by Mae Wood
“Good because I have zero idea what I’m doing.”
“You are a lucky bastard. Charmed life.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. “I’m sure you can guess where I’m going with my question. What was so wrong about Memphis that you didn’t want to come home?”
“Come here.” Trip dropped my feet and swiveled me into his arms, holding me tightly as we both looked out towards the river. “This is going to be easier without you looking at me. Plus, I get to feel you up.” He reached under my t-shirt and quickly palmed my breasts before settling his warm hands on my stomach. I giggled. He is so handsy with me. “The year before I went to boarding school my sister died. Being at home was too sad.”
Okay, so he’s telling me. “Oh, Trip.”
“Yes, so like before no follow up questions until it’s your turn again,” he stated, before planting a kiss on the crown of my head. “My turn. Do you want a family of your own one day?”
Way not to hold back with the questions! Does it get any more personal? I settled on honesty and took a deep breath.
“Okay, I’m going to answer and I’m glad you can’t see my face. You can’t ask a thirty-six, almost thirty-seven, year old woman who isn’t even married if she wants to have a family someday. It’s like asking a man dying of thirst in the Sahara if he’d like a drink of water. Of course he’d like it, wants it, but it’s not like he can just skip off and find a water fountain. It’s easier not to think about it.
“There are some things in life that you can’t control, can’t plan. And that is one of them. Did I ever think I’d be my age and single? No. Did I ever think I’d be Holly Homemaker, living in the suburbs and homeschooling a flock of kids? No. I never really thought about it. I just figured it would fall into place. It hasn’t. So, does that answer your question? Because I can’t say anymore on that topic.”
Trip let the silence fill in the space a bit. He placed another kiss on my head and tightened his embrace. “I’m tired of playing this game and I didn’t want to upset you. That wasn’t what I was after. I just wanted to get to know you better. You know by now that some of my ideas don’t come out as perfectly as they are in my head. So, let’s not play anymore,” he exhaled, softening his hold.
I nodded, expecting him to reach for the newspaper, but instead he breathed deeply.
“My sister developed leukemia when she was four. I was two. I don’t remember her not being sick, but I also don’t remember her being really sick when we were little. She went through a lot of treatments at St. Jude and was in remission by the time she was six. We were just normal kids. She had more medical appointments, of course, but we still played and fought and were just kids.
“Apparently it’s not uncommon for her type of leukemia to reoccur and reoccur much more intensely. Her leukemia reoccurred when she was thirteen. It was a really hard time. I was confused and scared and sad and hurt.
“My parents were a mess. I hardly saw my mom because she was at St. Jude so much with my sister and when she was home, I could hear her crying in the bathroom. My dad got drunk one night and wrapped his car around a telephone pole, which is why we now have George to drive him places. My mom knew she didn’t have the strength or will to keep my dad away from drinking, so she went with Plan B, which was to hire him a driver. I told you George was good at keeping secrets.
“Anyway, it was up and down. My parents’ housekeeper, Ophelia, became live-in help for a while. She took care of me. Fed me dinner. Made sure I took baths and did my homework. George drove me to and from school and tennis lessons. I think my parents thought that by keeping me busy with things like tennis lessons, it would be easier on me. Give me less time to worry, I suppose. I’m not sure it worked. All I know is that I absolutely hate tennis.” He paused for a moment and I remained still in his arms, letting him set the pace.
“Caroline, that was her name, Caroline. Things were looking better. She’d even been home for a few months. Then just after her fifteenth birthday, she just kind of fell apart. She died from an infection that her body was too weak to fight off. To this day, I’m an obsessive hand-washer. Not sure you’ve picked up on that yet, but I am.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“Thank you. It still hurts. Can I tell you the rest?”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I want to hear anything that you want to tell me.”
“Okay. While we’re talking like this, it’s just easier to keep going. So when we came out here to snuggle and read the papers, did you think you’d end up learning my deepest secrets?”
“No. Based on our Scrabble play, I thought we had good odds at solving the Saturday crossword in the Times, but I didn’t think we’d be sharing all of our secrets.”
“I’m glad I can share them with you.”
“Me, too.”
“So here goes the rest. I told you my mom had a cancer scare a few years back and that caused me to grow up.” I nodded. “Well, the cancer is back. She doesn’t know I know.”
My heart stopped beating. Bitsy is sick? “You mean she hasn’t told you?”
“Right.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Well, when you grow up with a sister who is dying and parents who don’t tell you what’s going on, you get really good at snooping and figuring things out. I was at their house a couple of weeks ago and in Mom’s bathroom, looking through her drugs and there was a new prescription. After Googling, I’m pretty sure the cancer is back. I’m waiting for her and dad to tell me.”
“Could you be wrong?”
“I can’t get my hopes up like that. False hope is one thing that I don’t have room for in my life. So if I’m wrong, that’d be great, but I’m not banking on it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. You know she really likes you.”
“I like her, too. We had a good time together.”
“She really liked going shopping with you. I know she missed out on doing a lot of the girly things with Caroline so it’s nice she can do them with you.”
“Didn’t she do girly things with your other girlfriends?”
“Could have, but no one else was willing to. For that alone, I will always be grateful to you. Now come here,” he finished, turning me around in his arms. His eyes were bloodshot. He leaned his nose in to touch mine. “I’m more than grateful to you, Marisa Tanner. I know we haven’t known each other long, but you mean the world to me.”
Chapter Sixteen
I woke up Sunday morning snuggled with Trip in his bed. Naked body to naked body, warm under his ancient quilt. I could want this forever. Trip stirred. “Good morning,” I mumbled.
“Come here,” he croaked out, still groggy from the wine-soaked steak dinner we had prepared. We’d attempted a game of Scrabble in the flesh on the deluxe spinning board he’d ordered just for us, but given up when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
He pulled me into his side and I rested my head on his chest, melting into him. I listened to his heartbeat and steady breathing, knowing that tomorrow the real world returned.
“Are we really going to have to put on clothes today?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the answer is no. But that might make others a wee bit uncomfortable. Plus, I don’t want anyone ogling my girlfriend’s goods any more than they already do.”
“So we’re leaving the house today?” I drew lazy lines with my fingers across his muscular torso.
“Going on a bike ride. Want you to meet the guys.”
“Trip, please tell me you didn’t buy me another bike.”
“Okay, so I won’t tell you. But it’s purple.”
“And it’s not a Huffy.”
“You are so funny. A Huffy.” My head gently bounced up and down on his chest from his laughter. “It’s Cannondale.”
“Okay. Fine. I’m going to lose. Here are my conditions. First, no more than eight miles.”
“Done.”
“Second, I set the
pace.”
“That’s entirely fair. Anything else?”
“Third, will you drive me home so I can get an outfit and shoes?”
“Nope. Got you a full kit. Jersey, shorts, shoes, even socks.”
“Please say it’s not some totally neon and goofball Lycra cycling outfit.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a cycling outfit unless it was Lycra and the jersey was on the loud side.”
“So, not neon at least.”
“Not neon.”
“And no hearts or flowers or teddy bears?”
“Unicorns okay?”
“Only if they are pooping rainbows.”
“Ah, so this is true love,” replied Trip, nuzzling the top of my head. “No, no unicorns, pooping or otherwise. I think you’ll like it. Come on, let’s get showered up. We’re meeting the guys in a little over an hour and as much as I love looking at freshly fucked Marisa, that’s one Marisa I have no intention of sharing.”
“Freshly fucked?”
“Well, we do have an hour.”
I groaned in a fake protest and Trip pulled me out of bed, slung me over his shoulder, and walked to the bathroom.
***
“Most girlfriends get flowers or jewelry. I get a bike helmet.”
“Correct. And a Cannondale with Campagnolo brakes and more awesome components than you will care to understand. Because you are not most girlfriends. Plus, I’m kind of fond of this little noggin,” said Trip, jostling my helmet around with his hands to ensure it stayed snug. “And, I seem to recall giving you both a bracelet and flowers.”
“Point taken.”
“You can unclip it now. We’re going out to Shelby Farms,” he said, referring to the enormous public greenspace on the outskirts of the city. “The guys are meeting us there. We’ll ride around and then head back here to play with the bikes. Once I can convince you of the wisdom of cycling over running, we can hop on the Greenline in Midtown, take it out to Shelby Farms and back.”
“Some plan you have there, Mr. Brannon.”
“Well, a man has to dream. Until then, we’ll be doing a loop around Shelby Farms. So, did I do okay on the outfit?”
“Yes,” I said, looking down at my jersey that featured the logo of Ghost River’s Pale Ale. “You did a really good job. Couldn’t have picked a better one myself. I was worried there it was going to have some obscene double entendre.”
“Those would be motorcyclists. We bicyclists are a much classier crowd.”
“You guys look like clowns. Literally. Have you ever checked yourself out in a mirror?” I gestured to Trip’s black Lycra shorts with a purple zigzag on the legs and Wallace and Gromit jersey. “Wallace and Gromit? Really.”
“Yes. Those movies are awesome. And this, beautiful, is one of my more understated jerseys. If you like this, you’re going to love the Wonder Bread one. It has polka dots.”
“Speaking of Hostess products, I can see your Twinkie in that outfit.”’
“And that is somehow a drawback for you? Based upon this morning in the shower, I thought it would be a selling feature.”
I shook my head and threw my hands in the air. “You win. I give up. Let’s go ride some bikes.” Trip fastened a rack to the top of his hardtop convertible and loaded the two bikes.
Cruising down Poplar Avenue filled with church-going traffic on Sunday morning, Trip filled me in on the cast of characters I’d be meeting. “And, you know Bert. Bert and I have been friends since childhood. We went to elementary school together. Then we got split up for a bit while I was at boarding school and boycotting Memphis. Hey, I don’t even know this. Where did you go to high school? Collierville? I can’t believe I don’t know this.”
“St. Agnes.”
“Okay, so you pick on me for going to boarding school and you went to a private all-girls’ school?”
“Trip, there is a huge difference between your swank East Coast boarding school and a local Catholic girls’ school. Plus, I don’t think that you had plaid uniforms and nuns keeping you in line.”
“Plaid uniforms, you say. Do you still have one?”
I playfully smacked his thigh. “Really? Are you trying to make that outfit even more obscene? I don’t want to meet your friends with them thinking that I’ve been enticing you this morning.”
“Enticing me? Is that what the nuns called it?” he snickered.
“You are in a weird mood, Mr. Brannon.”
“I’ll dial it down,” he said, regaining some of his more business-like composure. “Just looking forward to you meeting the guys.”
“You mean showing them that you finally caught the mythical ‘Runner Girl,’ ” I said, employing air quotes.
“Something like that.”
“So, do they know how we met or am I supposed to let them think that you finally did something to make this happen other than creepily watch me run by your house for a year and fantasize about talking to me?”
“Yeah, so I kind of left off the part about your being our lawyer and jumped to the bit where I bumped into you on the street and we went to Pig and Barley for dinner.”
“Okay, that’s not cool.”
“Why isn’t that cool?”
“First, no sane woman would ever agree to go to dinner with some guy she just randomly bumped into on the street. So, the guys are going to think I’m nuts. Secondly, it also makes me look desperate.”
“If I recall properly, you were more than a little desperate later that night.”
“You hush. Finally, if you fucking told them about that night and our little round at your house, I’ll look like the biggest slut in the world.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I don’t want anyone to think my girlfriend is that easy. I mean, she may be easy, but I don’t want to be broadcasting that fact.” I smacked Trip’s thigh again, harder this time. “Seriously, I’ll be good. I told them we met through work, that I took you to lunch at Paulette’s, and then we had dinner at Pig and Barley. Bert saw that train wreck, so it’s not like he doesn’t know about that part.”
“Train wreck?”
“Would you honestly describe that night as anything else? It’s not exactly how I’d planned to seduce you.”
“You had a plan to seduce me? Can we go back to that plan because right now I’m having awful flash-forwards of explaining to a teenager about their mommy and daddy’s first date.”
Oh, fuck. Did I just say that aloud? I slapped my hands over my mouth. Well, this isn’t a whole mess of awkward. How am I going to recover from that? Children? I had to reference children? Where did that come from? Oh, dear God, I think I’m going to puke or die from embarrassment. Or both.
“Beautiful, plans change. And we’ve got plenty of time to come up with a PG version.” Trip patted my leg. “We’re here.”
***
“Riding wears me out,” I sighed, collapsing happily into Trip’s car while he loaded the bikes on the rack above my head.
“Clearly. But do you think it’s from the bike or from all the other rides you’ve taken this weekend?”
“Trip!”
“No one heard me. And I was on my best behavior for the past hour.”
“You’re right. Chat me up with your smooth lines all you want. Just make sure to stop at Gibson’s on the way home.”
“Donuts. I like how you think,” said Trip with a wink, moving his car into the midmorning traffic. “So, let’s talk about the next two weeks.”
“You mean the benefit?”
“No, the next two weeks. I’ll be back in time for the benefit. So, here are the options. I have to be in London for work. It’s the dollhouse division. Can you be my lawyer for one minute?”
“Sure. I’ll charge you two chocolate covered donuts for this conversation.”
“Man, that’s steep. You better be good.”
“You know I’m better than good,” I shot with a wink.
“Really, back to the business before I pull this car over and we get arres
ted for public obscenity.”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Not now. I’m serious. We’re thinking of selling the dollhouse division. You know we just cleaned house and fired all of the upper management.”
Yup. I did the severance documents for those terminations.
“It’s a bigger mess than anyone had thought. Bigger than I would have believed. I’ve got two words for you – forensic accountant.”
“Seriously? Y’all think someone cooked the books?”
“We’re not sure, but something is screwy. We’re in early negotiations to sell it. However, if we let anyone see the books before we’re sure they are sparkling clean, it will stink up all of Branco. The buyer is European, so we’re meeting in London for talks next week. This week I’m back in Michigan. Okay, off the clock. Back to being my girlfriend.”
“I’m going to get whiplash from this,” I joked.
“So, I’m headed to London for business.”
“Just for that one meeting?”
“No. That’s the cause, but I’m meeting with some other folks on some other issues while I’m there.”
“I didn’t know Branco had interests in Europe.”
“As of now, we have some sales and marketing reps, but don’t have any assets per se located in Europe.”
“So, basically, I’m not going to see you for another two weeks.” He’s known about this all weekend and hasn’t mentioned it until now.
“Or you could come with me. Or, at least meet me. We could go somewhere for a long weekend before the meetings start. London, Paris, Prague, Nice. Your choice.”
As we pulled into Gibson’s parking lot, the 1960s neon donut sign twirled over our heads like the thoughts in mine. “Just think about it. Let’s go get those donuts so I can settle up my account.”
The bell on the glass door jingled and we stepped into the small donut shop. It was brimming with families dressed for church, people in pajamas with bedhead, and now two brightly colored Lycra-clad cyclists. While I eyed the single long case of donuts as we stood in line, a preschooler careened into Trip at top speed and fell to the floor.
