Picture Imperfect

by Lea Santos

  So, no. She didn’t regret the lovemaking.

  Not a chance.

  What she did regret were the complications and assumptions their lovemaking would undoubtedly hurl into the already jumbled mix.

  Her stomach jolted. Oh, God. It would be so easy to just give in, to welcome Deanne home and try to block out the unhappiness that’d pushed her to ask for a split in the first place. But that’d be about as effective as a Band-Aid over a stab wound. Facts were facts: as powerful as the passion had been, one night of world-class, gold-medal-winning, come-to-Mama sex still didn’t have the strength to erase eight years of growing disillusionment. When the blinding glow of passion had faded, their problems remained, like hulking sentinels in the darkness of reality. She needed Deanne to see that, to accept it, but sincerely doubted she would, considering Paloma’s wanton behavior. Heat rose to her cheeks.

  Hijole. Talk about sending mixed messages.

  She’d told Deanne not to change too much, for fuck’s sake! Was she high?

  Paloma plucked at the front of her nightgown with nervous fingers, fanning it out to cool her skin. Her dilemma, then, was figuring out how to logically explain her needs. She snatched a coffee mug from the cupboard, filled it. She still wanted Deanne to stay and help with the tight surveillance on Teddy, but that was it. No more sex to confuse the issue—not that she was interested.

  Liar.

  Okay, if she were completely honest, she was interested, despite her better judgment. And she had to admit, though she hadn’t believed it to be true, Deanne still seemed fairly attracted to her. Yeah, okay, a lot attracted. A shudder crackled over her flesh like St. Elmo’s fire at the memory of just how much.

  Don’t think about it.

  She’d even go so far as to say her mind was now open to the possibility of working things out with Deanne. But working them out, as in they weren’t worked out yet, despite what last night’s passion might indicate. Damn. She desperately needed to force the entirety of last night from her brain, heart, nerve endings so she could think clearly, but it was proving a futile pursuit. All the more reason why they couldn’t afford to get distracted again by such fiery, all-consuming, mind/body/soul-blitzing sex.

  Don’t think about it.

  She sighed. Why did people always seem to think a rowdy session of stack and wiggle could solve everything from menstrual cramps to estrangement? Not that last night was merely a rowdy session of— Stop! Although Paloma heartily wished sex were a magical cure-all, it wasn’t. Not this time. But how would she make Deanne see that without seeming as wishy-washy as she felt?

  The nagging worry over this impossible tangle of contradictions had kept her wide-eyed and stiff-spined throughout the night as she considered and reconsidered the repercussions. Near dawn, she’d slipped from the warmth of the unexpectedly shared bed, desperate to steal some private moments and reorder her thoughts, organize the facts, and prepare her closing argument. Clarity, distance—she needed them. Common sense, self-restraint— Good luck, Paloma.

  She shot a glance at the clock and winced. Man, time flew when it was laced with dread. She’d be facing Deanne, the jury of one, any minute now, and she had yet to banish the sensual memory of their tender-fierce lovemaking from her head. Images flashed in her mind’s eye like a sultry movie complete with Technicolor and surround sound.

  Don’t think about it.

  Annoyed, she snagged the dishcloth and scoured the already immaculate countertop, simultaneously dreading and listening for Deanne’s footsteps in the hall. Fickle, that’s what she was.

  Girl Most Likely to Waver in Her Decisions.

  Girl Least Likely to Stick to Her Guns.

  Girl Most Likely to Cave In at the First Sight of Deanne Vargas’s Sexy Bedroom Eyes and Toned Abs.

  Don’t think about it.

  No. She clenched her teeth. If she wanted Dee to believe and respect that she’d had enough of being taken for granted, she had to forget last night’s pleasurable relapse and let her know exactly where she stood on the issue, the moment Dee entered the room. Just lay it right out—bam!—the world according to Paloma, no questions, no arguments, no hesitation. No wavering. And, no more sex!

  No one else will ever be inside you like this.

  Paloma sucked in a breath, letting her eyes drift closed. The vigorous scrubbing stilled, her fist clutching the damp cloth as though it was her last tenuous hold on reality. Deanne’s sex-whispered words played over and over in her mind. From another woman, they might have sounded ominous, but from Deanne, her Deanne, they just sounded…true. And good.

  So damn good. God, she wanted Dee again.

  No! Don’t think about it.

  Despite valiant efforts to dam the hot desire, it poured into her limbs like lava. She abandoned the dishcloth, washed and dried her hands, then wrapped her icy fingers around the coffee cup she’d filled. Lifting it until the steam rose to warm her face, she gave herself a mental pep talk.

  Buck up, Paloma. You can do this. She took a sip. No matter how delectable Deanne looked or how she’d looked at her, Paloma had to somehow make her understand that nothing had been instantaneously solved because of…wow, exactly how many orgasms had they each ended up having? No. No. It didn’t matter. She simply must stay in control. More than anything, she absolutely positively had to avoid ending up in Deanne’s arms, in their bed, beneath her, inside her, again. Or she’d be a goner with a capital “You’re So Totally Fucked.”

  Don’t. Think. About. It!

  A toilet flushed and a door hinge squeaked in the distance. Her glance jerked toward the hallway, stars spinning into her vision. Clunking the coffee cup down on the water-streaked countertop, she gripped the sink edge, ears perked like a cornered animal’s. Time-out! She wasn’t ready for this. Okay, wait. She closed her eyes and ordered herself to take a couple deep breaths. In…out. In… She heard Deanne’s voice, then Pep’s, and her exhale left her in a whoosh.

  Just swell. One would think Pep would be a welcome buffer for this, their first conversation since…that thing Paloma wasn’t thinking about…but Pep had his own agenda. She’d have to confront her wife and her little parent trap watchdog all at once, both of them firing their Vargas charm at her with double barrels. Outnumbered and outgunned.

  Closing her eyes, Paloma crossed herself and pressed a tight kiss to the side of her fist. She’d need more than prayer to resist her woman and her little man, but at least it was a start.

  *

  Hot damn. Deanne was a woman with a plan. Finally. And it felt almost as good as that marathon lovemaking session with Paloma last night. Almost. “Go on down to the kitchen, son.” She squeezed Pep’s small shoulder. “I’m going to check on your brother.”

  “’Kay!”

  Deanne paused with her hand on Teddy’s doorknob and watched her older son run down the hallway. Deanne’s spirits were unusually high this morning, and—call her cocky—she just had to congratulate herself one more time for her brilliant winning Paloma back plan. As she’d lain awake trying to figure out how to keep Paloma beside her in that bed where she belonged, the mother of all brainstorms had struck.

  It had required all her self-restraint to fake sleep instead of jumping into action in the middle of the night, but she’d sensed Paloma was awake, too. She couldn’t afford to pique her curiosity by leaping from bed and scurrying off through the darkened house.

  Deanne allowed a moment to picture Paloma lying next to her, stiff as a board, drawing silent, shallow breaths. She smirked. Punky had never been good at faking sleep. Clearly, she’d been worrying that Dee would try to steamroll her way back into the household after their unexpected lovemaking, which—Paloma would probably be glad to know—wasn’t part of the plan. Picturing their mind-altering connection again, Deanne’s body quickened.

  Don’t think about it.

  With a grimace, she stretched her neck and shook it off as best she could. No doubt Paloma had rocked her world, and yes, the memories made her hot.
But she had to keep her mind out of the bed sheets and on the matter at hand. It was up to Dee to convince Paloma that she planned to let her take the lead, so it wouldn’t do for her to saunter into the kitchen, aroused and obvious. She stood in the hallway until her desire cooled, then crept into Teddy’s room to check him before facing Paloma.

  The curtains were drawn, cloaking the room in cool darkness. Teddy slept like a rock, breathing deeply and looking battered but peaceful. Deanne didn’t have the heart to wake him, so she settled for tucking the quilt up higher around his little shoulders.

  As she tiptoed toward the door, Deanne caught sight of the journal she’d returned to the exact position in which she’d found it last night. A slow smile spread across her face. She hadn’t read much of it, just the past few days’ worth.

  Enough to plant the idea in her subconscious.

  Enough to know that Paloma wasn’t as dead set on this split as she seemed.

  Enough to realize Paloma simply didn’t know her way back to the place where they were equal, loving partners and life was damn good.

  But as painful as it had been for Deanne to read Paloma’s anguished, conflicted words, they helped her realize there was still room to change Paloma’s mind, and doing so was Deanne’s responsibility. Her resolve strengthened.

  At first, she hadn’t a clue how to go about it. Lying there imprisoned in insomnia, she’d replayed all the conversations she’d had about or with Paloma since the split. The nonsensical notions had swirled around in her mind like those annoying refrigerator poetry magnets, offering no insight. But finally, the words began to form logical thoughts, and the thoughts eventually led to Deanne’s Brilliant Plan.

  You forgot me. That’s what I can’t live with.

  Were you attentive?

  What about cherish? Did you forget that?

  You won her once, Deanne. How did you do it?

  Oh, yeah. This had to work. The key to winning Paloma back, Deanne had decided, was written inside her high school journal tucked somewhere in this house. Dee’s glimpse inside Paloma’s current diary taught her one important fact: Paloma faithfully logged every minute life detail and her feelings about them. So if Dee could find the journals Paloma had kept during their courtship and discover what she’d done right the first time, all she had to do was repeat the steps. Right? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. God, it was inspired. Of course…she didn’t know how Paloma would feel when she learned that Dee had read her journals, but…

  Definitely don’t think about it.

  Naturally, Teddy’s recuperation was first priority. But while she was living in the house, Deanne also intended to unearth that journal without Paloma suspecting a thing. Before she could search, however, she had to ease Paloma’s mind about last night. No pressure—that was her new motto. She was the rookie in this partnership, and the sooner Paloma knew Deanne felt that way, the sooner she’d drop her guard. Principles of combat: Dee wasn’t giving up; she was going with the force instead of resisting it.

  Not that this was war.

  It was love.

  But the sooner she located that journal and planned her course of action, the sooner Paloma would be all hers again. Just like last night, only this time it would be forever. Deanne’s breath caught.

  Don’t think about it.

  *

  Paloma’s heartbeat pounded a reggae steel drum solo by the time a sleep-tousled Pep rounded the corner and sought her out. She expected Deanne to appear at his heels, but Pep was alone. Paloma didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

  “Good morning, beetle bug.” She opened her arms, and Pep ran across the tile floor and folded himself against her.

  “Hi, Mama.”

  Her tension eased a notch from the hug. She bent and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Where’s Mommy?”

  “Checkin’ on Teddy Bedwetty.” His eyes raised imploringly. “Do I gotta go to school today?”

  “Hmm. We had a pretty scary night.” She narrowed her gaze and twisted her mouth to the side as though contemplating it. “I think you can take a mental health day.”

  “No, but I meant I don’t wanna go to school.”

  She laughed. “That’s what a mental health day means.”

  “Yes!” He extracted himself from her embrace and pumped his arm, boinging around the kitchen like he’d just made the game-winning touchdown. “Can I have Twinkies for breakfast?”

  Paloma pinned him with a playful glare. “Quit while you’re ahead, Pepito.”

  He giggled and dragged a kitchen chair to the cereal cupboard, climbing up on it. Before opening the door to peruse his choices, he turned toward her for one more negotiation attempt, wagging his finger. “Okay, cereal. But I get to eat it on the TV tray in the living room and watch cartoons, even though it’s not Saturday. Pleeease?”

  His teasing persuasion was hard to resist. Why not? He deserved a little reward for his bravery. Besides, having him out of earshot would make it easier for her and Deanne to get over the most awkward part of this unintended morning-after. Ugh!

  “All right, but you know the rules. If you spill, I’m gonna have Mommy hang you upside down and clean it with your hair.”

  Pep gaped, his eyes gleaming. Clearly the idea of becoming a human mop intrigued him. “Nuh-uh!?”

  She tickled behind his knee, favoring him with her most playful threatening scowl. “Just don’t spill. That’ll solve everything.”

  “’Kay.” He opened the cupboard and planted his fists on his hips, eyes searching the multicolored boxes while he made little clicking noises with his cheek. Finally, he pulled out the Cheerios and hugged them to his chest. “What’s Teddy gonna eat now that he has jack-o-lantern teeth?”

  “Pep, I don’t want you teasing your brother, okay? His jaw will be sore and he’s probably self-conscious about his missing teeth. Promise me you won’t tease. I’m not kidding.”

  “O-ookay, geez!” Pep rolled his eyes.

  She picked up her coffee mug and sipped, considering Pep’s question. “I think I’ll make him a fruit smoothie. That should go down pretty easily. Would you like one, too?”

  Pep retrieved a bowl, then jumped from the chair and fished a spoon out of the drawer. As he headed toward the living room with his spoils, he answered over his shoulder. “Yep, with a strawberry on top. Pretty please, thank you.” He shot her a charming grin. “I’ll yell when I’m ready.”

  Another house rule. With permission, the boys could occasionally eat breakfast in front of the television. But either she or Deanne would come pour the milk, and it had to be all gone before the boys could carry their dishes back into the kitchen. Strict, perhaps, but it got them to finish all their milk, and it also saved their carpeting from ruin.

  “Not too loud. Teddy’s sleeping.” She watched him go with a smile on her face, her earlier panic almost completely gone. Pep seemed so carefree this morning, more so than he’d been since… She sighed. Since Deanne had left.

  Her anxiety resumed. She still had to face her wife. Setting her coffee aside, she pulled open the refrigerator and bent to ferret through their fruit and yogurt selections. Teddy wasn’t as picky as he’d been a few years earlier, thank freaking God. Green leafy vegetables were the enemy, but he’d established a tenuous truce with most fruits.

  She had some strawberries and raspberries, a few Clementine oranges, an apple, an Asian pear, and two bananas. She’d have to go to the store later and restock, and made a mental note to pick up pudding and Jell-o and some other soft foods, too. Gathering the fruit and a tub of vanilla yogurt against the front of her nightgown, she straightened carefully and shut the door.

  And there stood Deanne.

  “Oh!” The fruit tumbled and bounced, rolling in a million different directions across the floor. She managed to keep her grip on the yogurt.

  Deanne’s eyebrow raised as her eyes tracked the pandemonium. “Well, good morning, Carmen Miranda. I believe you dropped your hat.”

&nb
sp; Paloma’s throat tightened at the sensual rumble of Deanne’s voice against her skin, like a rough, promising caress. “Very funny.”

  Dee bent to retrieve the spilled goods while Paloma just stood there clutching the yogurt to the front of her gown like a twit. What ever happened to staying in control? To keeping the upper hand? Heat swirled over her skin as she watched Deanne stretch and bend. The muscles in her shoulders bunched and flexed, even through the T-shirt. Ugh! She couldn’t do this to herself. “I-I’m making a fruit smoothie for Teddy,” she blurted.

  “Good idea, but it’s easiest if you put the fruit in the blender instead of squishing it all over the floor. I mean, I’m just sayin’.” Dee stood and loaded everything onto the counter, a thinly veiled smirk on her face.

  “Well”—Paloma sniffed haughtily—“you startled me, is all. You can’t just sneak up on people.”

  “Sorry. I’m stealthy like that.”

  Paloma turned to the sink and began to rinse the fruit under the faucet with jerky, nerve-shot movements. Using peripheral vision, she watched Deanne pull a coffee mug from the cupboard and fill it. Deanne leaned one hip against the counter next to her, and Paloma ceased breathing. Good thing, because Deanne stood too close, and Paloma could still smell the sex on her skin. Way more than her willpower could handle.

  “I never meant to scare you, P.” The words were a low throaty purr. “Not this morning, and not last night. And on that note, I think we should talk.”

  Whoa! An involuntary squeeze shot the small green apple she’d been washing straight up into the air. Deanne reached out easily and palmed it, handing it back without a single smart-ass comment. Thank God for small favors. Paloma took it with a shaky hand, barely able to meet Dee’s inquisitive eyes. “Yes. We do need to talk, because—”

  “Me first,” Deanne interjected. “Please.”

  A sigh breezed from Paloma’s lips. What the hell? If the erupting fruit was any indication, she didn’t really have her wits about her at the moment anyway. So much for her big assertiveness plans. “Okay. Go ahead.”