17. Rochelle
17
ROCHELLE
" G o fish!"
"You don't have to shout," Walken says condescendingly to his sister. "We're sitting right next to you."
"It's okay." Frederick reaches for the pile of cards, picking one up off the top. "She's just excited that I'm about to get a match for my three of diamonds."
He makes a show of looking at the new card.
"You did not get a match," Sigourney says, rolling her eyes.
"You're right." Frederick sighs dramatically. "I guess it's Rochelle's turn again."
I smile at him and he smiles back, his eyes looking less tired and worn. He is enjoying himself.
It's been an entire week, but it's flown by like a freight train on fire, with fire being the operative word. Frederick is undeniably hot, probably the hottest thing this building has ever had walk up its crummy emergency stairwell because the elevator isn't working, again . I still have trouble believing he's real when I see him against the backdrop of my apartment.
And yet, here he is, playing Go Fish and thriving.
"Rochelle? It's your turn," Walken prompts, and I realize I've been smiling at Frederick and daydreaming about later tonight when we're alone again.
"Sorry. My bad. Sigourney, do you have a two?"
"Oh, man!" She hands the card over with ill grace. I smile, doing a little happy dance as I put the pair on the table.
"Don't worry, Rochelle always loses with cards," Walken tells Frederick in a chummy man-to-man tone in his voice I haven't noticed before.
I look at both of them and shake my head. "So quickly you betray me," I say to Walken, who grins and studies his cards more intently.
It makes sense. Frederick is the first man in his life who notices him and even asks questions about his day or what he's excited about. Walken had been hesitant at first, both shy and uncertain about how to interact with a man who doesn't treat him as if he is on the same level as the family pet. When he'd begun to trust Frederick, it happened fast.
I can't blame the kid. I'd let Frederick sweep into my life just as fast. Since we, erm, consummated our fake engagement, he’s stayed with me every night except two, and they’ve all been worth the lack of sleep. He is as generous as he is good-looking.
Despite coming from a radically different demographic, he’s never batted an eye at my place or the neighborhood. Even when we tried the elevator, found it out of service, and had to walk up the stairs for the next few days, he acted like it was an everyday thing.
I'd like to see how his building treats stuck elevators. I imagine the amount of time they'd be out of order would be measured in minutes, not days. He probably lives in a place with a whole bank of elevators, anyway.
And yet, after walking up the multiple flights and arriving at my door breathless, he was kind enough to say I looked like I was glowing instead of beginning to sweat.
Because I'm a lady, I'd taken it to the next level and said I liked hearing him breathe like that. It had ignited some kissing that made me glad the neighbors were still out.
"Duplex, off the cards! Go again, Rochelle," Walken prompts, obviously disgusted I can't keep my mind on the game at hand.
"Frederick," I say, looking at him sideways and enjoying the way his name feels in my mouth. "Do you have a five?"
"Go fish," he says, his eyes laughing as if he can read my mind and knows my dirty thoughts.
"I will." I reach out and take a card. It's an ace, so I add it to my hand and look at Sigourney.
"Frederick," she says, also appearing to enjoy saying his name. "Do you have an eight?"
Frederick's watch pings. He looks at it, his eyebrows raising. "I don't. Go fish! But I think this better be our last round if we want to catch Lawn & Order tonight."
"Yes!" Walken roars, and Sigourney rolls her eyes.
I love that Frederick has taken to unironically calling the show the same name as Walken.
"Don't worry, Sigourney," I say. "I have some new coloring sheets we can do while they watch."
We finish up the round. I do, indeed, come out the big loser with the least amount of pairs, while Frederick is the reluctant winner.
As they settle in front of the television, I go to make popcorn and watch the kids snuggle in next to Frederick. My heart is suddenly warm. This looks frighteningly close to what I'd always envisioned as the happy family I'd wanted as a child.
I look away and focus on the stove. I'm going to make real popcorn. I feel oddly domestic to be making food like this, and it takes me a moment to realize that I love it.
As I wait for it to start popping, I watch them as they sit on the couch, Sigourney with a clipboard coloring. When the famous "dun-dun" sound comes on, both Frederick and Walken enthusiastically chorus along.
Who is this man who has made himself so at home in my life?
I realize that I don't actually know that much about him, despite feeling like he’s an integral part of my world lately. My stomach twists nervously at the thought of all the ‘girlfriend duties’ coming up that will allow me to know him better.
Meeting his relatives is going to be interesting. I'm trying not to judge the situation especially before meeting all the players, but his family feud is hard to get behind. Having an over-concerned mother simply seems so trivial to me, though sometimes I feel guilty for thinking that way.
Frederick's eyes when he talks about it, however, make me remember that no matter how I feel about it, the disagreement is causing him pain. That, I don't like, and I'll do anything I can to ease that strain.
The popping corn is now ricocheting around the cast iron pot, and during the commercial Walken hurries over.
"Can I see?"
I crack the lid a fraction of an inch. The corn is bouncing all over, accompanied by raucous explosions.
"Cool!"
I crack the lid a tiny bit more, and kernels go whizzing out in all directions into the kitchen area. Walken yelps and tries to catch them. Duplex, who has been skirting between my legs, darts off and sniffs one uncertainly.
I can sense Frederick behind me before I actually see him. I can sense his warmth and smell his wonderful old-school fragrance.
"That smells good," he says, putting arms around me.
"I was thinking the same thing." But not about the popcorn.
I lean back into his warmth, amazed how this relationship feels so real when it wasn't supposed to be, how perfectly I fit into his body, and how right it feels when we're together.
He has done so much for me already. Not only did he get me the lawyer to get my stuff back, but he ended up renting a storage unit to hold my mom's things when they finally come in. This way, I can have time to go through it all without having to get rid of things quickly just because I don’t have time to sort everything in my small apartment.
On top of that, he’s been making sure I'm not exposed to Steve any more than I have to be. The lawyers have taken the brunt of it, but Frederick assures me they are professionals, and each obstacle Steve creates is like handing them ammunition.
"Want me to grab a bowl?" he asks into my ear.
"Please," I say, reaching for the butter dish.
And here's another marvel , I think as I try not to watch him. He knows exactly where things are already, as if he's been semi-living here with me for months, not mere days. He has settled into my life, and into the children's lives, like he always belonged here.
The thought makes my eyes sting, and I focus on buttering and salting the hot, sizzling popped snack, stirring it with a wooden spoon to coat every kernel.
I turn to get the oven mitts and Frederick's already got them on, the implication that he's good in the kitchen unintentionally making him even more sexy. All he needs is an apron and, well, less clothes.
"I'll do it," he says and lifts the heavy pot like it's nothing, giving it a few good shakes to move everything around. Then he spills the contents into the bowl.
He pulls off the mitts and hands the bowl solemnly to Walken who receives it like it's the holy grail. For a second, I worry it's too big for the boy, but he nods, happy at the responsibility, and takes it carefully to the couch.
"They don't usually stay for Lawn & Order, you know," I say to Frederick. He turns to look at me.
"Really?"
"I'm actually getting a little jealous because it appears I am no longer the favorite."
He looks at the kids and his face isn't what I'd expected. I'd thought I'd see pride or that I'd hear some kind of joking retort. Instead, he looks solemn.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I thought that would make you feel good."
He looks at me and smiles a little. "It does, actually, but in a way I'm not used to. It felt important, you know? Like I've started something here and I don't want to let them down."
My heart clenches. He is so good.
"I know exactly how you feel."
I thank fate and the mugger for putting him in my path.
Instead of hugging him like I want to, I put out a hand. He takes it and squeezes it.
"Shall we join them?" he asks, nodding toward the couch.
"Please," I say and grab napkins.
As we sit together under blankets, the popcorn nestled on our laps, I push all worries and doubts about meeting his family or the nature of our relationship out of my head and allow myself to feel more content than I can ever remember feeling before.
I try to ignore the voice in my head asking if it can last, not sure my heart can take the answer.