by Geneva Lee
Max continues to shovel forkfuls into his mouth, but I can only stare at my food. Jude doesn’t have the same problem. He takes a bite and groans with pleasure. The sound of it shoots through me and lands between my legs. I know that sound intimately.
Jude holds up a forkful when he sees that I have not started on mine.
“You have to try this,” he urges me.
God help me, but after all this time, I can’t say no, so I take the bite and rediscover the hunger that had forced me awake in the first place. Jude takes a few more bites, then pauses to sign to Max.
You look different, little man.
Max bounces in his seat, pointing to the implants on the side of his head.
What are those? Jude signs excitedly. Max answers back that they’re going to help him hear.
Then I can listen to your music.
I nearly choke on the food in my mouth. Reaching for my water, I swallow hurried gulps to wash it past the lump sitting in my throat.
“I’ll write a song for you,” Jude promises him. His blue eyes flit to mine. “I wrote one for your mommy.”
I want to listen to it, Max signs.
“She hasn’t told me if she likes it yet,” Jude says, his lips face Max, but he’s speaking to me.
We stare at each other until Max appears between us. I shake my head, trying to clear the dizzying feeling that’s infected me.
What can I get you? I ask my son.
I know what I want.
He grabs my hand and tugs it toward the center of the table. He does the same to Jude, linking them together. There’s no electricity like you read about in books when our skin touches. Rather his hand is warm on mine. The only thing I feel is a comforting peace followed by a pang of longing.
“Looks like he knows exactly what he wants for his birthday,” Jude says. He had remembered it was coming up. Of course he had.
Sitting across from him now, I realize Jude isn’t such a mystery. There are shadows in his past. Yet he’s chosen to live in the light. No matter where our lives lead us, it’s comforting to know that there is someone out there who loves Max as much as I do.
Max tugs at Jude’s sleeve, and he looks away from me. I feel colder without his eyes on me. Max asks if Jude will be there when they turn on his implants.
Jude glances up, his eyes searching for permission, and I nod.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he promises.
I excuse myself to do the dishes, and swipe furiously at my eyes as soon as my back is to the two of them. Jude comes up behind me, reaching around me to put his plate in the sink. His arm makes the barest contact with my waist, and I resist the urge to fall into him.
“I’m almost done out there,” he says. “Do you have plans the rest of the day?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. He moves away from me, and I miss the heat of his body.
Want to go for a ride? he asks Max, who answers by jumping up and down.
“I’ll get us dressed,” I say shyly.
An entire cold shower later and I’m still replaying Jude’s hand clasping my own and his arm brushing against me.
I’ve just stepped out of the bath when Jude appears.
“Max is watching cartoons,” he tells me. “I got his shoes on.”
I wrap my towel tighter around my chest. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be ready.”
I don’t know why I feel self-conscious. He’s seen me far more undressed than this.
“I think I’ll get cleaned up a little if you don’t mind. Not much I can do about the clothes,” he says, gesturing to the sweat and oil stains, “but the rest of me washes off.”
“I’ll throw your shirt in the dryer,” I say. “It won’t do much, but it won’t be sweaty.”
Hooking his thumb around the hem, he pulls it over his head and holds it out to me. I know the body he’s put on display, but having seen it before doesn’t make me want it any less.
I excuse myself hurriedly, shutting the door behind me. Tossing Jude’s shirt in the dryer, I slump against the wall.
Take it slow.
Dr. Allen says I need time to heal, and to accept that my relationships have changed. I know that’s true. It’s why I’ve kept Jude at a distance, but seeing him like that reminded me that some feelings don’t change. I wait ten minutes, listening to the whir of the dryer, before I pull his shirt back out and take it to him. He’s washing his hair in the sink. His hands massage the soap into his silky, black locks, putting the broad muscles of his shoulders on display.
“Give me a hand,” he calls over the running water.
I put his shirt on the towel rack and move tentatively to him, cupping my hand under the faucet. I help rinse the soap from the hair at the back of his neck. At this angle, I see three words hidden among the tribal symbols inked over his shoulder. I know so much about this man, but there’s still more to discover if I’m willing.
Quaere veritatem tuam.
I trace the letters. “What does this mean?”
Jude reaches for a towel, and I step back as he wraps it around his head. “It means seek the truth.”
“What truth is that?” I ask.
“I used to think it meant beauty and love and success.”
“And now?” I whisper.
He tosses the towel to the floor and steps closer.
“You,” he murmurs. “You’re the truth I’ve been seeking my whole life.”
He cups my face in his hand, but as his lips slant over mine, a tiny body squirms between us.
We break apart laughing. “I think someone’s ready to go.”
Jude grabs his shirt and pulls it on. Lead the way.
Max makes a beeline for the door, and I rush to keep up with him. When I finally catch him, I ask as a sign, “What about our car?”
He shakes his head and points outside to the yellow Jeep.
“I guess that’s up to his daddy,” I say to Jude over Max’s head.
Ask your mommy, Jude orders Max, who turns pleading eyes up to me.
“Fine.”
Jude grabs the booster seat from my car and we pile into the Jeep. The afternoon warmth is already taking hold, so he unzips the sides of the soft top. With Max in the car, Jude drives cautiously, allowing me to finally enjoy the ride he promised me months ago. I hold my hand outside the window allowing the breeze to slice through the gaps between my fingers. My hair whips around my face. I don’t ask where we’re going. It hardly matters.
Twisting around, I check on Max, whose smile stretches from ear to ear.
“I think he likes it,” Jude calls over. He pulls off the road into the parking lot of Chetzemoka Park. He jumps out, insisting on lifting Max from the Jeep and setting him safely on the ground.
“I’m new to this dad thing,” he whispers to me. “How am I doing?”
“Perfect,” I murmur.
Max grabs us both by the hands and drags us toward the swing set. When we reach it, Jude crouches in front of him. “I want to talk to your mom,” he says. “Is that okay?”
Max nods before dashing off to climb on the playground equipment.
“Come on,” Jude says, taking my hand.
Within eyesight, a small footbridge has been built over a sliver of a creek.
“This is beautiful,” I say, looking around. “I’ve never been here.”
Is this what Jude will show me, all the pretty places I’ve been too oblivious to see? Will he help me finally find the beauty in the world that I’ve ignored?
The wooden boards creak beneath our feet, and we pause at the apex, leaning on the railing to watch as Max begins to swing.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I say softly. There are hundreds of reasons why being here with Jude is a bad idea, but I can’t deny the one reason it’s not. He’s lodged in my heart, and I don’t want to ever set him free.
“I’ve been thinking about that, and I think I’ve come up with a solution,” he tells me. I wait for him to share and he reac
hes back to pull out his wallet. A moment later, he hands me a fortune cookie slip.
“You will get a second chance,” I read, then I laugh. “I thought this got thrown away.”
“I told you that I keep the good ones. I had a feeling it might come in handy.” His fingers graze along my wrist.
Maybe it’s time I adopt the same policy.
“Let’s start over,” he suggests. “I’m Jude.”
“Grace,” I whisper.
“It’s nice to meet you, Grace. In fact, it feels like I’ve been waiting to meet you my whole life.”
I search his eyes, and there I find my truth.
Relaxing my hand, I let the fortune slip from my fingers. The wind catches the scrap of paper, and it flutters to the water below.
“What if I need a second chance?” Jude asks me.
I run my hand down his jaw. “You never will again.”
“I’m pretty good at screwing things up,” he warns me.
“I’ve been taking lessons in forgiveness.”
I was broken when I met Jude. I still am, but with him I’m closer to whole. Together we’re nearly complete. His mouth slants over mine, his strong arms bracketing my shoulder blades as he draws me closer. When his lips seal over mine, I know I’ve found my forever.
Epilogue
“I don’t think it’s level,” Grace says heaving a sigh of frustration as she stands back to survey the picture over the mantel.
We have two nearly full moving vans out front, and she’s busy hanging paintings. I abandon the box I’m carrying and join her in the living room. “I’ll help you with it later,” I promise, grabbing her by the waist, I spin her around to face me.
“I have been dreaming about hanging this painting right there since you gave it to me last Christmas,” she tells me.
“It’s still your second favorite gift then?” I ask, but she shakes her head.
“It’s my favorite present from last Christmas.”
I pull back and stare at her in surprise. “I gave you a house last Christmas. Specifically, the house we’re standing in right now.”
“I know that,” she says, “but that painting makes this our home.”
Dropping my hold on her waist I walk over and adjust its position. “Is this better?”
“Perfect.”
I stop and admire it with her for a moment. It’s my first real attempt at a portrait. I have spontaneously painted Grace on a couple of occasions, but this piece had been inspired by a photograph that Grace’s best friend captured of us last summer. Grace, Max, and I sitting on a large rock looking out at the sea. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to scale the damn thing, but we had managed to, helping Max along the way. I’d hung the photograph on my easel and slowly painted it for months. I still didn’t know if I’d managed to convey how the wind caught her hair or how small Max looked between us. I was pointing to something out on the water, but looking back at that perfectly captured memory it felt as if I was pointing to our future.
The photo had managed to show exactly what I’d felt in my heart for the last two years: this is my family. I had hoped to give Grace the same gift, and looking at her now I know I have. I linger in the living room, soaking in the sensation of home and family for a moment longer before I return to my work.
It had taken me a year and a half to convince Grace to finally move in with me. Then we’d taken another six months to remodel her dream home. The house had come on the market only a few days after she’d finally said yes to the question I had been asking her for over a year, and I’d known it was a sign.
There was still a lot to do to the outside of the old Painted Lady to return her to her original Victorian glory, but the location couldn’t have been more perfect. Perched on the bluff overlooking downtown with a generous amount of garden space surrounding the home, it rose like a beacon of Port Townsend’s past. I’d heard horror stories about remodeling and renovation, but nothing could deter me from giving Grace her dream.
As it turned out, the entire process had brought us closer together than ever. We’d demolished the kitchen and ripped up the floors. We’d picked paint colors and tile. We’d messed up enough times to have to bring in contractors, and I wouldn’t change any of it.
“That reminds me,” I say catching her hand as I head back toward the front door, “we still haven’t decided what name to put on the mailbox: Kane or Mercer?”
She wrinkles her nose. “As long as it’s not Kane-Mercer.”
“You’ve made your thoughts quite clear on that name,” I tease her. During the legal proceedings where we sorted out all of Max’s documentation, we’d debated on whether or not to change his last name.
“Kane-Mercer sounds like a serial killer,” she says.
That had been her argument then as well.
“I still think Max Mercer sounds like a comic book hero,” I point out.
“Then it’s just perfect for him.”
I have no argument there. Max is my miracle. His kindness and love have granted me more joy than I thought possible in this lifetime.
But she’s not going to distract me from the Kane-Mercer debate. “We’ll talk about this later,” I warn her.
She knows it’s a threat, but she merely raises her eyebrow as if to accept the challenge. I kiss the smirk off her face and reclaim the box I abandoned near the foot of the stairs marked Max.
He’s sitting on his bed drawing a picture. I peek over his shoulder to spot three stick figures and a smaller shape I can’t quite make out. Dropping on the bed beside him, I wait for him to stop drawing and look to me. “Who are you drawing, little man?” I ask him, signing along as I speak.
The cochlear implants he received two years ago have been an adjustment for all of us. We’re lucky that his mom put so much effort into learning sign language, which encouraged me to do the same. Being able to communicate with him through a language he understands is slowly helping him to attach the sounds of our words with the shape of our lips and the words we sign.
It’s been an uphill battle, but seeing how much progress he’s already made makes it all worth it.
“Our family,” Max signs as a few accompanying consonants trip over his tongue.
“I like it, but what’s that?” I point to the shape in the lower corner of the page.
“Our dog,” he signs back with a grin.
“We don’t have a dog.”
“Not yet,” he replies.
I guess I know exactly what he’s planning to ask for this Christmas. I’ll have to run this gift request by his mom. Although, I can’t imagine a more perfect addition to this chapter of our lives, except for maybe one thing.
“I’m going to keep working,” I tell Max. “Do you have your outfit ready for dinner?”
He jumps up and runs over to his closet. His is the only room in the house that we’ve really unpacked. We had been worried about making his transition as smooth as possible, but there have been no issues so far. He’s as eager as I am to have our family all under one roof.
Max pulls out his dress shirt and clip- on tie, holding it up for me.
“Good man,” I call.
He drops it on the floor and runs to tackle me. I catch him, swinging him into a bear hug, then I pull back, “You better hang that up.”
He does as he’s told, and I make my way downstairs to catch Grace struggling with a box on the porch steps. I take it from her, checking its label and haul it into the kitchen.
“What next?” I ask her as soon as I put it on the counter.
Amie designed the space. It was the one room that baffled Grace and me. Cream colored subway tiles accent the walls and black cabinetry. Something about the cozy design and farmhouse sink allow it to feel like the center of our home. Of course, the massive Viking stove Amie picked out will probably get better use when she comes to visit.
“I can carry things myself,” Grace says, planting her hands on her hips.
I’m glad that a couple
of years of being together has in no way diminished her obstinate streak.
“I don’t want you to get hurt, Sunshine.”
She rolls her eyes. “Then this will take all day.”
The truth is I just want to do this with her. I want to carry the boxes from room to room, unfolding my life with her by my side.
“I have some stuff for the bedroom,” she finally says.
I follow her out to the moving trucks enjoying the slight crispness of spring air on my sweaty skin. Grabbing our headboard, I lift it over my head. Grace races to the door to hold it open. It takes a bit of an effort to get it up the winding staircase, but eventually it’s in our room.
“Where do you want it?” I ask her.
She gazes around the perimeter, her eyes hooding suggestively. “Everywhere.”
I lean it against the wall as she saunters to me. Grabbing the hem of her shirt, I tug her closer.
“Keep talking like that,” I say, “and we never will finish. Don’t you want a bed in here?”
“We have a wall,” she points out, “and floors and a shower.”
I don’t need her to give me an inventory of all the places we’re going to have to christen over the next few weeks. “We might have a shower, but we don’t have any towels, Sunshine.”
“Fine,” she whimpers, and I can’t resist the urge to give her a preview of what’s to come.
Backing her against the wall, I run my palms down her shoulders. I want to pin her arms over her head and give her more than a taste, but even with blood filtering to my dick, I’m aware of her triggers. She feels safe with me, and I’ll never do anything to undermine that; instead, I trail my lips across her collarbone to the hollow of her neck following the arching curve that leads straight to her mouth.
I kiss her slowly, savoring the lush fullness of her lower lip, groaning as she flicks her tongue over mine as our mouths open to one another. Together we’re learning the fine art of taking it slow. So far, it’s been very rewarding.
When I finally pull away, she’s flushed. I tap my fingertip on her nose. “I’m going to drag the bed upstairs,” I say, tacking on, “for tonight.”
