Jonah sat at the desk in his study... (PT 1)

 Let's take a step back in time shall we?  And see history repeating, or for the first time...

This is the old Jonah and Grey in the study with a problem, but Grey's still just a youngin here, in high school.

This ended up being super long so I've decided to post it in halves.  This, of course, be the firste halfe, arrrrrgh.  (sometimes you feel like a pirate...)

And next ye shall recieve the conclusion.

There was a bit of  bombshell in this one that surprised me as I wrote it.  I remember sitting back on the couch with a big "Whew!" all stunned and surprised.

and Aaron was like:  "What's up?"

And I said:  "i just found something out about Jonah.  Something big."

"Bigger than incest rape?"

"Well no, but I already knew about THAT!"

Anywho, enjoy!

 *************

Jonah sat at the desk in his study, his hands folded in his lap, waiting for his son to sit.  He watched the boy pace for several full minutes, and kept quiet and still.  In his mind he ran through the possibilities.  The boy could be in trouble academically; he could be failing.  But Jonah suspected the school would have contacted him directly about that.  Perhaps it was another discipline issue?  Grey had wreaked his share of havoc at the costly private boarding school, and Jonah wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he’d caused some more expensive damage in the execution of some practical joke or prank or stunt.  Again, though, precedent told him that the school would have contacted him directly.

He’d rarely seen Grey quite this nervous.  If it wasn’t school related then what might it be?  He’d arrived in the car, so it wasn’t an automobile accident.  Was it possible he was in debt somehow?  From gambling?  Jonah doubted it.  Grey was an excellent gambler.  But maybe he’d met his match and lost his shirt?

He rubbed his thumbs back and forth slowly, pursed his lips and tried not to go anywhere darker with the imaginings.  What good would it do to work himself into a worry when the boy was so close to sharing his secret?  He focused on breathing and remaining calm.

“Ok.”  Said Grey, running his hands through his hair and still treading a path in the carpet.  He pushed a gust of air through his lips and tried again.  “Ok.”  He insisted, clearly trying to psych himself up.

Jonah swallowed.  His eyes flicked to the clock.  If Grey wanted to get this out before Velvet and the girls got home he guessed the boy had maybe another half hour at best.

“I’m ready when you are.”  He said patiently, and he hoped he meant it.  A knot was forming in his gut as Grey drew minutes into a quarter of an hour since he’d pulled in and declared he needed to talk, had something ’very important’ to discuss, just the two of them.

“Ok.”  Grey nodded now.  “You can’t tell Mom.”

Ah Shit.  “I tell your mother everything.”

“Then I’m not telling you.” Responded Grey, as if he’d anticipated that response, and headed for the study door.

“Wait!”  Jonah called, spreading his hands on the surface of the desk and standing.  Grey paused, his hand on the doorknob.  Jonah licked his lips.  Fuck.  “Why don’t you tell me and we’ll determine whether or not your mother needs to know.”  Jonah told his wife everything.  But some things were between men.  Private. 

“I doubt you’ll want to tell her.”  Grey said with a short, humorless laugh.

Jonah’s brows knit together.  “She loves you more than anything—she’d probably want to know if you were in some kind of trouble.”

Jonah watched Grey’s shoulders slump a fraction and his face become taught. 

“I don’t want her to know.” 

Jonah held his breath for a long moment before sighing it out.  “I understand.”  He said gently.  And he did.  Grey loved his mother, was good to her, and never wanted to disappoint or upset her.  He didn’t seem to give two shits about hurting or upsetting his dear old dad, even sometimes seemed to revel in it, but his mother was a different story.  “Maybe if you phrase it in such a way—“  Jonah began, and Grey’s big green eyes shot up to meet his dad’s.

“Ok.”  Grey nodded.

“Ok.”  Jonah agreed and sat back down, gesturing for Grey to join him.

“Ok.”  Grey repeated, setting himself on the edge of one of the chairs in front of Jonah’s desk as if ready to spring at the slightest provocation. 

“So tell me how I can help you.”  Jonah said in a measured, even tone.

“I need money.”

Jonah didn’t speak right away.  Money.  Money wasn’t so terrible.  Did he need to buy something?  Or was it the gambling afterall?

“You receive a fairly healthy stipend—“  Jonah said mildly.  Grey was wealthy, but he was also a minor and his access to the funds he had in trust was strictly limited and carefully monitored; Jonah had made sure of that when the boy was three years old.  Made sure that Grey wouldn’t be able to take control of his fortune until he’d completed his undergraduate degree or until he reached the age of twenty-five, whichever came first.  So Grey was enormously wealthy, but for now he was just another kid on an allowance, perhaps a more generous allowance than most, but a regulated and monitored allowance nonetheless. “—so I’m to assume that the funds you require exceed the stipend?”

Grey sucked in his cheeks.  And nodded.

Alright.  “Would an ‘advance’ on next month’s allowance cover it?”  Jonah tried.

Grey tilted his head to the side and glared at Jonah.  “I’m not a fucking idiot Dad, If that’s all I needed I could get it from playing cards or hit up one of my friends.”

“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue please.”  Jonah said non-threateningly and Grey rolled his eyes.  “Maybe we should just drop the pretense and you tell me what’s going on.  Given that we’re a little short on time and temper right now.”

Grey looked tempted but hesitated.  “Mom?”

A muscle ticked in Jonah’s cheek and he selected his words carefully.  “I’m not going to lie to you- I don’t know if I can keep something from her.”

“Dad, I’m telling you, you won’t want to tell her.”

“Christ Grey, what kind of trouble are you in?”  Jonah felt his heart skip and then ratchet up in beats per minute. 

The boy wiped his palms on his knees and pushed his shoulders down.  He took a full breath.  “I got a girl pregnant.” 

Jonah’s lips parted slightly and he blinked.  “I see.”

The two stared at one another, unblinking for several moments.  Jonah was livid.  And Disappointed.  And pitying.  And terrified.  And sick over it.

“And I need to pay for the abortion.”  Grey added unnecessarily. 

“I believe you have enough for that.”  Jonah said, clearing his throat and wishing he were saying something more like:  ‘How the fuck could you be so stupid?  What the fuck were you thinking?  Jesus, Christ Grey!’

Grey’s mouth pulled into a tight-lipped smile.  “And she wants extra.”

Ah.  “Extra.”  Jonah repeated.  “Is she blackmailing you?”

“No.”  Grey answered.  “She just, wants to be compensated.”

Jonah took a moment to adjust his glasses.  “How old is the young lady?”

“My age.”

Seventeen.  Jonah swallowed.  The age Velvet had been when she’d become pregnant with Grey.

“And are the two of you serious?”  Jonah asked carefully.

Grey snorted.  “Fuck no.”

Jonah tisked.  “Grey.”  He warned, referring to the language.  He’d made a deal with the boy that after he turned eighteen Jonah would stop harping on him for the language, as long as he promised to be respectful around his mother and aunts and other such appropriate persons.  But he wasn’t eighteen yet and he was pushing his luck. 

“No, we aren’t serious.”  Grey amended dutifully.  Jonah nodded.  To his knowledge Grey had never really been in a long-term relationship at all.  He’d never yet brought a young lady home to ‘meet the family’, for instance.  “We didn’t even really date.”

Jonah raised his eyebrows and sighed.  “You’re telling me you had unprotected sex with a near stranger?”

Grey paled and swallowed.  “Yes, sir.”  He mumbled contritely.

Jonah steepled his fingers and brought them to his face, his thumbs on his lips, and he closed his eyes.  He could lecture him.  He could chew him out.  He could rage and scold and fume and none of it would get him anywhere.  “Have you been tested?”  He asked quietly, knowing that the fear he felt was not well hidden when he spoke.

“She was a virgin.”  Grey answered.

Jesus Goddamn Christ.  “I see.” 

“I get tested regularly.”  Grey added, a touch smug.

Jonah didn’t want to think about how regularly was ‘regularly’ in Grey’s book.

“Before each new partner.”  Jonah said, rather than asked.  It was what he’d insisted the boy do.  When he became aware that his son had started fooling around.  More than two years before.

Grey nodded and Jonah studied him, trying to determine if the boy was lying. 

“Is there—does she—was there any discussion about keeping the child?  Carrying it to term?” Jonah felt the knot in his stomach tighten painfully.  He looked at the clock.  Velvet would be home soon.

Grey narrowed his eyes.  “No.”

Jonah felt himself standing before he’d really made the decision to stand, and it was his turn to pace.  “Grey Delaney, I need to know that you did not pressure this young lady in any way.  Not in the first place, and not now.” 

Grey made a derisive sound.  “She knew what she was doing.”  He said in answer.  Jonah stopped dead and stared the boy down.

“Do you want to re-think how you just answered me, young man?”

Grey pursed his lips and set his jaw obstinately.  “I didn’t pressure her.”  He responded firmly.  “I asked her more than once if she was sure, if she was ready, and there can be no doubt about any of it.”  He said with an edge of steel.  “I don’t need to fucking rape girls Dad.”  He was glowering at the desk, not looking at his father.

“And now?”

“Now, what?”

“Are you pressuring her to get this procedure?  Is that what the ‘extra’ funds are about?”

Grey swallowed and hesitated just long enough for Jonah to recognize he was about to get a line of bullshit.

“Save it.”  Jonah said, holding up a hand, his face twisting in disgust.  He pressed his fingers into his brow and massaged deeply.  Jesus Christ.  On the one hand he needed to make it clear that Grey was conducting himself like a perfect bastard.  An ass.  A son of a bitch.  A man without honor.

On the other hand a baby drama was nothing a seventeen year old boy with his entire future ahead of him needed.  If the girl hadn’t been a virgin Jonah might even have suspected the girl of playing Grey for money. 

“I’m glad you came to me.”  Jonah forced himself to say, though it sounded more dull and lifeless than he’d wanted.

“Will you help me?”

Jonah winced.  “I will.” 

He felt Grey relax into his chair and wondered if the boy’s knees were shaking as much as his own.  “But my help comes at a price.”

Grey looked up very slowly and studied his father for a moment.  Then he nodded.

Jonah nodded back and seated himself on the corner of the desk.  “First, you’re going to need to listen to me, and hear me on this, will you do that?”

Again Grey nodded, solemn and penitent.  Jonah had a feeling the kid was playing him, but he had to perform his fatherly duties, couldn’t let the lecture go unsaid, and all he could do was hope some of it penetrated his son’s thick, arrogant skull.

“You are not immortal.”  To his credit Grey managed to keep a straight face.  Jonah had expected an eyeroll at least.  “Nor are you as lucky as you may have been led to believe with past precedent.”  Grey nodded slightly, acknowledging that there was no need to pretend this unprotected sex was a once-and-only thing.  “There are very real and very permanent and too often very tragic consequences for the activities you’ve chosen to make your sport.”  Grey’s nostrils flared, but otherwise he remained passive.  “And I know you to be of above average intelligence, which is why I know you understand me, and that you damn well know better, Grey.” 

Grey’s big green eyes sank to the floor and again he nodded.  “And of course I’m not telling you not to engage in physicality, I’m not unrealistic, and there’s nothing wrong or shameful about expressing your sexuality, but there are wrong ways and right ways of going about it son.”

Jonah thought he heard a bored sigh, but what the hell was he supposed to do?  Sweep this under the rug without a word?

“And you, being who you are, should be especially careful.”

The young man looked up cautiously.  “Being who I am?”  He asked, genuinely non-plussed.

“Calder Grey Delaney.”  Jonah answered.  When Grey still looked somewhat puzzled Jonah smiled softly.  “It is far more likely for people to know you before you know them.”  He explained.  “Because of your inheritance.  Because of your mother.”  Grey started to look like he understood and his eyes glazed over a bit.  “It is not out of the realm of possibility that someone may seek to entrap you or force your hand because they know you to be wealthy.”

Grey’s shoulders bunched up and he rubbed two fingers under his chin, deep in thought.

“And as for the way you choose to conduct yourself with young women.”  Jonah said, and this time Grey couldn’t help the eye-roll.  “C’mon Grey.”

Grey shook his head, and refused to meet Jonah’s eyes.

“Son, you can’t pressure a young woman into terminating—I know it seems rational and logical and like it makes perfect sense, and I can’t say I disagree necessarily, but you need to be compassionate—“

“Dad—“

“No, Grey, I’m not done.”  Grey huffed but didn’t press.  Jonah took a breath and continued.  “Their bodies are their own, and you need to let them make the decision, and like it or not son, you’ll need to step up to your obligation if they decide to go the other way with it.”

“Jesus Christ.”  Grey muttered and Jonah had the urge to shake him. 

“How would it have been if your mother had met with the same pressure you’re putting on this young woman?”  Jonah asked sternly.

Grey stiffened.  “Shut, The Fuck, Up.”

Jonah nodded, staring at the top of the boy’s head.  He still refused to meet Jonah’s eyes.  “She was seventeen, you know.”

“I said.  Shut. Up.”  Grey ground out.

“I want you to think about that everytime you’re even toying with the idea of going unprotected.”  Jonah said grimly.  “And think of it if ever, God forbid, some accident brings you back to a place like this again.”  He cast his eyes to the heavens and pleaded with the fates to keep Grey out of this kind of trouble in the future.  “Because if you treated every woman with the respect and honor your give your mother I know you won’t find yourself in this trouble again.”

Grey stood abruptly, startling Jonah.  “You need to shut your fucking mouth about my mother you son of a bitch.”

Jonah’s lips tightened.  He licked the insides of his teeth and tried to count himself down from ten in order to remain mild.  “Sit down and I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”  Jonah said patiently.

Grey growled.  “I’ll get the money some place else.”  He spat venomously, and spun to leave, but Jonah grabbed his elbow securely.

“Alright, calm down, I told you my help came at a price, calm down, I’ve said my peace.”  He had wanted to address the virgin thing.  Tell him about the responsibility.  But he’d done that before.  More than once.  And he didn’t want to squander any more of the slim advantage he still retained with the boy.  He couldn’t have his son storming out, neck deep in trouble, and feeling as though he had nowhere to turn.

Grey jerked his arm forcefully but Jonah held firm.  “I don’t need to hear anything about Mum.”  Grey said, his voice heated and defensive.

“No more.”  Jonah promised.  “Except this:”  He felt the muscles in Grey’s arm pull into stone and watched his spine lengthen and become rigid.  Jonah suspected that if he said the wrong thing, Grey would be ready to take a swing at him.  “I don’t believe I will tell her about this.”  He said sadly, and Grey turned his head, not enough to look Jonah in the face, but enough to sneak a glance out of the corner of his eye.  “Because I really think it would break her heart.” Jonah said plainly.  “And I think you do to.”

The boy’s profile was stony.

“So let’s sit and I’ll tell you what I think will be the best course of action.”  Jonah said, releasing Grey’s elbow and holding his breath.  He never knew with Grey.  Never knew if he was making a bit of headway or getting through at all.

A minute ticked by before Grey finally turned on his heel and sat back down.  Now his face was a mask, his eyes cold and expressionless.

Jonah rose and moved around behind his desk and sat, pulling himself forward and exhaling.  “Ok, first thing’s first:  you did the absolute best possible thing coming to me.  And even though I’m a pain in the ass, I want you to know you can always, always come to me and I will do everything in my power to help you.  Understand?”

Grey’s eyes flicked onto his and Jonah thought he saw something real flash behind the façade, but it was so quick, so slight, that he couldn’t be certain.  “Thank you.”  Grey responded with no particular inflection or emotion.  “I will.”

The knot in Jonah’s belly squirmed.  “I don’t want you trying to deal with things like this on your own—and I want you to know that no problem is unsolveable.”

Grey smiled blandly. 

Jonah licked his lips and adjusted his glasses.  “Allright.  I’ll make sure the money is in your account.  You should make sure that the child is yours, so I’ll make sure you have the money for the blood test.  And listen—even if it isn’t yours, it’s absolutely no skin off your back to help the girl out with the money for an abortion if she wants one, but don’t feel the need to dole out that ‘extra’ money, or you’ll be a target for blackmail, understand?”

Grey’s eyes narrowed shrewdly.  “Yes.”  The answer was curt but clear.

“Ok, and if it is yours and she opts for the procedure of her own free will I expect you to be a perfect gentleman.”  Jonah said with a heavy heart.

Grey’s brows flickered.

“It is your responsibility to escort her to any appointments she requires, your responsibility to be there for her during and after—see that she has everything she requires to be comfortable and feel safe and secure.”  Jonah pressed his fingertips into the solid wood of the desk surface and sighed slightly.  “Even when the decision is clear and the girl has no qualms, it is still an unpleasant business and there are deep psychological and physical ramifications.  So.  Be kind, Son.”

“Have you done this before?”  Grey asked in a peeved voice.

“Once.”  Jonah replied, and swallowed.

“Holy shit.”  Grey responded, a bit in awe.  He evidently hadn’t been expecting an answer in the affirmative.

“I was about your age.”  Jonah confessed.

“You’re serious.”

“I am.”

Grey’s eyes were wide, his brows up, and he was shaking his head back and forth weakly.  “I’d have pegged you for the kinda guy who’d marry the girl.”

Jonah’s mouth curved into a fragile, bittersweet smile.  “I offered.”  He said.  “She declined.”

“Christ.”

“Hmmm.”  Responded Jonah.

“Why?”

“She wanted to go to college, well so did I, and there was the matter of our parents of course too.  We were very young.”

“And you weren’t wearing protection.”  Grey’s face was absolutely neutral but there was a slight lift in the tone that crept under Jonah’s skin.

“It was a different time.  And we were in love.”

Grey didn’t say anything.  Just stared at Jonah.

There was a muffled metallic click and the familiar sound of the front door opening somewhere beyond the closed study door, followed by the buoyant and animated chatter of Velvet and the girls, deeply engrossed in several various conversations.

Jonah sat up a little straighter and so did Grey.  “Allright, I want you to leave the amount you’re thinking, and the girl’s name.  You and I can meet tomorrow when I get out of work- I know you’ll have to miss swim practice, but I think the sooner the better, don’t you?  I’ll have everything ready.  Let’s meet at the shoppe?”

“Why there?”  Grey sounded leery.

“I’ll pick up something, visit with Nolan for a few, and then we’ll say we’re grabbing coffee.”  It was a cover.  Velvet could check and everything would seem perfectly on the up and up.  Just father and son stuff.  Velvet likely would not check.  He’d never given her cause to worry or feel the need to keep tabs on him.  Nevertheless.

“Jonah?”  Velvet called from what sounded like maybe the kitchen.  It was very far away from the study, wherever it was.

“Four?”  Jonah asked Grey as he stood and crossed around to where Grey was also rising.

“Four at the wine shop.”  Grey agreed and held out his hand.  “Thank you.”

Jonah stared at it for a moment and then grasped it, but pulled the boy into a hug.  “I love you.”  He told him bracingly.  “And I’m always here.”

Grey accepted the hug somewhat stiffly.  “Thank you.”  He mumbled again.  “I know.”

Jonah released him and crossed to the study door just as he heard another “Jonah?”  From somewhere and now a cheerful “Da-aa-ad!” added to the search.  He chuckled.

“You ready?”  He asked Grey quietly, his hand on the doorknob.

Grey rolled his head around, producing a satisfying few popping noises, pushed his shoulders down and nodded.  Then he broke into a convincing smile.

“We were discussing your grades.”  Jonah told him.  “You’re not failing but you’re struggling with—“

“Anatomy.”  Grey said without blinking.

“You’re such a wise ass.”  Jonah said, shaking his head.  He took a breath, hitched his own bright smile into place and opened the door, calling:  “Don’t send the search party, I’m in here!”

Sundays are Fundays!

We had the best sunday night last night. The best in a long while anyway!

First of all, are you ready for a major milestone? An accomplishment? Aaron and I managed to clean our entire apartment (and did a damn fine job, may I add) without getting into a single fight. Right?!?!? You see, cleaning makes us both grumpy pants, and very often the pressure to get it all done makes us stressed and surly and short-tempered. Yesterday, however, despite waiting till sunday and putting all the pressure down to the wire, we were able to remain cheerful and blithe and productive.

There was a close call once, when I returned from Truchhi's and was putting groceries away, when Aaron had sat down for a moment and I said: "it's almost 3 o'clock, we don't have alot of time." And he reacted with a distinctly snippy: "I know what time it is Beth!"

that was close. normally that tone of voice just sets me the fuck off. this time,however, my nice side won out over my Irish side and I chillaxed, let the guy rest, and went about my biz.

And he was awesomesauce. For the record, between saturday night while I was babysitting the Nattlebug and sunday morning, aaron cleaned almost every single dish, pot, pan, and utensil in our whole goddamn house. Super impressive. I married a miracle worker.

And I am a fucking whiz at cleaning bathrooms and stoves, so, kudos to me. um, btw, my guests didn't even USE the bathroom, much to my dismay. lol. I was super proud of how glistening it was! I mean, hands and knees people. sparkling.

And on to the real reason why it was such an awesome sunday: the company.

A&D&babyZ came over! Woot woot! So awesome. It was pretty chill. we had good eats (except for some subpar tortilla chips, and the fact that I forgot the guacamole and had no sour cream! ay ay ay), good convo, good laughs, and really fucking good sangria. My knees and toes were tingling after the first delicious glass so I kept going!

Later it occurred to me that i never got a chance to hold the baby, who was such a perfect bean all night-- she's definitely her parents' daughter in that she enjoys social situations, i think-- and I was sad. But then i laughed into my eighth glass of sangria and thought to myself: After you kept dropping and spilling things your friends were probably reticent to let you hold their one-month old. heeeheeheee.

i really wasn't drunk though, just pleasantly tipsy, which I just don't do often. So it was nice.

Our awesome friends brought us THE BEST LAMP EVER (picture coming soon I hope!)- in the perfect shade of green, which is the color we wish to start incorporating into our orange-dominated color scheme.  Maybe one day we will be able to do something awesomesauce like this!:

ALSO this amazing cast iron Rachel Ray pan (we have the whole rachel ray starter set as well as some accessories, so this was a PERFECT addition. Matching orange handle! Aaron cannot wait to make some paninis! Send your recipes!), some delightfully green washcloths, and the best ramekins in the world!

+

= Splendid. 

I mean really.  The man has been pining for a rectangular skillet for so long.  And these folks remembered?  They are incredibly good listeners.  also aaron repeats himself alot.  ALOT.  but still, awesome listeners and very, very thoughtful gift buyers.  BTW!  We do not require gifts!  are you listening Danielle?  We love you and don't need rewards for doing things for you guys!  Heeeheeehee, thanks though, cuz we really love the gifts you gave us. lol.

We are so blessed.

I hope they felt sufficiently thanked by our delicious balsamic strawberries and Aaron's mouth-watering quesadillas! Quite literally the best quesadilla I've ever experienced. Only thing that would have made them better was guac and sour cream. my bad. Next time!

We were sad when they had to go. I believe Zoe would have liked to stay longer, she's got the night owl and party animal gene, but her parents were responsible and brought her home for bed. We wished they could have stayed all night!

Then, though, after they'd gone and we cleaned up the kitchen (yeah, I know, can you even believe that? Thank aaron, he's the one who once again did the dishes whilst I clumsily put away leftover food and whatnot.), dragged our awesome orange chairs over to the hearth (tv in this case, the thing that has replaced the hearth in most american homes), and fired up the Wii!!

YUP! We finally broke-in our new mario game and it is BANANAS! So fun! It was fun to play a game with my husband. My motor skills however, which are questionable even at my best, were notbly sluggish and erratic due to the sangria, which was cute for a while but got increasingly frustrating as we went along. 

We decided to call it quits before my constant jumping off of cliffs or running smack into goombas beame too terribly annoying.

It was a great night. We went up to bed, All liquored up, which is unbeatable, had a fun time there, and fell asleep sooooo very, very happy.

thank heavens for good friends. I feel such love in my heart. And contentedness. Enough to armor me against what promises to be a hell week truly deserving of that pet name? i hope so. as a result of my fun shenanigans last night (well, and my complete laziness on saturday) i'm walking into work completely under prepared. But at least i'm feeling relaxed and cheerful about it!

And I think I ought to drink sangria every weekend. just sayin.

Fucking Early

Grey & Maggie, the mornig after their welcome home dinner. 

**************

It was fucking early.  Grey had an almost animalistic impulse to throw his phone at the wall when the chipper little alarm beeped and vibrated, cajoling him and commanding him to wake the fuck up.

It took an inordinate amount of time to figure out where the fuck he was and why the Christ he was waking up so goddamn early.  The bed was comfortable but not his own.  The hour was unholy. 

Oh yeah.  It was a Monday morning, he was in the guest house (in a guest bedroom in the guest house) and he had set his alarm in order to roll out of bed and drive his fucking wife to class.  He pawed at the motherfucking phone, hit some button or other, causing it to go into ‘snooze’ mode, and rolled over onto his stomach.  Maybe if he tried real hard he could make the whole nightmare go the fuck away.

It was the second goddamn morning in a row that involved being rudely awakened by a loud, obnoxious phone.  For her.

The courtesy wake-up call at the resort had sounded like a fucking claxon horn that Sunday morning.  He’d felt sure his head would split in two, and was glad, for the sake of the employee on the other end of the line, that it had been Maggie, and not him, that had answered and quickly thanked them and hung the receiver back in its cradle as gently and quietly as was humanly possible.  Nevertheless he’d heard every fucking miniscule sound like tiny but powerful jackhammers on his skull.

He’d covered his face with his hands and his eyes had been sore.  Sore eyes, never a fun way to start the day.  And he’d swallowed but his tongue felt like sandpaper and his throat seemed to be swollen nearly shut. 

Then he’d realized where he was.  As he listened to her quietly thanking the concierge desk for the call, quietly hanging up the phone, and oh-so-gently shifting on the enormous bed next to him, he realized what had happened.  Oh fuck my life.

And he felt nauseated.

“Do you need to throw up?”  He’d asked her, not even recognizing the rough, gravelly sound of his own voice.

“No, not right now.”  She’d answered in a small, deliberately soothing voice.

Good.  “Ok.”  He’d said and took just a small breath, because he knew from experience that a deep breath would trigger a chain reaction that was as unstoppable as it was unpleasant.  He’d laid on the bed, trying to focus on easy, shallow breaths, trying to quell the nausea enough to risk moving, and trying not to allow graphic flashes of images from the night before to play themselves out in his mind’s eye.

He groaned, losing the battle with those flashes of memory.  What the fuck had he done?  Jesus Christ.  He knew he couldn’t open his eyes just yet, knew he needed to stay behind the pressing darkness his shaking hands provided, but he wondered how she looked.  If he’d hurt her too badly.  This wasn’t helping the nausea.

“Do you need to?”  She inquired gently.

“Yup.”

He’d made it to the bathroom and managed to close the door before puking his guts out.  When he’d showered and finally emerged quite some time later she had a red drink waiting for him.

He accepted it with a question all over his face. 

“Hair of the dog?”  She said, sounding unsure of the colloquialism.

He grimaced and tested the smell of the tomato juice against his tender senses.  It didn’t immediately make his gut roil so he held his breath and swallowed a gulp.

“Thank you.”  He’d wondered how his eighteen year old innocent Catholic bride knew about home remedies for hangovers.  But, he supposed, she worked in a restaurant, and her father had ordered a goddamn tequila drink at brunch, so maybe Maggie Ramirez knew a thing or two about hungover men.

“De nada.”  She’d replied with a tentative smile.

He’d wanted to smile in return—he liked it when she sprinkled Spanish into conversation—but when he looked at her he’d felt such a powerful wave of guilt and shame that all he’d managed to do was grunt and glower.  That was the perfect opportunity.  Right then.  To apologize.  But he’d chickened out.  And then room service had arrived with the breakfast she’d ordered them, and she’d succumbed to a morning sickness she’d been holding at bay, and then they’d needed to get ready for checkout and, ugh.

Remembering the previous morning made Grey doubly irritable.  He growled a string of cruses into the pillow and resented his state of consciousness.

Laying on his front made his morning erection feel particularly conspicuous.

And what the fuck had been up with her last night anyway?

Grey pressed his eyes closed and tried not to think about her.  He wanted to go back to sleep.  He wanted to pretend he wasn’t in the guest cottage, that he wasn’t married, that none of it had ever, ever happened.

When he heard her retching he spun over and sat up.  Should he go to her?  He looked at his lap.  Christ.  There wasn’t much that could be done about that.  It would take care of itself before long, but, should he walk out there with this monster?  Fuck.

And really?  What was there to do?  How could he help? It’s not like he could help her vomit.  He supposed he could hold her hair back or some shit.  Or offer moral support?

He had every instinct to pull a pillow over his head and ignore it. 

But she retched again, more violently, and with a heavy sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.  He grabbed his phone, knowing it was going to buzz and chirp to life again in a few minutes, and padded to the door. 

He was only semi-erect now, which was the worst, because he wouldn’t be able to flip it up into the waistband of his pajama pants, but it certainly wasn’t discreet yet either.  Whatever.  He doubted she’d be in any condition to spare him a glance, let alone notice his lingering tumescence.  Besides, few things kill an erection faster than the sounds and sights and smells of someone being ill.

He didn’t precisely hurry, but he got to the bathroom fairly quickly considering how bleary eyed and exhausted he felt.  He reached for the handle and crashed into the door when he discovered she’d locked it.

Oh. 

Ow.

“Hello?”  He heard her ask weakly from inside the bathroom.

Grey blinked.  “Hello.”  He answered, and frowned at the door.

“I’m sorry, I, um, I think I’ll be a little longer.”  She said, sounding terribly embarrassed.

She thought he needed to use the bathroom.  Grey felt itchy all over.  “No—“

“What?”

Fuck.  “No, I don’t need, I wanted to see if you, Are you all right?”  He clenched his fists.  No, moron, she isn’t alright, she’s puking her guts out because you knocked her up, you fucking asshole.

“Um. Yeah.  Just.”  He heard her sigh.  “Morning, you know.” Her voice was wavering and uneven.

He swallowed.  “Can I?  Is there anything I can do?”

She was quiet for a moment.  “I don’t think so.”  She answered carefully.

“I mean, do you want me to come in?”

“No!”  She was quick to answer.

He nodded at the door.  No. He supposed he wouldn’t want someone watching him vomit either.  But weren’t guys supposed to hold a girl’s hair back?  Wasn’t that something that was done?  Maybe that’s only when they’re stumbling, fall-down drunk?  He’d done that before and those girls had always treated him like he was their fucking hero for it, like he was a prince for getting them stupid drunk and then bothering to keep their hair away from their disgusting sick.

“Ok.”  He said lamely, because he really didn’t know what else to say.

“Thank you. Though.”

“No problem.”

They were both quiet.  He wondered if she was done.  He wondered what he should do with himself.

“D’you want breakfast?”

She retched loudly. 

Ok.  No breakfast probably.  Still.  Maybe some toast?  He’d make toast.  He could manage that.  And probably she’d want a glass of water.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water.”  He told the door, when the sounds of her heaving had settled down.  He thought he heard her sob softly and something empathetic twisted in his chest.  It must suck having to be sick so much.  He hated throwing up, and found it difficult to imagine having to put up with it the way a pregnant woman had to do.

“Thank you.”  She said, sounding very tired.

“Ok.”  He said, hesitating.  “Be right back.”

“Ok.”  Came the meek reply.

Ok. 

He made himself step away from the bathroom door and down the hall toward the kitchen.  He wanted coffee.  But. Whatever.  The smell of it had made her particularly nauseated the previous morning, the last day of the honeymoon, so maybe he’d better not.  He’d live without it. 

Moving fairly quickly for someone unaccustomed to getting up before ten AM, Grey pulled bread from the bread drawer and then lifted a roll-away style cupboard to reveal several high-end Calder countertop appliances hidden away from view.  He gazed longingly at the coffee maker before pushing aside the blender and pulling out a very attractive and hardly-used toaster.  He plugged it in under the top cabinets and pressed the lever down, deciding on a nice, neutral, medium setting for the toast.

He turned and made a mental note to thank his mother for grocery shopping for them, stocking the normally bare-bones kitchen with things like bread and milk and fruit and all that other bullshit that makes a place a home. 

He grabbed a couple tall glasses and filled them with ice, and then waited rather impatiently as the water dispenser slowly filled one and then the other.  Filling the second one had taken longer because she’d flushed the toilet halfway through the task, and the drop in water pressure made what was already a meager stream of water even more pitiful.  Maybe he’d upgrade the fridge.  This was a nice model but it was more than five years old and one of the newer lines featured a water dispenser with a lot more oomph.

“Hi.”

He startled, sloshing a decent amount of icewater onto his hand and down the front of the fridge.

“Shit.”

“Sorry.”

“No, not your fault, I’m an idiot.”  He put the dripping glass down on the counter and reached for the dish towel still hanging on the stove handle where he’d left it the night before, when the toaster popped.  “Shit.”  He said quietly.  He hastily sopped up the water on the fridge and from the floor beneath it before opening it up and, after searching for a moment, emerged with the heart healthy butter spread his mother had purchased.

His phone jumped to life in his pajama pants and he reacted as if it had electrified him. “Shit!”  He scrambled to press a button through his pants, wanting to shut the thing up, and succeeded in mashing it into submission after a half a moment of scrabbling.

He flipped the towel onto his shoulder as he moved toward the toaster, opening the silverware drawer on the way and withdrawing a butter knife.  “Shit.”  He said and turned back around, backtracking to where he’d left both glasses of water. 

He picked up the un-spilled one and carefully walked it over to where she’d settled in at the kitchen island.

“Thank you.”  She smiled cautiously.

He looked her in the eyes for the first time that morning and the frantic energy from his rushing around trying to be useful seemed to slow to a dead stop.  And he was staring at her.  Across the kitchen island.  Staring at her big brown eyes.

“Good morning.”  She said quietly.

“Morning.”  He mumbled in response. 

She didn’t look too bad for someone who’d been throwing up a few minutes before.  Her hair was a little wild maybe, and there were darker circles under her eyes, and she was a bit drained of color, but he thought she looked pretty good, considering.

He wondered if she’d slept well.  It was a new place and all.  And it had been one heck of an evening over at his folks’.  And she’d been all weird and strange before bed, standing in the livingroom like a ghost or something.

He hadn’t slept well.  Despite being exhausted and having a good amount of liquor in him, he’d tossed and turned and woken up frequently.  He’d heard her running the shower around midnight.  He’d had the strangest urge to get up and join her.  When they’d dated he’d enjoyed showering with her very much.  They’d done that here, it occurred to him, in the guesthouse.  And had a bath together too.  Shit.  Did she remember that? 

“Toast?” He cleared his throat.  It served absolutely no purpose to let his mind wander to images of her soapy, wet body.

She crinkled her eyebrows.  “I’m not sure.”

Yeah.  He figured as much.  “Shouldn’t you try to eat something?”  How the fuck did fetuses survive this stage of pregnancy?  How did the women? 

He remembered his mother had been pretty fucking miserable when she was carrying Viola.  He couldn’t remember the other two pregnancies all that clearly, but he’d been about eight or so when she was pregnant with Vi and she’d spent so many days sicker than he’d ever seen her.  He’d decided that babies were awful things that happened to mothers, and no matter how Jonah’d tried to convince him otherwise, he held that unswerving belief right up until he saw his baby sister in the hospital.  Only then had he understood why people endured the misery of pregnancy.

Of course his mother had almost died; he wouldn’t know or understand that until much later.  Sometimes he wondered if he’d have liked Viola at all if their mother hadn’t survived the delivery.  He didn’t care to think about it.

“I can try.” 

Her voice snapped him out of his memory and he looked at her sharply.  “Have you seen a doctor?”  he demanded.

She blinked, obviously thrown by the non-sequitor.  “Yes.”

“Because this doesn’t seem normal.”  His tone was far more combative than was necessary, but he didn’t seem to have control over that at present.

“You’re an expert on pregnancy?” she challenged, her own tone mirroring his, going from polite and perplexed to ready-for-a-fight in the space of a couple heartbeats.

“How the fuck are you supposed to get any nutrition if you can’t keep anything down?”  He was raising his voice unnecessarily.  “Your body can’t keep running on empty for fuck’s sake—you’re going to get de-hydrated and fuck knows what else.”

She squinted at him.  “I can take care of myself, thanks, I’ve been doing it fine since this started.”

“I’m taking you to the doctor.”  He declared dismissively.

“No, you’re taking me to class.”  She answered, heated.

“Fuck that—“

“I already have an OB, Ok?”

“Who?”

“What do you care who?  I have one.  I go to all the appointments.  I know what I’m doing.”

Grey couldn’t be sure why he was so furious in that moment, but he was, he was boiling.  “Some bullshit Mexican quack?  No.  I’m taking you to Sam Bennett.  There’s no way, no fucking way that all this is normal.  You look malnourished, and I’m not going to wait until you collapse to fix this problem.”

Her mouth fell open and he thought she might have made a hissing sound.  She looked angry enough to slap him.  “I’m going to call someone else to drive me.”  She said and stood.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m driving you.”

“Don’t you ever, ever tell me to shut up!”  She leveled in a deadly voice.

He swallowed. Fuck.  “Just sit down and have some breakfast, alright?”  He’d meant to apologize, to sound conciliatory, but he hadn’t managed that.

She glared at him.  “No, thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you need to eat.”

“I’m not going to eat right now.”  She countered, her pitch rising steadily.

“What the fuck do you want? I’ll make you whatever the fuck you fucking want alright?”  He was shouting.

“I want you to stop trying to be a controlling asshole!”  She shrieked, and his mouth fell open.

Then her eyes got wide and she flew from the kitchen toward the bathroom again.  He heard the hasty clatter of the toilet seat slamming up and heard her wretch loudly before she managed to get the door shut.

She’d called him an ‘asshole’.  Wow.  He must have really pushed her buttons.  He’d never heard her say that word.  She’d called him a bastard before.  And she’d said some mildly offensive thing is Spanish too, when he’d broken up with her, but ‘asshole’, as tame as it was for most people, was a pretty big step for Maggie.  Great.  They’d been married just over a week and he’d already driven her to profanity.

He wondered what he’d have to do to get her to say ‘fuck’.

“Fuck.”  He muttered to the kitchen at large.  What the fuck had just happened?

Cleaning my apartment!

I'm having friends over today. Cross your fingers that I manage to get the house looking and smelling decent before they arrive, lol. also, pray tht i have enough time to make food for them! I'm thinking something loosely mexican themed because I have some sangria chillin in the fridge. Yum yum gimme some.

After they skeedaddle I need to get my fucking act together regarding Act One Scene 1, as hell-week begins tomorrow and the show goes up friday.

Also i really ought to whip up a couple of resumes and coverletters for some newly posted jobbies. One is in mansfield- how sweet would that be? alot closer than fucking Hull or worcester!

As for fiction? I have been writing a bunch over the last couple days, including longhand last night while I babysat the NattleBug. I'm having trouble finishing the vignettes lately though. This is problematic. Like, i wrote this killer scene /i am in love with but the fucking thing is a monster! It goes on for something like eleven pages before I finally just nipped it in the bud. The one I'm working on now is shaping up to be similar. So I wonder if I'll just break them up into manageable portions and spread them out over several postings?

Meanwhile I'll work on re-capturing the brevity I used to be able to manage.

I ended one scene the other day quite abruptly, lol. Maybe I'll post that one today so you can see what I mean.

For now though /i have goofed off on the nets way too long. Time to shut this lappenstein down and get some fucking cleaning done! woot. Oh, well, hang on a tick, first I'mma check out post secret, THEN i will get some cleaning done. lol.

I need a miracle.

The Honeymoon

Hey-ohhh!  

I know we've already moved past Grey & Maggie's honeymoon with THE DINNER (a whole series of vignettes- easy enough to find since they are all labled THE DINNER.  check em out sometime!), but here's a little taste of when they first arrive.  if you haven't checked out their drive up to the resort, I think you should.  His perspective and hers are together in a double entry.  god I love saying that.  ok.

well.

Enjoy!

**************

Grey inserted the little plastic card and withdrew it with none of the fuss that usually accompanies such a transaction.  He pushed down on the smooth nickel handle and opened the door inward to reveal a room like Maggie had never seen.

She stood, rooted to her spot just outside the threshold, and couldn’t hope to keep her face the neutral mask she so desperately wanted to present.  She didn’t want him to know how stunned and overwhelmed the sight of such luxury made her, but she couldn’t help it.  He’d grown up with a silver spoon, this was probably old hat to him, completely unspectacular.  He held the door open for her and waited patiently for her to recover her senses.  When, after a moment she had failed to do little besides stare, he finally spoke.

“Would you like me to carry you over the threshold Mrs. Delaney?”

Something unnerving skittered down the length of her spine at the sound of his voice and she blushed, like she did everytime when he referred to her like that.  She wondered if he’d tire of the snide little jest, or if she’d ever get used to being Mrs. Delaney.

Maggie snapped her jaw closed firmly and lifted her chin a fraction before taking a full breath and breezing into the immense and incredible suite.  The sun was setting and now she understood just why Mrs. Delaney, her new mother-in-law, had been so adamant that they arrive in time to catch this marvelous time of day.  A warm, brilliant amber-pink glow pierced and suffused the suite with a brilliance and an ambiance that was stunning, vital and, well, there was no other word for it: it was undeniably romantic.  Maggie sincerely hoped that the orangey glow from the expansive span of French windows would be effective in hiding the full-body blush that had swept over her at the sight of the enormous bed sprinkled in rose petals and complete with a tray containing a bottle of champagne in a silver champagne bucket, two upturned champagne glasses, a crystal goblet full of strawberries and a single perfect rosebud in a tall, slim vase.

She heard the door click closed behind her, but didn’t turn.  She wanted to remember this room exactly how it stood in that moment; perfect and lovely and bathed in a soft, sweet glow.  She knew it was all an illusion, that the spell couldn’t last and they’d be two people co-habiting a honeymoon suite with no plans at all for a honeymoon.  But she wanted to savor this moment of make-believe that Grey’s mother had gifted them with, just wanted to take a mental picture and lock it away before a week of bickering and cold stares and guilt and blame tore the romantic reverie apart.

There was a marble fireplace and a built-in dark wood unit that likely housed a television, there was a lovely kitchenette with a pair of stools at a breakfast bar.  By the expanse of French windows there was an exquisite round dining table with four finely upholstered chairs.  There was an entire living room.  Not too far from the enormous bed there was also a sleek, built-in hot tub.  Right out in the open. In a romantic recessed alcove, like a hedonistic twist on an apse.  Maggie blushed again.

She moved slowly in and through the space admiring the undeniably luxurious details of everything.  The color palette was soft and modern, coffee and espresso and black and cream with nickel details on knobs and trim and with deep crimson accents in pillows and in area rugs and of course in the embarrassing display of rose petals.

They had access to a sizeable balcony, complete with sun chairs and an outdoor loveseat, but Maggie knew it would be too cold to do much more than go out and peek at the view before coming back in to get toasty.  She imagined June brides would take full advantage of such a balcony on their honeymoons.

As she ran a tentative finger along the rich damask window treatments she heard the metallic ding and crush of the ice in the champagne bucket and startled. She looked over her shoulder to where Grey was examining the wine and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt.  He hadn’t worn a tie.  She’d never seen him wear one.  The jacket he’d been wearing was already shed and she spied it curved over the back of a very dramatic looking upholstered chaise in the region of that daring hot tub.

“We’re accumulating quite a selection.”  He remarked before plopping the bottle back into its icy seat and sighing.  He scanned the room almost disinterestedly and finally found her eyes.

She stared at him, in the dying light of their wedding day, and wished she didn’t find him so attractive.  His hair was perfect, despite the hours-long drive.  His stubble was growing in much darker than it had been this morning and sense memory told her exactly what it would feel like under her fingertips, beneath her lips, on the sensitive skin around her nipples, and lower too.  She bit her lower lip and reprimanded herself for wishing, even for a moment, that this could be a real honeymoon.

Because she hated him.  He was arrogant and selfish and self-centered and cruel and he’d broken her heart and worse.  She didn’t love him anymore.  She loathed him.

But she couldn’t convince her body to this way of thinking.  Whenever she was around him her body responded as if they’d never broken up.  It responded to the scent of him, to the rich timbre of his voice, and most especially to those dangerous pale-green eyes.  She sighed and willed the swarm of butterflies in her abdomen to be still.  He wasn’t hers anymore and she wasn’t his.  Not really.

“What’s the note say?”  She asked, her voice surprisingly thick and dusky.  She cleared her throat and hoped he hadn’t detected anything incriminating about her tone or her posture or in the depth of her stare.

She couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw his gaze flick up and down her body before he turned his attention to the little note accompanying the champagne and strawberries.  Her breathing was shallow.  Even if he hadn’t looked her over the way he always used to, the way that made her nipples stand on end and a forbidden pulse jump below her navel, even if he hadn’t just done it, her body insisted on reacting as though he had, and Maggie stole an appreciative up-and-down of him while he reached for the note and scanned the message.

He was gorgeous.  She almost resented how good looking he was.  She wished he wasn’t aware of how devastatingly handsome he was.  He’d used his good looks as a tool against her, and against dozens, maybe more than a hundred girls, and she wished that fact could help sure-up her resolve to hate the very sight of him.

“Congratulations Newlyweds—relax, indulge, and enjoy.  Much Love, XO, XO, Mum & Dad.”  Grey sounded apathetic and maybe a little snide as he read it.  He tossed the card back to the tray carelessly.

He grabbed a few strawberries from the crystal goblet and waltzed toward the bathroom.

She blushed.  Holy Mother.  It occurred to her that he might need to use the bathroom, while she was there in the hotel room.  Maybe she would leave, go for a walk, visit the gift shop or something and give him his privacy.  She took a breath and tried to calm herself down, tried to be rational about it.  They were going to be living together after this; was she supposed to leave the house every time he needed to use the restroom?  At that moment the idea didn’t feel so farfetched.

She’d never lived with anyone besides her family.  Her Papa and her little sister.  She’d never lived with a near stranger, nor shared a hotel room with one.

“Do you prefer to shower in the evening or the morning?”  He called, his voice bouncing off the tiled walls and floor of what sounded like a fairly cavernous bathroom.

Her tongue felt sluggish.  “The night.”  She called weakly.  “If that’s alright?”

Her father had always been a morning shower guy so Essie and Maggie had made it a habit to shower at night.

He emerged from the bathroom and peered at the hot tub.  “Fine.”  He said.  “I could use a soak after that drive.”  He said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking pensive.  His eyes flicked up to hers, and he caught her staring.  “I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”  He said in a challenging voice.

“I can find somewhere to go.”  She replied quickly and he rolled his eyes.

“I was just kidding.”  He said irritably and bit into an over-large strawberry.

She hadn’t thought to bring her swimsuit either.  It was January, after all.  And she’d been in something like a mad panic at the thought of being cooped up with Grey somewhere for a week.  For a ‘honeymoon’.  Ay Dios.

“You hungry?”  He asked, strolling toward the mini kitchen and opening an empty refrigerator.

She couldn’t help admiring the way he walked into a space and seemed to own it.  Make it his.  She was still walking as if on eggshells, but he was behaving as if all this was built and appointed solely for his pleasure.  Maybe that attitude was a result of being enormously wealthy.

She felt a little like she ought to be working for him, and she scolded herself for even thinking such a thing.  She was his wife.  Legally she was every bit his equal.  She needed to get used to it, embrace it and come to terms with it for the sake of her child.  What good would it do the baby to grow up feeling as though its’ mother was inferior to its’ rich, handsome, powerful father?  She needed to call on all her inner strength and stand up to him and hold her own.

“I am.”  She answered.  All the nausea of the morning and afternoon had passed and she was quite famished.  “Thanks for the milkshake.”  She added.  It had been just the perfect thing. 

“Don’t mention it.”  He said, his brow drawing together in a brooding expression as he meandered over to an impressive, luxurious desk.

She was thanking him for more than the milkshake, but she didn’t have the courage to say so.  She hoped he could sense it.

He pulled open a handsome leather-bound volume and scanned a few pages.  “Pretty comprehensive menu, are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

Maggie felt very shy all of a sudden.  And aware that she was alone with him.  In a hotel.  She could kick herself.  What had she thought this would be?  Of course she was alone with him in a hotel.  That’s how this sort of thing worked.

With a deep breath and a firm admonishment to herself not to behave so ridiculously, she strode over to join him at the desk and tilted her head to read the menu with him.

She felt him look at her but she kept her eyes on the menu.  Of course, as long as she felt him staring at her she was unable to actually read the menu.  She gathered that there were salads and soups, and that’s about all she was able to glean, though she thought she did an admirable job of appearing to peruse the menu while he studied her.

No doubt he was trying to get used to her just as she was struggling to acclimate herself to him.  They were stuck together.  Not only for the next seven days, but for the next seven years—unless he broke the contract and the marriage dissolved early.  It would cost him a shocking, devastating amount should that happen.  She hadn’t done it for the money though.  She swallowed, thinking about her reasoning.

She’d wanted to ensure that he participated in raising the child.  That he was there, present, involved.  She wanted her child raised in as stable a home environment as she could manage.  And the only way to get him to commit to that was to threaten extreme monetary and property loss if he broke the contract.

As for the other stipulations.  She felt the hair on the back of her arms lift and her neck tingled.  She didn’t want to be made a public fool of.  She didn’t honestly expect Grey to be faithful to her, abide by vows he neither felt nor believed in, but at least now he’d likely be discreet about his philandering and trysts.  And maybe even think twice about them.

“Nothing looks good?”  He asked, and she realized he was reacting to the gloomy face she had put on at the thought of Grey with other women.  It shouldn’t bother her.  She didn’t love him.  She didn’t expect anything to happen between them any more, he was done with her, and she wasn’t so cruel that she’d deny him seeking physical and maybe even emotional release outside of their marriage of convenience.

She forced her face into a bland expression.  “Actually so much of it looks delicious, I’m having trouble deciding.”  She lied.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her.  She thought he could tell.  Tell that she was lying.  But he held his tongue and glanced back at the menu.  “Shall I order for both of us?”

She bit her lip.  It was the same thing he’d always ask when he took her out to eat.  He was very skillful at it.  Never once had he ordered something she didn’t thoroughly enjoy.  Something twitched and ached in her chest at the memories. 

“Thank you.”  She said and moved away from the desk before he could read any deeper into her.  He was too good at that, or maybe she was too easy to read.  Either way it left her feeling vulnerable and silly and very like a foolish little girl.  Especially because he was so unfathomable to her.

How could a man so effectively fake love and romance?  What kind of person is capable of that?  She shivered and wandered off toward the bathroom, curious about the accommodations. 

She flicked on the light and gaped.  It was grand.  All soft sandy beige and white, it was soothing and felt very like Maggie would imagine a spa might feel.  She’d never been to one, but this looked like the exotic spas she’d seen on commercials and on the home and garden channel.  The tub was enormous, most definitely built for two.  And there was a separate shower, with multiple shower heads, and this too was built for a couple.  There was room enough for an upholsterd bench, and there was an abundance of clean, fluffy white towels, and so many complimentary toiletries!

She heard his voice rumbling low and commanding and knew he must be placing their room service order.  She couldn’t make out the words, but she thought she’d rather be surprised anyhow. 

Looking in the mirror she sighed.  She looked tired, and tense, and her garment was wrinkled from the long ride.  She gazed at her figure in the red dress she’d borrowed.  While she felt bloated and uncomfortable and poured-into the dress, she was rather pleasantly surprised to see that she didn’t look as awful as she felt in it.  It certainly showed her breasts to advantage.  No wonder her father had scowled at the sight of her.  And despite feeling like her late first-trimester belly was obvious, in this dress she looked trim and slim and it certainly flattered. 

She thought about the very skinny, very pert teenage girl at the smoothie place and scowled.  Was that Grey’s type?  If that girl was over fifteen she certainly hadn’t looked it.  And she’d looked so, so, cheap and inappropriate.  Was that the sort of girl he wanted?

“Should be up in about a half-hour to forty-five.”  He said, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.  “Do you need me to run and get something from the gift shop to tide you over?”

She already felt fat.  She glowered at him.  “I’ll try not to eat the furniture before the food gets here.” She snapped.

He blinked.  “I didn’t—“  He stopped.  “All you’ve had today is a milkshake.”

She took a slow, deep breath, held it, and then let it out just as slowly.  “I’m sorry.”  It was a struggle to say it, but she forced herself to do it. 

His lips twitched into a hint of a smile.  “I could use a candy bar.”  He said decisively.  “I’m gunna run down and get some things.”

He’d hesitated in the doorway for a moment more before disappearing out into the main body of the suite.  “Be right back.” He called.  She closed her eyes and held onto the sink until she’d heard the door to the room open and click closed again.

Then, when she was sure he’d gone, she let herself sink to the stone tiled floor of that beautiful bathroom, and she burst into tears.

Hi!

Oh man! I am typing on my new\recycled\re-purposed laptop! it is aaron's old laptop, a giant mother of an hp, in shiny 'piano black' finish, with a 17" screen for added movie viewing pleasure!

It's taking some getting used to as far as the keyboard and mousepad go (so expect an up-tick in typos my friends0, but the operating system and all the otherstuff is ALL MINE! aaron switched out the harddrive so everything looks like my lappy, just on this big ole lappy.

So the vintage porn and right where i left them. and I'm sitting wherever i damn well please, too! Woot for laptops. Andrea? Get one. Danielle? get one of your own. Heart lappys.

Also, TGI muthafucking F right? this week has felt excruciatingly long for some reason, and next week promises to feel even fucking longer because it is show week for act one scene 1. Yuppers.

more on that at some other point in time maybe.

For now Io simply want to glory in my newly restored normalcy. did you know woodrow wilson made that word up? yeah. the correct word in Normality, but he was grooving on 'normalcy' in some speech he needed to give so he said it and it seems to have gone over like gangbusters, cuz that's what folks say. so thanks Woody. You're no shakespeare, but hey, it's a damn sight better'n "Strategery".

You might have noticed I'm having trouble hitting the shift key in time to capitalize things. I'll work on that. Especially because microsoft word doesn't catch certain character names when they are not capitalized. Velvet, Grey, and Viola are all words as well as names.

Well. I stood for hours in a rainy lake today. I'm tired. I am eager to write, ready to relax and make some goddamn sangria for the weekend. So peace out my lovelies. thanks for being awesome sauce.

OH! and what shall i name the new lappy? It doesn't feel right to call it Lappy. lemme know if you has ideaz.

ciao.

The Brother

Let us see if my formatting stays put or goes kaplooey.  This is a scene from Townhouse with the Yellow Door. 

******************

Velvet kept waiting for Jonah’s brother to get the hint and go to bed. She wanted to be alone with her rescuer, her hero, the man who’d held her and stood by her and been there for her when her world had crumbled to bits that afternoon.

But Nolan Delaney seemed to be entirely too convivial, or too thick-headed, or too deliberately stubborn to get the hint and leave the two would-be lovers to their own devices. He stayed with them through dinner, and afterward he’d offered to clean up so she and Jonah had stolen some time alone on the back patio, but all the while they were reminded of his brother’s presence but the sounds of him cleaning, whistling or humming to himself just inside the door.

Then he’d joined them on the back patio and there they still were, at midnight, each party seeming to be attempting to outlast the other.

What was the man’s problem? She could sense, despite his warmth and hospitality, that he wasn’t crazy about her, but what had she done to offend him? He hardly knew her at all! And she’d been a sweetheart to him since the moment they’d met. Why was he insisting on being so damned protective of Jonah?

The brothers were laughing about some little joke and she smiled, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what story they’d just been telling, and the thought struck her that maybe Nolan wasn’t being protective, maybe he was actually a rival for her interest.

She peered at him curiously. Well why not? She was surprised she hadn’t thought of that possibility earlier. He was charming, good-looking, warm, funny, had a great body… And he was actually a couple years closer to her age than Jonah. Maybe he was interested in her? He’d been incredibly helpful, going out on limb after limb to help her today.

She’d thought he’d done it all for his brother, they seemed to be best friends, but she knew from movies and TV that best friends and brothers very often find themselves in competition for the same woman.

How had she not seen it?

He noticed her curious stare and gave her a small, self-conscious smile. She didn’t know quite what to do so she smiled in return and fluttered her eyelashes.

His smile slipped just a fraction, and the muscles around his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Jonah?” She asked sweetly, interrupting something he was saying.

He halted in mid sentence and looked at her, all earnestness. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, though she felt Nolan’s eyes on her. “May I have a tea?”

“I’ll get it—“ Nolan stood.

“No, let me, I’d be glad to get it.” Jonah squeezed the hand he’d been holding, flashed her a very adoring smile and headed for the kitchen. “Keep our guest company?”

Nolan chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

She held Nolan’s eyes with hers until Jonah had stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. The poor man probably had to use the restroom while he was in there, he’d been almost super-human in his unswerving devotion to her every need throughout the day, very rarely leaving her side for anything. He’d relaxed a lot since they’d gone back to his place, but he still seemed to want to be glued to her side.

Suddenly without him there she felt very adrift. Without her hand in his, a place it had fit so naturally and so readily, she felt somewhat lost.

She looked deep into Nolan’s blue-gray eyes for mooring, but found nothing but turbulent seas. Where Jonah was easy to read, his heart openly viewable right in his brilliant purple eyes, Nolan, in that moment, reminded her a little bit of her husband. His eyes held secrets and the secrets were locked away from her curious eyes.

She fluttered her eyelashes again and sighed softly.

“You must be tired.” He told her, his tone perfectly friendly. “It’s been quite a long day.”

She frowned. “Thank you again. For everything.” She swallowed and he gave her a sad sort of smile and a shrug. “You’ve been amazing.”

“Don’t mention it.” He said warmly. “I’d do it all over again.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “You care for him a great deal.”

“He’s my best friend.” Nolan answered readily.

They looked at eachother for a very long time. She listened to the soft sounds of Jonah setting out mugs and maybe rustling up the sugar bowl, and fetching spoons, and digging through what sounded like a mostly empty tin.

“Are you seeing anyone, Nolan?” She asked, her voice like satin.

His eyebrows flickered and then his face was bland. “Not at present.” He answered repressively.

She stared at him openly and he allowed it, even stared back. They looked each other over, neither bothering to conceal the mutual appraisal. She remembered, with some heat on her cheeks, that she was heavily pregnant. He didn’t seem put-off by it, but neither did he seem to find her as radiant and goddess-like as his brother obviously did.

“Do you want my brother?” He asked her bluntly.

“Yes.” She replied, before she could formulate a more artful response.

He nodded. “He believes he loves you.” Nolan remarked quietly, staring her down, unblinking.

Her heart flipped and she felt like she was smiling with her whole body. Loved her?! Her pulse skipped and her breath caught in her throat. Had he told his brother that? Would he tell her? When? And How? Because she was already crazy about him, and love? Love?! Velvet couldn't contain her grin.

Then she noticed his stern expression. “And you?”

He blinked and put his hands in his pockets. “He’s my best friend.” Nolan replied. “He’s my brother.” He narrowed his eyes at her and then looked very sad. “He’s not a re-bound guy.” He added quietly.

Velvet blushed from her scalp to her toes. “I know that.” She said earnestly. The back of her neck tingled, and her fingertips itched and she wished he would stop looking at her. She was embarrassed that she’d tried flirting with him just then. If he wasn’t sure about her before, now he really had reason to doubt her and think the worst of her.

“I know you must be confused—“ He began.

“I’m not confused.” She insisted, using the strongest, most commanding voice she possessed. She sounded like her mother, and that made her grimace.

“Then you know exactly what you’re doing?” He asked, a steely edge to his otherwise casual tone.

She stared at him, her eyes begging him to understand. “No.” She confessed, feeling suddenly much younger than Nolan. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Nolan’s lips lifted fractionally. “I believe in it for some.” He answered diplomatically.

She smiled in relief. He was carefully revealing that he recognized what a romantic his brother could be. And that his brother definitely believed in love at first sight. She felt giddy. “Well, I fell in love with your brother the minute I looked into his eyes.” She said quietly but firmly.

Nolan’s brow wrinkled but he looked bemused. “Yeah.” He said. “Jones can have that effect on people.”

Velvet blinked, her smile evaporating. “What?”

The door opened, startling both of them fractionally and Jonah poked his head out of the kitchen door with a chipper unawareness “How do you take it?” He asked her.

“Light and sweet.” She replied, unable to look at him. Her heart was pounding uncomfortably in her chest. She’d fallen in love with Vaughan Grey upon their first meeting as well. Maybe this was all moving too fast? Maybe Jonah, for all he appeared sweet and good and honest, maybe he wasn’t so different? Maybe all men were awful?

“Nole? You want something?” She loved the sound of his voice though. Deep but not rough. Manly but not macho.

“Coffee.”

Velvet tisked softly. Why wouldn’t this guy go to bed already?

“K. Be back in a few.” Jonah said cheerfully. But he didn’t go anywhere right away. “Everything, everything ok? Out here?”

Velvet laughed lightly. “Everything is wonderful.” She asserted in a sweet, liquid tone, and finally managed to lift her eyes to his. She smiled, and watched his concern evaporate. When he smiled back her false smile transformed into a genuine one. He was so handsome and true and good. Any doubts his brother’s comment had engendered were summarily dismissed. This was a good man. And he loved her?! She wanted to kiss him. To go to him and melt into his embrace and shut the rest of the world out.

The ferocity of her feelings startled her.

“Just telling her embarrassing stories about you.” Said Nolan blithely, snapping the two romantics out of their smiling reverie.

Jonah laughed. “Don’t you dare.” He warned playfully. “Be right back.”

Velvet sighed happily as the door closed. “Have you two ever been interested in the same woman?” She asked the loaded question simply, without guile or agenda.

“Never.” Nolan responded after only a moment’s hesitation.

“That he was aware of.” She said shrewdly. She flicked her eyes to his and his expression was unreadable.

“Well we both had a thing for Princess Leia…” He said with a handsome smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “In the end we decided she was more his type than mine.”

“And what’s your type?” She asked, her voice very low.

“Girls who aren’t in love with someone else.” He said baldly.

She flushed again. “You’re a good brother.” She mumbled, looking at her hands. Her enormous engagement ring glittered and flashed, despite the cloaking darkness of the summer night.

“I try.” He said kindly.

“Why are you still up?” She was tired of politely trying to hint.

He chuckled. “Jiminy Cricket.” He answered and she could hear his wide smile.

“For him? Or Me?” She kept her eyes on the ring. The ring that meant nothing. The ring she'd picked out and purchased and slid onto her own finger after Vaughan had indicated that they should marry.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not glad to have you here.” He said. “I’d much rather you were here than—“ He stopped himself and she looked up, curious. Nolan Delaney didn’t seem the type to ever misspeak or bungle his words.

“Than at home with my sonofabitch husband?” She asked, unable and unwilling to mask the bitter, raw pain she felt.

He nodded. “I’m sure Jones has covered this already, but the guy doesn’t deserve you.”

She nodded back. “He’s mentioned once or twice.”

Nolan laughed fondly. “You know you’re welcome here as long as you want.”

Her brow furrowed. Jonah had said that, but somehow it meant more coming from his brother. The man who would be most likely to be displaced and put-out by her continued presence. They stared at eachother in silence for several full moments. She’d only just met the Delaney brothers that afternoon. She didn’t know them at all. And yet somehow she got the sense that she’d always known them. Was she crazy? With a light sigh she rested both hands on her enormous belly and gave Nolan a soft smile.

He glanced at where her hands rested before meeting her eyes again. “As long as you want, and as long as you need.” He stressed, with a warmth and compassion in his voice that made tears spring to her eyes.

“Your parents raised good men.” She whispered.

He looked faintly embarrassed and cast his eyes to the heavens above them. “I guess that’s why I’m out here playing Jiminy Cricket. And that’s why I need you to be understanding when Jones tells you he’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Her lips parted and her eyes widened. “On the—“

Nolan nodded solemnly, gazing up at the constellations and maybe a passing plane. “You’re a married woman.” He said sympathetically, but communicating an implied ultimatum. “And you only just met.”

She felt ashamed. And dirty. And cheap. She knew he hadn’t intended to make her feel like that, but suddenly she felt unworthy and sordid. “I understand.” She said weakly, feeling very much like she’d rather disappear than face Jonah again.

“Love at first sight or not,” Nolan warned, “He’s not a re-bound guy.” He looked at her and held her eyes. “The guy is the real-deal. Once in a lifetime.”

A tear spilled and her throat felt tight. She knew it. Even without being told, she knew all that.

“I know my brother, and he’s ready to defend you and support you and protect you and make you his whole world.” Her eyes got wide but his face stayed passive. “Unless you’re prepared for all that, I think the sooner you let him know the better. For both your sakes.”

“You think I’ll hurt him?” She couldn’t believe she’d had the courage to ask it, because she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to hear his answer.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person. I don’t believe you’ll cause him any pain intentionally.”

“But?”

Nolan sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “But you’re married. And expecting another man’s child. And it’s complicated. And people make mistakes; and people get confused; and people can cause a lot of damage with the best of intentions.”

Velvet smiled, even as a second tear rolled down her cheek after the first. “You make me wish I had a brother.”

Nolan chuckled. “You want your very own pain in the ass?”

She laughed just a little. “I wonder where I’d be today if I had someone looking out for me the way you look out for him.”

The man blinked. “I’m looking out for you too.” He said, his face washed in concern.

She raised her eyebrows and wiped the wetness from her cheek. “Really?”

Nolan looked grim. “Really.” He asserted. “You want my brotherly advice?”

She snorted. “Ok.” She indulged.

“File papers tomorrow before that filthy bastard has a chance to charm you with an apology or an excuse or anything else.” Velvet’s jaw dropped. “I know you love him, obviously, how could you not? Love doesn’t just stop the minute someone betrays you, but Velvet—“ She startled at the strength and sharpness of his tone. “He doesn’t. deserve you.” His face softened a bit. “And you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

She looked away, out over their tiny back yard.

“Do it not only for your sake, but for that baby.” His voice was achingly gentle now and she bit her lip hard to hold back the sob that was swelling in her throat. It had been a really, really long, surreal, eventful day. She was tired.

She wrapped her arms around her belly protectively.

“Do you want your child raised by a man like that?” Nolan asked carefully.

She glowered at the soccer net they had set up in the corner near the tall stockade fence. She shook her head. No. She didn’t want her son raised by Vaughan Grey. Not anymore. The sob tore from her throat and she pressed the fingers of her right hand to her mouth to staunch the flow of more miserable sounds.

“I’m sorry.” Nolan rushed, standing.

She shook her head rapidly, but didn’t dare try to speak. She refused to burst out into tears and sobs again. Not again today.

“I shouldn’t have, I went too far, I’m. Shit. I’m sorry.” He sounded rattled and desperate and she felt a surge of affection for the man. The poor guy who’d risen to his feet but then seemed at a loss for what he should do next. “I told you I was a pain in the ass.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up and she grinned. He laughed too. They smiled at one another, his was cautious and nervous, hers was watery but reassuring.

“You should be a therapist.” She told him, her voice shaky and constricted, but no longer in danger of breaking down into a blubbering mess.

“I’m a bartender. It’s close.”

The kitchen door opened once again and the two shared one last private smile, an understanding struck between them. “Hope you like ice cream.” Jonah announced with a smile.

Nolan, already standing, hurried to the door to help his brother shuttle coffee cups and ice cream sundaes onto the patio. Velvet couldn’t help giggling. She hadn’t had an ice cream sundae in years.

“How is it possible that you two don’t even have milk in the house but you have hot fudge and whipped cream and—maraschino cherries?”

Jonah grinned. “It’s all about priorities.” He asserted, placing her tea on the little table by her deck chair.

“Don’t let him kid you.” Said Nolan wryly. “It’s really because he’s a kinky freak.”

Jonah, who had been smiling fondly at Velvet, dropped his jaw and spun. “Nolan!”

Velvet giggled gaily and Nolan snickered. “In that case I hope you didn’t waste it all on the ice cream!” She teased. And though it was dark, she thought she could see Jonah blushing.