Chapter 20
Bennett
When I return to the office on Monday morning, I feel like a new man.
Almost.
It’s not as if I whistle or smile at everyone I see, but I do feel relaxed and well rested. Having Zoe in my bed every night has been good for me.
Early last week, I was fantasizing about her wearing that Little Red Riding Hood cape with nothing else, and now…
Okay, I’m still distracted by thoughts of her, but it’s different, now that I can pull from actual experience. Now that I know what it’s like to bury my head between her legs and sink into her.
Dammit, I’m losing my focus. What is this woman doing to me?
I tell myself that the sooner I get everything done, the sooner I can wrap my arms around her again, and that works well enough.
When I come home on Wednesday, Zoe skips to the door, looking particularly pleased to see me. In fact, she’s practically vibrating with excitement, and there’s a warm feeling in my chest. It’s something I hadn’t experienced in a long time before she burst into my life.
As soon as I’ve taken off my jacket, she grabs my hand. Usually, she lets me decompress alone while I eat, but it’s kind of cute that she can’t wait today.
She pulls me into the kitchen. “I made you dinner.”
“You didn’t need to,” I say, out of habit.
She’s been doing this about once a week the entire time she’s lived here, so I don’t feel like I’m taking advantage of it too much—and I’ve cooked for her a few times on weekends.
“But before I serve your food,” she says, “I have a gift for you.”
“More gourds with googly eyes?”
“Nope.” She scurries out of the room and returns a moment later with a package, which is wrapped in paper with smiling snowmen.
I arch an eyebrow.
“It was inside when I got home.” She sits beside me. “It must have arrived when the cleaning lady was here. Is there a problem with porch thieves in the neighborhood? I was a little worried about that, so it’s good she brought it in.”
“Did it arrive in snowman paper?” I ask, though I know the answer.
“No, that was all me.”
“It’s the second weekend in November, Zoe.” It’s a bit of an effort to sound stern. It shouldn’t be, but it is.
“I know, but I’ll be gone on December first.”
Once, I would have been relieved that I’d have the house to myself again, but now, my feelings are more complicated.
“Besides,” she says, “you need this gift before Christmas.”
“I can open it before Christmas…but after dinner.”
“Please?”
“Before Christmas,” I say, “but after American Thanksgiving.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I thought you had lots of fun last night. I suppose I should cancel my plans for giving you two orgasms tonight. How unfortunate.”
She glares at me.
“Fine,” I say. “If you insist, I’ll open it now.”
I don’t immediately rip open the paper. Instead, I make a show of rolling up my left sleeve, then my right sleeve, and Zoe’s gaze darts to my forearms. Her tongue peeks out from between her lips, and I can feel myself getting hard.
But that will have to wait.
Sleeves positioned for optimal present unwrapping, I slide my finger under the first piece of tape, then the second. I pull off the paper to reveal a small box. The box is stuffed with red tissue paper. I remove it and find…
“What on earth is this?” I ask.
“It’s an ornament for your tree.”
“So I gathered, but what kind of animal is it?” I regard the object in my hand. It looks like a lamb with a wreath on its strangely long neck, but when I notice the horn on its head, it clicks. “Ah. A festive llamacorn.”
“Exactly! Isn’t it great? Now see what else is in there.”
I pull out a polar bear ornament made of wood. There’s a Santa hat on its head.
“I thought the llamacorn should have a friend,” she explains.
“I don’t think llamacorns and polar bears live in the same habitat.”
“But surely they’d be friends if they did.”
“The polar bear wouldn’t eat the llamacorn?” I ask.
“Of course not.”
I set the ornaments next to each other on the kitchen table. “Thank you.”
“So, you’ll put them up?”
“I don’t have a tree. Never do.”
“You can get one in a few weeks. Christmas tree lots will be opening soon.” She pauses. “You celebrate Christmas, right? Clifton mentioned it once or twice.”
I nod.
“I can make your house all Christmasy before I leave! A tree with a big star on top. Garlands on the banisters. Snowmen on the lawn. Maybe even an inflatable Santa Claus.”
I’m tempted to kiss her to stop all the words tumbling out of her mouth. When I lean forward, she trails off, but then I remember.
This isn’t something I do anymore.
Instead, I set a single finger to her lips.
She keeps talking, her lips moving against my finger. “Christmas mugs. You definitely need one for your morning coffee. Do you put lights outside? Fake snow for the mantle above your fireplace…”
A part of me wonders if she’s trying to provoke me into kissing her, even though that was my only rule. But I think she’s just trying to provoke me in a general sense because she likes needling me.
Kissing her on the lips would be extremely effective, though—and I’m all about doing things that are effective.
Except I have boundaries for a reason. If nothing else, I need something to remind me that this is just sex. It’s not a real relationship; it’s a fake one.
“Zoe,” I growl, my finger still on her mouth.
“Yes, Benny?” She makes a show of fluttering her eyelashes.
“You are not turning my house into a winter wonderland. I’d be fine with a tree, but I’ll have to research it. I think the needles can be toxic to cats.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think of that.” She looks away. “The ornaments came in an unnecessarily large cardboard box. I thought Mittens would like it, so I put it in her room.”
I never pointed out my cat’s room to Zoe, but I didn’t hide its existence, either. She hasn’t teased me about it, and for that, I’m grateful. I’m sure Mittens is also grateful for the box.
I slide my finger into Zoe’s mouth before she can say anything more, and she circles her tongue around it. Naturally, this makes me think of her tongue on my cock, like it was last night. To my annoyance, I also imagine her tongue running over the seam of my lips.
I pull my hand away with a muttered curse.
“I need to eat,” I say, “and not in bed.”
Friday morning, my alarm goes off as usual. Zoe rolls over and wraps an arm around me, and while I’m tempted to stay here, I disentangle myself and head to the basement for my workout. Though I’m not going to the office today, I want to keep my usual routine.
I’ve just finished my coffee when Zoe enters the kitchen. Now that we’re sleeping together, I’ve adjusted my schedule slightly so I don’t leave until after she gets up. For some reason, I need to see her again before going to work each morning.
“Have a good day.” She stands on her toes and kisses my cheek.
It feels extremely domestic.
And it feels weird that I’m not telling her the truth.
I get in my car. Instead of driving north to Markham, I go south to the beach, as I always do on November 14.
It’s a sunny late-autumn day, and the wind off the lake is bitterly cold as I walk along the boardwalk, hands shoved in my pockets.
There are a few people out with their dogs, but it’s not busy.
Ginny enjoyed going to the beach at all times of the year. Before I met her, it had never occurred to me that this was something people would do outside of summer, which was the only time my parents ever took me. But I quickly learned to like it, even in the winter.
Near a lifeguard station, I walk onto the sand and look out at the water, the wind stinging my cheeks. Being here in November is so different from being here in July, when there would be children eating ice cream and playing in the sand.
And being here by myself is very different from being here with Ginny.
I wouldn’t say I remember it like it was yesterday. It’s been over a decade, and all those years have made the memories a touch hazy, but I do remember it fairly well.
Someone is kiteboarding on Lake Ontario, the orange sail bright against the gray-blue sky. I can’t imagine being out on the water when it’s just above freezing.
Yet a couple of months ago, I couldn’t imagine that I’d soon be faking a relationship and living with my brother’s ex, and here I am.
Life is funny, I suppose.
My current situation would make Ginny laugh. Though if she were here, I wouldn’t be in this situation; I’d still be with her. Even if I don’t know exactly who she’d be at thirty-nine—and who I’d be if I hadn’t lost her, fourteen years ago—I’m pretty sure of that.
But there’s no use dwelling on what never happened. Time continues to move forward.
When I arrive home, it’s not even eleven. Mittens comes to the door, and I pick her up. Not for the first time, I wonder if I she can remember Ginny. I’ve heard that cats have good memories, and it brings me some comfort to believe it’s possible.
Once Mittens returns to her room, the house feels very, very empty. I make coffee and take it to my home office, where I do a little work and don’t answer a text from Ginny’s brother—I’ll reply to it later. He’ll understand.
Zoe gets back from work at six. When she finds me in the kitchen, she stills.
“You’re here,” she says.
“Yes.”
“You’re never home this early.”
I don’t immediately speak, and I’m bothered by the silence.
“I had an appointment,” I lie, because I feel the need to provide an explanation. I step toward her and pull her into my arms.
She gives me a curious look, but she doesn’t say anything more.
And I don’t tell her about my dead fiancée.