Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
I opened the door and picked up the picnic basket, a complimentary to-go breakfast, then lifted the wooden lid to make sure they had included the extra fruit I’d requested. Rakell wouldn’t eat the croissants, especially now that she had to do the chemistry read in a couple of days. I still didn’t get the gist of that, but I knew I didn’t like the idea at all. As I approached an armchair next to the bed, she was saying goodbye to Ana.
She put the phone down on the bedside table, her eyes fixed on it as if she were running the conversation with Ana through her brain. Her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth, her feet rubbing together.
I had no doubt that her mind was spinning; anyone who was semi-paying attention would pick up on her uneasiness. I wondered if she was aware of her nervous gestures and if she had displayed that same jittery body language when she’d worked as an escort before having sex with a man for the first time. God, that thought made my gut twist.
She finally lifted her eyes to me, and at that moment I wasn’t sure if she was skittish about the impending role or me being privy to the conversation. I purposefully relaxed my shoulders, sat back in the chair, and offered her a quick upturn of my lips.
In return, she gave me a sly, closed-mouth smile, like she was caught between two opposing feelings: embarrassed and emboldened. Her fingers were curled around the cup handle, her eyes still steadied on me. She shimmied herself back toward the headboard. Her T-shirt, well actually mine—she’d taken to stealing one every time we were together, then would wear it the next time I saw her—was gathered around her pelvis, her pale pink panties peeking out. As usual, I knew I’d need to probe to understand what she was thinking, as it was unlikely she would start the conversation. “Hey, you.”
“Yeah, you?” she murmured.
“So big news, huh?” I said, deliberately adding warmth to my voice.
“Yes, it feels hopeful,” she said, almost as if she were convincing herself.
I grinned. “I’m really glad you're staying until Monday.” I wanted her to know that I genuinely appreciated it. I didn’t add that I would have blown a gasket had she bailed to fly out tomorrow just because some big shot thought she should alter her life on the fly for a chance in his movie.
“Well, I just thought…well, I had already said I’d be here and…it just seemed fair,” she stammered, her voice growing softer as she resumed. “Matt says that’s what couples have to do—that they try to understand how the other person feels and maybe do things just because it makes the other person happy.”
I almost spit out my coffee. Is she fucking kidding? No, her voice was soft but somber. Jesus, she was just figuring that out? Well, hell, relationship Psychology 101 right there! “Yep,” I said, scurrying around my brain for words to replace the ones that were on the tip of my tongue” basics of life, honey … fucking hell … how did you ever make it in the escort business ?
Then, boom, out of her mouth, as if she’d read my mind, a coquettish grin split her cheeks, which seemed to blush as she spoke. “I understand that concept, doing what makes the other person happy when it comes to sexual stuff. I suppose I had enough practice when it came to being the way a man wanted me to be just so he could feel good about himself. I held my breath while listening to her rattle on. “Sucking them off, or pretending like their touch made me swoon, or that their cock was the best and, of course, the biggest I’d ever experienced. Men are all about firsts, so if they can be made to think whatever they’re doing is a first for you, then they feel more like a man, I guess—” She blinked as if catching herself, her eyes going wide as if she’d just been made aware that she was talking to her goddamn boyfriend.
Internally, I shook my head. There was something so off about the way she spoke when she was opening up to me, sort of like some of the guys from the team, who just said shit without putting it through a filter, something I had to stop myself from doing. When you grow up in a place like Texas you learn to sugarcoat blunt stuff, so the message gets kind of muddled. Sort of like the idea of sweet tea—it’s still fucking tea, just seriously sugar-infused, and now somehow it’s so damn good. “Huh?” slipped from my mouth mid-thought.
“Sorry, I just kind of…forgot I was talking to you and not, not just a friend, I mean…I—” she mumbled.
I snapped my jaw shut after realizing that my mouth was hanging open while listening to her expound on the fucking pathetic psyches of men. Damn, were we really that fucking insecure, like the whole lot of us? I filed that away. I let out a forced chuckle, trying to cover the internal shock infused with exasperation that this girl so readily elicited in me. Yet I had to admit, her unfiltered observations had a keenness to them I hadn’t heard before. I began to wonder if maybe my past girlfriends had been saying what they thought I wanted to hear, while she was not. Setting down my coffee mug with a thud, I threw my hands in the air. “So, you just let your boyfriend know that you have the read on what makes men tick, huh?” I stood, a purposeful smirk on my face. “Well, if that’s the case, that implies you are privy to exactly what would make me happy at this moment,” I said with a pointed sneer to my voice.
She let out a breathy giggle. “Yes, Jake, you’re unique in some ways, but you share some core drivers with most men. So…” she added, fisting the hem of the T-shirt, preparing to pull it over her head.
“Wrong!” I gritted out, landing with a thud on the edge of the bed near her. “You being naked always makes me smile, but what would make me happy right now is to know more about the next audition.” I sure did want to tell her that it was fucking grating to have to pull everything out of her— fucking talk to me like you do with Matt . But I guess she’d just done that when she summarized her tutorial on making a man happy.
“About?”
“The movie. What’s a chemistry reading, exactly? What is the movie about? This is a big deal. I want to hear all about it.” I scooted a little closer to her on the bed.
Her green eyes skittered around the room as if the answer rested behind a bookshelf or chair. Then I saw them spark with realization, her lips parting into a wide grin. “Grab my phone, and I’ll show you how a chemistry reading works.”
I couldn’t hide my perplexed look as I handed it to her. “Wait,” she said, scrolling, then clicking on the screen. “I have scenes here that we can practice.” Her eyes lit up as her lids fluttered. “See if we have chemistry.”
“See if?” I scoffed, palming the upper part of her thigh.
She batted my hand away, laughing. “Wait, this will be fun. I can’t let you read the whole script, but we can read through a scene or two. We’ll skip the intense…” She gulped, swallowing the rest of the sentence.
My eyebrows shot up as I tilted my head. “Intense?”
“Here, read the lines where it indicates a middle-aged man in a suit ,” she instructed me, handing over her phone.
“What about your lines?” I asked, looking down at the screen.
She arched her back slightly and sat up straight, pulling her lips into her mouth. “I know them by heart. I’ve practiced over and over. Go, try me,” she challenged playfully, her hands balling into fists as if preparing for a boxing match. “Test me. Remember, you’re a man, approximately early fifties, and I’m a…”
“Seductress,” I growled, lowering my eyes.
“Yes, a seductress, but your character doesn’t know this. To you, I’m simply a girl who waitresses at the diner you frequent. I just started working there a week ago, and now you find yourself going every morning and sometimes during lunch, requesting my section. I’ll start…” she said, clearing her throat. “Okay, I’m ready.” Her voice shifted into that syrupy Georgia accent she’d used on the phone.
“More coffee, sir?” Her tongue flicked out, coating her bottom lip, doing precisely what the script said.
I read the next line, trying to adopt a friendly older man’s voice, whatever the hell that is.
I looked up to see her giggling. “You’re doing good,” she assured me, but I wasn’t buying it. “Try one more time,” she instructed.
“What was your name again?” I read a little more confidently this time. I didn’t ask if the middle-aged dude had a Georgia accent because there was no way I could do one the way she did, even though I was from Texas. It’s a totally different twang.
“Annabelle.”
“Annabelle, a beautiful name, matches your smile,” I read, trying not to laugh, watching her bat her eyelashes.
“Well, thank you,” she cooed, that Georgia sweetness dripping from her tongue.
“What do you enjoy doing when you're not working here?”
“I like taking baths.”
“Baths?” Great writing, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.
“Yes, if I ever have enough money to go on a nice vacation, I’d want to stay in one of those fancy hotels with a big bathtub, the old-fashioned kind. I’d undress slowly in front of one of those ornate gold mirrors, watching the clothes fall from my body and drop onto the floor while the bath is running, then slip into it, putting my feet up to the running water as lavender bath salts melted, infusing the lush fragrance into my pores. I’d breathe in the smell, maybe sip some Champagne. Then I suppose I’d read a book, something deliciously torrid.”
Clearing his throat, he says… I cleared my throat. Damn that accent! “Would you be alone in this endeavor, or do you see a man with you?” he asked casually, his eyes peering over the coffee cup. “Wait,” I blurted out, grabbing my mug from the small table. Scooting back on the bed, I said, “Okay, going to do that line again.” I repeated it, “Would you be alone in this endeavor, or do you see a man with you?” I mimicked the directions, peering lasciviously (a fancy way of saying look at her like you want to fuck her, pretty easy) over my cup. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. Damn if that didn’t make me swell a little inside.
She giggles, her hand to her mouth, eyes moving around the café. “Yes, I would so love a man to bring me a glass of bubbly after I enjoy myself and my book.”
He makes a low sound in his throat, his tone darkening. “Anyone in particular?” He sets the coffee cup down on the table, rests his hand near it, and looks into her face.
“Well yes, someone I have met a few times, exchanged a few pleasantries with, but do not know.”
“Would you like to get to know him in a fancy hotel room, drinking expensive Champagne?”
“That seems like the perfect place to get to know someone I’ve been thinking about.” A voice calls for her across the café. “Oh, excuse me, here’s your check,” she says.
The man reaches for it, purposely overreaching so that their fingers touch, lingering for a second. The camera pans to their hands…From off camera, he says, “I’ll be sure and take care of it.” He rubs his fingers over hers.
She gasps, smiles coyly, and says, “I need to get to the other tables.”
“Well, that’s the opening scene…very PG …” Rakell emphasized that point. Her sugary accent evaporated. “What do you think?” she asked excitedly, wiggling her legs on the bed.
Holy fuck, what did I think? That was the opening scene? More importantly, that was the PG scene? I fucking wanted to read the script. That scene—how she delivered her lines would make me run to the nearest theater—if it weren’t the woman I love. Any other woman…delivering those lines, those illicit tits daring the onlooker, working with those sultry moss green eyes, almost cat-like, and that thing she did with her tongue, subtly darting it out of her mouth, wetting her lower lip. She only did it twice. Still, I know what everyone in the audience would imagine. Combine all those sexy non-verbals with that accent, sugary with a spicy hidden layer. Hell, I’d run away with that waitress. I coughed before making a low, gruff sound in my throat. “So, that’s the PG scene? I want more…” I grabbed her wrists with both hands, “Give me more, darlin’.”
“Noooo!” She squealed, shaking her head, trying to break free from my cuff-like hold on her hands, but the more she twisted, the firmer I squeezed. She shifted her body and leaned toward me, her eyes dropping to my fingers wrapped around her wrists. “Is that what you’re into?” she hushed, eyes sifting over my face as if searching for an answer, but I couldn’t read her expression.
If I told the truth right now, if I said, Hell yeah, but only if the girl likes it, would that lead to more questions about my past interludes? Would I have to reveal how I’d been with a few women who’d requested they be tied up? Had I thought about getting fucking kinky with this girl, pretty much every night alone, as I fisted my cock and pictured cuffing her to my bed in Sacramento? My bed had been custom designed with black wrought iron branches leading to a canopy that expanded into smaller branches with leaves overhead. I’d imagined her cuffed to one of the tall bed posts, completely naked except for black high heels, legs spread as I toyed with her body, spanking her fleshy ass just to watch the cheeks pink up before pulling them apart, tickling that rosebud, relishing in the sight of her hips arching up while skimming my knuckles over her sex and up her abdomen, leaving a trail of her juices before pinching those fucking gorgeous nips, listening to her squeal, not relenting until she begged to be fucked any way I wanted.
“Mmmm…” I stalled, loosening my grip, freeing her, twisting some version of the truth tainted with a slight lie in my head, calculating how to say what I’d been thinking, knowing she had an uncanny ability to see beyond my words. “Truthfully,” I started, opening my fingers, rubbing her wrists, “I may have thought about doing that sort of stuff with you, but it’s not something I would say I was into .” An imagined version of her escort life moved into my frontal lobe like an X-rated movie on repeat, something akin to 9 1/2 Weeks . She’d probably been tied up. Most likely, men had paid to live out their sordid fantasies on that sexy as fuck body, spanked her, kneaded her flesh, sprayed cum all over her face, chest, ass... Still, the night they’d celebrated his Super Bowl win at her apartment, she said that she’d never done anal…isn’t that what she’d indicated? Was she telling the truth? No client ever pushed for that ? She’d shared crumbs about life as an escort, but just like the scene we’d rehearsed, I knew there must be salacious stuff lurking behind those tidbits. I had to be different, to be the guy who cared more about her person than her body. Fuck, this was rough.
She ran the nail of her pointer finger along her lower lip. Her eyes skittered around the room. “I’m guessing you're not into kinky stuff…toys, and…” Her voice dropped off, her expression offering nothing.
Does she like it, is she pissed? Measuring my explanation, I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m trying to be honest here. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be open to that with you, but only with you,” I added emphatically.
Her eyes pierced mine as if scouring my brain. A knowing glint lit up her pupils. “Well, okay, mate.” She twisted a lock of her messy hair between her fingers. “I suppose for me it was simpler then because I knew the profile of the men ahead of time, so I could match their preferences, no hidden expectations…like in real life.” She quietly chuckled to herself, her eyes dropping to the bed. “It’s easier when they fill out a likes and dislikes questionnaire, to which an escort can agree or decline.”
My heart thudded against my chest, my pulse quickening. Maybe I did not want to know more about her life before me. I forced a neutral expression, tilting my head and relaxing my jaw. I pictured the questionnaire in my head…and how I would answer that.
Still twisting her hair, she added, “I should compile a questionnaire for you, Mr. Skyler, so I don’t have to guess.”
“Really, you think I’d fill out some bullshit form to be with you?” I scoffed, picturing how my profile would read.
Watching porn: with you…check
Tying you up: so, I have complete control…definitely into that
Spreader bar: so I can have full access…check
A cadre of toys: titty clamps, butt plugs, vibrators…the more the merrier
Dominating you: I’d been trained by some pretty amazing women: I'm pretty sure I could have you begging
Anal: Yes please, think about it all the time
Sharing you: yep, I don’t think I could do that with you
Sex in public spaces: if I weren’t a famous fucking quarterback who just appeared on the “Tonight Show” and cell phones didn’t exist…probably, yes.
I decided to lead with a tame version of my pervy side as I cupped her knees, my thumbs kneading into the flesh of her lower thigh. “I’m not filling out anything. How about we say if there’s something you want to try, well…most likely I will be game.” I twisted my neck, throwing my glance at the TV. “You want to watch porn…I’m in. If that gives you ideas, well, then we can explore.” I was impressed with how new to this I sounded. Bullshit, Jake.
With her chest puffing out, heaving forward, her mouth open like she was about to express something bold, she caught my attention, and my dick responded. Using my grip on her knees, I pried her legs open. Not only did she comply, she inched them even wider, creating the most inviting V, luring my gaze straight to that sweet honey spot. “So, how about your fantasies, darlin’? Anything you think about when your lipstick is down there doing its job, the one I miss doing when we're not together.” I fucking loved our phone sex, but it was like having an itch in the middle of your back and not being able to reach your hand around to scratch the hell out of it, so you had to rely on rubbing your back against something. It wasn’t quite the same.
Her head dropped, hair shrouding her face, as streaks of red crept up her neck—why the hell was this girl acting shy? I shook my head just as an idea popped into my brain, something I’d thought about because we’d been separated so much. My mind always went to her and that fucking lipstick. She’d slipped one night and said a friend, a client, had given it to her. Some goddamned guy had given her a lipstick vibrator as a parting gift. Actually, it was a brilliant gesture. I wondered if she thought of him when she got off and if that was why he had given it to her.
I jumped up, picked up her purse, and held it out as I returned from the bed. I watched her eyes grow wide as her jaw became rigid like she was preparing to lecture me to never touch her purse. I’d learned that lesson the hard way from my sisters. One time, I had dug something out of Jenae’s purse, and she’d screamed as she hit me with it in a swanky bar in downtown Houston. Not so fast, sweetheart, I thought. “Here,” I said, extending it to her. “Fish out the good lipstick. Now,” I directed, my tone stern.
Her eyebrows knitted together, syncing with her puzzled grimace. “What? How do you know…”
“I know you carry it in your purse. The other night, when we were talking on the phone, you said, ‘I need to find my purse, my lipstick is in there.’”
She rolled her eyes and fished it out.
“Watch the non-verbal shit, darlin’. Those could get you in trouble.”
“Oh really, mate?” she snickered.
“Really, but right now, I have a different agenda.” I snatched the lipstick from her hand, watching her lips open wide in protest. Bending forward, I put my fingers to her mouth. “Shhh.” Then, using my gruffest voice. “Get on all fours.”
I saw the corner of her mouth twitch as she started to shift.
“Naked,” I growled. “Get on all fours naked and stick that ass in the air. I’m going to see if this little toy can compete with me.”
Her chest heaved like she was trying to catch her breath. “Jake.”
“Do it,” I barked as I shucked my briefs and T-shirt.
I watched her chest rise and fall, her ribs stretching in and out with her quick breath, but she did it. She crawled to the middle of the bed, naked on all fours. I shifted onto the bed, removing the top before pushing the bottom of the plastic lipstick.
Hearing it buzz, she turned her head, her hair swimming over her back and shoulders, a gorgeous mess of dirty blond strands everywhere. “Jake?”
I answered by shimmying on my knees from behind her exposed ass, using my thigh to push her legs farther apart. Thrusting my pelvis forward so it was flush with her cheeks, my cock snuggled into the crack, throbbing against the split-open crevice of her sex—fuck…she was already dripping. Precum trickled from the tip of my dick. I was so ready, I just wanted to dive deep into that soppy heaven, but I had a plan. Dragging the vibrating lipstick up the side of her spine, I bent forward, wedging my hardness firmly into the crack of her ass, loving the gasp that flew from her mouth. I tickled the skin of her torso, wrapping one arm around her waist while I circled her nipples with vibration, then I skimmed it down her right arm to her hand. “Use it on yourself,” I said, making her take it, pulling a pillow underneath her chest to brace her.
“Like this?” she hushed.
“Yes, keep your ass in the air, brace yourself on your elbow, and go at it. I know you like getting yourself off in this position, pretending like you’re fucking me, don’t you?” I growled against her head. “Now,” I said, sitting back almost to my heels so I could watch.
She seemed tentative, but as the red vibrating tip found her glistening folds, she sighed, wiggling it around until it struck her swollen nub. “Ahhh,” hissed from her mouth, her cheek on the pillow.
Laying my hands on her fleshy bottom, my thumbs in her crack, millimeters from her rosebud, I brought my thumb to my mouth and spat on it. Then I used the soaked pad to circle her anal opening, one hand grabbing the flesh so I could see that ring open as my thumb massaged the pink sensitive flesh. My dick turned to stone, hearing her raspy sighs, seeing how fucking juicy the flesh between her legs looked, moisture coating her inner thighs. Her rosebud flexed from the stimulation. She was ready to explode. “Take it off your clit—right now. Just stroke your gorgeous lips. You can’t come until you tell me what you are imagining. What’s happening in your head when that vibrator is zinging between your legs?”
“You, Jaaaake,” she whimpered. “You…”
Smack! “Bullshit! Don’t say it’s me…tell me that dirty little fantasy that’s going on in your mind when you're bringing yourself off.” I grit out, pressing the tip of my thumb into her tight ring.
“Jake, oh my god,” she screeched, her glutes tightening.
“Shh. Don’t worry, that’s as far as I’m going.” I kept the pressure steady. “Relax,” I soothed. “Pretend I’m not here. Tell me what you’re using to get off. I want to know exactly what goes through that mind of yours. Then you can get what you want,” I coaxed. “It can be anything. Keep stroking those lips…and go,” I urged. Damn, I really wanted to hear what pranced through that mind of hers.
“Ohhh…” A low moan seeped from her mouth. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I pushed my pelvis forward, my hands sliding down her legs. I took the vibrator from her. “Tell me while I work you. When I know you’re telling me the whole scene, you get to come…is that what you want, baby?” My voice was coarse from the lust spiking through me, every neuron on high alert.
She moved her other hand to her face, bracing on both elbows. “It’s you I picture…”
A second of silence…I just kept moving the vibrator close to her sex, teasing her outer lips. “What am I doing?”
“You’re sitting in a chair with only a dress shirt on. Your trousers are pooled at your ankles, and I’m sitting on your lap with my back to you, in a skirt and a blouse. You’re commanding me to unbutton my blouse, so my breasts are exposed. You yank my skirt up, showing off my pussy because I only have a garter belt and stockings on. You force my legs open wide, so my cunt is open to…”
She halted; I stilled the vibrator right next to her clit as I was sure I’d absolutely caught the part of this fucking hot as hell fantasy she wasn’t saying. “Is someone watching me touch you?”
“Ummm…yes, yes.” She cast her answer out, unsure of my reaction, but I’ve played this little game with women before, and the quickest way to shut someone down, ruining the whole experience, is to sound judgy.
“Go on. I’m touching you, pinching your nipples, spreading you open, probably playing with your clit, so they can see what a fucking minx you are, how fucking horny you get. I’m showing off, aren’t I? Look, how sopping wet my girl’s cunt gets.” I put the tip of the vibrator right on her pulsing hard nub, and her ass shifted—she was so primed, but damn, I craved more of this story, so I kept teasing her clit with just a second of vibration, then pulled away as I cajoled the story out of her.
“Yes, yes,” she hissed, clearly caught up in her own scenario.
I swatted her open pussy lightly, her whole body flexing in response as a small yelp seeped from her mouth. “I probably swatted that bad little cunt right in front of them, didn’t I?” She moaned, and I swatted her again. “What next? Do they get to watch me fuck you?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, sucking in a breath. “I, I, pull up my skirt all the way and sit on your cock, moving up and down.” I scooted my legs between hers, so I was sitting, then grabbed her around the waist. “Push up. I want you doing just that,” I said to her back, helping her get in position, holding my shaft as she lowered herself onto my dick. So fucking eager, and with a low sensual voice, straining all judgment, I asked, “Who is it?” Praying like hell it wasn’t Matt because that would give me pause. I knew he was gay but hell, that didn’t stop her from thinking about him, loving him, maybe even yearning for him.
“Well,” she said sheepishly. She lowered her pussy onto my cock.
“Damn, that’s so good. So, who’s sitting there watching us, baby?” I goaded gruffly as she slid down on me, one hand on her hip, the other finding her clit. With that wonder vibrator, I wanted her to explode like I was about to.
“Yes, yes, see…see…I’d do anything for him,” she whimpered, “anything, Dwayne, I’m good for him.” She sucked in a breath, halting her pelvis.
Well damn, I wasn’t expecting that. My hand stiffened on her hip, but I growled, “Yes, yes, he’s dying watching you fuck me. Get it, girl, get it, give him a show.” Intently, I made tiny circles over her clit as she rocked her hips on my shaft, her legs giving up, but with that ass arched and flexing back and forth urgently.
“J-a-k-e, yes, yes,” she keened, and I dropped the vibrator, pumping my pelvis upward, fucking her harder as her walls formed a vise around me, smothering my cock in her warm sweetness. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I let myself go with a wail, deep into her core. She whimpered among heavy breaths before collapsing forward on my legs. I rubbed her back gently…she’d been open. I knew not to mention anything about Dwayne, but I damn sure was scratching my brain, zingers like, does she fantasize about him joining or just watching? I gulped in a breath.
Shimmying from under her, I said, “Sweets, let me get a washcloth, then I’ll feed you.”
“Duck your head,” I whispered as we descended the steps into Soule Domain, a restaurant on the North Shore that served fabulous high-end food, featuring an extensive wine list. It was a small log cabin with a roaring fire, boasting an intimate atmosphere that would take you back in time. I ordered their escargot, lobster wontons, and rack of lamb. She ordered a salad, dressing on the side, and fresh fish with no oil or starch. I could tell she was a little guarded about giving her detailed restrictive order; her eyes cast to me as she apologized to the waiter, but I didn’t care. This day had been off the charts, starting with the mind-blowing sex. Then she’d let me feed her fruit in bed, giggling when I’d put a piece of cut-up watermelon in her belly button then sucked it off. We’d taken a leisurely nap to restore ourselves before going on a long hike. When we’d come upon a stunning view and stopped to rest, Rakell had commented that she couldn’t believe how winded she was. “The altitude surprises everyone,” I’d reminded her.
Today had been free of second-guessing each other, stiff moments where misunderstandings could settle in, stalling our conversations. It was quite literally a perfect day. That feeling escorted us through dinner, even when I went out on a limb and asked a question about her dad. I didn’t have much time with her, and I’d remembered something my mom had said when I’d shared with my parents about her terrible tragedy. I was trying to figure out how to get her to feel safe with me, so that she’d open up with me more, share more about her childhood, including her father. My mom said, “One of the hardest things about mourning someone you love is that the people around you never ask about that person. Sure, in the beginning they tell you how sorry they are, ask you how you’re doing but the person you lost is gone from normal conversation because people don’t ask things like, ‘What’s your favorite memory?’ ‘What did he do that made you laugh?’ ‘What do you cherish most?’ Just letting her talk about her dad and even her mom, the positive memories, that’s a gift.” It struck me; my mom had said that, my dad nodding in agreement, that we never talked about my brother. I’d never asked either. I knew the story about his death, or at least a brief version of it, but I’d never asked about his life. He had died before I was born, so I didn’t have any memories of my own, but I knew my parents did, and Melissa and Jenae, too. I began to wonder more about how that had impacted Melissa.
While Rakell and I were sipping our wine, I scrolled through the bits she had shared about her father for something basic, non-emotional I could ask. “What was in that dip you and your dad used to eat watching the Iowa Tornado games?” I tossed it out casually, even though I’d committed the ingredients to memory.
She scratched her nose, made a disgusted silly face, and said, “I’ll tell you, but I’m never eating it. It probably has a hundred calories per bite.”
I heard the lightness in her voice, even cracking with a hushed laugh a couple of times, as she detailed the ingredients, which eased into a couple of stories about watching the games together. Then I probed a little further about how she’d learned to ride horses. She shared that there were pictures of her on horses with her dad since before she could remember, which led to her sharing that the familiar ringtone song, I’d heard on her phone, “ The Road Less Travelled,” was by one of her dad’s favorite Australian singers, Graeme Connors. Her cheeks pinked as a smile broke on her face when she said, “That will always be my ringtone. It reminds me of how my dad lived,” but in an instant that fond memory must have drudged some fresh grief up with it, because I watched as her face fell and she added, “And died…lived and died.” I heard a small crack in her voice, so I casually diverted the conversation, thinking how my parents would be proud that I’d stopped myself from tunneling too deep.