“Oh, shit. We have to tell Jeb.”
“Christ. I may as well grab a mic and tell everyone at the reception.”
Prescott and Harrison only laugh. Special pats me on the arm and says, “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s a perfectly good thing to be confused about when you’re on morphine and you’ve never had a catheter.” And then she fucking snorts again. And squeaks. She’s biting on her lips, trying not to laugh. “Okay, I won’t mention it to Jeb. Not tonight anyway.” She stands on her toes and asks, “Do you want me to tell those guys that I can attest to the fact that your dick is fully functional?”
“No! Well, maybe.”
“Weston has an exceptional dick. In fact, it’s magical.” She looks at me and winks, then goes on to say, “I think it’s been sprinkled with pixie dust. You wouldn’t believe the staying power that dick has.” She walks away, leaving them, especially Prescott, staring after her with his jaw flapping. Now it’s my turn to laugh. Men. Such dickfaces.
Epilogue
The Following Spring—Special
It was Weston’s idea to do it, but I was on board one hundred percent. I thought it would be fitting, not just for her, but for Cody. Even though there wasn’t a body, at least we could have a marker, something to memorialize her with.
The week before the planned service, I went to Sasha’s parents’ house, along with Weston. They agreed to speak with me when I told them I had information about their daughter, which surprised me. They weren’t what I’d call super friendly, but they accepted the news nevertheless. When I explained how she died, her mother’s eyes filled with tears. It was the first time I’d ever seen her show emotion. Then I told them Cody, her child, was living with us. He was our adopted son. Since there had been no contesting Weston’s move to adopt, it had gone through the courts quickly. I let them know they were welcome to see him anytime. I showed them several pictures of him.
“We’re holding a memorial service for Sasha next week. I thought you should know in case you’d like to attend. Even though there isn’t a body, she was my best friend and I want to memorialize her.” I told them when and where. They never said whether or not they would come.
On the day of the service, it’s warm and sunny, like Sasha would have loved. There aren’t many of us—Weston, Cody, Mimi, Jeb, a couple of friends of Sasha’s from school, and the preacher. The granite stone Weston bought is perfect—plain with a border outlining the following:
Sasha Grace Berenson: 1990 to 2014
Loving Daughter, Friend, and
Mother
Taken From Us Too Soon
Cody holds my hand, and I hold Weston’s. We gather around the stone, and the preacher starts to pray, when Mr. and Mrs. Berenson join us. Weston squeezes my hand. I smile and nod at them. After the prayer and blessing, we all plan to go back to A Special Place.
“Mr. Berenson, Mrs. Berenson, I’d like for you to meet Cody. Cody, these are Sasha’s mom and dad.”
I am so proud of Cody at this moment because he holds out his hand like a little gentleman and says, “It’s very nice to meet you, sir, ma’am.”
Their mouths curve up the tiniest bit. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too, young man,” Mr. Berenson says.
“Are you coming to A Special Place with us?” Cody asks. “She has the best food in town.”
I can’t help but laugh at his attempt to advertise.
“I think we just might stop by for a minute or two.”
“Well, that won’t even give the cook enough time to cut a potato,” Cody says. “She cuts the potatoes fresh with this thing,” he demonstrates with his hand, “and they’re the best in town.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to stay long enough to try those French fries.”
Cody flashes them a wide grin, and his front teeth make them smile in return. The kid is a charmer.
“Then I guess we should skedaddle, shouldn’t we, big guy?” I ask.
“Yep.”
Weston tells the Berensons where the bar is and off we go. When we get in the car, Cody asks, “Are those people my grandma and grandpa?”
“Well, Cody, yes, they are.” It’s a little awkward.
“How come they don’t come to my soccer games, like Mimi?”
“It’s difficult to explain, but maybe they will now that they’ve met you.”
“Maybe I can show them how I can kick with both feet.”
Weston, Mimi, and I agree while wearing our serious expressions. When we get to the bar, we make sure there’s a table pulled together to seat everyone. Then we start telling Sasha stories while we wait for our food to come out. Cody loves this. He loves the one about Sasha’s two left feet.
“Too bad I couldn’t teach her how to kick a soccer ball,” he says.
Mrs. Berenson says, “I’m afraid she would’ve broken something, dear.”
“Yeah, her nose,” I add.
Cody giggles so hard, it’s impossible not to laugh too.
After we eat, everyone leaves, but not before thanking us for putting it together.
The Berensons also thank us. Then Sasha’s dad says, “We’d like to see Cody sometime, if that would be okay.”
“We’d love for you to come over. Actually, Cody wants you to come to one of his soccer games. I’m not sure if that’s your thing, but he’d love that.”
“I think we could manage it,” Mr. Berenson says.
Weston gets their number and says he’ll give them a call with Cody’s schedule. When they’re gone, we’re surprised they actually want a role in Cody’s life.
Mimi says, “I think it’s wonderful. Maybe they finally realize how much they missed out with Sasha and don’t want to make that mistake with Cody.”
“Maybe. It would be nice for Cody to get to know them, but if they act toward him the way they did toward Sasha, I’m not so sure.”
Weston says we should call to talk to them further, and we do. It’s an enlightening experience. After Sasha disappeared, they went to counseling and realized how terrible they were. They know they can never make up for the mistakes they made with Sasha and they blame themselves for what happened to her, but they would like a chance to know Cody. They said they would understand if we didn’t want them near him, but meeting him made them realize how much more work they need to do.
“I would like for Cody to have a relationship with you, but at this point, I want it to be supervised. I hope you understand,” I say.
“We’re fine with that. All we want to do is spend some time with him. We’ll come to his games, to your house, or if you want to meet for dinner, that’s fine too.”
So we make arrangements to meet once every other week for dinner and let them know when his games are. We feel starting slowly is best. If things progress nicely, then maybe we’ll invite them over.
Cody seems excited when we tell him, and I know in my heart it’s what Sasha would want. She always wanted to make things right with her parents. It’s a comfort to know with her gone, at least Cody will get a chance to be connected to her in another way besides through me.
That night, when Weston and I are alone in bed, I say, “Sasha is happy. What we did today was the right thing to do. Thank you for encouraging me to initiate the conversation with them.” I press my lips to his. “Every day with you, I have to pinch myself just to remind myself I’m not dreaming.”
His mouth presses against mine. “You are far better than any dream.”
He rolls over on top of me and finds my sex with his fingers. Then his mouth seeks mine and it’s a slow, hot kiss that sets my heart racing. It’s a good thing we don’t sleep with clothes on because it makes our sexy time much simpler.
Hooking my leg over his arm, he spreads me wide as his thick swollen head finds its way home. Inching in, then backing out again, he teases me until I beg him for it all.
“How bad do you want it?”
I’m moaning so much, I can’t even answer him.
He finally gives me
what I want, and with one final thrust he leaves me grasping the sheets, almost shredding them. I come with a fist to my mouth as he pulls out and flips me so I’m straddling him.
“There’s much more where that came from, my little fuck bunny.”
Pinching his nipple, I then wrap my hand around his cock and seat myself on it. “Oh, yeah,” I pant, “well, I’ve got more for you too, Westie.”
He tilts his pelvis and we find our rhythm, the one where he hits all my right buttons.
“God, you’re magnificent. Your tits, your pussy, your body, everything.”
My hands press into his hips, using him as leverage as I lift and lower and he rises to each occasion. His hand moves between my thighs, where he finds my clit, and always, always, applies the exact amount of pressure so I can score another orgasm.
“I love it when you come around my dick, squeezing it so hard.” He groans out his own climax. That’s when I cave into the wall of his chest. I love it here—where I feel protected by him. “You’re the most perfect woman, so beautiful.”
He loves to look at my back with all the ink.
“You’d better enjoy this body while you can.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
I get up and he asks where I’m going.
“The bathroom.”
“Don’t be long.”
I have something he needs to see. When I get back, he looks up. I know exactly what he’s going to say, because he says it all the time.
“Get that beautiful body of yours in here.”
“I hope you love this body when it’s not so beautiful.”
He kisses my hand. “You’ll always be beautiful.”
Inhaling, I say, “Oh, I’m not so sure about that.” I pull the picture out from behind my back. “When this little bugger gets to be about seven or eight pounds, I’m going to look like a watermelon.” I hand him the picture of the ultrasound.
“Huh?” He is clearly confused.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Uh …”
“It’s an ultrasound of our little cashew. We’re going to have a baby.” We both decided we didn’t want to wait, especially since Cody had already turned seven. So I had stopped taking the pill after the first of the year.
“Are you serious?”
I laugh and fall face-first onto his chest. “Yes, I’m serious. We’re pregnant, honey.”
“Oh, God, we’re pregnant. Lie down. We just had sex. Violent, passionate sex.”
“It’s fine. That’s what pregnant couples do. They fuck, Weston.”
“And nothing happens?”
“Yes, they come. Like we did. Then they fall asleep and wake up at two or three in the morning and fuck again. Or maybe the wife wakes up to find her husband eating her pussy.”
“They do?”
I punch his arm. “I’m going to buy you some books. Or look it up on the internet if you don’t believe me.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna be such a neurotic fool over this? I would’ve kept it from you until I went into labor.”
He aims his pointer finger at me and says, “You’re so not funny. You know, I kept wondering why you didn’t drink these last few days.”
“I suspected.”
“We’re having a baby!” The dorkiest expression appears on his face. I can’t help but kiss his mug.
“I have one request,” I say. “We cannot under any circumstances name this kid Special.”
Seven Months Later
I’m sitting up in the hospital bed, holding our daughter as Weston watches. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m positive. We talked about it, and Mimi’s real name is Elizabeth. I think it’s a beautiful name. And Sasha would’ve adored it.”
“Elizabeth Sasha Wyndham it is. Thank you. I love it.”
“So do I. How many more do you want?”
“Jeez, why are you asking me that now?” Then I look at his ashen face and chuckle. Apparently, Weston went down like someone knocked out his lights during the delivery. When the doctor told me to push and the baby crowned, Weston checked out. “Next time, maybe Jeb needs to come in there with me.”
“That was brutal. I thought you were dying. When the head thing came out, it was...”
“That head thing was your daughter.” I shake my head.
“I didn’t know she’d look so … gray and gooey.”
“Weston, what did you expect? A perfectly pink baby?”
“Yeah, like the way she looks now, except how long will she stay this wrinkled?”
I can’t stop the laugh that bursts out. “You have to remember she’s been in amniotic fluid for nearly forty weeks.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t think about it. That’s pretty disgusting.”
“Now it all makes sense.”
“What does?”
“You and medical stuff don’t agree. No wonder you thought your dick was falling off.”
“You’re probably right. So, when can I hold her?”
I give him a once-over and ask, “Are you okay? I mean, really okay? I don’t want you to faint again.”
“No, I’m good. If I sit right here, I’ll be fine.”
He reaches over and lifts the baby out of my arms. Then he settles into the chair and takes a good look at what he holds. “Can I pull her arms out of this bandage?”
“It’s not a bandage. They swaddled her in a blanket. And yes, you can. Just loosen the blanket, reach in there, and gently grab an arm.”
He loosens the blanket to reveal a tiny limb.
“Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. I’m a father. We’re parents, Spike. Can you believe we made this? Look at her tiny fingers. And check them out. She even has itty bitty fingernails to go along with them.”
I’m biting my lips not to laugh, but it’s the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
Then he looks up at me and has the most serious expression on his face. “I swear before you, God, and everyone in the world, I promise to be the best father possible. This child will never lack for anything, especially love and affection from me. I will never let her, or you, down.” His cheeks glisten from tears, and I know he’s thinking of how he was raised.
“I know you won’t, Weston. I know you won’t.”
He once told me I was his special obsession, but I’m pretty damn sure he’s mine too.
The End
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A Sneak Peek at Obsessed With Vivi
Coming July 2017
**This is unedited.
PROLOGUE
The zipping sound the duct tape made as I ripped it echoed through the empty room. After I pressed the strip down and sealed the box, I leaned back against my heels, examining the space. It was hard to believe Mom was gone. It still hadn’t sunk in.
My eyes were bone dry, the opposite of when Dad died. Maybe it was because I had expected Mom’s passing, even prepared for it, while Dad…Dad had gone with no warning. A car accident had suddenly and brutally stolen him from us, gutting us both in the aftermath. Mom’s death had been a sort of relief, as terrible as that sounded. Even if I was still waiting for the dam to break.
Thinking back to the day she told me, I rubbed the ache between my eyes. I’d been so stupidly naive back then. I’d been at the top of my game and nearly blind to anything else. As a recent college grad, living in the Silicon Valley, working her dream job, and making a great salary, I wondered if there was anything more I could a
sk for. Then Mom dropped the bomb.
At first she had difficulty holding a pen. Then she became uncoordinated and fell occasionally. After it persisted, she consulted her doctor. The diagnosis was ALS.
She withheld telling me for a year because she didn’t want to alarm me. Didn’t want to alarm me! And of course, when I came home the two times during that year, she blamed her falls on tripping over the rug, or having a new pair of shoes; she covered it up so well, I believed her. Why wouldn’t I? But when it got to the point where she needed assistance walking, she had no choice but to tell me.
It was when I realized how little I knew of the disease. Oh, sure, I’d seen those videos on Facebook and YouTube to raise money. I’d even had someone dump a bucket of ice over my head for the ALS cause, but I never really knew the total implications of the disease. Not until Mom’s diagnosis. When I did, I made the decision to give up my job and move home to be with her. It was the best thing I’d ever done. I wouldn’t take back one minute of my time with her. And maybe that’s why I wasn’t crying. The disease that took everything away from her, down to her ability to breathe without the ventilator, could no longer play cruel things to her body. She was finally free—free to soar among the clouds, to run, or scratch an itch with her hand if she had one—and maybe even dance around with Daddy again.
Forcing myself back to work, I did a quick scan of the room and was pleased to nothing but packed and sealed boxes. That only left one other thing. The closet door glared at me, daring me to open it. It was the last thing left in the house to pack. I had intentionally left it that way because of what was inside: memorabilia from my time at Crestview Academy.
I supposed Mom thought she’d been holding on to nostalgic mementos for me. She was wrong, but I had never wanted to burst her bubble. So I carefully hid the abject unhappiness related to those items from her. Crestview was a place for the wealthy and beautiful, of which I was neither. And after Dad was killed, and we found out exactly how little money we had, Mom still insisted I stay in school there. Now I know how she did it. We moved into this smaller home that she mortgaged up to the hilt, and she plunged herself into debt so I could have my great education. It did land me into MIT and I ended up with one hell of a job, but now look at me. I was up to my eyeballs in debt, because I’d wanted her to have the best stay-at-home care. I decided that I’d figure out how to pay for it somehow later. It seems that mentality ran in the family.
A Special Obsession Page 31
