Midlife Crisis_another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  Ah, the responsible thing. She picks on me for having an endless supply, but I assure her it’s only so I’m ready for when she wants me. But one day, I’d like to bare inside her again. I struggle for my wallet, balancing her on my lap. She distracts me as she nibbles my neck and licks the shell of my ear. Once covered, I’m under her, forcing her hips downward, allowing her to swallow me.

  “Fuck, that feels so good.” I exhale at entering her, the sensation never ceasing to amaze me. I love how she wraps around me. I love her, and again, the words whisper over my tongue.

  Within minutes, she rocks in a way I know means she’s close; she’s found her rhythm.

  “Hank,” she cries softly, “come with me.” I can’t time it like that. It just happened the other night when we were wild on the couch in the office. I love how pliable she is, willing to let me experiment with her and move her in the ways I like.

  “Right there, baby,” I say, encouraging her to go for it. She lets go, digging her short nails into my shoulders, her hips stilling as she clenches over me. Her head comes to my shoulder as she presses her lips against my neck. I follow her lead and release, filling her with my seed. The experience is better than watching fireworks. I see color all the same, though, as this woman does that to me.

  “I love you,” she whispers, pressing light kisses over my neck. She says it so softly, I take a second to decipher what she said. The pause costs me. I’m not quick enough, and she sits up. Looking down at my chest, avoiding my eyes, she doesn’t miss a beat in ignoring what she just said.

  “Dinner?” Her voice isn’t its typical strength.

  “Midge, I…” She’s already pulling off me, squirming to the seat and hustling on her underwear. She continues to avoid my gaze.

  “My boys must be starving by now. Come have dinner with us. It will be fun.” Still offering the invitation tells me she hasn’t changed her mind, but my grip on this situation slips with each second. Her clothing straightened, she opens the back door.

  “Midge, wait—” I’m too late. She reenters through the passenger door while I’m still tucking myself back in my jeans. Facing forward, she watches the sliver of sunshine disappear.

  “It really was beautiful,” she says quietly, and my heart drops.

  I return to the present, fingers spinning the glass vase. Brut has wandered off, and my phone vibrates in my other hand.

  “Hey baby, how’d it go?”

  “It didn’t.” Instantly, I’m on edge at the sadness in her tone.

  “What happened?”

  “He didn’t show. His assistant took the presentation.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Pendelton was detained, Julian said.” She sighs.

  “Who’s Julian?” I lean back in her chair, swiping back and forth at the hair on my head.

  “Julian Pendelton, his assistant and his son.”

  “Motherfucker.”

  “He liked the presentation well enough. Told me his dad would have the final say, though, and he’d pass on the information. Then he asked me to lunch. I thought he was being nice. Trying to soothe my disappointment since his dad didn’t show. When I declined, he asked me out for drinks. Said he thought there might be a way we could ensure I’d work with them.”

  “He was fucking hitting on you.”

  “Maybe,” she says, her voice lowering.

  “No maybe. You are not fucking working for him.” I don’t know where the demand comes from, but I’m ready to punch someone and sight unseen Julian Pendelton is the man.

  “Well, I appreciate the command,” she snips, “but as I didn’t get the job, I won’t have to worry about it.”

  “You don’t know the old man won’t still hire you.” I swallow the bitter thought of her working for someone like Julian Pendelton. He’s a sexual harassment case waiting to happen. Then again, I’ve been flirting and fucking her for almost two weeks now. It’s not the same thing, I immediately think.

  “That isn’t how it works, Hank. If I don’t get to show Pendelton myself, it’s a firm pass on the campaign.” Her voice shakes, and I worry she’ll cry.

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing.” She exhales deeply again. “I don’t know what I was thinking, quitting my job at forty-one when I have three kids still in school. I must have been crazy to think I could do this.”

  “Stop,” I bark. “I don’t want you talking like this. We’ll figure something out. Pendelton is an asshole.” I’m huffing mad, body trembling with the need to crush something. This isn’t fair. Midge Everette is one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. She worked damn hard on his campaign, and she doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment.

  “We,” she whispers, the heartache slipping through the phone.

  “Let me take you out tonight. Let’s just hang.” I’m brushing through my hair, fingers digging tunnels I’m getting so worked up. I want to comfort her.

  “My boys are home. It’s pizza-movie night.” She pauses a moment, and I think about how I didn’t end up going to her house last night after my lost opportunity to tell her how I feel. “I think I’d like to just be home tonight.”

  “Let me come over.” I’m practically begging. “My treat for pizzas.” I need to do something.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  “I want to come over,” I snap. I do, half thinking I might just show up even if she says no.

  “Okay.” Her voice returns to a small sound. “How about six?”

  + + +

  When she opens the door, her frame looks even smaller although she smiles weakly. Her boys are fighting in the background.

  “Deciding on a movie appropriate for all three of them is becoming more difficult.” I imagine the seventeen-year-old no longer wants to watch age-appropriate animation for a ten-year-old, but then again, the things I witnessed at ten were not cartoons. “Normally, blood and guts win.” She chuckles lightly, leading me to her couch. Pizzas already cover her coffee table. Cans of soda line the edge of the surface.

  “Green Lantern or Hurt Locker?” Liam asks me. I look at Midge for support. She mouths Green Lantern, and I offer the suggestion. Elston groans, but Ronin high-fives Liam.

  “Mom wants that one so she can drool over Ryan Reynolds,” Elston mocks. “He’s so cute, ew, ew, ew…”

  The boys laugh, and Midge smirks. “I do not act like that, and I don’t think he’s cute.” Her eyes shift to me, and my eyebrow rises.

  “You can’t say a girl thinks someone else is cute in front of her boyfriend,” Liam states, serious and worldly at ten. Midge’s mouth falls open, and I chuckle.

  Boyfriend? I mouth. She shakes her head, the weak smile returning. She sits near me on the couch but not close enough, so I reach out for the back of her neck, trying to make it appear as if I’m only resting my arm on the edge of the cushions. I massage lightly.

  “How do you know this stuff?” Ronin asks.

  “Carson says—”

  “Ugh, not Carson,” Ronin groans, covering his head with his hands.

  “Who is Carson?” I whisper to Midge.

  “Carson is Mick’s little brother. Mick is Elston’s best friend, and everything Carson knows about girls he learned from those two, which is nothing,” Ronin explains, and Elston leans over the armrest and punches the arm of his younger brother who sits on the floor.

  “Don’t fight,” Midge interjects, but the smile returns to her voice. Her shoulders relaxing under my massage.

  “It’s true. Carson also says you shouldn’t talk about other girls in front of the girl you like. This only makes her jealous,” Liam continues spewing his female wisdom. My head turns in his direction where he sits on the other side of his mother.

  “You know what else you should do?” I offer and realize I have Elston’s attention from across the room. “You should tell a girl how you feel about her. Be honest.”

  Midge closes her eyes while my fingers work to loosen the tension in her n
eck.

  “You can’t do that,” Ronin interjects. “She might not like you back.” Elston snorts and returns his attention to his phone.

  “Then again, she might like you back.” I glance at Ronin a moment before turning to his mother. Her eyes remain shut.

  “I don’t even like any of the girls at my school,” Liam interjects. Ronin coughs, and Elston mutters something under his breath.

  “Don’t say that,” Midge reprimands Elston, and then turns to Liam. “That’s right, honey. No girls for you yet. You’re too young.”

  “I kissed my first girl at eleven,” Elston adds, portraying false bravado.

  “Triple gold stars for you,” Ronin snaps, rolling his eyes at his older brother.

  “Who?” Midge asks, her attention on her firstborn.

  “Maggie Schuster.”

  “What?” Midge laughs while Ronin says, “Why?”

  “Because she wanted me to,” Elston says nonchalantly, but something in his tone hints he wanted to kiss her as well.

  “Elston,” Midge shrieks.

  “It doesn’t really matter who you kiss first, kid. It’s who you kiss last.” I tighten my squeeze on Midge’s neck, but she doesn’t glance over at me.

  “Can we watch the movie yet?” Liam groans. “I’m tired of talking about girls.”

  “That’s right. You are only allowed to love me,” Midge teases, curling her arm around her son’s neck. He falls against his mom and remains there when she loosens her hold. My fingers toy with the collar of her shirt, and she turns her head to press her cheek against my fingers. She rubs her face against my fingers for a moment and then rights her head. I only want to love her as well.

  The movie starts, and the boys interject throughout the show. Midge eventually leans against me while Liam stays tucked against her. The atmosphere warms my insides like hot coffee after a sleepless night. I’m comfortable here, enjoying her boys and their chatter. It reminds me of all I once had. A nice place of my own. A collection of people I considered friends. It also reminds me of all I long for. A family. Whatever tomorrow brings, I know I’ll never have what Midge has here with her boys.

  Unless I marry her.

  My head swings in her direction, and I lower my lips to kiss her hair. My eyes shoot up to find Elston watching me. He looks away slowly, but Midge settles into me. I definitely want this. Every night.

  Yeah, kid, the only woman who matters is the one you kiss last.

  25

  Secret meetings

  [Midge]

  To my surprise, Hank doesn’t try to kiss me when he leaves on Friday night, but he shows up on Saturday for Liam’s second game of a doubleheader and then takes us out for burgers. I see Liam falling for Hank like I have. Hank pays attention to details, and he asks Liam all kinds of questions about baseball. In true ten-year-old fashion, Liam sways the conversation through a plethora of topics before we finish eating.

  “I’m sorry about that.” I giggle as we exit the diner.

  “He’s full of energy, but I enjoy him.” I like how he says this about my son. Hank only hugs me, and we part. I want to call him. I want to know what he’s thinking. I totally messed up by saying I loved him. The words simply escaped, creeping against his skin. He’s playful and carefree, and the spontaneity of him gets to me—in a good way—but I took it one step too far. I went for it, which is out of character for me because I typically take things too seriously and I can be uptight. I’m responsible, I tell myself, but the truth is I’m choking. Suffocating from commitments. I want a little room to breathe, be free, be silly, and I thought Hank was all those things for me. Instead, another trait of mine takes over—I’m worried.

  When he picks me up on Sunday, I’m a bundle of nerves. As we drive through the hills north of Los Angeles, Hank takes my hand and holds it on his thigh, but he’s quiet. It’s early evening, and I have no idea where we are going. My mouth opens to speak, but I don’t know what to say. Hank seems lost to me, deep in thought as we wind through the streets.

  Eventually, we arrive at a large gated home. I’ve never visited this area as I don’t mix with the rich and famous. The gate opens, and we creep up the circular drive. The house appears to sit sideways on the lot, shielding the front entrance from the road. A large ramp zigzags next to the front steps.

  “Where are we?” I question, a touch of wonder in my voice. Hank parks and brings my hand to his mouth. His eyes close as he kisses my knuckles.

  “This is Kit Carrigan’s home.” He pauses, and my stomach twists as I glance back at the house—a sprawling 1970 ranch which looks a little outdated. The bright white brick reflects in the late afternoon sunlight, and the house makes me think of a hospital for some reason. Large wooden double doors stand at the top of the front steps. The dark wood is a sharp contrast to the whiteness surrounding it. I’m waiting for Hank to explain, air building in my chest.

  “I know it seems strange to bring you here, but this is where I’d like you to meet someone. Tommy and Edie will be here as well. He moved pasta night here tonight.”

  My brow pinches. I’ve heard of the Sunday night pasta ritual, something practiced when the boys were on the road. Tommy wants Collision, the band he manages, to have a homecooked meal and hang out like a family. The practice is more sporadic when they are home as Tommy and Gage have their own families to spend time with on a weekend. I’m not certain if I should be honored or concerned by the tension in Hank’s voice.

  “Who are we meeting?” If I ever believed people could rise from the dead, this moment was one of them. For the briefest minute, I feared Kit Carrigan was actually alive and living in this house, and for some sick reason, Hank wanted me to meet her. What he said next floored me almost as much as my original thoughts.

  “We’re meeting my son.”

  + + +

  As Hank leads me toward the house, he remains quiet and doesn’t offer an explanation. My insides roil in turmoil at the omission of his having a son, and from what I surmise, it was with Kit Carrigan. The oddity is Hank seems just as tense as I do, squeezing my hand enough to cut off circulation.

  “What is it?” I ask as we wait at the front door. His mouth opens, but he closes it once the door opens. Edie welcomes us inside, kissing Hank on the cheek and hugging me.

  “Deep breaths,” she warns. “It will be okay.” I’m not certain what to think until we enter the living room. Tommy greets me next, kissing my cheek and shaking hands with Hank whose eyes can’t leave the young man sitting in the center of the room.

  Tommy waves us forward. “Lawson, this is Hank. Remember me telling you about him.”

  A device projects the answer. “Yes.”

  “Hank, this is Lawson Carrigan.” Lawson Carrigan sits in a wheelchair, his curled hand over what looks like a laptop. Hank stares, unblinking, as if he’s never seen his son before. Dawning comes slowly as I realize Hank hasn’t met his son before. Stepping forward, I crouch before the chair.

  “Hi, Lawson. I’m Midge,” I say quietly, trying not to stare at any one feature other than his eyes, which don’t focus on me. They match Hank’s steely gray. A computerized voice replies with a greeting. I turn back to look at Hank and see him wiping his eyes. He takes a seat on an extra-large white leather couch. It’s circular, ancient, and sterile like the rest of the room. A large white brick fireplace centers the space with uncovered windows on either side. No affects decorate this space. It’s massive…and cold.

  “Hello, Lawson. I’m Hank.” He pinches at his eyes. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long to meet you.” Lawson isn’t looking at Hank, but his head shakes. Without responding by his machine, Hank looks over his shoulder at Tommy. “Does he know who I am?”

  Tommy shakes his head. “I think we should talk later. Lawson isn’t deaf,” Tommy explains. “He can hear everything.”

  Hank’s head swings back to Lawson. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes roving over his son. “I’m so sorry.”

  After twenty minutes
of awkward, stilted conversation, an aide appears to take Lawson to his rooms. In that time, we learned Lawson has cerebral palsy. Unseen to us, he has an entire wing with supports. With round-the-clock care, he lives in a working home instead of an institution. However, I wonder if he’s lonely. Hank follows the aide to learn more about Lawson’s set-up, and Tommy goes with them. I collapse on the couch and dissolve into tears.

  “It’s a lot,” Edie says. Sitting next to me, she wraps an arm around me.

  “I have so many questions, but the first thing I’m thinking is how grateful I am for my boys and how sad I feel for Lawson.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for him, Tommy tells me. He’s amazing, and he’s had no worries. He’s taken care of. His aides are wonderful.”

  “Doesn’t he feel alone, though? He’s so secluded.”

  “He goes to a day school for therapy and returns home every night, just like people who work or go to school. He has a good life.” Edie pauses.

  “But he lost his mother, and he’s never known his father.” I stare at Edie. “How did Hank not know?”

  Edie shakes her head. “I don’t understand it all, either. I assume they all had their reasons. I’m not saying I agree with any of them, but I wasn’t a part of this world when those decisions were made. I have to respect and remember that.” Edie’s glare hints at deeper meaning. I need to accept things as they are because I cannot change the past.

  My hands cover my head as if holding in my thoughts. Tommy and Hank return, and silence fills the empty space.

  “I think I’ll start the pasta. Darlin’, join me.” Tommy’s directness doesn’t surprise me. Hank and I need a moment. From the stunned expression on Hank’s face, he needs more than a minute. Leaving us alone, Hank remains standing, his hands slipping into his pockets. We stare at one another before he looks away.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I say to fill the quiet.

  “I don’t either. My head spins with so many questions.”

  “Hank, did you know?” The question comes out harsher than I intend, but I can’t grasp not knowing he was a father.