Chapter 39 Verity
THIRTY-NINE
Verity
Monk: Hey. When are you back in town?
The text sends a little jolt to my heart. Monk and I have texted some over the last week, wished each other a Merry Christmas, that kind of thing, but there hasn’t been much contact otherwise. And, God, it’s been a long two weeks not seeing him.
Me: I’m already back! The aunties were attending watch night service at church, and that wasn’t exactly how I saw myself ringing in the new year.
Monk: You didn’t go to New York to hang out with Mel and Tessa?
Me: Tessa decided to go home and spend time with her family.
I was actually relieved when Tessa told us that. Her family gets on her nerves, riding her about meds and checking on her incessantly the way my aunties do with me, but I think that could be exactly the kind of stabilizing force Tessa needs right now.
Me: And Mel has a new guy who’s taking up a lot of her time. She’s in Bali with him.
Monk: Bali sounds fantastic. Better than being back here working already.
Working? Here?
Leaning against my kitchen counter, I call him right away.
“’Sup?” He answers on the first ring.
“You’re back in LA? You didn’t go home for Christmas?”
“I went, but I didn’t stay long. I never spend the full break there. I was in the VA on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and then your boy was out. I saw the fam, though.”
“How was everyone?”
“Mom and the rest are good. My dad has gout.”
“Ewww.”
“Damn, Vee.” He chuckles. “It’s not flesh-eating bacteria.”
“Sorry. Not, ewww.” I breathe out a laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… one of my cousins had gout and his got bad. Is your dad in much pain?”
“Not too much, but if he doesn’t follow doctor’s orders, it’ll get worse. On several things actually. Old man’s prediabetic. Got high blood pressure. I’m like, dude, get it together.”
Beneath the lightness of his words lurks a note of concern.
“You worried about him?” I ask.
“Not worried, necessarily. It just puts things in perspective. He always seemed larger than life when I was growing up. I know he’s human, but the older he gets, the more I’m reminded he’s mortal.
He won’t always be around.” A beat passes before he goes on.
“I thought a lot about what you said. You’re right.
The man made mistakes. We all do. My mom managed to forgive him, so maybe I should try a little harder, too.
I’m not big on resolutions, but I have promised myself I’ll spend more time with him this year. ”
I’m happy for him, and inordinately pleased if I had anything to do with this development.
My feelings for my own father are so complex, I have no room to judge.
It’s hard to separate my resentment for what he did from the reality of what I know he was battling since I have my own challenges.
Only he never had the benefit of a therapist, a psychiatrist, medication, support groups.
Yeah, every time I want to give that man grief, I find myself extending grace.
Dr. Palmer says I should learn to do that for myself. Easier said than done.
“You mentioned a therapist before,” I say. “That surprised me.”
“Am I that regressive? Backward? Emotionally unavailable?”
“Which should I address first?” I ask teasingly.
“Come over here and say that to my face.” His deep voice drops to a guttural threat and promise.
“I feel like the subtext is ‘come over here and say that to my dick.’”
“Perceptive.”
“So that’s an invitation?”
“Do you need one? Most of my friends are out of town. You could hang out here for a few days till New Year’s Eve. Pack a bag.”
The smile melts from my mouth and my jaw unhinges. “Seriously?”
“You’ve spent the night before, Vee. Why’s it so different?”
It’s one thing when you have sex and fall asleep at a guy’s place. That’s still just hooking up. But planning to stay for a couple of days, packing a bag, feels like a relationship. And I know that’s not what this is. It’s not what Monk wants, or probably even believes I’m capable of.
“Bring your ass on over and explain it to me when you get here,” he says, amusement in his voice, but also affection.
“I was gonna work on my pitch.”
“I got work to do, too. Bring it with you.” When I don’t answer, he huffs a breath. “Forget it. You don’t have to come. I just thought you might—”
“I’ll come,” I cut in. “But I’m hungry.”
“I’ll cook something.”
“Cook?” I scoff, sitting on the kitchen stool and resting my elbows on the counter. “You?”
“Very funny. I used to cook for you all the time.”
“I know you ain’t talking ’bout them fried baloney sandwiches,” I laugh.
“I don’t remember you complaining.” The smile is clear in his voice.
We don’t allude to the past much. Things go smoother when we focus on now and how good the sex is instead of then, and what we were to each other before.
“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” he asks.
“I was either staying home and watching somebody’s ball drop, or I got invited to Galaxy Studios’ rooftop party.”
“I was invited to that, too. Thinking about attending. Best food and liquor in town. Bring your clothes and we can go.”
“Not together! We said we’d keep this low.”
That came out a little more vehemently than I intended, and a tight silence follows my words.
“We can drive separately,” Monk answers stiffly. “We don’t even have to acknowledge each other, if you don’t want.”
“I didn’t mean… It’s not that serious.”
The silence on the line stretches to the point of breaking.
“Okay,” I finally say, hating the strain my overreaction has introduced into the conversation. “I’ll bring my stuff and we can go.”
“Why was that so hard?” he asks, some of the stone crumbling in his tone.
I stand and pace around the kitchen, phone pressed to my ear.
“I like what this is, what we’re doing, and I know as soon as folks find out, they’ll be all up in our business,” I say. “We understand it, but they’ll try to shape it into something we don’t want it to be.”
“I get that,” he says after a few seconds. “Yeah, I don’t want them trying to make this more than it is.”
An ache throbs behind my ribs, but I force myself to say, “Exactly. Glad we’re on the same page.”
“We are. See you soon.”
I’m pretty sure I handled that badly, but I pack my bag and head over.
The smell and sizzle of food hits my senses as soon as Monk opens the door.
We stare at each other, and I feel every minute we’ve been apart over the holiday break.
Excitement pounds the pulse at my neck, my wrists, at the sight of him. Finally.
“Hey,” he says, pulling me in by the hand and taking my bag. “I’ll take this upstairs.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I follow and try to steady my breathing, eyeing the long line of his back, the tight curve of his ass, and the flex of his bicep as he carries my overnight.
I’m such a creeper, but I haven’t seen or smelled or kissed him in two weeks.
I’m climbing the stairs behind him when he turns and lets the bag fall to the step.
He hooks an arm around my waist and presses me to the wall.
“I was really trying to wait,” he mutters, “but fuck it.”
He lowers his mouth to mine and drinks from me like he’s parched.
Eats into the kiss like a starving man, and I’m just as voracious.
I lift up onto my toes to kiss him hard, uncorking all the passion I’ve been trying to hide since he opened the door.
He groans, the sound vibrating through my lips and plucking a chord that goes straight to my pussy.
Never breaking the kiss, he eases down on the stairs and I crawl over him, straddle him, my thighs bracketing his hips and my knees digging into the step.
He slides his hand between us and slips into my jogging pants.
I spread my legs wider, and when he pushes my panties aside and touches me, my head falls back. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut.
“This for me?” he growls, running his fingers through the hot, wet slickness between my legs. “You been thinking about my dick?”
“Yes,” I cry out, rocking into his touch, nearly sobbing. “So much, constantly since the last time. I missed—”
I choke the words down. I shouldn’t have said it. It’s too much. I’m too much. He’s not here for that.
He pulls back and searches my eyes. “I missed it, too.”
We both said I missed it, but his eyes seem to say I missed you, and I bet mine say the same.
I have to remind myself this is not what it feels like.
It’s familiar affection, sizzling attraction, and the best sex of my life, yes, but this isn’t college.
Our past may be water mostly under the bridge, but there’s no real future for us.
Not one I feel comfortable counting on. Am I lonely?
Yes, sometimes, but when it’s just you, there is less collateral damage if things go off the rails.
The last time it felt like this, I took Monk down with me when I crashed, when I burned.
I won’t do that to either of us again.