Cherry Blossoms

by KT Morrison

  Now she wasn’t going to work apparently, given the time. And a devious, gollum like, Precious-stroking, ugly jealous part of him was softly gurgling, Good, good, goooood…

  As much as he loved her, respected her independence, wanted her fulfillment, a base primitive part of him was thrilled at the idea that she would skip work today, never go back, and be his loving daily inseparable companion. Sit with him in his studio, work on his books in her PJs til noon, go out to the bakery together for lunch, make some dinner while he went through a long boring stretch colouring things on the computer…pick up Odie from school at three and just fucking be with him. Like, forever. He could fuck her pretty good. He was getting better. They had the greatest sex ever the last month. Twelve years together, things should be winding down. But, no, they were hitting their stride, getting totally crazy with each other.

  He wanted her to fuck Rocco, had really wanted it. For her and for him. But now that it was done, hearing how big he was and ten times worse—a thousand times worse—hearing how good he was, there was an ugly tumorous knot pressing against his heart. A palpable lump in his chest. He felt farther from her. Like something had come between them. But Nia had made him feel better, hadn’t she? So sweet with him last night even though she wasn’t able to make love—she had done so much to bring him into her dirty escapade. She made him feel like it was all okay.

  She would go to work again. She would fuck him again. Suck him. Stroke him. Do some of the things he felt like she might still be a bit afraid to tell him about. He wanted more. If she was going to do those things he didn’t want to be so separate. If this was going to progress and evolve he wasn’t going to be on the sidelines. It was thrilling to be at home while she went off and got dirty—he’d never ever forget the intensity of his emotions this weekend. That thrill was done. Maybe he didn’t want that again.

  He wanted to watch. He wanted to see, to know, what she did.

  “Look who’s up…” Nia’s voice, from the doorway of the kitchen.

  He turned to see his girls. Nia standing, sleepy still, in her pyjamas, face wan but somehow happy, her hands resting on the shoulders of his beautiful Odie.

  He rested his weight on the counter and watched them, mother leading daughter ahead of her to the breakfast table. Nia whispered to Odie, “What did Daddy make us? It smells so good…”

  They had breakfast together, all three of them in their booth by the window and they watched the sun come up, watched the sky go from dull midnight blue to a soaring cyan. Odie went to her day camp. They packed her up and sent her off like things used to be before Nia worked. He asked her if she was going to go to work and she shrugged, looked pained.

  “I didn’t…it didn’t end right…”

  “What didn’t?”

  “I woke up in bed…with Rocco…and I rushed out of there, got on a plane and came home. I just wanted to be here so bad.”

  He hugged her.

  She said, “I didn’t leave a note, I didn’t say good-bye, I left him. He had to do the show by himself on Sunday.”

  “You haven’t heard from him?”

  She shook her head.

  “Call in sick. Spend the day with me. I’ll blow off what I have to do…”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “Yeah. I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of Rocco?”

  “Yeah. We had a weird night.”

  “You’re safe with me, Nia,” he said, holding her to him. He pictured himself, out with a shovel, digging a moat around his princess, hoping it would be enough. A twinkling knowledge high in the inky sky of his subconscious that this ogre could swim. “You’re safe with me.”

  Part IV

  Kaleidoscope

  17

  Loving His Wife

  Tuesday, July 18th

  GEOFF

  It was the best sex of her life, she’d told him.

  He lay in bed, in the dim, early morning blue. A pinky dab of light played on her high, sharp cheekbone as she slept. Her face nestled lightly in her pillow, expression innocent, lips parted. What did she dream? What were the things that played out in that small, well-formed skull? What was her badness?

  She’d relived her story to him, her tale of ecstasy—how Rocco took her. It sounded sexy. But it didn’t sound like it was the best sex of her life. What was she leaving out?

  The point of this sharing, this freedom, was to know her better, to know her completely. He wanted to be that for her. He wanted to be that friend of long ago, plus with the added legacy of love and marriage and parenthood. He wanted to know her darkest thoughts, love them the way she loved them, bring them out in the light and examine them together. Know her completely, accept her completely. Such an odd concept, but one with which he’d become obsessed.

  She would tell him in time. He knew she would. She needed more distance from the event, that was all. Her strong, little heart was still going pitter-patter, and it just needed a moment to calm. It needed a moment to sort itself out. Then she would stop struggling. She’d open like a flower and he’d know her scent.

  Those strange moments in their past—when they were just friends and she would reveal something sexual—he’d always thought they were hurtful. In truth, twelve years on, they were knots of lust, little bumps in the blanket of his life that drew him. Drawn to them because they poked out above the surface, rose from the even and boring plain of his existence. They were sexualized, intense. Those lusty moments with her, the woman he would go on to marry, were what drew him to her. He had to be honest. She would be on his couch, they would be watching a movie, and she would say something sexually disturbing. Accidentally, maybe, but it was like she had flashed him. Philosophically flashed him. Opened her raincoat and bared to him a dirty part of her. He wanted in on that. He wanted to be a part of her in that way. To be a dirty part. His nurturing spirit took over somewhere along the way. Nice-Guy-Geoff took over and nursed his wounded bird back to health. Maybe that was what she needed because she had responded to his care. But he put her in a cage and he fed her and watered her. He loved her and wanted what was best for her, but deep down he wanted that cage door opened and to see his pretty bird fly.

  NIA

  Standing at the bathroom sink, black makeup pencil drawing a line under her black eyes, she wondered what the day might bring. Would she come home at lunch, a Penny-Saver under her arm, sit with Geoff in his studio while he worked, and circle job ads? If Rocco fired her today would he make a scene—would he yell at her in front of everyone, in front of Doug and the crew? She was tough, but she kind of felt like if Rocco really let her have it she could cry in front of the others. Normally, she’d get mad, too mad to be upset. But this was different—she was in the wrong. She’d run out. Yes, they’d had sex, and that made things difficult, but she was there to work too. The sex was her own doing, but there were responsibilities she had and she’d run out on them. He’d be right to yell at her, fire her.

  But the sex had been overwhelming for her. More than sex, it was something powerful. It felt illicit. She wondered if Rocco worried she'd call the cops on him. In the light of day, had she stayed, seeing him would have been unbearable. She had to leave, come home and see her family.

  She’d called the office in the morning, got Shelly, and said she wouldn’t be in to work because she wasn’t feeling well. Rocco didn’t call to check on her. He didn’t send a single text to see if they were all right. Wouldn’t he be worried she was mad?

  So she stayed home, too afraid to face Rocco. Stayed in the arms of her husband and boy did that man pamper her. Brought her coffee to bed, got Odie off to the Arts Camp, then he ran her a bath and rubbed her shoulders. He sat with her and talked to her. Didn’t talk about anything of consequence, stayed well away from any talk about Rocco, but he was just—he was just there for her. What she’d done was hot. Really, really fucking hot. But it was huge. It was wrong. And in the sunlight, it took its toll. Geoff made it all better.

  He was okay with it. She knew
he sensed that he was getting the blue version, not the x-rated, hardcore truth. She could tell him. He’d be okay, but somehow saying it, putting into words what she’d done, the baseness she’d sunk to...she didn’t want to hear those truths come out of her own mouth. They didn’t once discuss the event yesterday, but she knew he was all right with whatever had happened.

  Geoff took the day off, Winslow was in, and he did a lot for Geoff, scanning and piecing together some big drawings and did some work on his website for him. Geoff took her out to the Village like they used to do. Had breakfast at the bakery. It was nice; she didn’t realize how much she missed it even though it had been only a few months away from that luxury. Felt much longer than that.

  They walked the streets, poked around the shops, did some clothes shopping. They did fuck all and it was exactly what she needed. She needed some time with her best friend.

  But there was something looming, something she’d avoided but wouldn’t be able to keep at bay much longer. She looked in the mirror, looked over what she was going to present to Rocco in about an hour. She looked rested, healthy...pretty. She flicked the bathroom light off, then leaned on the edge of the doorway and watched Geoff still sleeping in bed, covers up to his waist, laying in profile turned on his side. He had a white T-shirt on, one arm tucked under his head, his sandy hair sticking up in thick clumps. She went to him. Sat on the bed and rested a hand on his shoulder and watched his eyes open, watched him slowly come awake.

  “Hey, baby,” she whispered.

  “Mm-morning,” he mumbled, his lips sticking together.

  “What are you doing today?”

  “Mnnh," he grunted, "got a lot of work.”

  “Really? What?”

  “Bunch of new stuff came in. God, I’ve got more to do than I can handle already. Karla sent another job in on Sunday night.”

  “She never takes a break.”

  “She’s a good agent.” He turned his face to hers, inhaled, eyes struggling to take her in.

  “What is it?”

  “I haven’t said yes, but it’s...it would be big. For Sparrow House. They want me to write.”

  “Really? Sparrow House does?”

  “Karla said I look good on TV, they probably liked that. Moms like me.”

  “You are very sweet.”

  “She said they probably think I’m a good product. Good for promotion.”

  “You have any ideas?”

  “I have something amazing.”

  “You do?”

  “I’ll tell you later. I feel like if I give it time it might not seem so amazing. I want to be sure...”

  “Tell me tonight.”

  “You going?”

  She nodded.

  He asked her, “You okay?”

  “I’m scared as fuck.”

  “Whatever happens, baby...”

  “Thanks, Geoff. I know.” She kissed his forehead and then looked in his sweet eyes as she ran her nails through his tousled hair. “I want to make love tonight.”

  He put his hand over hers, spread across his shoulder. “Me too. You feel better?” his eyes darted down, where her crotch would be.

  “I’ll be fine. I bought lube yesterday when we were at the drug store. We’ll put it to good use.”

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  She clutched his hand, then lowered her lips to his and kissed him softly, sensually, maybe a little too sensually for the morning but she wanted him thinking of her during the day. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said with a smile.

  She left him in bed, walked across their dawning room and went downstairs headed to the car.

  She was leaving something behind. A spectre on her back. Trying to shake something off that sat on her shoulders and kept whispering bad words in her ear. The thing that Rocco said in the hotel room, the thing she wasn’t even able to repeat in her own head...not in words. It existed in her brain like a tumour, a wordless, nameless lump that didn’t need to communicate, its mere existence enough to be weighted with complete and total understanding; wrought with the knowledge of what was inside that black mass of cells and what, if it burst, would come oozing out. Annihilation. Destruction. Like magma from a volcano, destroying anything it touches.

  NIA

  Nia stepped up into Rocco’s truck using the checker-plate metal, three-step side-ladder he’d had installed for her under the passenger door. When she’d thanked him for thinking of her, he’d said he’d hate to have her stop wearing skirts.

  She pulled herself in and eased herself into the leather seat, her butt squeaking on its surface, sounding so loud in the quiet cab. Her seatbelt clicked closed and she sat with her hands crossed on her lap, too frightened to even say Hi.

  His big hand gripped the shifter on the steering column and he put the truck in Drive and they rolled out of the yard. Rumbling past Doug loading a dump truck with gravel using a tractor, past the maintenance crews loading up jugs with chlorine from the thousand-gallon tank, past the store still empty and unlit at seven-thirty in the morning. They pulled out into traffic and headed for the highway.

  Rocco’s breaths were heavy and even, calm. The radio softly squelched; Doug on his, talking to some of the other crews, the construction guys heading over to Orangeville today. His elbow was on the sill, his other hand draped over the top of the wheel. There was a square, flesh-coloured fabric bandage in the crook of his thumb, wrapping over the webbing and onto the thick, bulging adductor muscle. She had bitten him. She had got crazy and fucking bitten him.

  They were inching through traffic on the Gardiner, along the elevated section by Yonge, heading to the DVP so they could get north, up to the suburbs. It was brightening now, the gray sky being tuned to a brilliant, early morning azure. Traffic was bunched up. They were virtually at a standstill, up high, looking down over all these dumb commuters.

  Her hand reached out and folded over his. His head turned in her periphery and regarded her. Her small thumb gently rubbed over where she’d sunk her teeth into him. Her fingers curled under his palm and she brought his hand to her, lead it to her mouth, and she kissed him there, kissed him on his bandage. Her long, painted nails took a corner of the elastic fabric and pulled it crossways, corner to corner, until his wound was revealed.

  White scoops of his flesh dug out by her strong, white teeth. Bruised, bluish, inflamed and angry where she'd broken the skin. Her soft lips pressed against his wound, kissed him, felt the heat there, the pain traveling to her lips. His body struggled to heal what she’d done. She tasted him. Pressed her tongue to the wound, flattened it against him and tasted copper blood, smelled the sticky talcum bandage residue. She sucked his wound. Her lips grabbed at his flesh til she had it wet, til her lips glided across his slickened skin. She pulled blood from the wound, tasted the juice that kept him alive.

  A car honked behind them. Traffic had moved. Rocco was frozen watching her. His face lustful, mean. His eyes moved to the road and he put his foot down, lurched forward to catch up. Then they were stopped again.

  He turned to her. His hand was enormous in her small grip; both her hands clutching him, her fingers so small compared to his. She kissed his hand again. His fingers ran over her face, his thumb pressing her chin. She kissed the webbing of his thumb and forefinger. Her bottom lip was pressed down with the tip of his thumb, and he touched her teeth. Her lips parted and he slid that huge thumb past her teeth and into her mouth. She took it in and sucked on him. Tasted the salt, the dirt, smelled the chlorine. His rough pad ran across her tongue.

  “You’re fuckin nasty,” he grunted, not smiling.

  She nodded, still sucking on him.

  “You really fuckin bit me.”

  She nodded again, sucked him, let her lips drag until they came to a point at the nail. She said, “You ripped my little pussy wide open.”

  “You fuckin loved it.”

  “Geoff took me to the doctor.”

  “What?” he said, frowning, his brow coming low.

&n
bsp; “You tore my pussy.”

  He took his hand back. “Wait, Geoff took you?”

  She nodded. She was a little liar.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Just that I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “What happened?” he shook his head at her, his mind reeling trying to comprehend all she was saying to him.

  “I bought lube for next time.”

  “Next time?”

  “When I’m feeling better,” she said, and she ran her hand across her lower tummy, saw his eyes look down between her legs, saw him understand suddenly.

  Another honk. His eyes went to the road, his hand back to the wheel. His mouth had parted, his sexy, plump lips pouting as he realized what she meant.

  “It’s flavoured.”

  “What’s flavoured?”

  “The lube,” she said, and she undid her seatbelt, let it go and it sizzled as it recoiled up into its housing.

  She flipped up the centre console, heard all the change he had in there, screws and caps, and butterfly nuts, slump noisily to the bottom. Scooted her butt across and got close to him, put one hand up on a big shoulder, the other hugging under his muscular arm, her hand caressing his chest and stomach.

  “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I left you.”

  He was signalling, looking over his right shoulder and parting traffic with his threatening monster truck, drawing honks but being given passage, crossing two lanes of traffic and getting onto the exit from the Gardiner under the long, blue, morning shadow of the Air Canada Centre.

  Her heart raced, beating strong under her ribs. They were okay. He wasn’t mad. He wouldn’t fire her. He was hers again. But she couldn’t fuck. She wasn’t ready. She clung to him anyway, watched out the window while she was pressed to him as they headed down Jarvis, the lake beyond where the road ended, a ship sliding across their view along the choppy blue. He darted left across oncoming traffic and into the mouth of a fenced off construction lot. Future home of sky-reaching condominiums. He parked on a haphazard angle across the sidewalk, dead even, out her window, with the artist’s concept sketch.