by SM Lumetta
Rae leans toward him and says, “I’m sorry, dude. She sounds like she was a real cunt.”
The waiter has just walked up and everyone stares at him in both horror and glee. Rae cracks a smile.
“I don’t know if you heard the story, but if you did, you’d know I’m absolutely correct in my evaluation,” she says.
Once we get our drinks, the awkwardness seems to dissipate. Conversation flows more naturally. Zeke relaxes and Fox stops interrogating. They even swap some Gold Coast surf stories, which pulls in Jonah and Rae. I smile. Had I met Zeke before the baby-making situation rolled out, things might be different. I immediately feel guilty for thinking it. I shouldn’t, but I do. The conflict makes me anxious and I feel my face get hot. I quickly excuse myself and run to the ladies’ room. There, I splash a little water on my cheeks and gladly acknowledge that I have some nice color from the sun today. Not as much as Jonah, though. His normally freckly nose is straight-up fuchsia. Rae is constantly telling him he’s too white to skip the sunblock. Kind of like Cameron. He lobsters if he doesn’t wear 70 SPF. I wonder how we could possibly have the same parents.
Feeling less odd, I exit the bathroom only to be pushed back in by Fox. He locks the door behind us and charges for me. I hold a hand out, pushing against his chest.
“First of all, what the fuck are you doing? Second, what if there was someone in here?”
His eyes go wide, his expression turning sheepish. “Hello?” he calls before turning to notice the three stalls are all, in fact, empty and open. “See? It’s fine.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I say, maintaining my distance—or his, since he’s backed me up against the wall. “Question one! Why do you think I want to have sex in a bathroom right now?”
More sheepishness. “Don’t you?” His expression is hilariously hopeful in that faux innocent way.
I chitter and immediately school my expression. “No. What did you tell people at the table? Don’t you think they might suspect something if we come back at the same time?”
“Who cares?”
“Fox.”
“What?” He’s either genuinely ignorant or willfully so.
“You’re not jealous of Zeke, are you?
“Why would I be jealous? He’s not, um, that is, he’s no reason for me to be jealous.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. But then I raise one eyebrow, basically indicating that I think he’s full of it. “You think he’s hitting on me or something, don’t you?”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would he do that when you’re clearly with me?” he blurts.
Our eyes simultaneously go wide as the door clangs. Someone knocks on it. I blink a couple of times and move around him to open the door.
“Sorry,” I say to the woman who glares at me as she walks in. Her attitude pisses me off. “We were just having sex. Good luck avoiding the sink I got nailed on.”
I walk out, but Fox follows me quickly. I can hear his stuttering mirth behind me. We arrive back at the table at the same time. No one seems to think much of it, thankfully, but Fox makes a stupid comment because he’s an ass.
“Someone was having sex in the women’s bathroom.”
I don’t even bother to glare at him. I think he knows I’m doing it in spirit.
After dinner, we collectively invite Zeke back to the surf cottage, as we’ve started calling it. When we get there, Fox and Jonah practically fall all over themselves to get to the fire pit and show him how huge they built the bonfire last night. Together, the three of them try to recreate the eighth wonder of the Pacific coastline.
Rae and I gather beer and waters from inside and drag those provisions including blankets back out to the circle of lounge chairs around the already burning fire. We get comfortable on our own separate loungers and kick back to watch testosterone at work.
An hour later, three drunk boys run around the flames like Lords of the Goddamn Horseflies. It’s hilarious. I take a lot of pictures and maybe a video or two, and post almost all of it on social media before anyone sobers up. I avoid drinking too much, trying to keep in the “get preggers” mentality. Rae high-fives me after I show her the video I posted. Jonah and Fox try to perform their own version of a haka, a Maori war dance. It’s sloppy and probably far from accurate. He does have Maori heritage on his mom’s side, even if he looks more Swedish like his dad. His favorite tattoo is the Maori symbol on his back, but that’s not to say he remembers enough of anything he learned on trips to New Zealand with his mom. In any case, the two of them mean well. They just look like spazzes. Zeke refuses to join in, mouthing something hilarious and raunchy, judging by the gestures he makes, in the background. We all decide we’re taking him back to Bodhi with us.
We kick back, and before I know it, I’ve passed out. Fox wakes me up in the wee hours. Zeke’s gone, but Fox promises he called him a cab back to his hotel. Since we discovered Zeke is living in Santa Barbara, Fox says he made sure he knew he was welcome to join us all at the monthly gatherings at his house. I smile and move to get up.
“No, baby,” he says.
The word “baby” stops me. “Did you wake me up for sex? Again?” I wink, but any humor dies in my throat when he nods. “Are you pissed you didn’t get to have sex in a restaurant bathroom?”
He shakes his head.
“Are you sure?”
He nods again. The wind and waves are the only noises besides that of a dying fire.
“Are you going to speak?”
Slowly, he leans in and kisses me softly. “The only things I’m going to say from here on out are going to be seriously filthy.”
Scratch the “dying fire” remark. I can’t stop the smile on my face. “Oh? Why’s that?” I say, purely goading.
“I happened to notice you like it when I talk dirty.”
If Rae and Jonah heard anything last night, they don’t let on. I’d wager they were either asleep already or having a bang-bang party of their own, because Rae is the last person you can expect to keep something under wraps. She’s the most open-book gal I’ve ever met. I’m happy we’re in the clear.
That is, until Fox says, “Shit, I left my shorts in your room last night.”
I very nearly hit my forehead on the kitchen island. My responding glare is met with confusion, possibly irritation. Until it isn’t.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Rae and Jonah are staring at us, bouncing their attention between us as they wait for one of us to speak again. We’re having a glare off.
Rae jumps in. “Are you guys hitting it?”
Cue synchronized head turn. “No.” Unison.
I watch their eyebrows shoot upward. “Are you sure about that?” Jonah asks. He’s usually the most reserved of our friends, but today he punctuates his query with unattractive air humping behind Rae. She, in turn, promptly sticks her high and tight booty back into him and moans theatrically.
Turning back to Fox, I give him my best bitchface. He stares back at me in wonder with his trademark “What did I do?” face. I widen my eyes and throw a nod toward the air sex champions to my left. Rae outdoes herself in some sort of Kama Sutra in midair pose. I’m so impressed I do a double take before looking pointedly back at Fox.
He sighs reluctantly and holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. The truth is Lolls can’t keep her hands off me. She got a taste of the joystick and now she’s an addict.”
“I will rip. Your. Balls off.”
“See what I mean?” he continues. I slap his arm.
Jonah chuckles. “You seem to have a disagreement about whatever is or isn’t going on.” Rae pretends to smoke a cigarette, leaning her head back on his shoulder.
Fox looks at me like this is my show. I am so not giving him any more lollipop treatment. Probably. I roll my eyes so hard I’m sure I could crack the sockets behind them. With a quick suck of the teeth, I let out one huff.
“Okay, we kind of are.” I truly did think something more eloquent would come out when I opened my mouth. “
But it’s, um, really casual. Sort of. Not a relationship by any means.”
That sounds like ten layers of bullshit, so I amend before I make a complete untrue mess out of the whole thing. Fox is about to speak—probably going to attempt a horrible patch job of what I’ve put out there so far, so I interrupt.
“The full truth is I want to have a baby because my lovin’ oven is on the fritz and threatening to crap out early before the normal fiftyish year warranty.”
I see Fox’s face and he’s disgusted by my metaphors. It’s not the first time, so I’m happy to be on par.
Rae speaks up. “So, you two…”
“She tapped me for the goods,” Fox says, cupping his junk.
“And I rethink that decision almost every day,” I add, glaring at him and volleying my eyes between his face and his manual jock strap. “Seriously, dude?”
At least he has the decency to look the slightest bit embarrassed—not that he is, mind you, but perhaps he realizes it was not the time for crotch grabbing. It’s possible. He can be taught.
Jonah leans forward over the counter. “So he’s your donor, so to speak?”
I nod, feeling both uncomfortable and hella uncomfortable. I was totally at peace with this decision when I made it, but going public with the hows and whys of it feels like exposing myself on national TV.
“But you’re going about it the old-fashioned way?” Rae continues my casual yet still kind of painful interrogation. Why is nobody looking at Fox?
“She—” Fox begins, but I stop him without even looking at him.
“If you are going to say that I ‘wanted it straight from the source,’ ” I say, and yes, I used air quotes, “I swear I will kill you and extract your sperm postmortem. It happens, you know it does.” My voice sounds lethal, and while I love that, I also realize that I must seem incredibly stressed and bitchy.
Fox, however, is unruffled by my mood. “How do you do that?” he almost shouts. He’s legitimately still smiling, too. “That was, like, word for word what I was going to say!”
Eyes closed, I shake my head. I should have interviewed sperm donors. You know, at least gone to the clinic to see if they had donor bio videos or something. Research, confirm, vet the bastards. “I know you, Fox. Perhaps too well.”
The room goes briefly quiet. I take a cleansing breath and ask quietly, “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you don’t share this particular bit of news? I’d just prefer not to get a lot of attention on the issue while I’m trying to, uh, that is, um, until I have…”
“Until she gets knocked up,” Fox supplies.
“Yes, that.”
“Of course,” Rae says. “I hate gossip or anything like it, so my lips are sealed. Good luck! I hope it all works out well.”
I smile my thanks. Jonah makes a lip-zipping gesture and winks. With that simple exchange, we thankfully drop the topic, which is good, seeing as I have become psychotic. They don’t ask any more about the “benefits” arrangement, hopefully assuming any sex is for the baby making. It’s a little awkward for a moment, but I change directions and ask if we’re going to hit the water before we drive back to Bodhi.
“As if you had to ask,” Jonah says, and I smile. He seems unaffected by the whole revelation. Bless that guy.
Rae hollers like a warrior princess that may damage my eardrum, and Fox makes a similar call before he slaps my ass. I turn and look at him. “For real?”
“What? How is that wrong?” he asks, legit confused. Rae and Jonah shout something from the deck that they’re pulling out the boogie boards instead, which means it’s all goofing off and no serious riding. Fox smiles at me. “It’s all good, Lollipop. Right?”
I nod. “I guess it is.”
We get down to the water and boogie down. My side is a bit tender, but generally it doesn’t hold me back. Lots of falling, flipping, and splashing each other, but after an hour or so, we can’t ignore that we have a long drive ahead.
As we approach the deck back up at the house, we see a nondescript silver tabby rubbing itself on the deck chair legs. It’s awfully thin and small, so it could be a kitten, but it’s big enough to be on its own. I pretty much melt and slowly approach, holding out my hand. Immediately it runs to my hand and nudges, purring loudly.
“Hi, kitten,” I say, and pick it up to inspect the gender. “Such a pretty boy! Jesus, you have balls.”
“Is it?” Fox asks, peering over my shoulder. “Holy shit. Them some balls. Yep.”
“Charming.”
“I’m calling him ‘Cat,’ ” he says.
“Just like that?” I ask. “What if I wanted to take him?”
“I called him. He’s mine,” Fox tells me, taking him out of my hands. “Flower will love him.”
“You sure she won’t eat him?” I tease. He gives me a Kermit face. I laugh. “I wish your face would freeze like that. I would laugh forever.”
He squeezes out a little extra Kermit face and I gasp. “It got better. Oh my God! Ha! Anyway, I’m actually surprised you don’t have a complete menagerie of rescued animals at this point.”
Just like that, he drops the expression. “I kind of wonder that, too. Remember Turtle?”
“Turtle the dog. That was mean.” I rub Cat under his chin. Even so, Fox won’t let him go.
“It was accurate,” he argues. “Don’t you remember how slow she was?”
“The poor thing had arthritis!” I say in the animal’s defense.
Fox rests the little guy on his chest and it hunkers down and curls up by his neck.
“Goddammit.”
“What?” he asks, but he’s smiling. He knows, the ass.
“You’re like Doctor fucking Doolittle over here.” I resent the grin that grows across his face.
He strokes Cat’s back, and I can hear the purring from where I stand. “Don’t hate me because I’m so awesome. Hate me because I’m fucking crazy awesome.”
“I hate you because you’re a dick,” I say.
“I hate you because you’re a granny driver and you’re going to take the slow route back,” Jonah says as he walks by us both. “Get your ass in gear, Monkhouse. I want to get home before tomorrow.”
The next weekend, Fox throws a huge party. It’s not unusual, of course, but it is larger than the usual get-togethers. It’s been a few days since the last time I saw Fox, so it feels a little awkward when I walk in. He’s already shirtless, which is not all that surprising, and he acts normal—friend normal. I remind myself that a bunch of our other friends are already here.
I chat for a bit with Samson and his latest squeeze—she’s sweet, but incredibly soft-spoken. After multiple times asking, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I give up and just nod. I wish Nora was here, but she had an event she was running for work. Instead of using Nora as a distraction, I find myself trying to follow Fox around without really meaning to. My body seems to search him out, and he snags my attention away from whatever conversation I might be having. If I turn to look, he doesn’t seem to be aware of my presence.
The audience groans. They shout at me to get a drink and chill the fuck out.
I stare at the breakfast bar and all the offerings of booze and mixers. I cannot for the life of me decide, so I kind of zone out. Behind me, I can hear Doc arrive in his signature style: loud. Considering the music and chatter is already significant, hearing him over all that is impressive as well. The Australian Stallion, as he likes to refer to himself, just can’t resist an entrance where everyone notices.
“Monkhouse!” he shouts. Sweet Jesus, his voice carries. “How thefuckarya?”
I don’t listen for much longer, attempting to redirect my attention to making a drink. I mean, it doesn’t have to be rocket science, right? Screwdriver? Vodka tonic? Yes. Yes, keep it simple. Not too crazy, right? I pour the vodka and reach for the tonic. Vaguely, I hear Doc ask Fox what he’s doing tomorrow. They’re close enough that I don’t have to strain to hear.
“I gotta fuck Sophie
in the afternoon,” he says, and I drop the tonic and dump out half the bottle.
“Shit,” I grumble. I hastily clean it up with a towel from the sink before spinning around and pointing at him. “What did you just say?”
Fox looks at me, innocent as can be. “What?”
“And it’s rude to point,” Doc interjects sarcastically, also pointing at me. I wave him off.
“What did you say to him?” I ask again, emphatically pointing from Fox to Doc, the latter of whom quietly chuckles to himself.
“I said I gotta find the crate stuff in the afternoon.” He pops an eyebrow when I make a “WTF?” face. “Flower’s crate? Jen that I work with is getting a foster puppy and I said I’d lend her mine. Fucking thing is buried in the shed.”
I look to Doc for confirmation and find him watching me with an over-interested smirk. “Okay, sure. Fine,” I say, taking my drink with me out on the deck.
Fox hollers after me, “What did you think I said?”
My face burns with a blush I resent, but nonetheless, I shout over my shoulder, “I thought you said you’re going to fuck sloths in pantaloons!”
There’s a chorus of raucous hysterics peppered with hisses that make me a bit paranoid, but I’m going to blame it on hormones. Also, I kind of made myself a pantalooned sloth in this scenario. It’s okay. I’ve been called worse.
Hours later, I can’t find my shoes and the house has shrunk. That or people in here have multiplied. The walls also seem to be pulsing—I’m not sure if that’s the music or my head. I’ve only had two cocktails with no plans for babymaking tonight, so I guess I’m clear for another one, then! Dr. Beaufort would not approve, but I’m antsy and despite alcohol being the wrong answer for nerves, I’m going to have it anyway.
As I grab for the latest open bottle of Russian goodness, I hear backslaps and turn to see Doc over by the door wall with Fox, who is still shirtless. I lazily gaze over his back, volleying left and right of the Maori totem tattooed on his spine and two symbols on either side, shielding his shoulder blades. I remember when he came back from New Zealand with them. I went with Roz to the airport and when he got off the plane, he hugged me for a long time. He’d held on tight and let go last. It still makes me smile.
