Past Imperfect

by Alison G. Bailey

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “I said, she’s not coming back here.”

  He tips his chin toward my chest. I reach in my bra and pull out a set of keys. I look up at him, still confused.

  “I signed the papers this morning. Welcome home, Sweetness,” he says with a huge smile on his face.

  I blink at him a few times, trying to let the news sink in. “And the joggling board?”

  “A housewarming gift.”

  I launch myself into his arms, crashing my lips to his. I feel his hands move down to my ass. As he lifts me up, I automatically wrap my legs around his waist.

  He pulls away from the kiss slightly. “So, buying the house meets your approval, Mrs. Johnson?”

  “Yes, it does, Bradley. I’m extremely impressed with your acquisition. Now I want you to take me in our kitchen, bend me over that island, and give me a proper homecoming.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  The emotions I’m experiencing right now either are impossible to describe or I’m just not smart enough to find the words. I can’t get over how much I already love him. I’ve been sitting here holding my sleeping son for the past half hour while his mom gets some much needed rest. Looking down, I’m mesmerized by his chubby cheeks and the way his tiny lips purse together as if he’s concentrating on something. I wonder who he gets that from. His sapphire eyes open wide, looking up at me, as his little hand grips my finger.

  “Hey Buddy,” I whisper. “Remember me? I’m Dad. We met a few hours ago.”

  A big yawn escapes him. I shift, propping him up slightly in my arms. “You might think I’m boring now, but wait until you get older. I’ve got big plans for us. I’m going to teach you how to ride a bike and drive a car. You don’t know what those are yet, but trust me, chicks love when you have cool ones. I’m going to coach your little league baseball team. Now, you don’t have to play baseball just because I did. You can play football if you want or if you don’t like sports, that’s okay too. It doesn’t matter, I’ll be there to support and cheer you on.”

  Brandon takes in a deep breath, his mouth forming into a little O, as a small bubble of saliva appears. That’s the cutest spit I’ve ever seen.

  “Wow, that was a mighty deep breath, little man.”

  A huge smile crosses my face as I watch his eyes blink in wonderment. “You know what? I already have a room picked out in the house for our man cave. That’s where we can watch sports and action movies while we eat junk food. No girls allowed. Well, except maybe for your mom. She’s pretty awesome, but you’ll find that out soon.”

  Another yawn escapes from my son as his eyes close. I notice his grip around my finger hasn’t lessened this entire time. My thoughts drift to my own father, wondering if there was ever a time, even for a millisecond, that we shared a bond. I can’t imagine ever labeling this little boy in my arms as a mistake.

  I ease my head down towards him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead, and whisper, “I promise to be the best father to you, Brandon. I didn’t have one, but I’ve watched enough TV to know what one’s supposed to be like. I’ll be fucking Heathcliff Huxtable and Mike Brady rolled into one.”

  “Brad.” Mabry’s soft sleepy voice drifts over to me.

  “Hey Sweetness.”

  “Did you just cuss in front of our son?” she asks, sounding offended.

  “Shit! I don’t think so.”

  “Shhh, Brad!”

  “Fuck. Sorry. I’ll do better,” I whisper.

  I carry Brandon to Mabry and place him in her arms. I slide into the bed next to them.

  Looking up at me, a smirk crosses her beautiful face, “You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

  “Thank you for giving me the chance.” I kiss her forehead and say, “I love our family, Mabry.”

  She comes bounding down the stairs, completely ignoring the last one, and lands in the kitchen. “Mom, does this outfit look awesome, because I need to look awesome for this party.” Her words come bursting out her mouth so fast, I’m only able to understand every other one.

  I stop cutting the vegetables I’m working on for tonight’s dinner. My breath hitches when I look up at her. I can’t believe my little girl is going on her first date. Sadness sets in a little. Both Brandon and Paige are growing up faster than I’m ready for them to. They’re both healthy and happy though, and that’s what matters. The fear of them inheriting my family’s mental health issues has subsided a little over the years. Brad and I have always made it a point to be open and honest with the kids, encouraging them to come talk to us no matter what the problem or concern. Paige’s exacerbated voice breaks me from my thoughts.

  “Mom?”

  “Paigie, even if you didn’t try, you’d look beautiful,” I tell her.

  “Thanks, Mom, but do I look awesome enough for the party?” she asks.

  “You’re covered in awesome sauce.”

  “Yay!” she says, with a huge smile on her face as she teeters up and down on her toes with excitement.

  The back door suddenly flies open. Brandon comes barreling in, sweaty, twirling his basketball on the tip of his finger, and bumps into his sister.

  “Brandon!” Paige shouts.

  “Sorry squirt, didn’t see you there.”

  “Mom, do I have Brandon ick on me?” Paige asks, as she double-checks her outfit.

  “No ick,” I answer.

  Seconds later, Brad comes through the door, drenched in sweat and breathing heavy. A shiver runs through my body as I glance at him. The T-shirt is weighed down with sweat, clinging to every dip, curve, and edge of his well-defined muscular torso. Not only is he still the hottest guy around, he’s also been an incredible husband and father over the years. He wipes his face with the bottom of his T-shirt, as he walks to the fridge and grabs two bottles of water. Tossing one to Brandon, he leans against the counter and says, “You kicked my ass out there, Son.”

  Brandon’s chest visibly expands with pride as the smile crosses his face. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

  Brad returns our son’s smile and pushes off of the counter. He comes up behind me, his chest grazing my back, as he peers over my shoulder. Placing a quick kiss on my neck, he nuzzles the spot right below my ear and whispers, “I love you,” before grabbing a carrot and popping it into his mouth.

  “Ew, Dad. You’re getting ick all over Mom,” Paige says in disgust.

  “Your mom likes my manly juices,” Brad tells her.

  Brandon laughs as Paige scrunches up her face in response. Her expression drops when she hears the doorbell. “Oh my god, he’s here. Harry is here.” She turns in my direction with a look of terror in her sapphire blues.

  “Who the hell is Harry and why is he here?” Brad asks.

  I look at Paige. “Take a deep breath, go answer the door, and bring him in here to say hello.”

  “Who the hell is Harry?” Brad repeats.

  Paige takes two deep breaths before turning and walking to answer the door.

  “He’s a douche bag that goes to our school,” Brandon chimes in.

  “Brandon!” I scold.

  “What? He is a douche and he does attend our school.”

  “Who. The. Hell. Is. Harry?” Brad’s tone is full of frustration and annoyance.

  “He’s the boy Paige has a date with tonight,” I finally answer, glancing up at him.

  I see all the blood drain from his face and his jaw go slack. He stands there in silence for several seconds as the realization sinks in. “A date? She’s not old enough to date.”

  “She’s sixteen,” I inform him.

  “Since when?”

  “Since her last birthday, five months ago,” I remind.

  “Do we know this kid?”

  “Harry Ford. They’ve been in the same class since preschool.”

  He continues to look at me dazed and confused. It’s not as if Brad was unaware that this day would eventually come. He started worrying about Paige dating when she came home from
first grade one day announcing that she was in love with Jonathan. I remember the sheer look of relief on Brad’s face when he found out Jonathan was the class’s bunny. To say he’s overprotective would be an understatement. He wants to shield her from anyone or anything that would cause her pain like a good father would, but the idea of his little girl dating terrifies him. We have drilled it into the kids to always have self-respect and never let anyone force them to do something they didn’t want to do. Brad remembers how easy it was for him to charm girls back in the day and doesn’t want our daughter to fall for a smooth talker.

  Hesitantly, Paige escorts Harry into the kitchen. He’s a sweet boy who comes from a good family. My heart goes out to him for what he’s about to endure.

  “Hey Harry. How are you?” I say, trying to break the nervous tension.

  “I’m good. Thanks,” Harry answers, his gaze quickly darting back and forth from me to the icy glare of Brad.

  Brad walks on the other side of me, placing him directly in front of Harry, who stands on the other side of the kitchen island barely breathing. Brad places his arms across his chest, deliberately flexing his muscles so they strain against the material of his sleeves. It’s meant to intimidate Harry, however it’s turning me on.

  “So, you go to school with my daughter?” Brad says as if he’s accusing the boy of wrongdoing.

  Swallowing hard, Harry answers nervously, “Yes Sir, since preschool.”

  “How old are you?” Brad continues his interrogation.

  “Um… seventeen, Sir.”

  Brad eyes him suspiciously. “And you’re in Paige’s class? How’s that work? She’s sixteen. Did you get left back?”

  Harry shoots Paige a helpless glance. “No Sir. It’s just the way my birthday fell during the school year.”

  “Why is it I don’t remember you?”

  “Um… I’m taller and um… my voice is deeper and um…”

  “Mom,” Paige pleads.

  “Y’all have fun tonight and be careful.” Raising my eyebrows, I nod at Paige, letting her know now would be the time to leave.

  “We will.” She grabs Harry’s arm and pulls him toward the living room.

  Brad follows behind them, until they are out the front door. He stands at the window in silence, watching as his little girl grows up. I walk up behind him to wrap my arms around his waist when his words stop me.

  “Brandon!” Brad yells.

  Brandon comes rushing in from the kitchen, stopping at Brad’s side. “Yeah, Dad?”

  “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you follow your sister and keep an eye on that Harry.”

  “Wamfu, yeah.”

  “Brad!” I say.

  Giving me an innocent look he asks, “What?” I narrow my eyes at him and smile. He turns back to Brandon and continues, “Don’t let your sister see you.”

  “I’ll be like a ninja,” Brandon announces before heading out the door.

  I snake my arms around Brad as he instinctively drapes his around my shoulders. Looking up, I tell him, “It’s going to be okay.”

  He brings his forehead to rest against mine. “Promise?”

  “Mmmhmm. I talked with her. She’s a smart girl.”

  He nibbles along my bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside. A moan escapes me when our tongues make contact. The kiss is slow and deep. Brad’s hands travel down my back to my ass. Squeezing gently, he grinds himself against me.

  Breaking the kiss, he says on my lips, “We have the whole night. Which room you want to start in?” The smile crosses his face as he throws me a wink.

  “The shower. Definitely the shower.” I back away, looking at him through my dark lashes.

  “I thought you loved my man juices?”

  “Do you really want to discuss this or do you want to shove me against the shower tile and do things to me?” I slowly unbutton my shirt.

  “Fuck juices.”

  Loud squeals and laughter ricochet around the room as Brad rushes toward me, ducks, and throws me over his shoulders before heading into our bedroom.

  I’m standing in the doorway of the kitchen, with one shoulder leaning against the frame, gazing at her. Sitting at the table, she flips through one of our many photo albums. I watch as a bright smile breaks out across her face looking at a particular picture. She’s wearing a black dress that fits her form perfectly. Streaks of silver gray mix with her chestnut brown hair that’s swept up into a tight bun with several pieces falling to frame her face. The diamond drop earrings I gave her for our fortieth anniversary hang down to that spot just below her ear that I love to drag my tongue across. My eyes scan over the rest of her body, down to her shoes, black patent leather with a ribbon tied at the ankle. The heel isn’t as high as it used to be, but the sight of Mabry in heels, no matter what height still makes my dick twitch. She’s as beautiful and sexy today as she was the first time our eyes met.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “Hey, Sweetness.”

  She looks up and narrows her eyes at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Drooling over you.” I flash her the smile as I push off from the door and walk toward her. “What are you doing?”

  She tilts her head up and I’m met by happy azure blues. “Looking at what an amazing life we’ve had together.”

  Leaning down, I place a soft kiss on her pale pink lips. “It has been pretty amazing.”

  Pointing to one of the photos, she says, “Look at how little Bren is in this one.”

  I rest my hands on Mabry’s shoulders, peer over them and chuckle. “It’s hard to believe we’ve had five more grandkids since Brenny.”

  “She had you wrapped around her tiny finger from day one.”

  “Well, it was my responsibility as a new granddad to spoil the first one rotten.”

  Shaking her head, she informs me, “You’ve spoiled all of them rotten.”

  I simply flash her the smile.

  “The kids want us to bring all our photo albums to the party. I have them sitting on the table by the front door, so we won’t forget them.”

  She flips through a few more pages as I bend down and press my lips just under her ear and start nibbling.

  Tilting her head to the side, exposing more for me to taste, she sighs, “And where do you think you’re going with this?”

  My hands travel over her shoulders, moving across her collarbone, and head straight to my intended targets. “You still have one of the all-time best racks, Sweetness.”

  She giggles. “I don’t know about that. They’ve been traveling south for quite a few years.”

  “My hands have always enjoyed the trip.” I smile against her neck.

  “Brad…,” she moans. “We can’t do this right now.” A small whimper escapes her lips. “We’re going to be late to our own party. The kids will be worried.” She exhales a deep sigh.

  I know she’s right. The kids have put in a lot of time planning this party for us. A low growl rumbles from my chest. “At least dance with me,” I whisper in her ear.

  “But Brad…”

  “I need you in my arms right now.”

  She smiles up at me as I take her by the hands and lead her away from the table.

  “There’s no music,” she says.

  “I always have a song in my heart for you, Sweetness.” I throw her a sexy grin and wrap my arms around her waist.

  Her hands find their way to the back of my neck as she gives me an exaggerated eye roll. “I was wondering when I’d get my daily dose of calcium.”

  Our foreheads rest against each other’s as we sway, slightly. “I gotcha covered, baby.”

  “Your hip action is still top-notch.”

  “Yeah, especially since I got the new one,” I say.

  Mabry softly hums one of our favorite songs, “I Said” by Michelle Featherstone. As we continue to move in sync, I close my eyes, soaking in the moment with the love of my soul. My life has been imperfect at times, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but if that’s what it to
ok to have Mabry in this moment, then it was all worth it. My hands glide down and over her little ass.

  She lets out a long slow sigh. “Maybe I can call the kids and tell them we’re going to be just a little late.”

  Our eyes open at the same time and connect. The corners of my mouth turn up into a huge grin, and I say, “Wamfu yeah, baby.”

  The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

  http://www.afsp.org/

  Crisis Hotline

  tel:18002738255

  http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

  Self-Injury Foundation

  http://selfinjuryfoundation.org/34222.html

  The Keith Milano Memorial Fund was established to help raise awareness about the devastating and deadly disease that is mental illness. Keith’s spirit and laughter is kept alive through our efforts to increase awareness about mental illness and to raise money for education and imperative research. Keith often struggled with society’s perception of mental illness. Our hope is that by having the strength to say that Keith was “Bipolar” we can strip away the stigma and help others to be more open about their disease.

  http://www.keithmilano.org/

  The Keith Milano Memorial Fund benefits the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP).

  AFSP is the only national not-for-profit organization exclusively dedicated to understanding and preventing suicide through research and education, and to reaching out to people with mood disorders and those affected by suicide.

  Acknowledgments are so hard to write. You want to make sure you not only include all those who have made an impact on you, but also express how grateful you are to them without sounding repetitive. Here’s my attempt.

  This past year, 2013, has been one of the most incredible years of my life. The incredibleness (I know, it doesn’t sound like a real word) started in mid-January before anyone even knew I was attempting to write a book. I took out my iPhone and wrote the first scene of Present Perfect (the blind date). It’s one of my favorite scenes. It spurred me on to write the next scene and the next, and then a chapter. As the words appeared on the computer screen (my late father’s netbook) I started to rediscover something that I used to love but had put to one side when life got in the way.