Chapter 4 Caleb #2
Desire suddenly awakens in my pants as I imagine the taste of her nectar. It’s a very inconvenient time to get hard, since she’s over in the corner trying to mask her tears. But I can’t help that my cock is desperate to slip back into her warmth.
I could heal the both of us…
I really need to get fucking laid.
Sadness washes over me as she retrieves the glass and raises it to her lips.
Small moments like this are going to cut the most, because this is what I always wanted for us.
I had it all mapped out in my head before, the way we’d exist together under one roof.
We were meant to go through the trials and tribulations of life together.
Not separately.
“I should get started with dinner,” I say, clearing my throat to hopefully extinguish all other feelings. A hearty tomato dish is needed tonight. I need comfort food to numb everything else for a while.
She says, “Let me help you. We both have children to feed. And ourselves.”
I open the refrigerator and sense her haunting presence behind me. Once upon a time, it used to comfort me knowing that she was near.
But now her presence is starting to have the opposite effect.
And we’ve only been reacquainted a day.
“No,” I say, clipping my speech. “That won’t be necessary. Head upstairs and get some rest. I’ll take care of everything.”
Before she goes, I turn back around and blurt out the question that’s been on my lips ever since I ran into her and Sonny yesterday. “How old is he?”
She pauses halfway up the staircase, jaw tensed, and answers, “Seven. But it’s best not to mention that to Sonny. He gets sensitive about his age. Wishes he was older.”
And here I am wishing I was younger.
Piper disappears upstairs, leaving me alone with passata and a sphere of mozzarella cheese. I get started on the boiling water and channel my built-up energy into making some delicious food.
I picked up cooking a few years back as a hobby. It gave me something to do on my rotated four days off work. Ellie being my only source of entertainment, I was left to my own devices when she was at school, so I bought myself a cast-iron pan and decided to cook.
I hear Ellie and Piper upstairs giggling and instantly forget where I’m going with this recipe.
Ellie knows how her mom died. She was in that car herself—not like she can remember anything. She sometimes asks me about her mom, so we talk briefly about what happened and move on.
A piece of me has always wished that Piper was her mom.
That would’ve made things one hell of a lot simpler…
Single-parenting treats me well for the most part. My next-door neighbor Grace babysits when I’m on shift—and for a reduced rate that’s most likely discounted because of my face.
Ellie and I clicked when I first moved back to Long Island to take custody of her, and things have been on an upward trajectory ever since.
Something had to give, and that was my dating life. Aside from a casual hookup here and there, it doesn’t really exist. But it stopped filling my cup years ago, and I’d much prefer to spend days off with my daughter, since she’s the only thing that brings joy into my life.
Her cheeky smile.
Her inquisitiveness about the world around her.
Her freakishly good art skills.
Her heartwarming laugh.
Piper and Ellie have only been acquainted for an afternoon, and already they’re close.
But that isn’t shocking. Piper has always had that warm, infectious energy.
It’s a June morning in Maine. A balmy breeze blows in over the docks as I walk. A dark cloud hangs over my head—a permanent one that not even high UV exposure could incinerate.
Holly gave birth to our daughter last week…
And took off as soon as she got discharged from the hospital.
With our daughter.
The one I’ll never get to meet.
I only found out about Ellie’s birth through Holly’s mother…before her whole family went ghost.
Just like her.
My girlfriend.
Now ex-girlfriend.
Things between us weren’t working. We had nothing in common and were considering a breakup when she got pregnant. Holly, having gone through her parents’ divorce when she was just a child, insisted we stay together for the sake of the baby. To ensure the best possible future for our child.
I agreed. This kiddo needed both parents.
Nine months later, Holly goes against her word and takes off.
I traced her down for days and managed to get in contact with some loose family connections.
“Holly wants to raise her daughter alone and cut all ties.”
I didn’t leave the house for five days…
Until today, I decided to fly into Portland, Maine.
I might as well feel like a piece of shit somewhere nice. Why feel like garbage, isolated away in my house, when I could be down in the dumps with a nice view?
Maple Crossing is a small town that boasts beautiful seaside views. The quaint harbor is the staple of the town. And I can see why. Yachts dance on blue water, their ringing bells tickling the atmosphere just right.
It’s different from the obnoxious horns you hear from cargo ships coming into port on the Hudson. The waterfront there is an industrial nightmare compared to what Maple Crossing has going on.
Everything here is untouched. Unruined.
And it’s making me feel so fucking out of place.
I inhale the sweet air and hope for it to cure me. But I fear there’s no antidote to this pain.
Nothing hurts more than being denied the chance to know your own daughter.
I’ve been working for just over a decade in the New York City Fire Department now, and have been exposed to ruin in its rawest form.
Death.
Children with third-degree burns.
Flames so ruthless they cut through uniforms.
That pain is nothing compared to this.
I deviate from the boardwalk and nip into a coffee shop. The change of location isn’t improving my mood, so I’m hoping a coffee will.
Bean There. Classic, witty name for a small, independent business.
“Black Americano, please,” I say to the barista as she counts up a wad of cash. “And make it strong. Thanks.”
She looks up at me, and I suddenly slip into a dream.
Eyes colored the same brilliant blue as the water outside, with a restorative look inside of them that heals more than the sun.
Pale-blue eyes. Creamy skin. Her curved nose decorated with the perfect amount of freckles.
There’s something so refreshing and new about her face. It brings positivity back into my chest after a week of despair.
“Sure thing,” she says, her voice equally as sweet as her face as she rings up my order. “Four dollars.”
Cheap, compared to New York City prices.
I take out my phone and open up my wallet app.
That’s when she bursts into a bout of laughter. “Um…” A wide grin lifts her face even more, rounding out her cheekbones into apples. “Sorry, city boy—we only take cash.”
“Traditional. I like it.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and retrieve the four dollars. “Is it obvious I’m from New York?”
“Only a little.” Her eyes grow wide, and a blush tints the ends of her pierced ears. “City boys are a little more…”
“Put together?” I finish jokingly, noting my outfit.
I picked out the first pair of jeans I could find and stuffed them into a carry-on with a bunch of creased T-shirts. Pair the careless outfit with my unwashed hair, and you’ve got yourself a very untidy person.
I now resent myself for not making more of an effort.
The woman—Piper, according to her coffee-bean-shaped name tag—giggles and heads over to the coffee machine to get started on my coffee.
Fuck. Love at first sight is supposed to be a myth, a term saved only for the movies. But I watch Piper fit the coffee grinder into the machine with precision, laughing with colleagues as she goes, and feel an odd relief that Holly ran off.
Not because I don’t get to know my daughter. But because Holly was never the woman I was looking for. Not really.
Of course, this isn’t love. I have to know a person first to know whether I love them or not. But Piper’s demeanor has caught me off guard. She reminds me of how the trees smelled on my taxi ride over here.
The town sits on the edge of a pine forest, which you have to drive through to get here from the Portland airport.
I was born and raised in Long Island, New York.
My lungs are used to inhaling nitrogen, sulfur, and other toxic chemicals—especially when I’m on shift putting out fires.
But here I can smell the soil—the salt in the sea, devoid of spilled engine crease, unlike the Hudson, which is highly concentrated with it.
And now, I smell her.
As she hands me my Americano to-go, coffee mixes with her floral perfume notes.
Can I add some of that to my coffee?
We lock eyes, her warm hand brushing against mine as she bids me goodbye.
“Are you new here?” she asks.
“Just arrived,” I reply with a rare grin on my face. It heats up my face.
Finally, I’m starting to feel the touch of summer.
“Ah. Then make yourself at home.”
“I’m only here for a short while, on vacation to get away from the city.”
“Then you could use a tour guide,” she says, “so you don’t miss anything, seeing as your time here is limited.”
I take out my phone again. “Here.” I pass her the device and prompt her to type in her phone number. “I’ll call you.”
“Great.” The blush returns to her ears, bringing out a spot of innocence in her eyes. “Later, skater.”
I stir passata with a wooden spoon and add in a sprinkling of fresh herbs from the garden that’s still underway.
“It smells nice,” Piper says in a cordial voice that almost blasts me back to the past.
Warm. Comforting.
Like the food I’m now cooking, as a substitute for her.
Piper readies the table, and our kids hop up next to each other, both quiet.
Ellie takes a while to warm up to people, especially random boys she doesn’t know who prefer to play with toy planes, not Barbies. These two have nothing in common, and for the sake of this being temporary, I hope it stays that way.
I set the pot on the table and carefully drizzle homemade tomato sauce over bread.
“What’s this?” Piper asks.
“My own recipe,” I answer, dishing out veggies onto the kids’ plates. “Mine and Ellie’s favorite.”
“You have to try some, Piper. Dad cooks a mean tomato sauce.”
“Mean?” I scoff. “Is that what all the cool kids in your class are saying now?”
“Dad,” starts Ellie. “I am cool. All of my classmates want to know what it’s like being in New York.”
“I want to go to New York,” Sonny interjects.
This stalls Piper for a moment. She moves on, helps dish out the rest of the roasted veggies, and plops down on the chair next to her son. “What do you say to Caleb, Sonny?” She elbows him lightly.
“Thank you for cooking, Caleb.” He looks up at me with timid brown eyes.
He’s the spitting image of his mother, save for the eyes—the same curved nose and chin, the same hair color, and plenty of it, curled on top of his head just like his mother’s flowing locks.
I sit down beside Piper and dip bread into tomato sauce. The flavors are just right. The in-season tomatoes provide an extra sweetness, complementing the brown sugar and fresh herbs.
But I would much prefer to taste her.
“This is your best yet!” exclaims Ellie, digging right in for another slice of bread. “I wish you could cook this every night.”
It might have to be that way from now on, I think to myself as I glimpse the perfect woman sitting next to me, hit with a fresh wave of sadness.
Although at the moment, the dish is making me feel the opposite of comfort, with Piper here next to me. Acting civil. Neutral. Like we’re back to being strangers.
She saved me nine years ago from a type of pain that I never thought would go away, so the least I can do is return the favor and help her out in a time of need.
But boundaries need to be put in place. Both while she’s staying here, and after.
Because this town is small.
And with Ellie settled in and excited to go to school at last, I can’t uproot her life and leave.