Chapter 34
S CARLETT
The next day
“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Eisenhower says, doing a double take at me while taking her gift from me. “You shouldn’t have,” she adds, unwrapping it.
I protest with a soft gesture.
“It’s my pleasure,” I say politely.
She points to the couch.
“Please, take a seat. I baked a cake. You should at least have a slice,” she offers. “And I can make you a cup of tea.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“I insist.”
She gives me a smile, her eyes on me as her hands work her gift open.
I watch her expression change in delight before she thanks me again and puts the kettle on the stove.
The next few minutes are painful, not because she’s not lovely––she is the perfect host today––or that the smell of cake and orange doesn’t make this day festive, but because I still have a hard time connecting to my old life.
It’s been more than sixteen hours since I accepted Ewan’s invitation to some secret place where we had sex.
Was it more than I’d imagined?
Let’s say my imagination failed me.
He left me broken in the best possible way.
I couldn’t snap out of that sex-induced daze for hours.
He fucked me all right, and then he cared for me. Kissed me. Teased me. Talked dirty to me.
He made me come with his mouth and with his words.
He held me in his arms and didn’t let me go.
And I was sleepy, but I couldn’t sleep, and then he said we shouldn’t spend the night there.
Every part of my body thrummed with need. Every sensation was amplified by his arms around me.
It’s possibly one of the most honest ways of testing our humanity by entrusting yourself to someone else and still getting out alive.
Letting him lead me into a world of pleasure has immensely paid off.
Tired and smiling, we snuck out of the house, walked a few blocks away, and entered a private garage where he collected his car before he took me home.
It’s a miracle that Mrs. Eisenhower didn’t hear his car passing down the street this morning.
He let me walk out before he steered his ride away, and I strolled to my place, convinced that I’d meet her scrutinizing glare.
After that last incident with Joachim, I’m on thin ice with her, yet the gift seems to have improved her mood.
We chit-chat over tea and cake, and I find her pleasant and helpful, although I'm listening to her a bit distracted when she drops a question out of the blue.
“I hope you’re taking it easy with that man,” she says, and my focus sharpens.
“What man?” I ask her around a mouth full of cake.
I lift my gaze.
She rolls her eyes, amused.
“The one your ex has lost his mind over.”
“Wait… What?”
I smile, holding my hand under my chin to catch a few crumbs.
First, she was worried I wouldn’t see him again.
And now, she is worried I’m moving too fast with him.
Make up your mind, woman.
“Where did you get that idea?”
“Come on. It’s not hard to see that.”
She takes a bite of cake herself.
“I never liked your ex. Too fussy for my taste. Men weren’t like that back in my time.”
I chew slowly, curious to hear more.
“How were they back in your time?”
She thoughtfully chews on her dessert.
“They were stoic and knew their place.”
I laugh quietly.
She flashes a smile.
“I’m serious. I didn’t need to baby Walter. Even before we got married, and we were very young. You know that. Your mother must’ve told you the story.”
She sighs.
“He couldn’t wait to prove himself,” she drones on. "To prove to me he was a real man. That’s how men were in my day. Nowadays, though…”
She shakes her head, her stare blank as she thinks about it.
“They’re wishy washy, and their egos are tiny porcelain dolls. One little bump and they all shatter and are strewn across the floor. Like your ex.”
She nods in agreement with herself, still smiling, entertained.
“He wasn’t interested in making you happy when he was married to you.”
“That’s correct,” I say, unwilling to bend the truth so he looks better in her eyes.
Besides, she knows him.
“And now he lost his sleep because you’re seeing another man.”
I say nothing.
“I hope you are. I’d love to see you find true happiness after wasting your time with Joachim.”
“I don’t know about finding true happiness. Things are more complicated than that.”
“No, they’re not.”
She sips tea.
“You two just have to slow down. Take it easy.”
“I think we do,” I say, glad that we’re on the same page.
“No, no,” she says, proving that she’s more perceptive than I thought she’d be. “Don’t have sex with him,” she adds under her breath before pushing her chair back and pivoting to the counter. “Do you want more cake?”
I can’t pull my lips open to answer, still under the effect of her words.
Don’t have sex? That’s all we have.
“I’m good. Thank you.”
She slides another slice of cake onto her plate and returns to the table.
Mechanically, I watch her slide into her seat.
“Don’t have sex, darling. I know this seems like an outdated view, but it still works.”
“How?”
“How??”
She laughs.
“When sex takes the back seat, people are more concerned with knowing each other. When sex is the main dish, you know there’s nothing else left.”
I hope she’s wrong. For the sake of having a different opinion, I hope I can come back to her one day and tell her she was wrong. Whether Ewan will be a part of my life at that point or not, I want to believe that she’s wrong.
What if she isn’t?
What if there is truth to that?
What if he changed his mind?
He wanted to do all the right things by me, taking his time and all that. Was I so clueless, blindsided, unable to read into his behavior? Am I so shallow? And when did I become a horny little tart?
As she keeps yapping about her theory, I try to figure out where I am with Ewan.
The sex was unbelievable.
We made a deal, didn’t we?
We said we’d have sex and see where it would get us.
Yeah, it sounded promising.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize we probably settled for having a good time because deep down inside, we knew we had no future together.
But even if we had… Huh.
We’ve already screwed it, haven’t we?
We’ve already destroyed that mystique that a story needs to last longer than a few meetups for sex.
Something must’ve shift on my face as she lifts an eyebrow at me.
“You don’t like your tea?”
I pull out of my frozen state.
“My tea is good. Thank you. I need to go now. I have a lot to do this evening.”
A smile tugs at her lips.
“Oh…” she says, excited. “Are you having guests?”
Her eyes glint as if she’s hinting at Ewan.
“I don’t know yet,” I say, offering a lie.
The truth is we didn’t make plans for tonight.
Christmas Eve is a good time to be with your family. And I’m not his family.
We pulled away from each other without the promise of a call or a new date.
It was like we both accepted the idea that we needed to take a break over the holidays.
So I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.
Anything can happen.
Maybe I’ll see him next week.
Maybe I won’t.
Minutes later, I excuse myself and return to my place.
I spend an hour putting up my tree––yes, I decided to do it anyway––and decorate my house.
The sun starts to descend toward the horizon when I head to the bathroom and take a shower.
Wrapped in my bathroom, and wearing my slippers I return to the living room and admire the results of my work.
It looks great. It really does.
Still contemplating how I could make my place look even nicer, I almost miss the sound of a car honking outside.
The second time I hear it, I glance out the window, intrigued. A truck pulls up in front of my house, and I have to pinch myself.
It looks like his truck, but it can’t be him.
Letting the engine running, he climbs out.
I think he knows I’m staring at him right now.
Why else would he wear a knowing smile?
I move to the door and open it for him. My stare goes down. He wears nice clothes like he’s about to go out, and I’m convinced he’s stopped by at my house for some weird reason before going someplace else.
“Hey, baby,” he says, leaning in and placing a kiss on my lips.
I can’t move, I’m so surprised.
“What are you doing here?” I ask quietly.
He wears a secret smile.
“Go pack your bags. I’ll take you someplace nice.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
“Are we having dinner? What exactly are we doing?”
“Pack something cute. Festive,” he says. “And make sure they’re summer clothes.”
My eyebrows move up into a questioning look.
“Where are you taking me?”
“We’re spending Christmas in Florida,” he says, and my jaw drops to his delight.
SCARLETT
I only traveled to Florida twice.
The first time, my mother took me to the theme parks. I was eight.
The second time, I spent a week in Miami with a couple of friends after college graduation, and we thought that maybe we’d get married to some rich guy who smoked cigars and drove a collectible pink car from the fifties.
Silly girls we were.
So when he said we’d go to Florida, my heart skipped a few beats and danced rumba in my chest.
I packed light because he said so, and I thought we wouldn’t be spending much time over there.
Even so, I put in a couple of summer dresses, shorts, sweaters, pencil pants, flats, flip-flops, and a jacket.
It could get cold in the evening––I had thought–– although I had no idea what kind of accommodations we would have.
We flew a charter plane down here, and arrived at Sarasota Bradenton International airport an hour ago, where we hoped into a rented car.
We’re like two newlyweds, or two happily married people, doing all the things people on vacation do.
We stop at the gas station, buy soda, candy, and chips, and generally speaking, feel free that we escaped the oppressive winter.
The weather is balmy, perfect for this time of year. Not too hot and not too cold, and the smell of the ocean tickles my nostrils.
The breeze is what I like the most. It’s like an old friend wrapping their arms around you.