13. Mark
Sloane may say showers are quicker, but I know better than to leave two five-year-old boys unattended for long. After ensuring their hair was properly washed, I left them for less than five minutes to finish up and make sure their pajamas and towels were ready.
I should’ve known better.
Not only do I return to a room full of giggles, but an arc of water manages to come over the top of the curtain and land directly dead center on my chest the moment I return.
How the hell are they doing that?
“Hey now!” my voice booms, and I hear a scurry from the other side of the curtain. “Water is supposed to stay inside the tub.”
“Sorry, Papa,” Jason calls out. “I didn’t know my hands could bend water like that.”
Like what, exactly, almost comes out of my mouth; however, I hold back, not wanting to encourage it further.
I should be upset, but even I can admit this newfound talent is slightly impressive.
Besides, it’s only water, and my shirt took the brunt of it, and other than a little puddle on the floor, no harm was done.
Letting them know playtime is over, I remind them, “If you want to watch the movie, you need to get moving.”
I hear the water turn off, and I hand them their towels.
Once they’re dried off and dressed in their pajamas, I send them out to Faye so I can make quick work of cleaning up the bathroom.
Needing out of my now-soaked shirt, I quickly pull it over my head and add it to the pile of clothes I’ll drop off at the laundry room before starting the movie.
As I hastily exit the bathroom to catch up with the boys, I practically plow into Faye.
When her hands land on my chest, she quickly spits out, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” as I reach to steady her.
“Uh, why are you apologizing?” I chuckle as I track her darting her eyes in all directions but mine.
“I… Uh…” she starts, then cocks her head to the side, and as her beautiful smile takes my breath away, I almost don’t hear her whisper, “What happened to your shirt?”
“Apparently, one of the boys discovered they had water-bending capabilities.”
Her eyes go wide as saucers, and she gasps, “You’re kidding,” in disbelief.
Chuckling at her response, I shake my head at the memory.
“I’m not even shocked at this point. When I walked in, somehow, there was a steady stream flowing over the shower rod that hit me square in the chest. I truly have no idea how they managed an arc like that…
And frankly, I’m afraid to find out. God forbid, I encourage them to practice their new talents. Sloane will have my ass.”
“Ohmigod, I can’t imagine.” Faye stifles another round of laughter.
“Did you need something?” I ask, realizing she’s in the hallway for a reason.
“Just going to use the restroom before the movie. The boys said they pulled blankets from the guest room and are getting settled to watch the movie.”
Looking toward the living room, it suddenly feels too quiet. “I’d better make sure that’s all they’re doing.”
“You do that. I’ll be out in a minute.” Faye reaches up on her toes and pecks a kiss on my cheek. When she pulls back, I feel the warmth from her touch long after she slips into the bathroom and shuts the door in my face.
How can she still have this effect on me after all these years?
When a low thud from the living room draws my attention, I make haste to ensure nothing—or anyone with the luck of those two—is broken.
Thankfully, it’s only Josh dropping blankets onto the floor. I watch him contemplate whether to lie on the floor or sprawl out on the soft cushions in front of him. Without a word, he quickly picks up his things and sets himself up on the couch.
Once he’s settled, I spot Jason innocently crawling into my recliner.
He and Josh have been taking turns sitting in my favorite chair since they arrived.
Truthfully, if I need rack time, I’ll sleep on a pile of rocks, but it makes them feel special, so I let them think what they will about the chair.
That leaves the loveseat for Faye and me.
Ha. Who needs wingmen when I’ve got these two?
“Can we have popcorn, Papa?” Josh asks.
“You got a hollow leg or something? Where are you putting all this food?”
He looks just like his mom when he drops his chin and slowly shakes his head at me. “There’s always room for popcorn with movies.”
“Are you sure about that?” I counter.
“Yeah, Papa,” Jason pipes in. “We’ve got room.”
“Hmmmm…” I draw out, contemplating my choices.
It’s already been over an hour since we’ve eaten s’mores. They played soccer in the yard before coming in for their shower.
Fuck it. It’s not gonna hurt them.
“Let me put these towels in the laundry and grab a shirt. Then I’ll see about getting us popcorn.”
By the time I slip my shirt over my head and return to the kitchen to make popcorn, Faye has joined the boys in the living room.
When she hears me open the pantry and pull out the air popper, she asks, “What are you making now?”
“Popcorn,” the boys say in unison, and all I can do is smile.
I did this with my girls every chance I could when they were younger, too. As Mom would say, I’m making memories .
“Make yourself comfortable on the loveseat. I’ll be right out.” Just as I’m about to start the machine, a thought hits me. “There are plenty of blankets in the hall closet, if you wanna grab one for yourself.”
To this day, my girls rarely watch movies without snuggling with a blanket.
If I recall, Faye was the same when we were younger.
Sometimes, I’d come home from work to find her and my mom snuggled on separate ends of our couch, watching some rom-com or another, especially after Mable went away to college.
Mom always did like Faye.
I shouldn’t have been surprised they kept in touch. Faye spent just as much time at our house as she did at her own in high school.
Wonder what Mom would think of us running into one another again.
God, what I’d give to pick up my phone and tell her about this.
“Papa, is it ready?” Jason calls out the minute the kernels stop popping, and the room goes silent, bringing me back to the present.
“As soon as I pour on the melted butter and add some salt, I’ll bring you each a bowl. Want some Faye?”
“Yes, please.” Faye nods. “You sure you don’t want help?”
“Start the show, and I’ll dish everyone up. Want anything to drink while I’m at it?” I offer to the room.
Over the sound of the movie cueing up, I hear, “Milk, please,” immediately followed by my other grandson shouting, “Me, too!”
“Faye? I’ve got soda, milk, water, and juice.”
“One of those Pepsis I saw earlier would be great, thanks. You sure you don’t need help?”
“I got it,” I assure her as I set out bowls on the counter.
With popcorn and drinks passed out, I settle in beside Faye, just as the opening credits roll.
She sighs heavily as she settles into the couch, and it takes everything in me not to wrap my arm around her and pull her close.
With the boys mere feet away, I settle for stretching my legs out in front of me and resting my arm against hers between us.
The warmth of her skin and the scent of her perfume have every nerve ending in my body misfiring. I feel like I’m fighting a war with myself, forcing my limbs to remain in place.
What is it about her that has me coming out of my skin?
Maybe I haven’t been around any woman in recent memory that I’ve wanted more with.
Being with Faye has always been as easy as breathing.
Maybe it’s because we’re older, but even after one night, this just feels different.
As I glance at each of my grandsons, I realize Faye’s the first person I’ve ever considered bringing around my family. When I saw her this evening, it never even crossed my mind not to include her in our plans.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve kept women at bay because I knew I wouldn’t have time for them or be able to put in the effort they deserved.
My girls came first—always. If I had leave, it was spent with them. Period.
Now that I’m retired, I’m doing what I can to make up for lost time with my family.
I’m jostled from my thoughts when Faye nudges me in the ribs and whispers so only I can hear, “You okay over there, Lancaster?”
“Uh… Just got lost in my head for a moment,” I admit.
That’s not a lie, but I’m not sure I’m ready to reveal my truth just yet.
I need to wrap my head around it first.
Hell, I’m not even sure where my line of thought is going.
What does more even mean?
Her brow quirks the way it used to when she was about to call me on my shit.
Just before she says what’s clearly on her mind, I purposely dart my eyes toward my grandsons, hoping she’ll get that now’s not the time to have this discussion.
I watch her eyes narrow and lips purse, and I can see her indecision to let her instinctual worry go.
Needing to reassure her, I quickly reach for her hand, give it a squeeze, and hope it’ll be enough to help her stop worrying. The moment my hand touches hers, her features relax, and I let go of the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.
Her implicit trust makes my chest squeeze.
Intertwining her fingers with mine, she nods once, then returns her attention to the movie as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
If only life could stay this simple.