by Xavier Neal
Sheepishly, I reply, “I have been…busy…”
“I didn’t realize the Highland Orchestra was that demanding. If you wanted that why didn’t you stay with Sparkcane? They have a much better, much more highly respected reputation.”
My eyes glance the direction of our cracked bathroom door. “Not just with work.”
“Something personal?”
“Very.”
“Classes? Perhaps finally going back for your doctorate?”
“No.”
Something I don’t even want to do, but have my parents constantly commenting I need to.
“Have you finally used the card of the nutritionist I recommended? Had a consultation for the adjustable gastric band surgery?”
The reference to my weight sinks my shoulders.
“You know the last thing you need is to become a diabetic Mable. You are obviously incapable of making healthy choices. The operation and consultation would assist greatly.”
And this…this is where the complex about my size began and why it is constantly re-established. Interesting how distancing myself from calls like this has actually aided in weight loss and a healthier life style.
With a heavy sigh, I state, “No. Not that either.”
“Oh.” The surprise in her voice is unmistakable.
Unlike Blake, whose family and anyone who follows him on social media seems to know everything going on in his personal life, I have always been a bit more private. There weren’t many people to share the minor details of the life I had outside of music, and now that there are I am still getting adjusted to opening up. Dana aside, I don’t have anyone else of my own. Sure, I’m developing relationships with Dawn, Sienna, and Ollie, but those are still very new as far as I’m concerned. I’m not close to my sister. I am one of the only women in the orchestra. My avenues to discuss how I spend my time are still quite limited.
“Is he in the orchestra with you?” When I don’t immediately answer she adds, “You do know that only someone in the business or who has been in the business can thoroughly understand the demands your career requires.”
I sigh again, “That’s not true, Mother. Blake is very understanding and very supportive.”
Including my decision to hold off on telling my parents about the two of us until I was more comfortable. I didn’t even have to explain how I wasn’t ashamed we were together, so much as just not prepared for the interrogation. His understanding has no end and I’m utterly grateful. I just hope his patience remains stable after meeting them. God knows they are going to test it in ways I never will.
“Oh, is he?”
“Rehearsal always comes first in our relationship.”
“As it should.”
“He invests time into listening. Time into watching me perform. Time into…making sure my body stays limber.”
Not just with sex, but hand rubs. He also asked Dawn for specific tips on finger and arm stretches since she used to do something in fitness.
“Why don’t we all have lunch together?”
She doesn’t reply.
“I have concerts for the next four weekends. I’ll arrange tickets for you and father for our Saturday matinee finale and afterward we can all have lunch together.”
“Sounds. Lovely.”
Ignoring the curtness in her tone, I question, “Would you like me to pick the restaurant?”
“Do you not trust…Blake, is it?”
His favorite restaurants consist of some combination of beer, burgers, and big ass flat screen televisions we can watch basketball or other sports on. I may have grown a fondness for them despite my distaste for sports still, but they are far from the type of place my parents would ever consider eating at.
“Yes, his name is Blake.”
She hums her judgment over his name.
‘A name is always more than a name’ is what my father used to say. He believes in the power it has to define, or at the very least influence you. They swear naming me after one of my great grandmothers is where my attachment to music is rooted since she was always singing gospel hymns. Sometimes I think they were disappointed I was given the hands of an angel rather than the voice of one.
“And Blake doesn’t know the two of you as well as I do Mother-”
“You’ve mentioned us to him, but not him to us?”
I cringe. “I was waiting for the correct timing.”
My comment receives the acknowledgement I expected. “Timing is quite important.”
Calling my parents punctual would be a gross understatement.
“We’ll make reservations at our favorite steakhouse downtown. Does he eat steak?”
Can’t imagine being raised on a ranch or farm or whatever it’s called when it’s both and him not eating it.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll make the arrangements.”
The sound of the shower cuts off at the same time I lie, “Looking forward to it.”
I’m not. It’s going to be a disaster and I’m not prepared to weather the storm quite yet. At least I will have four weeks to fortify my relationship from the possible pending doom.
Blake’s dripping wet body appears in the door frame to our bathroom gathering all my attention. He lifts his eyebrows in question, most likely over what is preventing us from more birthday sex. Apparently, a blow job before I rushed off to rehearsal and sex on the kitchen table before the gym were not enough.
“Mother, I have to go. I have plans I need to shower off and change for.”
“Alright then.” Her lack of argument deepens the lingering trepidation over the whole idea. “I expect you to call again soon.”
“I will.”
After I end the call, Blake’s face tilts in suspicion. “I know that look, Angel. What’s wrong?”
“We’re having lunch with my parents.”
“On my birthday?”
Quickly, I shake my head. “No. No. In a few weeks. They’re going to come see me play and then we’ll go out to lunch together.” A realization hits me in the gut expectedly. “Oh, God. I just assumed you wouldn’t be busy when I made the plans. Just assumed you would drop everything and be there, babe.”
“You assumed correctly,” he sweetly informs.
My shoulders drop in relief.
“We’ll look at my calendar tonight and I will do everything in my power to be there. And if we have to reschedule then we’ll just reschedule, Angel.”
I try to vanquish the nervous expression. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
He takes a step forward. “If you’re ready for to me to meet them, then I’m ready to do it. I love you, Abby, and my family is yours and one day soon, your family will be mine.”
The allusion to marriage receives a wide smile.
Blake hasn’t actually asked, but the hints are becoming less and less subtle. After we moved in together almost two months ago, he made it quite clear it was next on the agenda. At first, it made me uncomfortable. Everything seems to be too perfect and moving too fast to be “acceptable”, but he reminded me it’s not about what anyone else thinks. Just us. I know the minute he drops to one knee, I’m going to say yes. I knew he was it for me a long time ago. I think he’s just waiting until he’s met my parents first. I hope like hell they don’t change his mind.
With our original shower plan foiled, I decide to rinse off by myself while Blake answers another birthday call and gets dressed for the afternoon. He childishly pouts, but agrees we probably shouldn’t be any later to his birthday party than we already will be. My time in the shower is brief. The process of scrubbing away sweat, conditioning my hair, and pampering my face goes much quicker without another pair of hands on me to be distracted by. However, once I’m out and beginning to actually get dressed, Blake’s inability to keep his hands to himself returns.
With a sly smile, he blocks my path back to the closet. “We’re gonna be late.”
I drop my hands onto my string covered hips. “Not if you move. I
just need to put on my jean skirt and a little bit of makeup.”
His fingertips glide down the front of my thong forcing a shudder to run through me. “Like I said, we’re gonna be late.”
Blake lowers to his knees, tugs the thin white material to the side, and gives my clit the lightest lick possible. I moan and lean back against our dresser, gripping the edge for leverage. His tongue continues the teasing until I spread my legs wider for better access.
Softly, I beg, “More…”
The feeling of him smiling against my pussy deepens the ache his teasing has created. He carefully drapes one leg over his shoulder and pushes his tongue firmly against me. I lift my hips to help in the gentle lapping and Blake groans in approval. Rather than help me wiggle out of my thong, he rips the lace curtain to completely expose the treat he’s more than ready to consume. Before I have a chance to fuss at him for ruining my panties, his hot mouth is sucking on my clit with such fervor I begin to suffocate on my own screams. His savage groans are muffled because his face is buried so deeply. The vibrations only heighten the pleasure and my pussy buzzes with bliss. Blake’s large hand palms my ass tightly and uses it to thrust me against his insatiable tongue. One set of my fingers winds through his damp hair as my entire body relentlessly rides his mouth, eager to come, and even more eager to have him lick up every last drop. I continuously gasp, lungs burning for air, while he ruthlessly ravishes.
His tongue curls inside and strokes deeper than I can handle. On a silent shriek, I finally surrender an orgasm and Blake relishes the scorching wetness, licking up every last drop like honey at the bottom of the bowl. My entire body quivers from his continued action with such ferocity I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to walk again.
Gradually, he removes his tongue, making sure to give the entire area one last kiss goodbye. His glistening face beams up at me. “We’re gonna be really late…”
I whimper yet Blake helps relocate me from the dresser to our bed.
It is his birthday. Shouldn’t he get what he wants?
Blake’s mother who insists on being called Mama starts placing plates and napkins on the kitchen table. “Guess those boys are too busy playing monsters and aliens to come have cake.”
“The Avengers,” I correct from my seat beside Blake.
Everyone in the room gives me a puzzled look.
“They’re playing…Avengers….like the movie.” Without waiting for anyone to ask how I know, I blurt, “They’re obsessed. We had to watch it three times when we watched them for the weekend. It’s the only reason I know. I really don’t know much about movies. Or pop culture. Or really anything outside of classical music.”
“But we’re changing that,” Blake defends me against myself. “You know more than you think you do.”
His mom smiles widely. “That explains why Reed keeps roaring like an animal.”
“He’s The Hulk,” I inform. “We even painted him green before feeding him green Jell-O.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Those boys seem to love you as much as they do Blake.”
I was terrified they wouldn’t. Adults can barely tolerate me, why on earth would children be able to. I wasn’t even a good child when I was a child. When Blake agreed to have us watch them last month over the weekend, it felt like the argument of the century. I pulled every excuse I could think of. I would be at rehearsal both Friday and Saturday until early afternoon. He promised he was fine being alone for a few hours. He had done it numerous times before. I expressed concerns for having five young boys running around the house and potentially breaking very expensive things, including my cellos, he swore if anything became broken he would replace it, but that they understood boundaries better than I was giving them credit for. The discussion continued back and forth until it spiraled into a yelling match. One of the only we’ve ever had. However, he never budged. Them not staying wasn’t an option. By the end of weekend, I was glad it happened. I may have ended up watching more Avengers than I enjoyed but playing with them was so much fun. We went to the park. Gorged on pizza and cookies. Had races in my backyard and even went swimming in the neighborhood pool I’d never been too. Not only did the weekend with them make me feel like a part of their family, it got my mind wanting our own someday. Seeing how good he was with them whether they were behaving or needed to be reprimanded was like looking into a fortune teller’s crystal ball. I loved what I saw and I know even if I’m the world’s worst mother, it’ll be okay because he will be the world’s best father.
“I am hands down the best uncle,” Blake brags at the same time his father sits down at the table.
“You are not,” Ford argues from across the table.
His thumb strokes my shoulder and I scoot a little closer. “I’m always takin’ them to do cool shit. Not just on Sundays either.”
Sundays are family days in the Shaw world. While Blake and Ford have dinner every Sunday night possible with his parents, the others don’t, but do just as often. They’re one of those families that loves being together. The consanguinity is something I would be jealous of if I wasn’t so welcomed into it.
“You’re also the one who is always returning them home with more bruises than they left with.”
“They’re kids! They’re supposed to be bruised!”
“You always were,” Oliver says as he enters the room. “I just assumed it was because your brain and your body couldn’t figure out how to get along.”
“And yet they did in the department it mattered most.” Blake winks.
Oliver grunts his disgust and sits in the seat opposite of his father.
Out of all of The Shaw sons, Oliver is easily the one I can most relate to. He doesn’t fit. Regardless of his size and somewhat similar features, he’s strikingly different. Even now, while we’ve all managed to dress comfortable in jeans and t-shirts, he has on khaki shorts and a polo. They start rambling about sports, he waits until someone brings up something about computers before speaking up. Earlier, they were tossing the football around with all seven of the boys, and he stood off to the side, chatting with Ollie about video games. In a way it feels like he dubbed himself the outcast. His brothers don’t seem to treat him that way, inviting him to join in on conversations whenever possible, and Blake swears growing up they teased him a bit, but never to the point he wasn’t considered one of them. I’m not sure if there’s more I’m missing or if Blake’s sugar coating their past. Either way, I know how much it pains Blake not to have the closeness with Oliver he does with his other brothers. It shows. No one else may notice it, but it’s definitely there.
“Who wants cake?” Mama, as she prefers everyone to call her except her grandchildren who are allowed to call her Mimi, asks with a smile similar to Blake’s. “There’s Blake’s favorite as well as chocolate fudge and cheesecake.”
“Sienna made all of those?” Ollie quickly questions. “From scratch?”
Pop nods. “Always does.”
“She really should have her own bakery,” Oliver sighs.
“Yeah,” Blake agrees quickly. “She’d do fantastic. She’d have a ton of business.”
“Maybe someday,” Mama says with a bit of defeat in her tone. “Let’s not discuss that now. Let’s just get dessert goin’ before my grand boys run in here and leave us just the crumbs. Who wants Blake’s favorite?”
“Second favorite,” he teasingly corrects. “I had my first favorite before we got here.”
The tacky sexual innuendo has me elbowing him in the side.
Blake chuckles but doesn’t back down. “Nothin’ wrong with havin’ a double dose of cake on my birthday.”
Pop folds his hands and states, “By that definition then all the Shaw men are probably havin’ a double dose today.”
My hand covers my mouth in surprise.
I know his family is open and sometimes vulgar, which is hilarious to hear, but it still takes me off guard occasionally.
“Well, not all,” Blake challenges. “Oliver proba
bly hasn’t had cake since Netflix started streaming.”
“Fuck you,” his brother bites with no humor in his tone. “Just because I don’t post on Facebook or Instagram or SnapChat or Look My Dicks Bigger Than Yours every fucking thing that happens with my girlfriend doesn’t mean I don’t fucking have one! It doesn’t mean I’m not good enough to have one! And it damn sure doesn’t mean I’m some back up, second string asshole that’ll never be good enough for the woman of his fucking dreams.” He abruptly stands and storms out of the dining area.
