Chapter 26
Andi
Kevin’s a man on a mission. Apparently he’s been storing up. Banking his lust like I’ve banked mine.
Because holy moly, when he finally peels my melted, boneless, multi-satisfied self off that kitchen counter, he leads me by the wrist—carefully, on account of my wobbly knees—into his bedroom and pulls off the rest of my clothes.
“Hello, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs to my collarbones, kissing and tasting me there. “Hello, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, kissing and tasting my shoulders. The top curves of my breasts. The undersides of my breasts. My nipples and ribs, my hips and knees and ankles and toes…all get the attention of his warm lips and tongue, the thrilling brush of golden stubble as he nuzzles me.
Then he reaches into the bedside drawer, pulls out the condom box and raises his eyebrows to me as if asking, “Okay?”
I manage a nod, every follicle and goose bump and engorged bit of me attuned to him as he stands and strips, baring that gorgeous body of his to my hungry eyes and waiting hands. I hear a high tiny sigh in the back of my throat as he rolls on a condom and climbs onto the bed, hovering over me, holding my gaze, his eyes serious. “I am starving for you, Andi. I’ve been starving for you forever.” He brushes my cheek with the side of his hand. “If I get too…enthusiastic, tell me right away, okay?”
I nod and reach for him, my hands clutching his hips and his glorious firm ass as he surges into me, and then I don’t have another coherent thought for a long time.
Hours or days later, we’re crosswise on the bed, spent and tangled, his nose in my armpit, my hair covering most of his face. I feel perfect , every part of me satisfied to the point of stupor.
He opens his eyes. Sweeps one hand over my forehead, smoothing my rumpled hair back. “You’re sure pretty.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone once, twice, and then his mouth is on mine, warm, soft, gentle. Seeking…something.
I’m not sure what he wants but I try to answer anyway, pulling him close, wrapping myself around him.
“Andi Salazar, you,” he says between kisses, “are the sexiest, prettiest, kindest, smartest, most fascinating person I have ever met.”
I’ve never had a lover whisper such things. Never had any of them say anything during sex that wasn’t explicitly about sex. It takes this to a whole new level of intimacy.
I wind my arms around his neck and press closer, deepening the kiss, tracing patterns on his skull with my fingertips. I could lie here with him like this all night, never get out of this bed, except…that twinge that means Baby’s ravenous. I pull back regretfully and kiss the end of Kevin’s nose, loving the way his eyelashes brush my cheek. “Hey, sweet, cuddly man. We need food. Electrolytes.”
He groans. “You take the bathroom first. I ought to be able to move again by the time you’re done.”
Five minutes later we’re in the kitchen, resuming our stir-fry preparations. He pulls the marinated meat from the fridge and sets about making rice while I finish cutting the vegetables. “You think any more about coming with me next week?” His eyes are on the cooktop controls but I feel his focus on me.
The truth is, I’m torn. Gram and I didn’t celebrate it. And it was always just the two of us. We never had a giant crowd of relatives like so many families. But also…it’s a holiday. I’ve never been far from the shelter on a holiday, in case they need me.
“Hmm. How does your family generally celebrate?” I move the cutting board full of veggies closer to him so he can do the honors at the stove.
“We all go to Mom and Dad’s. Everybody contributes to the meal, even the kids. We always have more food than we could possibly eat. Whoever spends the least time cooking does the cleanup. Afterwards, football on TV and board games in the dining room.” He glances at me as I wash my hands. “Pretty normal.”
I turn off the tap and pick up the towel. “Not for me. Gram was from Mexico. Had a lot of indigenous blood in her.”
“Ohhh. Shoot. I didn’t even think of that.” He reaches out and takes my hand after I set the towel aside. “Does that make you want to stay away, then?”
His gaze is so soft and so sincere it takes me a minute to realize he’s waiting for an answer.
“I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, I definitely wouldn’t celebrate it as a historical event, but I would like to meet your family.” True. But how the hell would I present my nearly-four-months-pregnant self to my child’s grandparents and aunts and uncles when Kevin and I are supposed to be just friends?
I’ve been mulling that over for days, trying to decide whether to bring it up to Kevin. I’m almost sure it’s safe to take another step toward a relationship—sure he’s the wonderful guy he seems—but some tiny part of me still screams, Stop! Wait to be sure! whenever I think about raising the topic. He’s been nothing but patient and supportive and loving, and his family sounds equally lovely, and after today…
Still, I’ve got this fear that stops me.
We always tell shelter and crisis line clients not to ignore their instincts. If something feels wrong, pay attention to that. It can save your life.
But I don’t know whether this fear of mine is a real instinct or leftover childhood trauma. I thought I’d worked through everything a long time ago, but…I’ve never tried to have a real relationship with a guy before.
And I’ve never had a baby growing inside me to protect.
“Okay. Well, think about it and let me know.” He runs his fingers through my hair, kisses my forehead, and goes back to the stove.
***
I spend the night with him. I’m tired but still I lie awake in his arms, watching him sleep. Relaxed like this, he looks like a Boy Scout. He’s been a Boy Scout when he’s awake, too; he’s never not been wonderful to me. How could I have worries about this man?
How could I not?
The next morning I race home to shower and change clothes and get to work in time to find a new note from my favorite stalker: SEND THEM HOME BITCH OR ELSE. TICK TOCK. Creepy motherfucker.
I toss it in the file, call the police, inform the staff that we got another one and to be alert, and then dig into my paperwork, but all morning I’m restless.
By lunchtime I feel like I have to get out, so I go to July’s for takeout.
Rose is there, in a booth with Miz Ames. I will never understand that relationship. If Scarlett O’Hara had lived to be in her eighties, shrunken and dried out but still with her damn sixteen-inch waist and snooty attitude, she’d be just like Miz Ames—toxic southern belle. Most people avoid her like the plague, but not Rose.
Rose spots me and tries to wave me over but I hold up a “just a sec” finger and head to the counter to give my order to Sonya. She too is casting glances at Rose and Miz Ames.
“What are they talking about today?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Who knows. I’m always afraid to stand there any longer than I absolutely have to.”
To be fair, Sonya is afraid of pretty much everything.
But I think of the threatening message I got today and, to be fairer, maybe Sonya’s right.
“Has Sabina been in lately, by any chance?” I ask as Sonya turns toward the kitchen with my order.
“Not since last week. I imagine she’s swamped. She said she was booked solid through the holiday weekend.”
And there’s my answer to whether the B and B might be able to help with holiday shelter overflow. Damn.
***
Kevin
“Have you told anybody at work you’re pregnant yet?”
We’ve just finished running. I’m leaving the high school with her today to get in some volunteer hours at the shelter.
She shakes her head, her pretty face flushed from our run, a few loose strands of wavy hair glinting in the afternoon sun. “No but I’ll probably say something to them soon.”
A car goes by on the road beyond the parking lot. I hear raucous laughter just before several rapid loud bangs. Andi jumps and sucks in a sharp breath, color draining from her face. Obnoxious little jerks must’ve tossed firecrackers out the window as they drove past.
I reach to steady her. “You okay?”
She barely meets my eyes before looking away, frowning. “I fucking hate firecrackers. Scares me to death every time.”
I don’t think I’ve heard her use language like that before. She must be really upset.
“Wanna ride to the shelter together?” I run my hand up her arm, give her a squeeze.
She straightens, squaring her shoulders. “No, we should take both cars.”
So we drive separately. She still seems a little off when we get there.
Which is why it’s probably a mistake for me to ask again about her coming to Lincoln with me, but heck, it’s Friday and Thanksgiving is next week.
Her answer is an impatient headshake as we cross the parking lot to the building. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know yet. Still trying to work out a plan for shelter overflow, since the local hotels will be full too.”
“Well, what’d you do about it last year?” I’m shocked to hear an echo of her impatience in my own voice. I’ve never heard it there before.
But I’ve never been in the situation of having to convince the soon-to-be mother of my child to come meet my family, either. Mom’s driving me crazy asking about it and Andi’s been stalling me for a couple of weeks now. In bed she’s a human flame, warm and exciting and giving and lovely, but elsewhere it seems like she’s been pulling back. Cooling toward me. And I don’t know why, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I wouldn’t have made love to her if I’d known it would have this effect.
We wave into the camera and Pattie at the front desk buzzes us in. Andi strides toward her office, gesturing for me to follow.
And of course I do, because that’s what I always do. Like a damn puppy.
I follow her in and close the door softly behind us. “Andi, I really want you to come. I really want you to meet my family. And you seem like you could use a break. You’re so tense.”
She stops in front of her desk and spins to face me. “I told you, I don’t know yet.”
She’s never snapped at me before and I’ve never snapped at anybody , but I do now. “Well, can you make up your mind today, please? Because my family wants to know and I’ve got this airline ticket I should cancel if you’re not going.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me a ticket, Kevin.”
“I know. I wanted to. I want you to meet my family, and I didn’t want to tire you out or spend the whole weekend driving. Please, just give me an answer one way or another.”
She throws up her hands. “Okay then: no.”
No words come to me. I stand there ten feet away and just look at her, knowing I provoked this, knowing what’s coming next, seeing it as clear as I would see a train barreling down on me.
She glances away. “It’s probably best if we spend a little time apart anyway.”
There it is. I’m on my back on the tracks, the train chugging and churning over—through—my paralyzed body.
My mind is just as numb. All my attempts to be helpful, to be there for her and our baby… All the times I’ve walked on eggshells to keep from scaring her off… All the effort I’ve put into showing her she can trust me—that I’m not like the monsters who put her clients in this place… All for nothing, really.
I’d started to believe that maybe she actually really liked Vanilla Kev, or at least liked what I’m becoming with her help.
But no, we’ve got these few precious months to build our relationship before our baby’s born…and instead of working on it, she wants time away from me.
Something unfamiliar is rising up in me. Little prickles. Sparks, moving through my veins, setting parts of me on fire. Is this anger?
I want to yell. No, I want to bellow . Let out my rage and frustration.
Maybe if we were outside away from people I would, just this once. Just howl to the stars this darn woman can’t even see properly.
But we’re in a building full of people who have been traumatized, and I am not going to be the cause of more pain or fear for them.
And yet…
I am tired . Tired of waiting for the trust I haven’t done anything to lose. And I am not going to wait one goddamn minute longer.
“Andi, how evil do you think I am?” I face her, my feet planted, my voice low but clear enough I’m sure she can hear every word.
She’s turned to face me too. Her eyes are wary. She looks like she’s bracing herself. “What are you talking about?”
“Were you ever going to trust me, or were you just going to keep stringing me along, hoping for some day that was never gonna come?”
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. Just gives a tiny headshake with a you’re-not-making-sense shrug.
And it pisses. Me. Off .
So this is what being pissed off feels like.
It doesn’t bring out the best in me. “I’m sorry; maybe I should have been clearer. Why do you keep holding me responsible for something I’ve never done?” My voice is cracking with misery and frustration. It’s pathetic and I’m embarrassed, even as the words exit my mouth. “Something I would Never. Ever. Do?”