Not Looking for Love: Episode 4 (10 page)

Gran is sitting in one of the armchairs by the window, wrapped in a thick cardigan, her cheeks rosy.

She eyes Scott up and down as I introduce him, and only gives a curt nod by way of a hello.

"What did the doctor say?" I ask, squeezing her hand. Her skin is papery, but her palm is warm and dry.

"I haven't been to a doctor," she says.

"Then how do you know it's cancer?" I ask, my legs cramping from crouching by her chair.

"I just do. A person knows such things," she says, looking out the window, her hand limp in mine.

"Mom never did," I mutter and release her hand, sitting down on the chair across from her. Scott sits on the armrest, ignoring the dirty look Gran gives him for ruining her furniture.

"Your mother had no reason to be afraid of death," Gran says, her voice sharp as a knife.
 

"But she did," I say, clearing my throat and hoping that will get rid of the tears already balled up there.

"It turned out that way, yes," Gran says and turns to me. "And now we all wish we spent more time with her."

Her words take my voice, and if I say anything now I'll just start crying and never stop.

Scott's hand is on my shoulder, and I lean against his side. Gran's eyes are traveling from him to me, and back.

"And what are your plans with my granddaughter?" she finally asks, and Scott tenses.

"I thought we'd have some dinner later, maybe catch a movie," he says.

Gran's jaws drop open, but she regains herself almost immediately. I wish I could do that. "That is not quite what I was asking."

Scott shrugs and points at her blouse. "Did you know your buttons are done up all wrong?"

I should tell him to stop it, but my mouth is just hanging open, and I'm not even thinking of crying anymore.

Gran draws the edges of her cardigan over her chest. "My buttons are just fine."

The haughty heiress is back, and she will never back down.

We stay for a half an hour more, listening to her longwinded tales of how she spends her days here, accusations of how lonely she is thick in the lines between.

"You'll call me after you see the doctor?" I ask later, my hand already on the doorknob.
 

"You could call me yourself sometime," she shoots back and I just nod.

I roll the car window down all the way after we drive away, pushing my face into the wind.

"I know she's your grandma and all," Scott says. "But she was really laying it on thick. I don't think she has cancer."

"But she might. And she is very old," I say, rolling the window back up and wrapping my jacket tight around me. "Grandparents, right?"

He shrugs. "I wouldn't know. I never had any."

I turn to him so sharply a cramp passes through my neck. "What do you mean?"

His eyes meet mine for a second, reflecting the red light we're stopped in front of. "My dad's father died when he was like fourteen, and his mom died a few years later. As for my mom's family and they wanted nothing to do with her after she married my dad. The only time I saw them was at her funeral, and I didn't even meet them."

I'm clutching my throat, hoping I won't start crying. "That's so terrible. You never met them? Why?"

"They're from Portland, for one thing. And her father was some rich snobby doctor, who wanted her to marry someone else," Scott explains, his eyes finally meeting mine for a moment. "It doesn't really matter, Gail. I'm over it."

I run my palm over his thigh. "I'm sorry anyway. But at least you have a big family still."

He chuckles and turns up the radio, and I'm not sure why, but I feel like I've just said the stupidest thing ever.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" I ask the next morning as we're lying in bed, sweat cooling on my back. I can still feel him deep inside me, even though it's all over, for now.

"We're having dinner at like six, but I could be done by eight," he says, pulling me closer. "You?"

"Can I come?" I ask.

"What?" he says, but I know he heard me.

"Can I come to your house for Thanksgiving dinner?" I repeat rising so I can look at him.

His arm leaves my side and he flips over so he's facing me. "That's not such a good idea. Aren't you going to spend it with your family?"

 
"My dad's out of town, so I'm kind of on my own," I say, terror consuming my mind. I've never been alone on Thanksgiving before. "Please?"

"You don't wanna come to my house," he says, like that settles everything.

"Yes, I do. I'd like to meet your family," I say. "I could even help cook. Who's making the turkey anyway? Janine's mom?"
 

"No, Janine and Ava are out of town, visiting some aunt. My brother Andrew's doing the cooking, I guess, and his girlfriend Tina," he says, looking at me like I just broke the worst news ever to him.
 

"Or we could have dinner just the two of us," I offer, thinking maybe I shouldn't be pushing him so hard.

"No, I can't miss it. My dad's all about these family traditions," he says and lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. "I guess you can come, if you have nowhere else to go."

I run my hand up across his stomach, and back down. I could just do that all day. He's hard again, and I'm still wet. Sore too, but not much. My stomach is already coiling, heat rising in anticipation.

I slide my fingers over his erection, eliciting a sigh, which becomes a gasp as I take his nipple between my teeth. I take his cock in my palm, rubbing my hand up and down and I could just do this all day too.
 

"We're out of condoms," he mutters.

I release his nipple and kiss his neck softly, still gripping his cock. "It doesn't matter. I'm on the pill."

"Yeah, so you say," he says.
 

"It's true, I swear," I say and smile, but it doesn't transfer to his face.
 

"Fine," I mutter and rub my hand over his cock again. "We don't have to go all the way."

Which finally makes him smile. His fingers find my clit, and I push against his hand, stroking his cock faster. He's tracing the path over my opening, but not entering me.

"There's always anal," he says grinning at me.

My hand freezes on his cock. There's no way, I would die from the pain.
 

"Maybe when slutty Gail comes back, right?"

His fingers are resting right between my two holes, burning.

"I'm not a slut," I manage.

"Sorry," he says and brushes his fingers back across my clit. "I just thought maybe I'd ask. No pressure."

 
I release him and move away from his hand. "You think I'm a slut?"

"Oh, Gail, come on," he says and moves closer to me. "I was just kidding."

He tries to wrap his arm around me but I smack it away. "I didn't think it was funny."

"Yeah, I see that," he says. "I don't think you're a slut. Come back over here."

I roll over on my side and close my eyes. The way I chased him, threw myself at him, will never stop following me, never be forgotten. I close my eyes tight to stop the tears from flowing. When I wake up, the sky outside is dark grey and Scott's gone.

I take a long hot shower and stay up, flipping through the channels with nothing really registering, until past midnight. I'd go home, really I would, if only my house wasn't so empty and quiet.

He doesn't come home until much later, but by then I'm already pretending to be asleep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Scott tells me as soon as I wake up the next morning. "I really don't think you're a slut."

His eyes are a perfect forget-me-not blue, and I can't find any anger at him.

"It's not you. I overreacted. Again," I whisper, my voice thick with sleep. "Where did you go last night?"

"Out." Shadows gather in his eyes and I close mine, not wanting to see. It doesn't matter. He can have his secrets, they don't touch us.

"Did you remember to get condoms?" I ask, belying all that about me not being a slut.

He laughs and I open my eyes again, thinking it's probably safe now. "I did."

I'd give much to feel him inside me without any rubber separating us, but his stomach rubbing against mine, and his hands caressing my breasts will have to do for now. His hand slides down my panties, his fingers hot and dry against my clit. I wriggle my hips around, already imagining how he'll feel inside me.

"You know, you're just not wet enough," he whispers into my ear, kissing my neck, then throws off the blanket, sliding down on the bed, his breath fiery against my tender flesh.

I help him pull my panties down, throw my head back as his tongue grazes my clit. My mind is numb, all that exists the wet hotness building between my legs, flames kindled by his soft licks. I reach out blindly, groping for him, searching for his cock. It throbs in my hand when I finally find it, his heartbeat matching my own racing heart.
 

"Put it in," I croak, because I'm so close he might not get to later. He needs little more encouragement.

My mind is still numb, and I'm still half asleep. His cock thrusting into me is opening the door back into dreamland, the bed soft as clouds beneath me. I'm floating, the waves upon waves coursing through me the only thing real. I feel him come inside the condom, heat spreading down, so close, yet locked behind the rubber barrier. I buck up and imagine the waves overflowing. The explosion is smaller than usual, but it fills my whole body, my whole mind, lasts forever, like a twenty foot wave that won't ever crash and dissolve.

"I don't have anything to wear," I say later, when I wake up at three. "Can we go to my house first?"

He's already dressed, drinking a coffee by the kitchen table. "I guess. But are you sure you want to come?"

I wrap the blanket around me and walk over to him, taking a sip of his coffee. It's cold and bitter. "Yes. And we should go now, so I can get ready."

Half an hour later we're standing in my living room, the silence not so terrible now.

"I'll just be a second," I say and head for the stairs.
 

"Mind if I have a drink?" he calls after me, and I tell him to help himself.

I take a shower, then try on five outfits, before finally setting on a shimmery black turtleneck, my pencil skirt and a pair of knee high boots.
 

"Will you be much longer?" Scott asks, just as I'm curling my hair. He's standing in the doorway, clutching a half empty glass of whiskey.

"No, I'm almost done."

"That's what you're wearing?" he asks, and I feel his gaze warming the back of my thighs.

I straighten up and unplug the curling iron. "Yes, why? You don't like it?"

He grins and finishes off his drink. "I like it. Just hurry up, we have to go."

I chase him back down, because I can't concentrate on applying eyeliner with him staring at me, sending tingles all across my body.

"You have a really nice house," he says meeting my eyes in the reflection in the French window when I come down. His glass is nearly full again. "And that garden. It's huge."

"It's pretty big, yeah. Should we go?"

He finishes his drink in a single swallow, and I take the car keys from him. He tells me to park in front of his house though, saying it's not too much of a walk.
 

"So, it's just going to be your family there then?" I ask, my teeth gritted to keep them from chattering. "Your dad and your brothers?"

"Yeah," Scott says. I wish he'd put his arm around me, but he's walking a few steps in front of me. "And Andrew's girlfriend Tina, like I told you. I don't know if Mike's bringing anyone."

Kate's in Long Island, she called me last night, so I'm pretty sure Mike'll be alone. But I don't say it.

"Can't wait to meet them," I say instead.
 

"Just don't expect too much." Something about the way he says it makes my stomach clench, and not just from nerves. I'm seriously considering cancelling, but it's too late now and I can't afford to do any more insane things in front of Scott.

My thighs are frozen to the bone before we finally reach his dad's house, which is just like every other on the street, with a wide porch and not much of a front lawn. The light over the door reveals chipping white paint.
 

"You grew up here?" I ask, because I don't really feel him beside me and I need to hear his voice. "It's nice."

"Sure," he says, and steps onto the porch, holding the front door open for me.

The house smells like turkey and cranberry sauce. The front door opens into a wide hallway leading to a set of dark stairs, with doors opening into the other parts of the house.

"Scott, is that you?" a woman yells. "We're in the kitchen."

Scott takes my jacket and dumps it on a rack by the door. A short, curly haired woman is smiling at me from a doorway to my left.

"And you must be Gail," she says and takes a step toward me, extending her right hand. "I'm Tina."

The man I saw at the cemetery with Scott that first time appears behind her. He's wearing glasses, and his shaved head is reflecting the kitchen light. Tina steps out of the way. "Andrew," he says and shakes my hand firmly. He looks older than Scott, lines already edged into the skin around his eyes.
 

Andrew is the spitting image of Scott's dad, except that the latter still has his hair, and is much thinner. He gets up from the kitchen table and shakes my hand too, smiling wide. "Nice to finally meet you, Gail."

I smile back and tell him likewise, fighting the urge to look at Scott, though I feel his eyes piercing the side of my face. His dad is taller than me, and nearly as thin. Neither him nor Andrew look like Scott, and they're both shorter.
 

Tina asks me what I want to drink, and Andrew's by the counter, mashing up the potatoes. My heartbeat slows in my chest, my anxiety evaporating. They're all so friendly, and I don't feel like a stranger at all.
 

"And where's Mike?" I ask as Tina hands me a glass of wine.

Scott's grabbing a beer from the fridge. "It's only like five after six. And Mike's always at least half an hour late for family functions."