Matched

by S. E. Lund

  "Jon," she whispers back. "Don't talk like that in here."

  "Why not? Don't you want to give the eavesdroppers working in those small dark rooms somewhere in the bowels of the Pentagon something spicy for a change?"

  I wag my eyebrows at her, amused by her expression.

  "You're incorrigible."

  "I am," I say. "You already knew that."

  She tries to hold back a smile but fails. "I did."

  We bump shoulders together as we walk down the long hallway behind our escort. We say goodbye and haul our stuff into the trunk of a vehicle waiting to take us back to the hotel.

  "I'm ready for more to eat," I say, eyeing her suggestively. "That little tidbit I ate this morning wasn't nearly enough."

  "Jon," she says, her eyes wide.

  "Feel like a nice thick sausage?"

  "Jon!"

  She punches me in the arm and I mock-wince. I slip my arm around her shoulder.

  "This is going to be so much fun."

  "It's not supposed to be fun," she says, and frowns at me.

  "What do you mean? Of course, it's supposed to be fun. Otherwise, why do it?"

  "No, I mean, it's not a joke."

  "What makes you think I'm joking?" Then I lean closer, my mouth at her ear. "I really do want to know if you'd like a nice, hot, thick, juicy sausage, because I have one for you," I whisper, so the driver doesn't hear me. I want to spare India any embarrassment.

  Or at least, too much embarrassment.

  Some embarrassment has to be expected.

  We drive the rest of the way to the hotel without further comment, because I want her to think about sucking my cock the way I've been imagining her doing for years. On her knees at my feet, my hand guiding her.

  But that's for later. It's now been five hours since we ate and I'm hungry. I need some protein if I'm going to keep her busy all night long the way I plan.

  While we're driving, she gets a text. I look out the window while she reads it and then she covers her mouth with a hand.

  "Oh, God," she whispers.

  I glance over. "What's the matter?"

  "My mom," she says. "She fell while painting the house. She's in the hospital."

  She dials her cell and looks at me, her eyes wide, waiting for the call to connect.

  "Dad?" she says, her voice panicked. "How is she?"

  There's a long pause while she listens to what he's saying.

  "When? How long?"

  She listens more and I'm frustrated, because I want to hear what's happening. India's parents are flakes, but they're lovable flakes.

  "I'll catch the first flight out," she says, and I can hear the fear in her voice. "See you as soon as I can get there."

  Then she hangs up and looks into my eyes. "She's in surgery. She had some kind of head injury and was moved right from the ER to the OR." She leans forward and asks the driver to redirect. "Drive me to the airport. I have to go back. I'll take whatever flight I can get out as soon as possible."

  "Your luggage –"

  "You can send it to me. I want to go right there."

  "Okay," I say and pull her closer, hoping that Joanne survives whatever's happened to her. India is nothing like her flaky parents, politically, but she's her mother's daughter. Smart. Funny. Loving.

  I know how devastating it would be if anything happened to her.

  We arrive at the airport and India goes up to Virgin Atlantic counter, trying to get on the first flight out, but it won't be for an hour. There's a three-hour layover in Charlotte, North Carolina. She won’t arrive back in San Francisco until nine p.m. local time.

  "We may have enough time to drive to the hotel and get the bags."

  She glances at me, her eyes wide. "I'll stay here. You go, okay? I don't want to leave in case I miss the flight because of traffic."

  "Okay," I say. "I don't want to miss saying goodbye. Just in case."

  She nods and we embrace, hugging each other tightly. Her eyes are wet, and she's really upset.

  "Maybe I should stay," I say, concerned that she'll be alone, panicking about her mother. "I can call the hotel and get them to send our suitcases and they'll get back tomorrow. I don’t want to leave you alone."

  She forces a brave smile. "I'll be fine. You go and try to get everything. If you miss the flight, it won't be such a big deal, but I can't miss it."

  I agree, and kiss her once more, squeezing her tightly, then I flag down a taxi and we drive off in mid-day traffic to the hotel.

  I end up missing the plane. I call India from the taxi when we're caught in traffic and there's no way I'll get back.

  "Hey," she says when she answers. "Let me guess: you're not able to make it back."

  "I'm so sorry," I say. "I wish I was with you and you didn’t have to go on your own but there was an accident and we're being redirected."

  "I wish you were with me, too," she responds. "I'm glad I didn't go back to the hotel with you. Catch the next plane out and come and see me at the hospital when you get in. I expect I'll be staying there all night depending on how she does."

  "I will. Text me when you get in. I'll be thinking of you. Give your mom a hug and kiss from me. And your dad."

  "I will."

  While we're stalled in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I sit and re-read her texts. All of them from the last couple of days.

  I wish I was sitting beside her on the plane right now, holding her hand as we take off.

  I sit and stare out the window as the streets of Washington pass slowly by.

  I get to the airport, swap my ticket for one leaving in a couple of hours, and spend the rest of my time sitting in Virgin's first class lounge, reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal and watching CNBC on the television screen.

  JON: Any news about your mom?

  INDIA: Nothing, but she has to have surgery to relieve the pressure.

  JON: How are you holding up?

  INDIA: I'm holding up. I think all my adrenaline ran out and now I feel like a rag doll. But I won't be able to sleep. I'll probably watch a movie or something to keep busy.

  JON: Text me when you can. I'll drive to the hospital as soon as I get in.

  I try to keep my mind occupied, and not think about India's mom, hoping that things are going well for her and they're able to prevent any lasting damage. India won't get to SF until after nine and then she'll probably go right to the hospital.

  I try to keep occupied on the flight, glad that I upgraded to the first-class section, able to at least stretch my legs out and enjoy some decent food. I think of India cramped in economy, sitting beside people who have no sympathy for her. I hope she's able to distract herself as much as possible during the trip. She'll probably watch the inflight movie, but knowing her, she'll chew her fingernails down to the quick as she worries about her mom.

  Much, much later, after we land in LAX for our one-hour stop, I get a text from India.

  INDIA: Just called my dad. She's out of surgery but they're keeping her sedated. The doctor thinks that she has a pretty good chance of a full recovery, so it's just a matter of waiting to see how she does when they take her out of sedation.

  JON: That's good news, at least. How's your dad holding up?

  INDIA: He's really upset. He blames himself – he wanted to hire a painter but my mom insisted they could save money if she got up on the ladder and did it herself. He's afraid of heights and tried to stop her but she's very stubborn.

  JON: Sounds like someone else I know…

  There's a silence, and I feel bad for teasing her at a time like this, but I was teased mercilessly when I was growing up by my father and older brothers.

  JON: I've always admired that in your mom – her independence. She's a trouper.

  INDIA: She is. She's a top scholar in her field.

  JON: I know. You got your brains from your mom and dad. And your dad says you got your beauty from him.

  INDIA: I know. He's kidding, of course.

  I think of
India's dad. He looks like Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber.

  JON: He's great.

  INDIA: I know. Oh, God, I don’t know what he'd do if anything happened to her. She's such a rock.

  JON: She is.

  INDIA: Gibraltar. He's lucky to have had her all these years. He admits that all the time. Says that without her, he would have likely smoked and drank himself into an early grave.

  JON: They're really happy together.

  INDIA: They are. *sigh*

  JON: Keep strong. Your dad will need you.

  INDIA: I wish you were with me.

  JON: I will be soon.

  I get back on my flight and spend the next hour thinking of India and how our lives have become so entwined.

  I don't know what changed, except seeing the two idiots that Marina had the audacity to match India with – two guys so totally wrong for her that I realized how right she was for me. And then meeting Heather and realizing that was not the kind of woman I wanted to become involved with, except for a quick fuck. An alternative to masturbation. Tits and ass and pussy and that was it.

  India is so much more.

  Chapter 11

  INDIA

  The hospital is quiet when I arrive. My mom is in surgical ICU and is on a ventilator. She looks so frail lying there on the bed, wires and tubes attached to her, the beep beep of the monitors making my heart race out of anxiety. I hate hospitals and I hate being in ICU, although I realize it's the best place for her given her injury.

  My dad is a basket case, sitting by her bed, holding onto her hand. His face is pale, his eyes red from tears. He just sits there watching her, stroking her hand, talking to her.

  He reminds her about their first date, and talks about how they took a holiday together to Alaska, driving up in an old van and watching the Northern Lights together while they camped. Seeing icebergs and being afraid of grizzly bears and polar bears, neither of which they saw.

  He talks about their wedding, and how they went to Nicaragua and got married on the beach, good Neo-Marxists who were upset about the Reagan administration's attempts to overthrow the government. How they both got la turista and had the runs the entire time they spent in the posh hotel.

  He seems like he's trying to coax her into coming back and not dying by telling her how great their lives are together.

  They do have a great relationship – one I could only be so lucky to have for myself. They are two peas in a pod. They not only share the same values and goals, they love each other with passion and affection even after thirty years. They want to spend the rest of their days together, growing old together, enjoying their retirement together.

  He tells her all this, his eyes filled with tears, and it only makes me cry all the harder to see him so afraid.

  "Fight," he whispers to her before he takes a break so I can go in and sit with her for a while. "Don't leave me."

  He kisses her tenderly on the cheek and strokes her brow, her head wrapped in bandages. Her eyes are shut, blackened from the fall. I am so afraid that she's going to die and I'll never be able to talk to her again.

  Dad leaves the room, wiping his eyes, and gives me a big hug on the way out.

  "I need to get something to eat," he says. That's when Jon arrives, his eyes expectant. I go out to him, and he pulls me into his arms and we hug. I'm so glad to see him, so glad he was able to get out on the next flight and is here with me now.

  "Dad, you know Jon," I say to my father, who's busy mopping his eyes with a tissue.

  "Of course, I know Jon. Good heavens." The two men shake hands and Jon takes my dad's hand in both of his, squeezing, and I think it's such a nice gesture on Jon's part. I've never seen him be affectionate to another man. I guess he sees my dad and wishes his own were still alive.

  My dad leaves to get something from the cafeteria vending machines and I fill Jon in on how my mom is doing.

  "I'm going to sit with her for a while," I say and point to the family room, with a kitchen and sofas for family members with loved ones in the ICU. "I'll probably stay all night with dad."

  "I'll stay with you," Jon says.

  I smile at him. "That's okay. You don't have to stay."

  "I do," he says and shakes his head, pulling me closer. "I want to stay with you."

  "Remember that we have a staff meeting tomorrow to go over the contracts. One of us has to do it. You should go home and get some sleep, because I won't be in."

  Jon realizes I'm right and nods. "I'll stay for a while at least," he says. "When you take a break we can sit together and talk."

  "There's really no reason," I say, because I know Jon is an early riser, getting up really early for a run before going to work. "We can text. I'm with my dad. It's best that you go now and be ready for the meeting tomorrow."

  He looks so reluctant, but I really don't think it's appropriate for him to be here other than to bring me my stuff. It's not like my parents know that there's anything going on between us, and frankly, at this moment, my relationship with Jon is not my first priority. It’s nice he wants to be here to support me, but this is a close family matter.

  "Go," I say and squeeze his hand. "I'll talk to you in the morning."

  "Okay," he finally says, resigned. He slips his hand behind my head and bends down to give me a kiss. I kiss him back and he squeezes me once more and then leaves.

  I turn and begin my vigil by my mother's bedside, taking her hand in mine.

  I know she can't hear me, but I talk to her anyway, telling her all about what happened between Jon and me, leaving out the more graphic details (although I'm sure she'd be pleased to hear them) and telling her that I'm going to give Jon a chance so that I can either be with him or cross him off my list. I wish she was better and could offer some motherly advice, but that will come – hopefully as soon as she's better and back home.

  My father returns about fifteen minutes later. He holds up a bottle of my favorite iced green tea and I'm glad that he thought to bring some for me. I turn back to my mom and tell her I'll be back later. I kiss her cheek and squeeze her hand and then leave.

  "Here, sweets," my dad says, handing me the bottle of green tea. "I'll sit with her for a while. You can go home whenever you want, but I'm staying."

  "I'll stay, too."

  He goes back in beside her, taking the chair I vacated and I return to the family lounge and take out my laptop and message Marina.

  INDIA: I'm here. Mom is still sedated, but they should start withdrawing the drugs tomorrow once they do another scan to see if the swelling's gone done.

  MARINA: Oh, poor you! You must be so scared. Take it easy and let me know when she comes out of it and how she is. How are you holding up?

  INDIA: I'm fine. Jon brought my stuff from the airport. I won’t be going in to work tomorrow.

  MARINA: Oh, that's good. He doesn’t need you tomorrow or probably for a few days. That man works you too damn hard. Take a few days off. If you're up to it, you can come to my party on Saturday and meet my latest conquest for you.

  Damn. I forgot about Marina and her damn dating app match. I don’t want her to know what happened between Jon and me in Washington. She'll kill me.

  INDIA: I don't really think I'll be up to meeting some new man, Marina. My mom is seriously injured.

  MARINA: Of course not. It's entirely up to you. Play it by ear, of course. I think you'll really like this guy, though. According to MATCHED, he ticks all your boxes. Things like your mother's fall make it all too clear how short life is and how things can change in an instant. Don't put off things that are important because there may not be a tomorrow.

  INDIA: Of course you're right. But at the moment, meeting someone new is the last thing on my mind.

  MARINA: As I say, play it by ear. We can always reschedule the date.

  INDIA: Okay. Deal. If I don’t feel up to the party, I'll cancel.

  Marina says goodnight and I sit and read my Facebook feed, losing myself for a while in the mindlessness o
f social media while I wait to spell off my father at my mother's side.

  I spend another couple of shifts with my mom before I finally crash on the sofa when they turn the lights off. My dad has a recliner in the ICU room with my mom, so he sleeps at her side. I wake frequently as the doctors and nurses move around the hallways, visiting with patients and checking their stats.

  When the sun rises, the bright light peering in from beneath the blinds at the family room window, I sit up and stretch. My neck is sore from the hard arm of the sofa I slept on, but at least I got some sleep.

  I go to the washroom and am thankful that Jon brought my suitcase so I can brush my teeth and change my underwear. After I've freshened up, I slip in to my mom's room. My dad must be in the bathroom or maybe down at the cafeteria.

  A nurse comes in while I'm there and checks on my mother. She smiles at me.

  "She had a good night," she says with a smile. "They'll probably reduce her sedation today to see how she does."

  "Thanks," I say, glad that the nurses are so good and attentive – not only to my mom's needs, but also her family's needs.

  When my father returns, he has two cups of coffee in his hand and he looks like he's brushed his hair.

  "I bought a toothbrush down at the gift shop and washed my face. I feel like a new man with the caffeine. Here," he says and hands me one. "I got you one. One Splenda, right?"

  "Thanks. I need some," I say and take the cup. "You can sit with her for a while. I'll go and get some breakfast."

  I trade places with my dad and leave him, taking my laptop and cup of coffee and head to the cafeteria.

  Gradually, over the course of the day, my mom's stats improve.

  Jon texts me to let me know that the staff meeting went well and that if I want him to come by, he'll be here in fifteen, but I put him off again.

  INDIA: Maybe you better not. I need some distance from you so I can think things through.

  JON: I don't like the sound of that. There's nothing to think through, India. You were all ready to give this a try before your mom's accident. What changed?