Chapter 17
On Monday morning, five days after I have come back home, I wake up and Ash is already awake beside me, staring at me with a knowing smile.
“It's time,” he says, and I have no idea what he means.
Laying back down I close my eyes, and maybe Ash means it’s time he wanks me off. I hope he does. And shit, do I love being right.
It’s unexpected, but also, it’s everything I have ever imagined.
Everything I ever needed. Ash settles in the crook of my neck, where he leaves a trail of wet kisses and words of praise.
His hands find their way inside my shorts, and he begins stroking me gently, carefully, as if I could break any second.
I bite my lip, fighting against the urge to ask for more, for harder.
I don’t need to be treated like a patient, like the poor man who was in an accident and might disintegrate.
I need Ash to take me and give it to me and just do something.
Instinctively I lift my hips higher to meet Ash’s hand and he stops, releasing my dick and bringing both hands to keep my hips from moving.
A grunt leaves my lips, a sound I’ve never heard myself make. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”
“Right now, you might as well be,” Ash breathes in my ear, and I fight him to push against his hold.
“I swear to God. You started this and you will finish this, Bergman,” I bark out, wiggling when Ash moves to lay partially on top of me.
There’s a fire in his eyes, the hint of a joke. As if he’s deeply aware of how crazy he is making me, how desperately I need him.
“Promise to stay put?” he says and fuck, I hate him. I nod anyway.
With the widest and wickedest grin, Ash leaves a kiss to my parted lips and moves lower. “If you move, I will stop. We are really messing with the doctors’ orders here and I cannot have anything happen to you,” Ash tells me sternly.
“I would like something to fucking happen to me,” I tease him but all confidence disappears when Ash starts lowering my shorts. With one hand, Ash lifts my shirt to reveal my belly button and his fingers graze the skin around it, taking my breath away.
“Something like this?”
I try to lay perfectly still, enjoying the way Ash’s perfect lips wrap around my length and drive me to madness. Holding the brace to my chest, I wonder exactly where this activity falls on the spectrum of strenuous and I find I cannot care less.
I beg Ash to let me come after minutes, hours of torture. But Ash won’t allow it, his spit sticky and his hands scorching fire on my skin. I’ve never felt like this and somehow, my brain starts catching up. I’m with a man, I’m with my best friend and I’m incredibly horny.
When the tingling sensation finally explodes and I cry out in pleasure, an insane thought crosses my mind: has losing years of memories been worth it, if it meant I got to experience my first orgasm with Ash again?
Yes. Kinda. I’d give anything to forget Ashley altogether if I could meet him again for the first time, smell him for the first time, hug him for the first time. And then never let him go.
My mind is swimmy, my thoughts foggy. Am I even making sense?
The weight of my feelings should be surprising, scary even. But they’re not.
You love me, so, Ash had said the other night. And maybe, that’s enough of an explanation for this insanity.
Or actually, what Ash actually meant was, it’s time to bring Winnie back home. Our daughter. Now that would make more sense. The blowjob was just on the side.
I lay on the wrinkled sheets and wait for my brain to start working again while Ash is speaking with my dad on the phone.
I can’t stop looking at Ash, can’t stop wondering if he’s hard as well, if he wants me as much.
The weight of his body, the touch of his fingers, the way he had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
All I want is to drag him back to bed, hold him close until everything makes sense again.
Instead I nod at Ash’s wink, putting my needs aside. My breath hitches when Ash hooks the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and adjusts his crotch with both hands. Fuck. I get out of bed and into an extremely cold shower.
When I’m done, I venture upstairs for the first time.
I cannot recall ever being on the second floor of Ash’s house, and I’m surprised to see how large it actually is.
Off the small hallway there are two rooms and a bathroom.
All three doors are closed. Could it be a sign to stay out?
I ignore it and push the first one open.
The room is a light purple, the rooflight cracked open to let fresh air in.
There is a pink chair in a corner with a blanket thrown casually on the armrest. Next to the chair is a book shelf that cannot be taller than a meter.
It is full of books of every size and colour.
Here and there, there are trinkets and toys: a yellow rubber duck, a blue candle and at the top of the book shelf, some dried flowers in a vase.
I can imagine myself and Ash picking something to read to Winnie, one of us sat on the warm carpet and the other sat on the chair.
The floor lamp between the shelf and the chair would cast just enough light on the three of us, its flowery lampshade elegant and feminine.
The picture is so vivid in my head, it must be real.
Only, there is nothing else. Brain empty.
I look around, and I have no idea who picked out all of these toys, or the dollhouse.
Was it me who chose the adorable clothes rack and the little table in the middle of the room, the perfect size for a tea party?
Was it me who agreed to the bunny and the panda and the giraffe that are now staring at me from the top of a wicker basket?
A wooden crib is against one of the walls, a mobile hanging over it with a moon, stars, trees, mountains, a moose and a bear. I walk to it and grab one of the soft toys in my hand, and the motion prompts a soft melody.
“You picked that one.” Ash’s voice comes from the entrance and I jump in surprise. I turn to look at him, letting go of the toy. The music fades.
Ash is leaning against the doorframe in leopard shorts and a lime sweater.
“You didn’t come down for coffee,” he says, and I don’t miss the hint of panic.
“Does this remind you of Norway?” I ask him, my attention back on the mobile. The moon and the stars are yellow while the bear and the moose are brown. I move my fingers through the strings.
“It does.”
“I guessed. Do you miss her?” Winnie, Winnie, Winnie. I shout her name in my mind, thinking of the little girl I met at the hospital.
Ash doesn’t need to think twice. “Yes,” he says.
I move to stand on top of the carpet. I was right, it is the warmest and softest thing ever.
It’s windy outside, and for a while I stare out of the rooflight at the blue sky. The clouds are chasing each other wildly. Were Ash and I that quick too? Getting together, adopting Winnie and disappearing behind the horizon? Happy ever after?
So many questions but I can’t bring myself to ask any of them. I should know. I was there.
“Are you making breakfast?” I ask instead, smelling the air. My stomach grumbles, recognising the only thing Ash can cook successfully: French toast.
Ash shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts, kicking an imaginary stone with his socked feet.
“Your dad will be here soon. Finish exploring and come down?”
It’s not like Ash to sound uncertain, and I hate being the person who cannot give him the stability he deserves right now. I’m supposed to be his family, fuck’s sake. Great. Just great.
???
When I meet Ash in the kitchen, there’s four plates on the table and toast is sizzling on the stove, and it’s all too real. Ash and I have a child. And I can’t keep ignoring the toys scattered everywhere, the lunch box in the fridge, the lingering smell of Winnie in the house.
Ash shoots a smile in my direction that makes my knees go weak. “We have the check-up tomorrow at 8:00 a.m.,” he reminds me and it’s not just my check-up. It’s our check-up. Because we’re a team, a couple. A family.
Ash doesn’t have to think about it twice.
When Dad arrives with Winnie we all settle at the breakfast table. Winnie is placed in a high chair and she turns to me expectantly.
“Wonderful, you got here just in time!” Ash serves two slices of toast each, and then he meets my eyes. With a wink, he drops three on my plate. Yes. I love French toast.
But Winnie is still staring at me.
“You usually prepare her food,” Ash says, sitting down, “She hates the way I cut stuff, for some reason. Just cut tiny squares of bread and add butter and fruit. She’s got no allergies.”
Ash gives me the instructions, passing over the butter and an apple. Then, he holds out a pink plastic plate to me. I take it and I stare at the little unicorns on it. Are baby things usually this adorable?
I feel all eyes on me and I see Ash, my dad and Winnie are now staring at me.
“App’l!” Winnie shrieks excitedly and Ash gives me an encouraging smile.
“Right-o, apple.”
I get to work, transferring a toast on the plastic plate.
I cut the toast in four pieces and then in sixteen.
I chop the apple as tiny as I can and I sprinkle some of it over the toast with some butter.
Winnie is babbling to herself, her little fist closing and opening around nothing.
When I’m done, I place the plate in front of Winnie and she inspects the food for a minute before digging in with her hands.
Half the apples fall down as she chews on the toast. I go to pick them up but she’s already on it, chasing every little piece with her small hands.
“App’l. Pol, Apol’,” Winnie babbles on, happy with her food.
“One day I will teach you how to make a proper English breakfast, Ash. Beans and all,” my dad says.
Wrinkling his nose, Ash shakes his head. “No, thank you. I will never do such a thing.”
I fight a chuckle, knowing well how much of a picky eater Ash is.