by Falon Gold
She may never know what I’m truly thanking her for. I don’t part with the knowledge because I truly want it to be her decision to stay with me. Sentimental words tend to make a woman stick around for sentimental reasons, which only last for so long before she realizes her mistake. I want her to stay because it’s what she undoubtedly wants.
We make our wash-ups quick. Astrid shimmers into her underwear and shoves her dress over her head. Lucky her; I forgot to bring my change of clothes with me, and need to move now. I put back on my suit, scoop up her wet towel along with mine, and hurry toward the closed closet door right behind the bathroom’s. Inside are more towels sitting on shelves, but I only need two that’s identical to the ones we used.
“You are devious as hell, Blake,” Astrid cracks, with a small smile in her voice from behind me while I squat down in front of the cabinet.
“You’re talking to the kid that got away with more shit than he got punished for,” I say as I replace the towels then smooth out the folds. “This is how I got away with it. Leave as little evidence behind as possible. Suspicions amount to about the same thing with family and a court of law; don’t mean shit unless you got absolute proof. Well, that’s how it’s supposed to go in a court of law anyway. As long as I excluded Malisa from my misbehaving, I came out smelling like… damn… roses.”
Astrid howls with laughter, catching onto the irony right away. “We’re both smelling like roses right now.”
“Exactly.” If Uncle Luke doesn’t demand to smell my crotch, I should get away scot free with taking advantage of privacy with Astrid in his home and the whopper I gave him about not needing to clean up. And, so help me God, I will learn to resist Astrid until I can get her home.
I don’t think Astrid will tell anyone about this time though. She’ll be snitching on herself, as well.
After I’m sure the towels look the very same way as I found the others, I stand up to open the bathroom door and surveil the bedroom, half expecting Uncle Luke to still be standing guard in it. He isn’t. I turn back to Astrid to peck her on the forehead.
“Go to the kitchen. On the other side of the table is a pantry door in the corner of the room. Natalia has empty shopping bags on the middle shelf. Grab one for the wet towels and bring it to me in the bedroom at the end of the hall. See you in a minute, lady.”
Then I damn near run to the guest bedroom that has my extra set of clothes and Uncle Tommy’s only a few yards away. It feels like a mile. This wouldn’t be necessary if Malisa had trusted the men to remember to bring their formalwear from home. Instead, she held the tuxedos hostage at Uncle Luke’s ranch, and we all had to change here. Having luck that sucks is the reason why Uncle Tommy and I got the changing area farthest away from the master’s bathroom.
Leaving the door open to make it easy for Astrid to find me, I toss the towels on the gray carpet beside the bed and begin to strip as if my life depends on it. It probably does if I don’t get to the reception in time. Layers of my suit land all over the place as I rush to undress. Toeing my shoes off, a cool draft on my back precedes Astrid entering the room. A soft click resonates when she closes the door. In my side vision, pieces of my suit start to fly through the air once again, becoming a pile beside two garment bags laying on the striped gray and black quilt.
I spin around in my briefs and socks. “Sweetheart, I got that. Take a seat and enjoy. This is the only striptease you’re going to get from me.”
She shakes her head, and snickers quietly before picking up a black oxford loafer with a monk-strap. “I’m not helpless, Blake, and I got us in this shit so I’m helping you out of it. It’s fine for me to bend over, I just can't stretch too far up… but don’t make this picking up after you a habit, grown man. Anything that lands on the ceiling fan is on you, grown man or not,” she jests, as I snatch my white tee from the bed over my head.
I hop into the loose fit jeans next. “Got it.” And whatever the hell else she needs, even if I have to break a law to get it. “Trust me, I am not making any of this a habit. We make a deal right now to wait until we’re in our own home to make love.”
The plastic bag in her hand crinkles as she shoves the wet towels into them. I don’t even bother to tie up my khaki boots, after thrusting my feet into them. No time. Pulling the strings tight, stuffing them in my shoes, and covering up the rush job with my jeans is going to have to do. When done, I stand up, with no amen from Astrid about practicing self-preservation around Uncle Luke’s home or anyone else’s establishment, especially when the owner is as heavily-muscled as I am and he has a history of knocking unarmed people the hell out in boxing rings for fun. I highly doubt if that’s why she’s hesitating to seal the bargain though—I fucked up big time when I let ‘our own home’ dribble out of my mouth.
“Astrid, sweetheart, I know you love my body and all, but it may get us killed if we’re caught even one time making up for lost time,” I joke, somewhat, to take her mind off my screw up of giving her glimpse into what I want our lives could be.
She doesn’t even look back. Unease slithers through me when I can’t find the right words to tease her out of her mood. I always could before, but this isn’t ‘before,’ and I can’t help but to think that I’m really running out of time. Well, I am, but soothing Astrid means much more than hearing the groom wish himself a lifelong marriage, no matter how bad Uncle Luke wants to eat.
“Astrid, I didn’t mean we had to have our own home right now… if ever,” I add for her benediction, but I’m fucking petrified that it might just go down that way.
I get no response. Mentally, I’m treading on a thin ledge with a steep drop off, and I can’t see the bottom. Her chin plummets into her chest, whenever she wants to avoid something. That’s not often, so I always take notice.
She finally sits down on the farthest corner of the bed. A canyon opens up between us. The light atmosphere turns dark and heavy. She inhales deeply, as if she’s trying to get a control of her emotions. I guess we’re both freaking out right now.
“Are you done dressing yet?” she asks hoarsely, then reaches back for the heap of clothes.
She scoots them closer. I wait for her to acknowledge me with her eyes. Instead, she concentrates on filling the closest garment bag sprawled out behind her, making sure nothing gets snagged on the zipper, tucking the missing pants button and silk pocket square in the breast pocket. Handling dirty laundry doesn’t take that much effort. She’s been hesitating to bind herself to anything with me on the other end of it since she got here.
There isn’t a thing I can do about it or the giant leaps we’re taking backwards after making baby steps forward together.
What if she never wants a ‘together?’
It takes all the strength I have to not go to her. Touching her is like breathing, ingrained.
I stroke my jaw to give my hands something to do.
“Astrid, I’m not trying to talk you into something that you don’t want. If you don’t want to move in with me right now, just say so, so I can get you in your own apartment right away. It won’t change how I feel about you, you know?”
Finally, she glances back. “You sure?”
Bingo.
I’m not sure exactly what part of my statement her question is pertaining to, but she’s talking again and looking at me. I’ll take that over her moodiness any day. I can’t stop a deep-seated surge that’s driving me near her, to protect her and create a stress-free bubble while feeling our way towards reconciling. I kneel before her, clutching my thighs to keep from putting my hands on hers.
“I’m sure. I’ve waited twenty-six years for you. I think I can wait until you’re sure about me too… however long it takes. Did you bring any luggage with you?”
She nods her head. “I didn’t know if I’d track you down right away, but I planned for a week’s stay if I needed to be here that long.” A trace of leeriness swims in her eyes.
Damn.
When she’s not craving my body, my closeness is
a real issue for her. I vow to make it bearable until she craves that, too, which means not sticking closely until she wants me to. I take the sack with the towels balled in her lap from her. Knotting it up, I rise to my feet, and hurl it toward the top of the tall boy chest of drawers set against the right-side wall. The majestic crown molding on top almost scrapes the ceiling, and it’s a childhood hiding place for things I don’t want anyone to find. Haven’t used it in years.
Astrid’s head shadows the arc of the bag until it’s out of sight, then her gaze swivels back to me. “What are you doing with those towels?”
“Putting them out of sight until I leave tonight, then taking them home and washing them. Washing them here will be all Uncle Luke needs to be right about what we were doing in his bathroom. We don’t want him to be right. I’ll bring them back tomorrow.” I stretch my fingers to hers, to help her up. “Okay. I’ll take you back to the reception, then make calls about getting you a place after Apollo gives his best man speech.”
She smiles and lets my hand gulp hers. “That toast is going to be entertaining.”
“Damn near everything that goes on with the family is.”
When she’s on her feet, I back up and let her go, hardest thing I ever had to do. I don’t want her to know that though, so I return her grin with something splitting apart in my chest. Realization, that I could really lose Astrid before I can rightfully call her mine, leaks out of the hole and pools in the pit of my midsection like dead weight.
Since she’s still skittish as hell around me, I’ll just have to hold onto the belief that we’ll survive this together for the both…make that three of us. It’s going to be hell sleeping in my bed alone, knowing she’s so close but couldn’t be farther away. I’ll do it for her though.
********
Astrid
Walking in front of Blake, I feel like I’m on a goddamn yo-yo that’s constantly being launched outward. Scared. Holding on tight to what is tangible, which is the string I’m pirouetting on. My inability to let go of it and leap into a new way of being with Blake has him spinning with me, back and forth, out of control. It’s plain as day that he’s trying to find the middle ground between offering me a way off the tumultuous ride and being considerate of my feelings while I gain confidence in him and poise in myself again.
In the meantime, I’m confusing him. Hell, I’m confused, and it’s inducing misery for the both of us. His is given away by the draining of happiness from his eyes and the slump of his shoulders every time I accept his affections then draw back from him. I can’t help it. There’s an ache deep inside forged from the time we spent apart that he made no moves to correct until after I’d come to him. It’s preventing me from surrendering to him fully again, a mistake I made the first time when he wouldn’t let me in.
Now, he’s doing everything in his power to be the man I want, making me feel cherished. He did that before, when I knew better than to read anything more into it. The pretty words out of his mouth are nice this go around, but I’m petrified that he’ll take back anything he’s said to me today. I don’t know this Blake. God knows I want to, even while catapulting through midair. Body constantly fighting me to snatch moments of intimacy with him. He’s as addicting as heroin. Withdrawal is horrendous. Keeps me awake most nights in Harrison until I fall asleep, exhausted and all cried out from missing his body next to mine. Whenever he’s near me, the pleasure center in my brain demands I find a way in his arms and get a hit of his body.
Why couldn’t it be just me who’ll be deceived by Blake’s promises of love if they prove to be false? A second chance to be with him would already be in the works, parents called and told to ship my possessions back here. Baby Blake must be my first priority now, and I’ll be damned if he gets hurt because I’m an addict and his father is my choice of drug. Blake and I are just going to hold on a little bit longer during the yo-yoing until I can find my way back to the woman I used to be with him.
I don’t reach back for his hand though I want to. His touch blinds me to his faults. He doesn’t offer his touch, staying a step behind, eyes tunneling into the space within my shoulder blades and creating a continuous tingle there. The remoteness between us is good for my mind that’s comfortable with it after all the time we’ve spent apart, while the core of me screams for the man that’s turned my body against me. Our excursion across the property to the tract for the after-wedding festivities is filled with screeching silence. Baby Blake presses on my spine as if he’s trying to get to his father, even if I’m not.
He’s been shifting to whatever side Blake is on since his father stroked my stomach. Already a daddy’s boy. What if I’m depriving my child of someone he seems to require in his life before he’s even born? I have no way of knowing, no guarantees to put the blame on if nothing pans out in Arrow. My broken heart is one thing, my child’s another. Self-preservation says to just give it time… this time.
Blake and mini-him deserve it and are worth it.
In the distance, a miniature open-ended maze of compact lush leaves vastly outnumbering their lilac blooms begins to block out the cloudless sky. In its absence, the sun lends its radiance to the surroundings. The scenic view of mountains peek over the border of hedgerows doubling as the horizon.
Malisa couldn’t have picked a more spectacular place to tie her life to someone she loves in front of those she loved first. The beauty of the landscape and this momentous day wars with my blues.
You will not fucking cry right now, Astrid. Your wedding day will come… someday. Yeah, that makes me feel better.
A soft breeze steals every other word out of energetic chatter, music lyrics, and animated resonance from children’s play, transporting them to us. Everyone’s elation is almost palpable.
As we get closer to it, tinkling sounds of dishes rise in volume. I pursue the noise until crystal bowls with floating petals and unlit tealights dotting the middle of rectangular lavender tablecloths come into view. Most of the ladder back chairs are empty. The people assigned to them are in line at the buffet, conversing and waiting to be served, or at the bar on the other side.
Malisa waves us over to a table running parallel with the backside of the enclosure. A cardboard assembly of realistic silver thrones envelop her and Apollo’s seats. Behind them, Maria is losing the fight with a net full of balloons trying to soar away before it is time. Above her, a soft breeze is aggravating the sheer, white panel scarf with drooping cascades segregated by silver medallions. They’re miraculously rigged to the highest point of the foliage, adding style and grace to the setting. I can’t be accused of having either now, and need a minute to pull myself together.
“Blake, go see what she wants. I’ll find a seat that isn’t taken and wait for you to come find me after the last toast… or during the dance. Whatever comes first.”
He shakes his head. “Keep moving, Astrid. I doubt if Malisa wants me seated at the bride and groom’s table. If she does and you’re not welcome, which I highly doubt, I’m still not sitting up there without you.”
“It’s fine if she does.” I’m barely a guest, but he’s family. “I can sit with the guests. Everything should be the way she wants it on her day.” I’m not about to spawn discord in his family relations over the seating arrangement.
Phantom fingertips bump against the base of my backbone, and linger. Blake’s intense presence converges with mine from behind.
“Move, Astrid,” he commands right against my ear.
I shiver. For a moment, my woes roll away. This man’s touch and nearness is everything.
Of course, it is, that’s why you don’t want it on you until you know for sure if he’ll still want you tomorrow… and the day after that… and the day… I get it. Damn! Lay off, conscious.
Finally, we’re standing before Malisa’s and Apollo’s joyful faces. She’s more than gorgeous in her diamond-studded wedding dress, thick, jet-black ringlets spread-out on her shoulders. Her makeup consists of mascara and gloss, just the ri
ght amount I’d select for myself. Mixing with her is hard when she’s so happy, and I’m tainted with misgivings and fears… oh, and envy.
This could be my day if Blake and I had done things right from the very beginning. Working at another department, unbothered about who’ll discover the true nature of our association, wouldn’t have been a tribulation, as long as I was coming home to him every night.
You came home to him almost every morning, and things still fell apart.
A repeat of that would break me.
Which is why you’re running scared, even while standing still.
As if it isn’t bad enough that I know my shortcomings, I’m chunking them at myself internally too, and hitting all the weakest spots. What I wouldn’t do for blissful ignorance again.
“About time you two made it,” Malisa chirps then sips from a flute of water, her eyes flit over the rim to the far end of the bride’s section. “Sit on my side of the table, and you’ll have some privacy to talk while everyone eats before they converge on the newest members of the family.”
Damn, I’m not even with Blake and she’s already calling me family. The back of my eyes burn. You. Will. Not. Cry, Astrid, dammit! Now say thank you, because you’re not fit to meet anyone right now.
“Thank you, Malisa,” I manage throatily.
“Anytime, sister.” She winks and replaces her goblet on the table.
I feel a tug in my chest and must inhale around the nub suddenly in my throat just to breathe. Apollo leans over to kiss the top of her head. Blake’s fingers prod me to sidestep. I revolve toward the bride’s corner, to circle the table, stopping behind two empty chairs with preset place settings of pyramid-shaped napkins, prefilled wine and water glasses, and utensils. There aren’t any on the groom’s side however.
“Smells like a setup, doesn’t it?” Blake mumbles, drawing a harrumph out of me.
“Yep.”
But it’s just family looking out for family. It’ll be easy to grow attached to Malisa. With her forethought, she’s making her home a home away from home for me, and I am grateful.
