by Rye Hart
To think, they doubted me now, as an adult, pissed me off beyond reason.
I grabbed my bag and walked out the patio door. As soon as I did, I smelled something cooking on the grill next door. Marcus was barbecuing something that smelled delightful. He looked over and saw me standing there, and gave me a warm, gentle smile.
“Hey there,” he said. “We have some extra pork steaks if you'd like to join us.”
I knew I shouldn't. I knew if it did, it would only piss my father off more. But Marcus was a good guy. His past was behind him, and nothing my parents said could convince me otherwise. I looked at the house, wondering if my folks were in there listening to our exchange, and decided I didn't care.
“Thanks, I'd love to,” I said with a smile.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Where are the kids?” I asked, noticing the backyard was quieter than normal.
There was no Zoey and Zack running around like chickens with their heads cut off, it was just the two of us standing back there next to his grill. I was so used to the manic energy of the children that the lack of it made the atmosphere in the backyard a little strange, and a little empty.
“Oh, my mom called and wanted to see them, so they're with her for the night,” he said. “She's taking them to see a movie and they're sleeping over at her place. It's good for them to spend time with the grandparents once in a while. And to be honest, I could use the break.”
“Yeah, I'm sure it is,” I said. “My grandparents aren't local. The ones that are still alive, anyway.”
“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know that.”
He popped the top on a beer and guided me over to the picnic table near the pool. I took a seat and Marcus sat down across from me.
I shrugged. “My mom's parents live in Maine, we've visited a few times,” I said. “They used to visit us when they could get around better.”
He nodded. “Getting old sucks, that's for sure.”
“Pfft,” I scoffed. “You're not old. Far from it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Most girls your age consider people my age to be dinosaurs. Maybe even older than dinosaurs.”
“Please,” I said. “For one thing, I'm a woman, not a girl,” I very pointedly corrected him. “And seriously, you're acting like you're ninety. You're not even forty yet, so shut up.”
He laughed, staring off into the distance as if deep in thought. I would have killed to know what he was thinking in that moment, but I didn't want to ask. It seemed too personal. And though we were friendly, I didn't think we were on close enough terms to justify me trying to pry into his mind like that.
“Mind if I get something to drink?” I asked.
“Oh sure, help yourself,” he said. “You are over twenty-one, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“One minute you're telling me I'm not old, the next you're calling me 'sir',” he chuckled. “Anyway, you can grab yourself a beer or a glass of wine, totally up to you. If that's not your thing, there are sodas in the fridge.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, teasing him with a smile as I stepped inside his house.
Like the backyard, the house was eerily without the kids. They most definitely brought such an electric energy to everything, that the absence of it was striking. Even when they were upstairs asleep, their presence just made the place feel like home. I helped myself to some white wine he had chilling in the fridge. As I did so, I noticed a new drawing by Zoey attached to the refrigerator door with a magnet. I smiled as I read the names above each person. Her dad wearing a business suit and carrying a briefcase, she and her brother were holding hands in the middle. and there was one other person off to the side that caught my eye.
It was me.
I stood beside her father, almost in the position a mother would stand, and above my picture was my name written inside of a little red heart. Seeing that filled my heart with a sudden sense of joy and it nearly made me well up with tears.
I realized then, just how much those kids meant to me.
I stepped back outside just as Marcus was plating the pork steaks. He handed me a plate with a baked potato and asparagus – all of which he'd cooked on the grill.
“Impressive,” I said, staring at the delicious meal in front of me.
“When you're a single parent, you learn how to cook pretty quickly,” he said. “I wasn't about to raise my kids on TV dinners and fast food.”
“That's because you're a good dad,” I said with a smile.
I remembered what my dad had said, how he'd told me that Marcus had had a drug problem. Looking at him now, there was no sign of any problems, or any relapse into addiction. Yeah, maybe there was some depression, but that could be expected when you'd been widowed young like he'd been. Especially, when you loved your wife as intensely as Marcus had loved Gina.
“I try to be the dad Gina would have wanted me to be,” he said softly. “It's not always easy.”
“You make it look easy,” I said, taking a sip from my wine. “Honestly, I've seen very few fathers as devoted as you, especially single dads. You really ought to give yourself more credit. From where I'm sitting, you're doing an amazing job, Marcus.”
“I just work so damn much,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I feel like I miss so much of their childhood, so many of those special moments that only come around once. But I have to provide for them, you know?”
I nodded. “Have you considered finding another job?” I asked. “One that doesn't require such long hours?”
“Without taking a massive pay cut?” he said.
“You're smart and resourceful. I bet you could figure something out if you wanted to. What have you always wanted to do?”
Again, he stared off in the distance as he finished his beer. He turned back to me and gave me a sheepish grin, almost as if he were embarrassed by what he was about to tell me.
“Honestly? I don't even know anymore,” he said. “It's been so long since I actually imagined what I'd like to do for a living because I have a good job. I'm pretty much at the top of the company, make a good living, and can give my kids a good life. Besides, when you have to provide for someone other than yourself, you can’t really afford to be a dreamer.”
“But you said you're missing out on their childhoods and all those special moments,” I said. “And coming from someone who's own dad worked his ass off to provide a comfortable living for us, I can honestly say I'd give up some of those material things to have had more time with my dad. He missed so much, still does, and I know my sister and I would love to spend more time with him.”
Marcus got up from the table and asked, “Would you like a little more wine?”
I stared at my wine glass, which was now empty. “Yes, please,” I said, handing it over to him, “But don't think I'm going to let you get away with changing the subject on me. ”
I heard him chuckling as he walked back into the house, shaking his head as he went. The sun was starting to set and there was a chill rising in the air as evening settled in around us. I shivered a bit as Marcus handed me my refilled glass.
“Chilly?” he asked.
“A little, yeah,” I said, sipping the wine. “Hard to believe it's May. Looks like we're going to have a cool summer.”
Marcus stepped back inside without saying a word, and when he came out, he handed me one of his UCLA alumni sweatshirts. As I slipped it on over my head, I noticed that it smelled like him, and it took everything in me to not close my eyes and savor that scent.
“Thank you,” I said. “Much better.”
His shirt was way too big on me and I was absolutely swimming in it, but it felt nice and cozy. In a way, it felt like his arms were wrapped around me. I could smell him as if he was right there, holding me close. And I liked it more than I cared to admit.
Marcus was staring at me, his eyes soft and a crooked grin on his face. He appeared to like the way I looked in his clothing as well. There was something in the way he looke
d at me that set a fire burning low in the center of me. I couldn’t help but like it.
Maybe it was the wine making me feel bolder than I normally would be, I didn't know, but I felt compelled to act. I leaned across the table, moving closer to him, just close enough to kiss him on the cheek. But before I knew what was happening, I missed his cheek and planted a kiss on his lips instead.
Maybe it was intentional, maybe it was a subtle move on both of our parts, I didn't know. All I knew was that once our lips touched, I pulled back, gasping for air, my every nerve ending feeling like it was on fire. His eyes were wide and he looked like he'd seen a ghost, but he didn’t back away.
“What did I – ?” he started to say.
“I didn't mean to. I meant to kiss your cheek, but I – ”
I backed away quickly, falling back in my chair with tears welling up in my eyes. I've fucked up now, I thought. I kissed him, and now he probably thought that I was some stupid girl who was going to throw herself at him. Or worse, he was going to cut ties and never let me see him or his kids again.
“I'm sorry, Marcus,” I said. “I don't know what got into me. Please forgive me.”
“There's nothing to forgive, Emma,” he said softly. “I blame myself. I turned my head, it was all my fault and I don't want you to think I – ”
“Oh no,” I stammered. “No, I know better than that. You're a good man, you would never – ”
“I'd never take advantage of you, Emma,” he finished for me. “Never. Ever. ”
“I know that, Marcus,” I said, biting my lip. “And I'd never come on to you like that. It was foolish of me, I only meant to kiss your cheek as a thank you.”
We were both quiet for a moment and a tense awkwardness hung in the air around us. I could still feel the tingling on my lips from where his had touched mine, and I wanted nothing more than to go back in for another kiss. I wanted to feel that again, and more, but I knew it was wrong.
“I should probably be going,” I said, standing up.
Marcus stood up too, at just the same time, and we collided. I landed in his arms as I fell into him, feeling even dumber than I already did. I stared up at him and he stared down at me, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me again. There was something in me that desperately hoped he would.
Instead, he chuckled nervously as he straightened me out and helped me get back on my feet.
“You don't have to go,” he said, taking me by surprise. “Unless you want to, of course.”
Honestly? I didn't want to. I wanted to stay and see if maybe we'd kiss again, knowing that my chances of that happening weren't very good. Something had happened between us, some connection had been formed and I was curious to see if it actually went anywhere.
Obviously, I wouldn't have been as courageous or curious had it not been for the wine. But I was just going to roll with it.
“Okay,” I said and gave him a shy smile. “I'll stick around then. But I think we're going to need more wine.”
“I'll just bring out the bottle, how about that?”
“Sounds perfect,” I said.
CHAPTER NINE
MARCUS
Dammit, Marcus, what are you thinking? After the accidental kiss, you should have let her head home. There's no logical reason for you to be hanging out with her, to continue drinking, You're just asking for trouble.
But as I stepped outside with the bottle of wine in hand, I caught sight of her sitting there, the sunset in the background, and I was overwhelmed by how beautiful she was. And it wasn't just because she was twenty-one, blonde, and had an amazing body. It was a lot more than that. After all, I'd had my opportunities with women her age before and they'd never interested me, not like she interested me.
Her beauty was something different. Sure, she had the pretty blue eyes, the nice figure, the blonde hair, but she had a depth and a substance I was finding to be exceedingly rare of women of any age. Her laugh did things to me that I couldn't explain. And seeing her smile, especially when she was playing with my kids, melted my heart in ways I didn't know was possible.
She made me feel things I hadn't felt since Gina.
She's twenty-one, I cautioned myself. You're thirty-five. There was no way the two of us could possibly have all that much in common; surely not enough to sustain a relationship. I was somebody who needed to be challenged, stimulated. I needed somebody who was on par with me intellectually, somebody who could share experiences and actually carry on a sustained conversation.
As I ran over the checklist in my mind though, I knew that Emma ticked off most every single box I could think of. She was very intelligent. We actually did have much in common and even some shared experiences. We always had something to talk about, and she could talk about some very deep, very heavy topics. And she loved my kids – so, there was that.
Stop it, Marcus, I chided myself. She has her entire life ahead of her and your best days are probably already behind you. Don't screw things up with your neighbors because you have a boner for their daughter. And most of all, don't screw things up for her.
Except, it wasn't like that, at all. I knew that to be true, but it didn't mean it still didn't feel wrong. On so many levels, it did, but on others, it felt insanely right.
“Here you go,” I said, topping off her glass and pouring one for myself.
“Thank you,” she said, turning those beautiful blue eyes toward me.
“So back to our conversation from earlier,” she said. “Maybe you should consider changing careers.”
“Hush,” I said. “Can we not talk about work?”
She looked at me, a slightly disappointed expression on her face. I appreciated that she wanted to help, to offer her perspective and advice, but sitting there with her, the last thing I wanted to worry about was work. I wanted to focus on her. I wanted to figure out if there was any way on this planet that here could be an “us”.
“Then what should we talk about?” she asked, her lips parting to take a sip from her glass. “Oh, I know, how about that horrible woman you went out with the other night. Stacey, was it?”
I shook my head. “You're never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not in a million years,” she said.
“What can I say? I tend to attract the crazies.”
“Nah, she wasn't crazy. She just wasn't a good fit for you,” she said. “For some reason, you always go after women that are not right for you, and I don't get it.”
“What don't you get?”
“How you keep going after the same type of woman. You could have any woman you wanted.”
“You're delusional,” I said with a chuckle.
“No, I'm just not blind,” she said.
Her cheeks were flushing pink and I noticed she was drinking less. Probably smart, all things considered. I didn't want her to go home drunk or anything like that. It would be a really nice way to piss off her parents, and that was the last thing I wanted.
We talked for a little while longer, and it started to get late. I heard someone step out onto the patio next door, and then her father's voice called out.
“Emma? Are you over there?”
“Yes, dad,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Don't you think it's about time to come home?”
“I'm fine, dad,” she said. “I'm an adult now, remember?”
I saw her father look over fence and scowl, shooting me a dark look, clearly upset about something. He muttered something under his breath before going back inside.
“I should probably get to bed anyway,” I said, feigning a yawn.
The last thing I wanted was for Emma and her father to argue. I didn't want him upset at me either. We had a good relationship and I hated the thought of jeopardizing that. After all, he was right. It was getting late and she still lived under his roof.
She pouted. “Really? I don't want to go home right now,” she said. “My father was being a dick earlier and honestly, I don't want to give him the sa
tisfaction. I'm an adult and it's time they start treating me like one.”
“Wow,” I said, surprised at her language, especially concerning her father whom she'd always appeared close to.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “We got into an argument earlier.”
“Ahhh, I see,” I said. I had no desire to get in the middle of their family arguments, so I collected the wine glasses and headed inside. Emma followed behind me with our dinner plates. “You know, Emma, you're always going to be his little girl, no matter how big you get. That's just something you're going to have to get used to. And he's always going to be protective of his little girl.”
“I'm not a little girl,” she said, putting the plates in the sink. She pulled off my sweatshirt, standing there in shorts and a tank top, her perky breasts exposed just enough to tease. “Do I look like a little girl to you?”
My voice caught in my throat and I felt my eyes widen as I drank her in. She stepped toward me, standing close enough that I could smell her sweet scent. She smelled like sandalwood and tropical flowers, the perfect perfume for a girl like her. Standing there, breathing her in, I found her utterly intoxicating. Her scent was heady and I was mesmerized. She stared up into my eyes, almost asking me to kiss her and awaiting my response.
Though I was nearly dizzy with the thought of feeling her lips pressed to mine, her body and those firm, perky breasts pressed tightly to my body, I managed to hold onto my senses, though just barely. I backed up, bumping into the sink as I did so.
“Uhh, well no,” I said. “Not at all. That's not what I meant. But, what I'm saying is – ”
“I know what you're saying,” she said. “And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of no one taking me seriously. I've always been the good girl. I've always done the right thing. I've always been the virgin waiting for the right man to come along, while my sister is out there having fun, sleeping with boys, and doing what she wants. Is it wrong that I'm jealous of her for that? Because I'm tired of being good only to have my father treat me like a juvenile delinquent he has to keep an eye on.”
