by C. J. Wells
“Please, call me Alex.”
“Yes, of course.” Her giant, frozen smile seems to swallow the moment of silence. It’s hard to look away from her awestruck gaze before she opens her mouth again to speak, “Reggie! Aby is home, and she’s brought a friend. Come, come inside you two,” she grabs Alex’s arm, entwining it in her own to pull him along.
I follow behind, shaking my head slightly. This is more than comical.
We enter the kitchen to find my dad sitting at the table, his reading glasses perched on his nose, his face twisted tightly in concentration as he tries to decipher, what I can only assume, is the day’s crossword puzzle.
“Reggie! Did you not hear me calling? Abigail is here, and she’s brought a friend.”
Begrudgingly pulling his gaze from the newspaper at the shrill, yet undoubtedly partially tuned-out voice of my mom, instant warmth flashes in his eyes when they land on me. “Aby, honey, come here,” he stands, walking towards me, his crossword forgotten.
I immediately fold into his arms, hugging him tight in return. “Hi, Dad,” I smile against his chest, savoring the familiar scent that is my dad.
Pulling back to hold me at arms length, he flashes me his smile. “It’s good to see you. Have you been eating?”
“Ugh, yes I’ve been eating,” I chuckle. “Dad, I want you to meet my boyfriend,” I gesture towards Alex, standing idly by. “Alex, this is my dad, Reggie.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Ryan,” Alex smiles, reaching to shake my dad’s hand.
There’s no question I can see the wheels turning behind my father’s gaze - part ‘who the hell is this guy’ and equal part ‘you’re not good enough for my daughter’. So damn adorable.
“Likewise, Alex,” he replies. Yup, the man of few words. I can clearly see the strength in the grip of his handshake, the motion of the gesture continuing a little longer than necessary.
“Now, Alex, what can I get you to drink?” Mom saves the day, the men pulling their hands apart. “Lemonade?”
“Lemonade…that cool refreshing drink,” I sing the little ditty from Eddie Murphy’s Delirious.
“I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got brunch coming up shortly,” Mom continues with a smile, ignoring me, my joke lost.
Humph, I thought it was funny. Taking in Alex’s tweaked brow, I shrug playfully. What? Can you smell it? I giggle to myself. I love Eddie Murphy.
Masking a chuckle, Alex turns his gaze to Mom, “Lemonade would be perfect, Dianne, thank you. And brunch sounds lovely.”
Gushing from his sweet gentlemanly words, Mom readies his lemonade, not bothering to offer me any. I guess I don’t count as a guest anymore, despite having not lived at home for years.
“Thank you,” Alex takes the glass with a smile, eliciting my mother’s giddy shrug. I cringe at her ridiculous display. I need to get this shit under control. Alex gets enough of this outside of his comfort zones.
“Why don’t you go on into the living room? I’ll be there in a second,” I smile, gesturing in the direction.
Alex merely grins, turning to make his way out.
Out of earshot, I zoom in - the best defense is a good offence. “Mom, really? You’re acting like a crazy person. I warned you Alex was a celebrity,” I shake my head. “This is hilarious.”
“What kind of celebrity?” Dad pipes up. “I thought I recognized him.”
“Oh, Reggie, I told you that already. He’s a famous actor. You just don’t listen to me.”
“Dianne, you did not tell me that.”
“I absolutely did tell you! Ages ago. Remember? When Aby confessed to being shacked up with an actor. So you listened, you just don’t hear me. Maybe you need to get your ears checked, darling.”
“I would have remembered that,” he mumbles under his breath. “And, maybe I’d hear you if you didn’t nag at me every single second of every day.”
Oh sweet baby Jesus. My family’s fucked. “Okay, okay,” I pipe in, interrupting their sidetracked tirade. “Yes, Alex is an actor. Yes, I stayed with him for a week. But he’s my boyfriend, and moreover just a regular guy. Let’s not make his career a big deal, okay? Please? I’m begging you not to embarrass me.” I’m pleading now. I don’t want Alex to think my family is any more certifiable than necessary.
“Of course, Abigail. We would never embarrass you,” Mom states, her hand held to her chest as though it’s a ludicrous notion.
“Okay, I just needed to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
“Are you happy, Aby?” Dad asks suddenly, sincerity in his gaze.
“Very,” I smile.
Clearing his throat - his typical swallow of emotion - he turns his attention back to his discarded crossword. “Well, you don’t need to worry about your mother, Aby, honey. I’ll keep her in line,” he chuckles, and I turn, shaking my head as I make my way out of the kitchen. That woman couldn’t walk a straight line sober.
I find Alex standing at the console table full of portraits of my sister and her family. “This is what I call the ‘shrine’,” I whisper with a halfhearted laugh, taking in the large framed portraits above the numerous ones spread on the table.
He offers me a questioning glance, eyebrow raised.
“I think the evidence speaks for itself, no?” I roll my eyes. His sudden amused gaze makes me feel silly for allowing my petty jealously to show, and I purse my lips. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he smiles, wrapping his arm around me, pulling me against him. “I’m not particularly a fan of your shrine, myself.” He kisses my forehead.
Huh? Now I’m the one confused. I follow the direction of his nod towards the wall behind me. Oh, my ever loving GOD! You have got to be shitting me!
Framed beautifully, a giant wedding portrait of Liam and I hangs between two smaller framed images - one of me graduating from University and one of Beth and I. Needless to say, there would be no faded paint around these recently hung portraits, and I love the added touch of my sister in my seemingly new mini-shrine. But, the giant wedding picture? What. The. Hell?
Mortified, I turn to face Alex. He’s staring at the portrait of Liam and I, the pulse in his jaw unmistakable, though it feels as though he’s trying to hide any signs of a reaction. He’s failing. Miserably. Shit.
“Alex, I…”
“Show of hands for coffee with brunch,” Mom peeks around the corner.
Dad always told me that if looks could kill, I’d be a jailbird, and that dagger-shooting eye talent of mine is currently set to max. Number one target? My mother. “Interesting new photo collage, Mom,” I spew, trying very hard to control my pending explosive outburst in front of Alex. The last thing I want to do is add to his discomfort.
“Oh,” she replies in high-pitched nonchalance. “I found that in your belongings, and had the perfect frame for it. They say to display items in threes, and I think the smaller frames really make it pop, don’t you?” she questions, walking towards them, correcting the tilt of one at the corner.
“Oh, it pops something,” I mutter, Alex stopping my motion to step towards her with his gentle hold of my waist. “Mom,” I take a breath of composure, “…you wait until I’m divorced to hang a wedding portrait?”
“Sweetie,” she turns to face me, confused exasperation behind a smile-for-show. “Technically, you were divorced just yesterday. Your father hung these for me at least two months ago.”
“Don’t hang me out to dry,” Dad joins us, taking his usual seat in the recliner in front of the TV. “I didn’t know what your mother was planning to hang, I just do what I’m told,” he shrugs. “I warned you that Aby wouldn’t like it,” he adds, glancing at my mother.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she huffs, her gaze flickering between my father and I. “I thought it was a shame to have such a beautiful picture of my little girl sitting in a box in the basement.” She reaches for the large wooden frame, struggling with its weight, attempting to lift it from its hook.
“Allow me,” Alex steps forward
with a smile.
I can’t help the purse of my lips to avoid grinning at the underling-amused sarcasm in his gentlemanly offer, knowing full well it’s completely missed by my mother’s self-absorbed oblivion. Sensing my father’s gaze, I glance towards him to catch his own amused wink at me, it speaks volumes and I smile. The man of so few words can tell me so much in just one action. He’s very happy for me. And Alex.
“We’re here,” I hear Beth call from the foyer. My niece and nephew race to the entrance of the living room before Beth calls after them, “Your shoes! Come back here and take off your shoes!”
“Yes,” Mom’s hand darts to her throat in controlled panic. “Take your shoes off, little ones,” she continues, making her way to greet them.
Dad slowly gets up to follow her, flashing me a roll of his eyes, and a wink.
Shaking my head on a smile, I turn to find Alex straightening from leaning the portrait on the floor against the wall. I note his pause of consideration as he eyes the image of Liam and I, our wedding smiles taunting him. Biting at the corner of my mouth, I watch him retrieve the discarded portrait, turning it to face inward, completely out of view.
Ugh, I cringe. I can’t believe he just had to do that. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as he takes me in his arms. “My mom…”
“Don’t apologize,” he smiles, cupping my face in his hands for a chaste kiss. “Remember,” he continues, his thumb lovingly brushing my cheek, “…she means well.”
“What she means is to hit every nerve in my body with her metaphorical Taser.”
“Perception is everything, sweetheart.” He leans down to kiss me once more, his hands still in place at my jaw. The brief, teasing entry of his tongue before he pulls his lips away is delicious…and merciless.
“You don’t play fair,” I bite my lip.
His sexy smile thrills me to the bone.
“OH, NOW THIS seems more like a shrine,” Alex teases as I pull him up the staircase. “I have to say, the braces were a good look on you.”
“Stop it!” I giggle, trying to pull him away from the wall of embarrassing childhood photos. “This isn’t a shrine, it’s the walk of shame. For Beth too.”
“Oh, and that hair…” he continues, pointing to another image as we pass; my tug more forceful to drag him towards my former bedroom. “You were pretty hot,” he flashes a sinful smile as we enter.
Clearly, he’s just trying to make me feel better, and I love him for it. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I argue playfully, closing the door behind us. “Cute maybe. But hot?”
“Oh yes,” his husky tone whispers down my core as he backs me up. “Hot.”
“You’re incorrigible,” I utter breathlessly, loving every minute of his sexy display, pinning me against the closed door.
“For you, absolutely,” he bends to take me in a kiss. “Insatiably so,” he mumbles through our joined lips, swallowing my gasp as his fingers curl behind me, cupping my ass.
His kiss is slow. Tantalizing. My body is suddenly floating on air from the magic touch of his fingers trailing up my sides, his other hand cradling my jaw, his magician tongue filling me with the fluttering of butterflies right down to my clenching core.
Pulling marginally from my lips, he takes a deep breath. “What you do to me, Aby Ryan,” he shakes his head a little, releasing me.
I giggle as he adjusts his loose, perfectly fitted jeans at the crotch. His returned smile is breathtaking. My God, I love this man.
“Wow,” he takes a look around my bedroom. “This is your old room?” he asks, seemingly dubious. “It looks as though you never left it,” he adds, obviously referring to its perfect order and pristine cleanliness care of my mother.
“I know,” I smile, taking it all in myself. The girly pink walls are cringingly accented with a pastel pink wallpaper border, a single white bed - its pretty little canopy shaky atop flimsy finials, screws desperately needing tightening after years of wear and tear. The epitome of a little girl’s haven. My haven. The peaceful memories of my escape from the cray-cray in this house still intact, as though I never left. “Dad would never let my mother throw any of it away, even if she wanted to.”
Walking over to the matching white desk, he runs his hand along the stack of books, his smile curling into a devilish smirk. “It seems your reading taste has changed a little.”
“Ummm, yeah, a little,” I smile, taking in the titles in the pile…Charlotte’s Web, Little Women, Lord of the Flies, and a few Judy Bloom’s mixed in between. “I enjoyed reading fairytales too,” I point to more books lining the bookshelf in the corner. “I just like them a little dirtier now,” I add with a flirtatious gaze his way.
“Be careful, Miss Ryan, I’m not sure that darling little canopy can survive what I’ll do to you if you continue to flirt with me. Not to mention, you may struggle stifling your moans.”
“Idle threats, Mr. Tate?”
“You have no idea,” he shakes his head again, adjusting his pants with a defeated sigh.
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I tried. I feel like a little girl playing naughty tease with her boyfriend in her bedroom, her parents unknowing downstairs. Hell, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I may not be a little girl anymore, but I sure feel as though time has turned back, transporting me to that innocence of youth. Head over heals in love with prince charming, wanting him to sweep me off my feet. I’m giddy. Elated. In love.
“You and Stacey?” he asks, picking up a frame from the desk.
“Uh-huh,” I move closer to take a look.
“Interesting costumes.”
I laugh at his humorous grin. “We thought it would be fun to theme-style our Halloween costumes. She was adamant that we switch up our personalities, though her version of an angel is little more risqué than most.”
“And you make quite the sexy devil,” he adds with a sinful gleam in his eye.
“I can role-play,” I wink.
“Now there’s an idea,” he teases, the thought filling me with a burning fire I can feel tainting my cheeks.
He stares at me for a moment, pausing at my mouth as I take my bottom lip between my teeth, before flashing that core clenching smirk of his. Turning away, he places the frame back down, looking up to the bulletin board hanging over the desk. “What’s all this?”
“Things I liked, was interested in…dreamed of,” I explain, scanning the pinned images from a lifetime ago.
“And this one?” he gestures to a picture of a beautiful outdoor path ensconced and magically illuminated by twinkling lights. “Where is it?”
“I have no idea. I just thought it was beautiful,” I reply, lost in the vision I loved so much. “Magical,” I add, leaving his side in a giddy bounce to quickly turn out the light before reaching for a switch hanging over the headboard. The semi-darkened room is softly lit along one wall by hanging strands of twinkling lights.
“Romantic,” his eyebrow shifts in that sexy quirk. “In a Christmas kind of way,” he smiles, teasing me.
“It’s not Christmasy - is that even a word?” I laugh, moving towards him to caress his glorious chest through his shirt. “I was going for dreamy, but right now I would certainly call it romantic.” I step on my tiptoes to reach his lips for a kiss.
“Romantic is good,” he replies through the lingering touch of our lips.
“It is,” I agree, feeling the delicious pull of his building desire, the quickening of our breaths.
I give in to him, his tongue teasing for entry, melting against his chest as he pulls me close. I’m not sure if it’s the soft slowness of our kiss that makes my heart beat faster, or maybe it just feels that way - like I’m floating as I lose myself in the taste of him. He cups my cheeks in his hands to deepen it, the sensual lure enough that I could drift away. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought that just yesterday, I could have lost him, and I pull firmly at his nape, desperate to hold him to me. I never want to let him go again.
Our euphoric spe
ll is quickly broken at the pitter patter of little feet outside in the hallway followed by my sister’s muffled order, “Give Aunt Aby and Mr. Tate some privacy, honey.” We laugh against each other’s lips at little Jessica’s cute reply, “Why, Mommy? What’s piracy?”
“Romance can wait,” he caresses my cheek, brushing his thumb across my lip. “I actually have something I want to ask you,” he adds, taking my hand to sit us down on the bed, its aged creaking giving me momentary pause for concern.
“If this is an offer to take me to Prom, I’m sorry to say, you’re too late.”
“Oh, you already have a date?” he asks, playing along.
“Yeah, I do.” I pull my leg up, turning to face him with a playful shrug.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to wait until it’s over to whisk you away with me to L.A.”
“What?”
Alex chuckles at my confused expression. “Filming begins in two weeks, and could last for up to four months. I have a place on the coast, and I want you to come with me.”
“For like…a visit?”
“No, Aby, I want you with me for like the entire stay,” he teases, taking my hand in his. “I want you to move to L.A. with me.”
I’m speechless, fairly certain my eyes are bugging from the sockets, mentally standing to do a giant jumping jack on my bed.
“Well, I was thinking, since you’re working on a freelance basis with Ashley Fines, work won’t be an issue.” He bends to look more closely in my eyes, “Aby, say something.”
“No…” the word comes out as an afterthought as I finally begin processing his words.
“No?”
“Yes…I mean, no, work won’t be an issue,” I scramble for my words to catch up to my thoughts. “But there is the issue of Amira’s flat - although, I guess she won’t mind that I’m not actually in it, as long as I continue to pay my rent.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he bends to nibble at my neck.
“Alex, I signed the sublease for a six month term, I have to fulfill my obligation. Wait…what do you mean?”
