15. Zoe
Zoe
“I’m going to leave for work around eight tomorrow,” Gretchen told me over dinner Sunday night. “I usually get home around five thirty. Make yourself at home while I’m gone. I’ll leave you a key on the counter in case you want to go someplace.”
I wasn’t sure where I’d go, but I appreciated the thought. And the trust.
“Is there anything you want me to take care of while you’re gone?” I asked. “Some cleaning or anything?”
“Not really but thank you.”
We’d worked together to make dinner, Gretchen grilling some chicken breasts and vegetables outside on the grill while I made mashed potatoes from a box and baked up some crescent rolls.
It was nice, kind of domestic. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cooked with another person besides my mother, and even that was rare.
Not that I did a lot of cooking anyway. I mostly stuck to microwave burritos, cereal, and sandwiches.
These past few days staying with Gretchen had made me realize that even though I was twenty-eight years old I was still living like a kid.
Back in Chicago I’d been staying in a crappy apartment in a questionable neighborhood with two other women I’d met through an online ad.
We weren’t friends or anything, especially because we all worked weird hours at our low paying service jobs.
My room had a mattress on the floor and two milk crates I used as bedside tables.
Before I came to Seattle I would have said that I lived like that because I was poor. I certainly lived paycheck to paycheck. But something that Gretchen said to me made me see things differently.
“Your house is really nice,” I’d said as I helped her work on a jigsaw puzzle, something I’d never done in my life. It was surprisingly fun. “Everything matches, and it’s comfortable too.”
“When I was a kid in foster care using a trash bag as a suitcase and sleeping on whatever random lumpy mattress or sleeping bag on the floor my foster families gave me, I decided that when I was on my own I’d never live like that again,” she explained.
“It was a stretch, especially when I first started working after college. My friends would scour thrift stores and pick up furniture on the side of the road when they were starting out, but not me. I invested in nice furniture and put curtains on the windows and bought sheets and towels that matched because I decided that I deserved it. Once I believed I deserved nice things, my entire outlook changed.”
As I processed her words it dawned on me that I didn’t have furniture because some part of me didn’t believe I deserved it. It was quite possibly the most life altering realization I’d ever had. I’d been thinking about it ever since.
I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but I promised myself I’d get a decent job and do what I needed to do to live like a grown-up. I’d get new towels, matching furniture, and teach myself how to cook. I deserved nice things, and nutritional food too.
While Gretchen was at work Monday I looked through the contents of her kitchen, then typed some ingredients into this webpage I’d heard about that turned your ingredients into recipes.
After deciding which one would work best, I watched a couple of YouTube videos on Gretchen’s iPad and got to work cooking.
The front door opened just after five thirty.
“I’m home,” Gretchen called.
I couldn’t help but think it would be nice to have her say that to me every day.
I met her in the dining room, taking in her conservative pencil skirt and long sleeved blouse.
From the neck down she looked like a politician’s wife or a middle aged high school teacher, but the row of piercings in her ear and her purple hair told a very different story. She was such a contradiction.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Pretty good. Yours?”
“Good. I cooked dinner. I hope that was okay?”
She looked surprised. “I thought I smelled food. I didn’t know you could cook.”
Probably because this weekend she’d had to show me how to peel a potato.
“I’m using YouTube for more than dyslexia videos,” I said lightly. “Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Great, I’ll go change into something more comfortable.”
She came out a few minutes later wearing yoga pants and a baggy tee shirt, her hair pulled back into one of those stubby little ponytails she liked.
“Can I help?”
“Nope. I’ll give you a holler when dinner is ready.”
I’d purposely not chosen anything too ambitious, and I was pleased that dinner turned out better than I expected. I set the table, then transferred the food into serving dishes.
“Everything’s ready,” I called.
As she sat down I gave her the run-down on the meal.
“I found this salmon in the freezer,” I said, sliding the dish towards her. “I baked it in the oven with lemon and dill. We also have rice and a salad.”
“Wow, this is so fancy.”
At first I thought maybe she was making fun of me, but her expression was completely guileless.
“Everything looks great. It’s a nice surprise to have dinner waiting for me. Half the time I can’t summon the energy to do much with dinner. That’s why I try to cook up a few things on the weekend and freeze it for later.”
I felt a strange kind of warmth in my chest knowing that I’d pleased her. I’d never taken care of anyone besides my mother before.
“No problem.”
I’d already sampled everything to make sure it tasted okay, but I still held my breath until Gretchen tried the food. Then we tucked into our dinners, chatting easily like some old couple. It was nice.
When we were finished we packaged up the leftovers then worked together to rinse the dishes and load them in the dishwasher. I was cleaning the sink when Gretchen closed the dishwasher, grabbed my arm, and turned me to face her. I came willingly, my eyes dropping to meet hers.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said softly. “Everything was delicious.”
Then she pushed me up against the counter and gave me a kiss.
I remained still for about ten seconds, not because I didn’t welcome the kiss but because I was surprised by it.
The other two times I’d been the instigator, and I’d half convinced myself that she’d kissed me back out of politeness or something.
But this kiss confirmed that she was as attracted to me as I was to her.
There was nothing polite about this kiss. Gretchen bit down on my lower lip and when I gasped she slid her tongue inside my mouth and slid it along mine. Her tight body pressed against mine, taking control, and I loved it. My arms slid around her waist, stroking her back as she plundered my mouth.
Just like the other times we kissed, my body went from zero to horny in about five seconds.
Her claim that my inability to orgasm more than once was because I’d been with the wrong people was playing on a loop in the back of my mind and I had the thought she quite possibly could make me come just with a kiss.
Gretchen finally pulled back and I whined in protest, sure she was going to let me go, but instead she shoved my shirt up to my armpits and lowered her mouth to my breast. I was wearing a bra but that didn’t stop her from clasping her mouth around one nipple, drawing on me through the fabric while her hands gripped my waist tightly.
I arched my back, desperate to get closer, and she bit down hard enough to send a jolt of some combination of pain and pleasure right down to my core.
Once my nipple was swollen and aching she shifted, returning to my mouth with another kiss that was rough and claiming. I met her in a clash of teeth and lips, kissing her back until the edges of my vision started to turn fuzzy from lack of oxygen.
This time when Gretchen broke the kiss she took a step back, putting space between us. I swear my pussy cried out in frustration.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I know I’m the one that said we shouldn’t do that but I… I just couldn’t resist.”
That was the thing we both knew on some level: neither of us would be able to resist this for very much longer.
The attraction between us was too strong, so strong that it almost felt inevitable that we’d end up in bed together.
But she needed time, and it was probably a good thing for both of us to tread carefully given the circumstances.
I gave her the out and offered her a sassy smile.
“Wow, I guess you really liked my salmon.”
We both burst out laughing.