Round Twenty-Four #2
“We visit her at the cemetery at least once a week. He didn’t even know her.
He doesn’t remember her. But I make sure to visit every single week, so even if they didn’t have a relationship while she was alive, he has this relationship now.
He tells her about his day, about his friends, about his grievances.
He gets homework? He complains to her about it.
I’m a big ol’ meanie for making him brush his teeth for two whole minutes: he bitches to her about it.
Molly pestering him at the gym: he tells Aria.
She’s not a mom to him the way you and I had moms, Maggie.
She’s a Dear Diary. A check-in where he gets to talk about anything he wants and never worry about judgment. ”
“Billy—”
“So now he tells her about you. Except, he knows you knew each other back in elementary school, so it’s not ‘hey mom, let me tell you about this chick next door.’ It’s ‘hey, you remember Maggie from the nineteen-hundreds, right? She sat with me in the garden last week and taught me how to tie my shoelaces, since Dad is always too busy for me.’”
“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped.” Her voice crackles. Her chin wobbles. “I would never intentionally cast you in a bad light. He asked for help, but—”
“It’s ‘Maggie cooks the best donuts, Mom. She doesn’t give any to Dad, cos he’s a jerk to her, but she sneaks them across for me. I hide them under my bed in the container, then I take just one to school each day. I learned how to ration because of those donuts. They’re so freakin’ good.’”
“I did this,” she whimpers. “I made you out to be a monster to your own son. Sneaking snacks across, telling him he doesn’t have to share with you, because you didn’t earn them.” She draws a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry, Billy. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s ‘Maggie hugs me, Mom. She hugs me so tight, and even though Dad hugs me too, it’s a different kind of hug’. And then he leans closer to her headstone, whispering, because he doesn’t want me to hear, it’s ‘I really like Maggie’s hugs. They feel special. Is that how moms hug?’”
She breaks, big fat tears bursting from her eyes and onto her cheeks. These aren’t the tears of a woman I’ve hurt, which is really fuckin’ nice for a change. They’re the tears of a woman whose heart grew to love another. “He’s so precious. So pure and sweet.”
“Yeah.” Except for the part where he might stab me with an icicle this winter and pray the courts place him with the nice lady next door.
“That means we’ve got a problem, Magnolia.
A really big problem. Every time you and I argue, he worries you’re gonna up and leave.
Every time I hurt your feelings, he sprints out of bed the next morning and runs to his window, terrified he’ll see a U-Haul parked in your driveway. ”
“I would never leave.” She wipes tears from her cheek. “I’ll tell him. I’m not going anywhere, so maybe I could—”
I fist her jaw and startle her into silence. “He’s also me, Magnolia.”
“He…” She rests her hands on my biceps for balance, her eyes flickering between mine. “What?”
“Every time we argue, I wake up the next morning, sick to my stomach that there might be a U-Haul in your driveway. Every time I’m mean to you, I worry you’ll give up on me completely, because I’m not worth the effort of tenth, eleventh, twelfth chances.
” I draw her closer, lifting her by the jaw until she pushes onto her toes.
“Every time I get angry at you, the anger is about me, not you. And every time I speak to you, I say all the wrong things.”
“Is this…” Her lips jut forward in a pout. “Is this all the wrong stuff?”
“No. This is finally the right stuff. Maybe it’s because I had a beer. Maybe it’s because you had a beer, too. Or maybe it’s because my son told me if I fuck this up, he’s gonna fuck me up. But I’m finally saying the words I mean to say, and what I mean to say is…”
“Is…?” She curls into my hand. “Is what?”
“I want you so fucking much, it feels like my blood is on fire in all the worst ways. I want to kiss you, but only if you want to kiss me back, and I want to taste you, but I want you to be there with me for all the right reasons. I don’t want to date those other women, and it’s not because you set them up, or because I’ve sworn off love.
It’s not because I wanna mindlessly fuck someone, anyone.
I just don’t want them, because they’re not you. ”
My phone buzzes wildly out of control in my back pocket. But that’s okay, because my heart does the same thing, especially when a soft whimper rolls along her throat.
“Y-you want me specifically?”
“From the instant I slammed you against the front of your own house and realized Maggie Sava was back in town. I’ve wanted you since we shared cupcakes in the first grade.
It wasn’t the same kind of want back then, but it was the beginning of what we are now.
I wanted to spend every minute of every fucking day with you, the way my son wants to spend every minute of every day with you now.
But then you left, and I swear, I get what he’s saying to me.
I would choose you over me, too. I would’ve tossed my parents into the trash twenty-five years ago if it meant I could follow you wherever you went. ”
Her eyes, so fucking beautiful and wet, drop to my lips.
In want, maybe. In need. Hopefully.
“I grew up, Maggie, and I married someone else. I made a son, and I became a cop. I lived my life. But I never filled the hole your absence left in my heart. Now you’re back, and my bad moods are all a reflection of how that wound is slowly scabbing over.
It’s healing, and healing isn’t always smiles and good times.
Healing, for me, is the bullshit dysregulation the eight-year-old version of me never learned how to manage.
” I drag my thumb over her cheek and down to the underside of her jaw.
“Won’t you please just kiss me? Not because I wanna fuck, and not because I wanna annoy you.
Kiss me, because I’ve known for twenty-five years the girl I used to hang out with would have kissed me exactly right.
Because I know we earned this, both of us did, and it would be a tragedy if we never tried it out.
Kiss me, because the little boy I used to be deserves the confirmation that he was right.
And when we’re done kissing, please,” I choke out a breathy, desperate laugh, “please don’t punch me in the face or say something unkind.
Because that little boy from the second grade is fragile. So fucking fragile.”
She surges forward, quicker than I anticipate and so much fucking hungrier than I could’ve hoped for.
Wrapping her arms over my shoulders and pulling herself up until we touch from toes to tops, she slams her lips to mine and makes all the hurt better.
She exhales into my lungs, giving me life when I hadn’t even realized I wasn’t truly living, and then her tongue comes out to tap mine.
I’m officially a goner.
I drop my hands to her hips and hold her close until there’s no space left between us. Until her pounding heart beats against my diaphragm, and her intoxicating breath injects tingles into my bloodstream.
She moans in the back of her throat, gifting me with the vibration and sound, and when I slide my hand beneath her sweater, resting my palm against her bare back, she practically fucking climbs me.
“Is it what you thought?” She nips at my bottom lip, tangling her fingers in my hair and holding me down.
Like I would walk away!
“Billy? Is it what you wanted, or—”
“It’s so much more.” I catch her lifting leg, my hand cupping the back of her toned thigh, and because I’ve had a beer, I blame my impulsiveness on the alcohol, lift her up, and spin.
I slam her against the door and pin her delicate frame with my hips.
Breaking our kiss, which is basically a fucking sin, I beg for forgiveness with my tongue pressed to her throat instead.
I nip at her skin, and suckle just hard enough to taste, but not so hard that I’ll mark her flesh.
I help myself to her body, slipping my second hand under her sweater so I’m treated to her fiery torso pressed to my palms, her ribs, countable under my fingertips.
I swear to God, I don’t slam my cock against her core. I don’t dare, despite the inferno it is. But she grinds closer. She initiates that contact, and when her pussy glides over my hardened length, her desperate whimper damn near undoes me.
“Billy.” She tips her head back, banging it against the door. “Jesus.”
“See how good it is when the kiss is mutual?” I tear my hand from her sweater and grip the front of her throat instead, squeezing just hard enough to get her attention, then dragging her back down until her lips clash against my smug grin.
“I fear saying I told you so would start a fight, and I’m trying really hard not to do that anymore. So—”
“I thought about you, too.” She uses me, tightening her arms around my neck, tightening her legs around my hips, and grinds against the zipper of my jeans.
“I thought I was crazy, because you were just a boy I knew a long time ago.” She sucks on my bottom lip, groaning into my mouth and bringing herself pleasure with the roll of her hips.
“The first boyfriend I ever had was jealous of you.”
“Me?”
“Mm. Because I told him about the boy I loved when I was a child. My second boyfriend’s name was William, and he didn’t even bat an eye when I nicknamed him Billy.
” She peels hooded, hungry eyes open and stops on mine.
Slowly, a salacious grin spreads across her lips.
“I lost my virginity to him, and I called him Billy the whole time.”
“Fuck.” My hips jut forward without my conscious thought, slamming her greedy body against the door. “Fuck, Magnolia. That turns me on and pisses me off at the same time.”