We’d gone over our story very thoroughly, so this performance could be given with complete confidence.
“We used to date,” I began then called up some tears to dab with my handkerchief. “But then I got that job in London. He wanted to come with me, but I said no. I wanted to focus on my career.” I turned on the water-works. “And then he proposed at the airport. He begged me, but I spun around and left.” I turned to Pete who was barely suppressing a smile. “I left him,” I sobbed. Then I put my glove-covered hand on the casket and said, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I should have stayed.”
“Honey,” Ted said as he stroked my arm.
“No, I shouldn’t accept your sympathy. I broke his heart. He wanted a family, and I wasted four years of his life giving him hope I would return. I robbed him of that,” I cried, my voice rising with my fake grief. “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” I said to the parents who looked relieved. His mother crossed herself, and I knew the goal the three lovers were trying to achieve had been met. Now it was time for the big ending.
“Goodbye, my darling.” I jerked my body dramatically and began to walk away. I was loud enough to make people look and question who I was, but I tried to not overdo it. I had to save the fireworks for the grand finale. I stopped and clenched my bag in one hand, the handkerchief in the other, and summoned my inner Sally Field as I turned around and hurried back to the casket.
Now, my intention, and the vision of Ted, Russel, and Pete, was that I would be so overcome by grief, I would hurl myself atop the casket. I argued that this was probably a bit over the top, but they insisted. I’d made a good start, clean path of attack, and as I landed in an action that took all of two-point-seven seconds, I realized, too late, they had a silk covering on top. I let an “Oh fuck” slip before I went clear over the side, those nylon straps that were supposed to prevent this sort of thing from happening hadn’t been locked, so I landed like a fish caught in a net as the strap lowered me quickly to the bottom of the freshly dug grave.
It was like walking into a spider web, hands flailing, trying to get myself out as I muttered in a panicked, “OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod,” over and over again. First things first; I was glad my feet were pointed away from the parents, because my skirt was up past the top of my stockings and a clear shot between my legs was in plain sight of anyone peering down.
The staff worked quickly to tighten the straps of the lowering device in an effort to pull me up. But then, a long arm reached down and said, “Grab hold.”
I did and was lifted up by my knight in shining armor, whose own arm had been secured by Ted, with Pete close behind.
The three men escorted me away in a huddle, their shoulders moving silently as we approached the expensive family crypts under construction. When we were more than a safe distance from the funeral service, Pete wiped his eyes and looked at me.
“I am so sorry,” I said, truly mortified. I’d never fucked up that bad. Not once. The silk cloth… Rookie mistake I hadn’t noticed it.
Then Ted put his hands on my shoulders, his face looking at the ground as he tried to catch his breath. God, I felt terrible. How could a funeral go so wrong? Me, that’s how. Jesus!
He lifted his head and shocked me with his wide grin. “Oh…” he began, “That was absolutely…”
“Perfect,” Ted cried out in laughter. “God, Russ’ parents are happy he had pussy at least once in his life, even if he didn’t. They think he did, which is what Russ wanted. And then, not only did you do a funeral flash with that fall, fuck, Genevieve, you put on a show that people will talk about for years. Oh, honey, you have got to do our funerals. I’m gonna start planning now. I might need to put an ad in the local paper for casting.”
“And who are you, hot guy?” Pete asked.
Ahren was grinning, but he was also waiting to see if I was all right. “I’m her man.”
I may have fluttered my eyes when he christened himself my “man.”
“Well, I want to hire you, too. What do you think, Pete?”
The two men examined Ahren.
“I think you can never have too many hot guys at your funeral. It makes a statement. That statement being, ‘And adored by hot fuckable men the world over’.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ahren said with a soft smile I knew was just for me. “Are you all done here?” he asked.
I looked to Ted and Pete for confirmation. They were now holding hands, finally getting a private moment to mourn their partner.
“You were great, honey. Russel would’ve been so happy with today,” he said, a hint of melancholy in his voice.
We walked to the top of the hill, across the great lawn, and looked out to see the fog rolling in to cover the great city of San Francisco.
Ahren walked toward me and handed me one of the bouquets. “Here ya go.” It felt weird, being there together. I almost felt like I was intruding.
“No, you go ahead. I’ll just stand over here and—”
He met my eyes and set both the bouquets down on the grass. Then he closed the last few feet, stood in front of me, and pulled me to the front of his body. “What’s the problem?”
He sounded, I hated to say it, but almost pissed-off. Like he was right on the edge of getting mad at me.
“It just feels like this is something that might be private for you. It’s private for me. I’ve never had anyone visit my parents and Gran with me.”
His eyes were still covered with sunglasses, so I couldn’t really search those soul windows for clues to his state of mind.
“But when you were there, visiting them, did you ever think how fuckin’ great it would be to have someone else there with you? Someone you loved by your side? Just so you knew you still had that person…living, breathing, flesh and blood, heart beating?”
I carefully lifted my hand and tipped his sunglasses down to see his eyes were filled with tears. “Yeah. I sure did, baby.”
So, hand in hand, we sat in front of his parents’ graves and arranged the little bouquets in the top corners. A small branch of something, tied with a plaid Christmas ribbon, lay on the top. He hadn’t asked me to join him at their graves on Christmas, and I never questioned him about it. I figured he was giving me time on my own before our traditional Christmas dinner. I always cleared my parents’ and Gran’s gravestones when I visited them. That habit, ingrained over ten years, caused me to pick up the wilted remnants of a Christmas decoration, when it occurred to me what I was holding.
Then a memory returned. It was the week before Christmas when I was thirteen. I remembered because I’d “become a woman,” as my mom and Gran explained, only two days before the Finnegan’s were coming to our house for dinner. I was terrified that Ahren would know I’d changed.
We sat on the couch together. Mom and Dad laughed while Adam Finnegan sang Christmas carols out of tune. We were counting how many cups of the grown-up eggnog my gran was having when Adam and Aine excused themselves to the front porch for some air. Adam had chased his wife out the door, waving mistletoe behind her.
“There they go again,” Ahren commented, but not embarrassed in the least.
“What do you mean?” I’d asked, just happy to be sitting next to him.
“Every Christmas, Dad chases Mom everywhere with mistletoe; kisses her all the time. I used to think it was gross, but he told me someday I’ll be married, and if I choose the right girl, I’ll be chasing her with it, too.”
I held the sprig tight to my chest and let the tears go, because on Christmas Eve with Delilah and Mrs. Smith, he had chased me everywhere, to the delight of our hosts, with mistletoe. On Christmas day, as we feasted on the meal Jimmy and his wife had given to us, again, he chased me everywhere with it.
“You remember,” he said, squeezing my hand and whispered, “I chose the right girl.”
We drove back to my house in absolute silence. Our relationship had just experienced another shift, in a good way. When the truck came to a halt near the front porch, he took the keys ou
t of the ignition and rounded the truck to open the door for me. Then he stopped.
I asked him through the closed window, “Everything all right?”
My first thought? The shift was only good for me. That perhaps the events of the day had been too much for him. All signs pointed to Ahren wanting me as much as I wanted him, but we’d each had our share of drama, self-doubt, pain, grief, and all the rest… It was risky, investing your heart in someone else. I knew that better than anyone.
And suddenly, without any kind of warning, he placed his palms flat on the passenger window, holding the door closed as I tried to open it.
“Ahren, let me out, baby. Whatever is going through your head right now, we just need to talk. Today was huge. I get it. It was huge for me, too, and—”
That’s when I saw it. Facing the window, halfway down his pinkie—a ring.
A diamond ring.
He slowly put his face between his hands and said through the window, “Marry me, Gen?”
It didn’t sound like a question or a demand, more like a request. I moved my hands to rest against his on the glass, and answered. “Okay.”
The door flew open. Ahren pulled me into his arms then swept me over his shoulder. Up the porch steps, he struggled with the keys, but finally got me through the door. Then up the first flight of stairs, and the second, to my attic bedroom, but at the very top, he set me down and knelt between my legs.
“No going back,” he said firmly. “I mean it, Gen. It’s you and me, now. Not our pasts. Now. If you ask me to leave, I will not go. Do you understand?”
I wanted him to make love to me, cement that beautiful proposal in our memories. And because of me, because I was so fucked up ten years ago, I’d ruined it.
“I fucked up,” I said, my arms around his neck. “I asked you to leave. I fucked up.”
He shook his head. “No, Gen. I didn’t fight to stay. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t what you needed. I fucked up. But that was then, like I said. This is now, so after tonight, we aren’t going to talk about it anymore, because, Gen?” He looked into my eyes. “This is it.”
I dropped my head, ashamed, pissed at myself for being so weak. My parents did not raise that girl. My gran was probably rolling in her grave ten yards from my front door.
“Gen,” he said, trying to get me to meet his eyes.
“We could’ve had ten years.”
“This is it, baby.”
“Ten years. We would’ve had more time.”
“This is it,” he whispered.
I said through my tears, “I’m so sorry.”
“You can say it once, because I think you feel you need to, but then we’ll call it even, because I don’t want to sit here, ready to fuck the girl who just agreed to be my wife, and argue with her about who’s sorrier. I love you, Gen, and you love me, and I hope to God you have more of these skirts, because I’m about to tear that fucker right off your body.”
My head fell back with a moan as Ahren’s hands went to the hem of my skirt—I had seven black suits, variations on a theme—and ripped open one side of the skirt.
“Oh my God,” I gasped beneath him, instantly wet.
Then he was inside me, his head looked to the ceiling, and his lips parted as we both savored the connection at last. He took my left hand and held it to his chest, his heart beating wildly as he lifted my fourth finger and slipped the engagement ring on. His hand slowly closed around mine as he began to move inside me.
Then, he stopped. “I’m gonna pull out, Gen. Go lie on the bed.”
“What? I mean, is everything—”
He reached down, his face close to mine, and whispered, “First, slow and sweet. I need that with you …then, hard and dirty.” He grinned.
I backed up so fast, I was sure I gave myself carpet burns.
On the bed, me on top, riding him slowly, he placed his hands on my breasts and held on. Each time I lifted up and slid back down, my eyes closed with pleasure, the pressure building inside me. I moved my hands into my hair, not rushing the ride, just languishing in the fact we were one. Then something changed as he began to thrust his hips up to meet my descent. His long fingers, covering each breast, closed to pinch my nipples then grab my breast roughly and push me back.
He shifted beneath me, cocking his legs to gain leverage so he was sitting up. His mouth suddenly covered my nipple and took it between his teeth in a rough nip that drove me right to the cusp of release.
“I’m almost there,” I said quickly, wishing I had telepathic powers so I never had to speak.
He surprised me by saying, “I know, baby. I wanna feel you pulse around me when you come.”
God, yes. His head went to my other breast, my nipple getting the same treatment as the other, and that’s when it hit me. I cried out through my orgasm. His hands were now on my hips, holding me still, making it more intense. He bit into my shoulder, not breaking the skin, but it let me know he was feeling everything, right at the edge of his own climax.
But then, within moments of me coming down, my forehead against his, he lifted me up and pulled me down on him. Lifted me up and pulled me down again, and once more, he pulled me down. He growled his release, the sound deep in his throat, as I felt him throb inside me.
Still connected, I said, “Can’t wait for hard and dirty, Ahren.”
He chuckled against the top of my breast, holding me tight to his chest. “Love you, Gen.”
I didn’t return the sentiment because it was unnecessary. He knew I was sure. I would not have accepted his ring if I wasn’t. Visiting his parents’ graves together, it was like he gave me that last broken piece of his heart and handed it to me. I understood how precious that was, and I would never, ever fuck it up again.
Unless, of course, I died suddenly, but that was really out of my hands.
****
I’d made a promise to Bryce that I would introduce him to “my fella.” I explained I needed to take things slow, for both of us. We were solid, but I didn’t want the extra pressure of the hopes and dreams the townsfolk of Greer’s Rest seemed to be placing on us.
So, I first met up with my neglected friend, Rocky. She and Cosmo had officially moved into the apartment above my dad’s old office, and things were going well, thank God.
After ten years of being single, Rocky and I needed ways to fill our time. We went through the Grey’s Anatomy phase and the Sex in the City phase. But our favorite was the Gilmore Girls phase. Because, let’s face it, Derek in Grey’s, he was kind of a dick to Mer at times. Mr. Big? Carrie knew the kind of man he was, and yeah, he came through in the end, and, believe me, we enjoyed that journey, but it sucked. Now, Luke and Lorelai…
That was special.
Special because it was the kind of romance that didn’t involve cocktails or bomb scares. This was a single mom in a small town that took her and her daughter under their wings, and Luke adored her. He screwed up and she screwed up, but that last episode… I think we both cried for a week every time we talked about it. Happy tears, hopeful tears, tears that made me want to eat an entire box of Pop-Tarts and wash them down with a full pot of coffee.
So when Rocky explained, “You know, I’m surprised the town hasn’t started a ribbon thing like they did on the Gilmore Girls. Like a Team Gen and a Team Ahren.”
“They think we won’t make it?” I asked, appalled.
“No, man, they know you’re going to make it. They just want to be a part of it. It’s almost like you guys are keeping it from them. You don’t go to Brewster’s together, and he’s been spending weekends with you for a few months now.” Cosmo had gone up to their pad to get me a beer, so she took that opportunity to lower the boom. “They keep asking me for the inside scoop, and, honestly, Gen, I don’t know what you want me to say.”
I felt terrible for keeping the finer details from Rock. I hadn’t done it on purpose; it was just a lack of quality time together. We were both floating on the cloud of new-relationship heaven. I was busy,
she was busy, and simply hadn’t taken each other’s pulse in a while.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “Honestly, I guess I’ve been avoiding the emotional bombardment I know is coming. It’s inevitable. I know it’ll happen, but I’ve been putting it off.”
Cosmo had returned with my beer, and, knowing we were in the midst of a serious discussion, was about to leave the room.
“Dude, Cos, you do not have to make yourself scarce on my account. Seriously.” I smiled, letting him know I meant it.
He took a seat next to Rock as I continued.
“Eventually, when Ahren and I make a public appearance, the town will talk, and everyone will rejoice, and that is awesome. But they’ll also say things like, ‘Your parents are smiling down on you both,’ that sort of thing. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice, Rock. I have no idea if that is going to set me off emotionally, and I won’t know until it happens. I think, for the moment, it’s too risky.”
“I get it, and I’ll say you two are busy getting reacquainted if anyone asks.” She grinned.
I had shared this fear with Ahren, not wanting to keep anything from him. Especially something like that. He wanted me to talk to someone, a professional, sooner rather than later.
He didn’t put pressure on me. He simply said, “It helped me.”
By late spring, I had taken Ahren to meet Bryce Oskin, who deemed the-boy-who-used-to-mow-his-lawn would have to do for me, since he was too old. “But if I were a few years younger, oh, you would have competition.”
The following visit to Bryce, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Cookie?”
It was then I explained my fears to Bryce.
“So what you’re sayin’ is, that you’re afraid that something might set you off, and instead of feeling everything, you’ll feel nothing?”
“I suppose that sums it up,” I answered with a mouthful of Cherry Berry cake.
“Cookie?” he began, and I stopped chewing. “You ever notice when people ask how you’re feeling, they don’t really give a shit?”
The Morbid and Sultry Tales of Genevieve Clare Page 12
