looked like? She thought about years of drunk boys and men and how their kisses were never like the movies.

  ‘Do you always ask first?’

  ‘Since Me Too, I do.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘When I was at uni, I thought I was a decent bloke who only kissed girls who gave me the vibe they wanted me to. I thought it worked right up until Grace slapped me. Turned out I’d confused friendship with something more. I know asking’s not particularly romantic, but neither is being kissed by someone you don’t like that way. I figure the romance starts once I’ve got consent.’

  The butterflies that had been fluttering low in her belly since he’d arrived multiplied by ten thousand, swooping and diving. Then her breath hitched. Not once had she initiated anything with a bloke. Charlene and her Finley friends had told her only sluts make the first move and no man respects a slut—they just use her. But like many of the lessons she’d learned growing up, this was another she was starting to question.

  She supposed that by asking her, Lachlan had technically made the first move, but she wasn’t going to let semantics stop her. She rounded the bench and stood in front of him. His warmth filled the small space and she rose on her toes, planning to reach his lips.

  He slid his hands gently along her cheeks. ‘I’ve wanted to do this since I helped you put that bedhead into your garden.’

  ‘You have?’ Her words came out on a puff of air as anticipation softened her knees.

  ‘Pretty much.’

  The pads of his thumbs drew circles on her skin, sending wondrous sensations of pleasure and torture skating through her. ‘So are you actually going to kiss me or do I need to take over?’

  He laughed. ‘I like a woman who knows what she wants,’ he said softly, then lowered his lips onto hers.

  Oh my God! There was nothing nerdy about his kiss. He didn’t rush it, taking his time and gently tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue, as if exploring rather than forcing entry. She was the one left wanting more.