Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  Something about the disclosure bugged me. Maybe because I’d assumed Eric wasn’t about that leisure life. Maybe because I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. But he lifted his shoulders nonchalantly. “My uncle used to take me out as a kid. I worked at the country club through high school. I was a caddy but I got to play free rounds at slow times. It was a way to get out of the house for a few hours.”

  Ah. I got it. Golfing was a way to avoid his father. I felt instantly ashamed for making it a class issue.

  “I’d love to play,” Eric said to Win. “I’ll have to scrub the rust off my golf clubs.”

  “You’ll be fine. It’s all for charity. And fun.” Win clapped him on the back and I winced. Ugh, back clappers.

  Mom informed us that she was taking an art class at the local community college. “It’s not serious, of course. I take it with some of the girls. But I’ve learned so much about myself, and the instructor says I have talent.” She looked at me. “I told him he should see my daughter’s work. You’re the artist in the family, Lettie.”

  “I think that’s wonderful,” I said. “What’s your medium?”

  “Oil. Here, I’ll show you.” She left the table only to return with a cell phone in a white plastic case decorated with a sparkling jewel in the shape of a flower. “See, this is one that I did of some flowers in front of my condo, and this is one of some flowers that I saw on a postcard.”

  I flipped through the images and noticed the common theme right away. My mother is painting female genitalia, and she doesn’t even realize it. “These are lovely, Mom.”

  “Can I see?” Faye leaned over beside me to get a glimpse. “Oh. Oh my.” She bit back a gasp.

  “Interesting, right?”

  Faye’s eyes widened. “Very.”

  “They remind me of Georgia O’Keeffe’s work.”

  “Oh, is she good?” Mom said. “You’ll have to write that name down so I can look her up.”

  Faye and I exchanged a glance as I handed the phone back to Mom.

  “I think it’s great that you’re challenging yourself in new ways, Grace,” Sadie said. “I’ve decided that I’m going to begin writing erotica. I told the girls about it a month or two ago.”

  The timing was unfortunate because Faye had just taken a sip of water, and she started choking. I patted her on the back. “You okay there?”

  She nodded, but her face was red and she had dribbled water down the front of her white sweater.

  “Lettie didn’t tell me you were a writer,” Eric said cheerfully as he helped himself to more cranberry sauce.

  “I am. I’ve never published any of my work, but I thought, why not? I’d try something new. Everyone loves a good sexy story.” She reached over and gripped my dad’s hand. It was no less weird the second time.

  But Eric was intrigued. “I don’t actually know much about the market. What kind of story do you think you’ll tell?”

  Sadie’s face lit up. She loved the spotlight. “I have this notebook I would write in when I was modeling. People would tell me stories—I must have one of those faces. People like to tell me things. But I think I’ll write about that.”

  “So it’s nonfiction erotica, then?”

  He said it deadpan, like this was something he always wanted to know about. Was he for real? I nudged him under the table with my foot, and for a split second, his veneer cracked, and I saw the hint of a smile. But just as quickly, he was back to engaging Sadie in serious conversation about her erotica while eating his turkey.

  Sadie nodded enthusiastically. “The names will be changed, but that’s it. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people have told me. One of my friends—I won’t mention her name because she’s extremely well-known—she was at a photo shoot, and the photographer kept telling her to take off her bathing suit. And she was like, ‘But I’m modeling a bathing suit!’ And he didn’t care. He was saying, ‘Take off your top.’ And they were in Hawaii on one of those black-sand beaches, and then this male model was there, and he was super hot—”

  “All right,” Faye said loudly. “We have little pitchers with big ears at the table.”

  Portia and Blaise weren’t even paying attention, though. Blaise was arranging his mashed potatoes into a mountain, and Portia was slipping food under the table to Odin.

  “Maybe they want to go and play,” I said. “Portia and Blaise, are you all done with your dinner?”

  The twins nodded. “Can we be ’scused?” Blaise drawled.

  “Go ahead.” Faye watched them leave, Odin following closely, before saying, “It sounds interesting, Sadie. Maybe you can show us when you’re finished.”

  LATER IN THE KITCHEN as we were washing dishes, Faye grumbled, “Are you as grossed out as I am about Sadie writing erotica?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t hurt anyone.” I handed a plate to Eric, who was waiting with a dish towel.

  Faye rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s no surprise she’d want to write that. Those books are trash.”

  My shoulders stiffened, and I bit down on my lower lip. “You know, I think that’s unfair. Sex is a normal part of life. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “We both know why people read those books, and that’s to get off. It’s pornography.” Faye handed me a glass to rinse.

  I lifted a shoulder. “I can see a value in women expressing their desires and fantasies. We’ve been taught we’re supposed to endure sex and instructed that it’s really for men. You know, the old, Not tonight, dear, I have a headache. But what’s wrong with women wanting to enjoy themselves? I think it’s liberating.”

  Faye eyed me sidelong with a smirk on her face. “I’m not going to argue with you. I’m just going to express my surprise that you’re coming down in favor of erotica.”

  “Noted. And I’m going to express my appreciation for it as an art form that normalizes women enjoying sex.” I paused. “But yeah, the thought of Dad’s wife writing about sex . . .”

  “See? It’s gross,” Faye said triumphantly.

  “Yeah. It’s gross.”

  I glanced at Eric, who I could tell was trying to remain as invisible as possible. But when our eyes met, he gave me a suggestive smile, and my stomach did a backflip. If filling my gap with erotica had brought me to Eric—as I believed it had—then I would be a defender of erotica for the rest of my life.

  WHEN DESSERT was served, we couldn’t find Portia. Faye cornered Blaise, who was on the family room floor flipping through one of the children’s books I kept on hand for their visits. “Where’s your sister?”

  “I dunno.” He turned the page and didn’t bother looking up.

  “Faye, she’s not lost,” Win said as he rose from the couch. “She’s probably playing somewhere upstairs.” He patted his already swollen belly. “Mmm. What kind of pie do we have?”

  Faye set her hands on her hips. “Why isn’t she answering me when I call her, Win? Blaise, were you playing hide-and-seek with her? Could she have shut herself in the washing machine?”

  I sighed. “She’s five. That’s why she’s not answering you. I’ll go check upstairs. She’s probably with the dog.” I hadn’t seen Odin in a while, and Portia adored him.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Eric said, and took a step toward the stairs.

  If I knew my niece, she was doing something she shouldn’t be doing. I’d do the best I could to get her cleaned up and hide the damage so she wouldn’t spend the rest of the holiday on a time-out chair.

  “Thanks, but it’s fine.” I smiled. “I’ll be right down.”

  My house has three bedrooms upstairs, but I use two of them for storage and I doubted Portia would be in either of those rooms. Sure enough, when I opened the door to my bedroom, Portia was in front of me, naked as the day is long, wrestling happily with Odin. “Hey, Portia!”

  She froze,
terror written on her face as she waited for the lecture that would follow. Stand up. Put on your clothes. Act like a lady. All of the things Faye, Win, and all of us were trying to drill into her young head. Be a nice, pretty girl, because boys only like nice, pretty girls.

  Her brown eyes were wide, and for the first time I saw something in them that made my heart tip to one side: a flash of shame. I knew that feeling intimately, and I never wanted my niece to feel that way again. Not if I could help it.

  She scrambled to her feet and away from Odin, who lay panting on his side, tail thumping. “Sorry, Aunt Lettie,” she said. “I’ll get dressed.”

  She hopped over the dog and rushed to grab her clothes, which she had strewn haphazardly across the bedroom floor. I took a step forward, one hand over my hurting heart. “Portia. Honey, wait.”

  She stopped and faced me, holding a limp purple dress in her arms. Her bare belly stuck out like a little ball; her thighs rubbed together. She was slightly pigeon-toed, and one day someone would tell her that her eyebrows were too thick and that she should wax them. But to me in that moment, she was exquisite.

  “Sweetheart.” I knelt before her and set my hands on her upper arms, feeling the soft baby skin. “I’m not mad. I think you’re beautiful, and if you want to be naked and play with Odie, that’s fine with me, okay?”

  She hesitated, then nodded slightly. “Okay.”

  “Can you promise me something?”

  “What?”

  I tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “Promise me that you’ll never listen to anyone who tells you what you should think about yourself or your body, okay? Because you are beautiful, and you are perfect, and you are going to run a small country one day, and God help anyone who tries to stop you. And if you like to be naked, then you should be naked.”

  She smiled. “Okay.” She paused for a moment and searched my face. “Aunt Lettie, does my breath smell bad?”

  “What? No, sweetie. Not at all.” I froze. “Does mine?”

  “A little bit.” She opened her dress and showed it to me. “I’m cold now. So I’m going to get dressed.”

  I kissed her forehead. “Okay, pumpkin. I’ll be downstairs.”

  I wouldn’t even mention the exchange to Faye or to anyone. It would be our secret. I’d walk downstairs and say that I’d found Portia playing with Odin. But first I went to my nightstand drawer and found a tin of breath mints. Out of the mouths of babes.

  LATER, when everyone had left, Eric and I snuggled up on the couch. “You survived the Osbourne family Thanksgiving,” I said.

  “You survived. I excelled.” He kissed the top of my head. “Actually it was fine. You prepared me for the worst.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Odie was great, too. No jumping or eating off the table.”

  “He’s working toward his master’s in obedience, so . . .”

  Eric pulled his head back and smirked at me. “I think he’s a long way from that.”

  “Sir, you have insulted me. I will defend my honor.” I sat up and clapped my hands on my legs. “Odin, come!” There was a long stretch of silence and the unmistakable clink of dog tags upstairs. He’d heard me, but he wasn’t obeying. “Odin. Come!” Another rustle of dog tags as he scratched behind his ear.

  Eric snickered and folded his arms. “A master’s, you said? Did I hear that correctly?”

  “Labs take longer to mature, obedience-wise.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He’s a very good swimmer.”

  “Too bad we’re not in a lake.”

  I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Odin! Cookie!”

  Another brief pause, but this time I heard the patter of his feet as he crossed the bedroom and plunged down the stairs. “Good boy! You show Eric what a good boy you are—”

  I stopped as Odin trotted into the room, clutching something in his mouth. He bent down, keeping his tail wagging high in the air, and chomped on whatever he’d found. “What do you have?” I climbed off the couch and crawled over to him, but Odin jerked his head away and growled playfully. “I’m not playing tug. What is— Oh no.” I recognized the edging.

  It was one of my thongs.

  “No. Bad! That’s mine!” I lunged for the underwear and Odin sprung in the other direction. He dropped it on the ground and barked at me, wagging his tail. “Odin Zachary Osbourne, give that to me right now!”

  Eric stood and took a few steps. “I can help—”

  “I’ve got it! Really!” The last thing I wanted was for Eric to pry a wet thong from my dog’s mouth. What was it with Odin and crotches, anyway?

  I chased him back upstairs and distracted him with a dog treat. He dropped the underwear, and I snatched it up. “You!” I growled and rubbed his head. “Just when I was bragging about how well-behaved you are.”

  When I reentered the living room, Eric was grinning at me. “Maybe a few more semesters—”

  “Don’t.” I attempted to keep my face severe, and when I felt the smile coming, I set my hand across my mouth. “It’s not funny.”

  He held out his hands to loop his fingers in my waistband. “You. Come here.”

  He pulled me down toward himself until I straddled his lap. His hands reached under my sweater and fanned across my bare back. “Let’s talk about something better.”

  “Like what?”

  He stroked his fingertips along my spine, sending chills throughout my body. “Like you reading erotica. That’s pretty hot.”

  I slid my hands over his shoulders and down his back, bringing our faces inches apart. Could this guy be any more perfect?

  “Don’t tell Brunhilda. It would probably get me fired.”

  “I don’t see how that would be relevant.” He kissed me on the forehead.

  I ran my fingers through his hair. My family loved him. He claimed to love them. He was wearing those thin, wire-rimmed glasses again, and I found him so mind-blowingly sexy.

  I could tell him, I thought. I could tell him that I’d been capturing my feelings for him and preserving them in an erotic story. Fictional, sure, but the feelings . . . they were real. I could tell him. “I have some titles, you know. We could read them together—”

  He kissed the spot below my ear. “I’d much rather act out our own.”

  And for a flash, I hesitated. I had that opening, that moment where I could show him all of me. But it lasted only for a flash, and then my mind got—justifiably—distracted.

  CHAPTER 20

  MY BOOK was due two weeks after Thanksgiving, and I’d waited until the very last minute. The coffee was brewing—the second pot that evening. I was standing in the kitchen with my laptop on the counter, typing in place while I listened to the coffeemaker gurgle and hiss. Eric was at his house, Odin was snoring away on his dog bed, and I had already helped myself to two peanut butter sandwiches with marmalade—which is disgusting, by the way. But when you have a book deadline, everything else is secondary, and I needed the sugar.

  Two o’clock in the morning. I wanted to cry and blame someone else. Eric, for occupying so many blissful days and nights that I’d fallen far, far behind on my deadline. Odin, for eating one of my favorite shoes. (That had nothing to do with my book, but I was good and pissed off, and at that hour of the morning, I was not thinking clearly.) Sadie, for thinking that writing erotica was a hobby. It was not a damn hobby. By God, it was a vocation, and my suffering proved it.

  My eyes were burning. “Why did I agree to do this?” No one was listening to me, and I didn’t even care.

  I had one chapter to go, and the book was due that day. Somehow I had to figure out how to bring my characters to an emotionally satisfying resolution of all of their various issues so they could live happily ever after. No big deal, except that I was realizing that I had exactly no idea how to end the story. Other than by killing them bo
th, but that would be neither emotionally satisfying nor allow them to live happily ever after.

  “All right. No problem.” I poured a cup of coffee and returned to the kitchen table with my laptop. If I worked for two hours, that meant I would be finished with the book by four in the morning, which would give me two hours to sleep before the alarm went off for school. Perfect.

  I typed without thinking about anything other than that I had to keep going. I had to finish the book in order to sleep, and I had to sleep. I managed to conclude that final chapter at five minutes to four. I jotted a quick e-mail and hit send before I could second-guess my work, and then climbed into bed and fell fast asleep.

  When I woke up, I rubbed my eyes, which were still burning, and stared at the numbers on the alarm clock. 7:32. Holy crap. I had to be at school in fifteen minutes.

  I flung the covers off, cursing to myself. How could I be so irresponsible? There was no time to shower. I dressed and brushed my teeth at the same time, fed Odin and let him outside, and managed to leave the house twenty minutes later. Meaning I was five minutes late before I climbed into the car.

  I called Mindy on the way, but was sent to voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. Listen, I’m running a little late. Do you think you could find someone to babysit my class until I get there? Maybe just let Eric know? Thanks, I owe you.”

  Mindy was the only other person on the planet who knew about me and Eric, because otherwise, our relationship had apparently become a matter of national security. When he spent the night, he’d park in the garage and I’d park in the driveway so no one could see his license plate. We never called or texted each other on our cell phones because he used his for business purposes, which made it subject to freedom of information. When we passed each other in the hallway and other people were around, we basically just nodded. All of this precaution because we agreed we’d made a lot of justifications before climbing into bed. We’d told ourselves that it was not a big deal, that we could merely disclose our relationship, no harm done. But once things became serious, we decided that the best course of action was to wait it out. Eric could return to the middle school any day now, and once that happened we wouldn’t have to disclose anything. Why make life difficult for ourselves?