We Raised Brody
PRESENT
Unlike Hawaii, the rash I wake with on Saturday morning is a telltale butterfly rash. I can feel the heat of it on my face, and as I look down, I see there are patches present on my torso and thighs.
Gwendy, I know, has gone home again for the weekend. Besides, she’s seen this before, has helped me through it.
But for Lucas, this will be new.
Because he often sleeps curled up next to me, it’s possible he hasn’t seen.
As I wrap my robe around myself and sneak into the shower, I hear him tapping a pen next to the Keurig, humming in that absentminded way he has.
I take my time in the shower, and I’m sure he’s heard me start, meaning I can’t hide forever.
It’s Saturday, and we had planned to spend a lazy day together, joking that it will be one of our last free, pre-kids weekends.
As if we’ve already skipped ahead to the conclusion despite there still being so much to talk about and decide.
I stay under the hot spray until I can’t stand it any longer, and because I hadn’t thought to bring clothes in my panic, I can either put the pajamas I’ve already thrown in the hamper back on, or . . .
I put my hair up, towel-turban style, and wrap the robe tightly around myself, and then, instead of sneaking out, I walk over to where Lucas is sipping his coffee, an old-school printed scientific paper in his hand, because he claims it’s easier on his eyes.
“Lucas.”
He turns quickly, a slow smile spreading on his face. “Hey.”
“Did you see it already, this morning?”
“I check on you every morning,” Lucas confesses, not the least bit embarrassed. “Maybe it’ll get better once we’ve been together for longer, but for now, it’s borderline compulsion.” His voice is steady and completely unapologetic. He might even be proud.
“It’ll be harder for me to get pregnant, because of the . . . lupus. I didn’t confirm it at the time, but your googling and concierge doctor are correct. It took my shitty insurance system more than a year to test and diagnose.”
Lucas nods, unsurprised. “We have a lot of kids already.”
“But wouldn’t you want… your own?”
He takes my hand in his and maneuvers me so that I’m sitting next to him on the couch.
“We watched over Leno, Levi, and Aurora. Sometimes I feel like we raised Brody. We’ll have Wren and Harper for at least a few years, and if later on we, as a unit, decide that’s not enough children and chaos, there are many ways to conceive or adopt. ”
He reaches one hand toward my face but doesn’t touch me. “Does it hurt if I touch you?”
“Sometimes. It doesn’t always. It can feel like anything from a mild sunburn to an irritating itch. There are days where the irritation is so light I’ll forget I even have a rash until someone points it out.”
Lucas is silent in a way the tells me he’s waiting for me to continue; he knows there’s more. I lick my lips. “My doctor thinks I might also need, uh, surgery.”
“Okay.” He squeezes my hand. “Want to tell me about it?”
“Not now.” I shake my head, not even aware that I’ve started crying until Lucas wipes the tears away. “I’m just saying that if you stay with me, if we really do this, it’s not all going to be fun and roses.”
Lucas’s laugh is genuine. “I know we’ve disagreed on this, but I’ll remind you, again, that fun is not one of the top three adjectives I’d use to describe you. And you’ve always maintained you don’t like roses.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“Khloe said I’m a Honda Civic. That I used to be all you could hope for but that now, you can afford… some really expensive cars.”
“Khloe’s a moron.”
“I’m not saying you’d choose Khloe. But there are hundreds of women who would maybe not kill but at least maim to have a chance with you now. Are you sure you really want”—I gesture to myself, fighting to keep my voice steady—“me?”
Lucas is silent for so long I’m worried he’s gone back to his old timescale. Finally, when I’m about to break, he says, “This is too stupid of question to warrant an answer.”
“It’s not a stupid question.”
He purses his lips, waits for another eternity, before he finally speaks again.
“I want to make sure I’m answering every part of this ridiculous question so we can put it to rest and never waste time on it again.
It has always felt absurdly illogical to me that given the choice between the Khloes of the world, who only want me now that I’m successful, and you, who chose me when all I had to offer were origami stars and ten-dollar dates .
. . Let’s be honest, how is that even a choice? ”
He’s squeezing my hand tightly now, but I don’t pull away, and he’s clearly not done.
“I’ve met a handful of people as brilliant as you are.
Fewer with even a modicum of your loyalty and determination.
Added to that, I can’t even begin to imagine a universe in which any single other person who’s not you would have sacrificed themselves for me and my family.
So yeah, Lorelai, your question is dumb.
I’ll never, ever find anyone who will love me as much as you do, which is kind of perfect, because I could add up all of the romantic feelings I’ve ever entertainment for anyone else and it isn’t even an infinitesimal fraction of the love I feel for you.
You are frustrating and impressive, challenging and—”
“Fun?” I whisper, trying to lighten the mood.
“—maddening.” His eyes are wide and earnest, his breathing uneven in his need to communicate his sincerity.
I swallow, blink rapidly, knowing there’s one more thing I have to resolve, or at least attempt to apologize for. “You’re sure you can really forgive me, for before? When I made decisions for the both of us as if… I knew better, as if it was my sole right to decide?”
“That depends.” He tilts his head, expression serious as I hold my breath, waiting for his next words, “Are you ever going to do it again?”
I shake my head.
“Then we should focus on the future, don’t you think?”
My eyes are misting over, but I manage a small nod. “Is it too late to say I love you?”
Lucas’s smile is the sunshine after the storm. It is warmth and goodness and makes me feel secure and grounded and almost impossibly, incandescently happy. But instead of answering as I expect, he reaches for the sash of my robe, looking up at me for permission. “May I?”
I nod and then look away, not wanting to watch as Lucas sees the various ways my body has been ravaged and changed in our years apart. Up until now, I’ve been careful. It’s always been at night. I’ve always stayed partially clothed.
Lucas unties my robe slowly, and I let my eyes close, my head falling back to the couch because I cannot bear to see any potential flicker of disgust. I know Lucas loves me, believe it with every fiber of my body. But love and desire—
“I can wear things to cover up the rash,” I whisper.
“I own an embarrassing amount of lingerie, not that anyone else has seen, of course.” I’m babbling now and don’t even know how to stop.
The longer he’s quiet, the more I need to fill the silence.
“If the lingerie isn’t enough to disguise—that is, I mean, if, during the times I have flare-ups, you don’t want to—” I bite my lip, too embarrassed to continue.
“I think you should open your eyes, Lorelai.”
I shake my head, even as Lucas’s hands begin to caress my body.
His hands palm my breasts and roll my nipples, before he pushes the garment more fully open, sliding the sleeves down my arms and spreading the two halves until I’m naked and splayed in front of him.
He’s careful not to touch any of the areas that are sensitive or have rashes, but his hands trail paths along all the unmarred parts of my body, until my entire body feels like a living flame.
“Lorelai,” he repeats, his hands never stopping in their gentle exploration.
Lucas’s voice is hoarse and compelling, and even though I’m scared at what I might find, I finally open my eyes in time to see the small, satisfied smile that flits across Lucas’s face a moment before his lips close around one nipple, suckling and lapping.
Lucas, kneeling between my legs as if worshipping me.
Lucas, encouraging my legs to spread farther apart so that I’m even more exposed and vulnerable, every inch of me open to his touch and kiss.
My eyes squeeze shut again as Lucas begins to kiss his way up my chest and neck until he reaches my mouth. Now that he’s slightly raised above me, I can feel the clear ridge of his erection pressing into me, even through his clothes.
“Does it feel as though I’m not attracted to you?”
He thrusts his hips forward and I gasp into our kiss, because even if I couldn’t hear how ragged his breathing has become, I can absolutely feel how very swollen he’s gotten. That caressing me, even for a few minutes, is enough to elicit this response.
I wrap my legs around his back, feeling every labored rise and fall of his chest as I try to force his body closer to mine. I reach down for his zipper, but Lucas grinds out a harsh, “No.”
I pull back immediately, embarrassed, not understanding how I could have possibly misunderstood the situation, knowing there’s no way to misinterpret his cock, which must be borderline painful.
Seeing my expression, Lucas bites back a laugh. He takes my hand in his and places it on his erection, running my hand up and down it through his clothes roughly. “It should be more than obvious that I desire you, that I want to fuck you into this damn couch until it’s your only clear memory.”
My hand closes around him, because I’m not understanding what the problem is, but Lucas removes my hand before I complete a full stroke.
“I’m not a sadist, Red. So trust me when I say that will come later.
” He places my hand on the armrest and presses it there, a clear command.
“But this is about me, proving to you, that rash or not, I want you.” He leans in to whisper against my ear, “Only you. Always you.”
“I believe you.”
“Do you, though?” He places my other hand on the cushion before raising first one leg and then my other to either side of his shoulders.
“Because I feel like you’re not getting it.
That you’re not understanding that touching you like this”—a single finger dips down to my core, lightly spreading the wetness that’s practically dripping from me—“is enough to make me hard.” He dips his head finally, lapping gently at my cunt until I’m arching.
He sucks my clit and then strokes every fold, licking and kissing on repeat until I am arching and twisting.
I grind against his face, too consumed by desire to think about whether my body is desirable to him.
The answer is obvious in the way he groans into me.
My body’s response is just as blatant, in the way my hands come to his head, as if to bring him closer, even though there is no way to be closer.
“Please.” My voice is an embarrassing whimper, but it does not seem to make Lucas go any faster. Instead, he shifts his position, his body lowering until his hands are on my ass, lifting my body to his.
“You didn’t think I would want you? Desire you?” He licks again, back to teasing and edging me in a way that I am helpless, in this position, to do anything about.
“Yes.” I nod, before realizing that’s probably not the right answer. His teeth scrape along my thigh. “No. I—”
His lips close around my clit as his hands tilt my pussy more toward him, and maybe he didn’t mean for it to end yet, maybe he meant to prolong it, but I shatter, convulsing even as he continues to kiss and lick, lap and suckle.
As I’m coming down, I think I hear Lucas say, “Every part of me wants every part of you.”
I’m too dazed to know whether I’m the one who voiced that secret thought aloud… or if it’s always actually been our shared truth.
After, Lucas moves me to the bed and finally joins me, sliding into me easily, my body still pliant from the most explosive orgasm I’ve ever experienced.
The curtains are open and the sun is shining through. There’s no way to hide an inch of my body, but looking into Lucas’s eyes, I can barely remember why I ever tried.
I’ll never be perfect.
Neither will he.
But we’re perfect for each other.
And we’re perfect together.