I practically skipped down Joe's front steps, then just about fell on my ass as my booted feet slipped and slid in the new-fallen snow. I grabbed the railing to steady myself and laughed. I was euphoric. At that point, I would have laughed at anything. For the first time in a lot of years, I felt at peace. Happy. No second-guessing myself, no on again, off again. I knew with absolute certainty that I was making the right decision. I peeked at Joe through my lashes as he struggled with the sticky lock on the front door, and imagined how many times I would see him just that way over the years.
"What?" He shot me an exasperated look.
"Just enjoying the view," I grinned.
"Well, okay then." He grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me down off the bottom step. I wrapped my arm around his waist as his arm came around my shoulder and we started off down the driveway. It felt so easy, so natural, so innately right to be wrapped in the shelter of his arm like this. I sighed, then glanced down at my car.
Uh oh.
Not such a good idea. I felt my euphoria evaporate. The door still stood open, but my headlights were giving off a faint orangey-brown glow. Not good. And I was parked squarely behind Joe's Explorer.
"Uh, Joe?"
Joe turned to look at the car, and started to laugh.
"It's not funny!" I exclaimed, and went to smack him on the arm.
He caught my hand easily, then brought it to his mouth and kissed the tips of my fingers. I could still feel him smiling against my fingers. "Yeah, it is."
I sighed in resignation. "Okay, it's funny. But I was in a hurry," I explained.
I could see Joe's eyes darken, even in the dim light of the street lamps. "Yeah, you were." He gathered me close. "Thank God." He kissed me on the temple, then captured my hand with his. "Come on. We'll walk." He made a quick stop to shut off my diminished headlights. He stuffed my keys in his front pocket, and locked and closed the door, ignoring the snow that had drifted onto the car seat.
"Joe, we are going to be so late," I protested. "I'm sor—"
Joe stopped my protests with a kiss. "No apologies. We start from now, okay?" He looked so intent, so sincere, so inherently Joe that I started to tear up. I swallowed and just nodded, not trusting my voice.
Joe nodded once, then started off at a brisk pace toward the church.
"We're never going to make it," I warned.
"Oh, ye of little faith," quipped Joe. "This is the season for miracles, Cupcake. Don't you believe?"
"In miracles?" I wrinkled my nose at him.
"I believe," he said.
"Yeah?" I scoffed.
"Yeah," he said. "I opened my door on Christmas Eve, and you fell into my arms. Now you're wearing my ring." He shrugged, and I loved the way the leather bunched around his shoulders in the moonlight. "Me and God, we're tight." He gave me a wink, but he was part serious too.
"Well, okay then," I snuggled up next to him and walked faster. "Let's get to mass, because not even God can save you from the wrath of your mother if you stand her up."
He looked pained, "You know it, Cupcake. Get a move on…" We started running, slipping and sliding through the snow, and laughing like a couple of kids. And Joe was right, we were the last ones into the vestibule before they shut the doors. We were out of breath and red-faced from the cold, but Joe had never looked more handsome to me. He quickly dipped his fingers into the bowl of holy water and sketched the sign of the cross, then moved out of the way so I could do the same. I pulled off my hat and stuffed it unceremoniously into the pocket of my coat. Joe hadn't bothered with a hat, and I could see the snowflakes melting in his hair before he ran impatient fingers through it. I smiled and smoothed down the unruly locks in the back. He grinned over his shoulder and reached back to take my hand, pulling me behind him as he went up the aisle.
Joe had spotted his mother and Grandma Bella in the center section, about halfway to the altar and towed me along behind him. I looked frantically around for my family, wanting to at least give them a wave, but instead my eye was caught and held by the young woman Joe had been with in the park today. He breezed past her, obviously not even seeing her there on the end of one of the side pews, and her face fell when she noticed the possessive way Joe held on to me. Joe pulled me along behind him as he settled into place beside his mother and kissed her cheek, but I couldn't stop looking at the woman with the long, dark hair. She looked so bereft and sad. I closed my eyes in sympathy. Chalk up another victim to Hurricane Stephanie, I thought. That poor woman hadn't done anything except fall for Joe, and I couldn't fault her for that. She might be my latest hapless victim, but I vowed she would also be my last. I hated it that someone innocent had been hurt by my actions. Joe followed the line of my sight, and mouthed an almost silent, "Shit."
His mother and I both elbowed him at the same time and whispered in unison, "Don't swear in church!" He rolled his eyes heavenward, and slid his right arm possessively around my shoulder. His left hand reached over and captured mine, and he absently toyed with the ring he had placed on my finger before we left the house. It caught the candlelight and winked conspirationally at us. I smiled and leaned over close to his ear. "It's like our own Christmas star," I whispered. "It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful," he responded without hesitation, and brought my fingers to his lips for a quick kiss. I smiled. I probably looked like a sap, but I didn't care. I peeked over Joe's shoulder to see if I could spot my parents or Grandma Mazur. My eyes slid over the crowd, and finally located my father by his height. Half a dozen rows back and more toward the center than the Morellis, I caught my father's eye and waved. He nudged my mother and pointed in my direction. Here eyes widened, and she pointed out the seat she had saved for me. I sent her a big smile, and flashed my ring in her direction, inclining my head toward Joe. Her eyes got huge, and both hands came up to cover her mouth. I laughed quietly at her reaction. Poor Mom. She'd waited forever for this, and now here she was stuck in church on Christmas Eve and not able to move.
Not so MaryLou. I heard a poorly muffled squeal, and then a huge commotion from the row behind us as MaryLou began unceremoniously clambering over any and everyone in her way. She knocked over Mr. Markowitz's cane and practically sat on top of Marlene from the Cut N Curl, then threw herself at me and squeezed the air out of my lungs. "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered. MaryLou never could whisper, even when we were kids, and her voice carried easily over the top of the music. I shrugged, and tried to shush her, but it was hopeless. "When did you get engaged?" she demanded.
"Jeez, MaryLou, give it a rest. We got engaged like twenty minutes ago, okay? You didn't miss anything. Get back over there with Lenny and we'll talk to you after." Joe was turning a little pink around the ears, and everyone within earshot was unashamedly eavesdropping. Mrs. Morelli was looking daggers at Joe, and I edged in front of him.
"And when were you planning on telling your mother, Joseph?" Oh, boy. First of all, she was using his full name, and second of all, she was referring to herself in the third person. In my experience, when it comes to mothers, that's not good. I squeezed a little closer in front of Joe to protect him from his mother's wrath.
"Really, Mrs. Morelli," I explained. "It happened really fast. We got engaged, and came right here to tell you." I smiled ingratiatingly and hoped for the best. We were in church, and Angie Morelli was a devout woman. If she was going to kill me, I didn't think she would do it on holy ground.
Her brown eyes shot over to me, then suddenly filled with tears. "My Joseph's getting married," she exclaimed. She leaned over to pinch his cheek, and if it left a little bit of a red mark, all things considered it could have been a lot worse.
Grandma Bella leaned around Mrs. Morelli. "I see children," she started, her wrinkled old face looked truly frightening in the exaggerated shadows of the candle light.
"Yes, I know," I interrupted. "A girl first, and then a boy. I've seen them, too."
Bella goggled at me, then smiled beatifically. "Just so," she said, and subsided into the pew.
The procession began then, and we were kept busy answering the priest and doing what MaryLou and I had once termed "Catholic Calisthenics". We knelt and stood at appropriate intervals, and the well-remembered words tumbled over me as I sat in the church pew so close to Joseph. I have to admit that my mind wasn't on the liturgy, but sitting next to Joe in the church where we'd both made First Communion and attended mass on high holy days felt innately right. A young mother jiggled a small baby a few rows in front of us, then settled him up on her shoulder. His bright blue eyes looked around the dimly lit church in wonder, then settled on me. I smiled at him, and gave him a tiny wave, and he rewarded me with a big, toothless grin. I chuckled quietly in response, and ran my hand down my still-flat stomach. Next year, I thought dreamily.
Joe leaned down toward me. "What?" he asked.
I inclined my head toward the still-grinning baby. "Next year," I whispered, aloud this time. "Next year, that will be us."
He nodded solemnly and looked down at me with his heart in his eyes. We both teared up, just a little bit, and he squeezed my hand. "Can't wait," he said quietly.
"Me, neither." I squeezed my eyes shut and categorically refused to think about making babies with Joe. I was in church, for God's sake. God would strike me dead, I knew He would. Think about trees, Stephanie. No, that wouldn't work. Trees were too phallic. Watermelons, then. Think about watermelons. I bet I'd look like I'd swallowed a watermelon when I was pregnant with Joe's baby. No watermelons. Cars. Think about cars. Yeah, right. All I could remember was Joe in the backseat of Uncle Sandor's Buick. Please, God, help me out here, I prayed.
Finally, the priest dismissed us with a blessing, and we began to file out of the pews. Okay, that would work. Since I obviously couldn't control my errant thoughts, God would just end church. I wasn't going to quibble.
The church was crowded, and the aisles were choked with people. Unfortunately, I lack Joe's people-moving skills, and I was leading the way out of the pew, and not very effectively. Suddenly, I found myself nose to nose with the woman from the park. "Excuse me," I said, ineffectually.
"Hello, Joe," she said quietly, looking over my shoulder, her eyes never wavering from Joe's face.
"Hello, Kathleen." He gestured toward me. "I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Stephanie." Her eyes widened at the word, and her eyes grew moist, but I'll give her credit. She didn't let the tears fall.
"It's nice to meet you, Kathleen. Joe's said wonderful things about you," I lied. I wanted to give her a chance to collect herself.
"Has he?" she asked, disbelieving. "Well, congratulations to you both."
"Thank you," Joe said quietly.
"If you'll excuse me, I need to go," she was desperately trying to get away before she lost it in front of us, I could tell.
"Of course," I replied. "Joe, why don't we wait until things are less crowded, since we're in no hurry?" Joe looked at me like worms were crawling out of my ears. I knew darn good and well I wasn't the only one anxious to get home from mass, but we needed to give Kathleen a little space. I nudged him and gave him a significant look.
"Of course," he murmured, and led me back into a random pew. Kathleen turned away and began making a path to the door. Her shoulders were sagging and I could tell she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.
"I hate that," said Joe, looking after her.
"Me, too," I replied.
"She's a nice woman," Joe explained, and I nodded agreement. She would be. "I didn't mean to hurt her like this."
"I know, Joe. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine," I sighed.
Joe shook his head. "It's not anybody's fault, Stephanie," he said seriously. "It just happens sometimes. I refuse to feel guilty because the woman I love came back into my life."
"I love you, Joe." I couldn't remember if I'd told him that tonight in all the excitement. It's funny how easily the words slipped out now.
"Love you too, Cupcake." He looked around the thinning crowd. "Let's get out of here," he growled, and treated me to a lecherous look.
I was still laughing when he helped me into my coat and I pulled my pocket. He settled my hat atop my unruly curls, and grabbed my hand as we made for the vestibule doors.
"There you are!" My mother's voice stopped us cold. Sheesh, how could I have forgotten my own mother? I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. If Joe could get me thinking carnal thoughts in the middle of Christmas Eve mass, thoughts of my poor mother didn't stand a chance. I wanted Joe naked, thank you very much. Right now!
"Stephanie, are you sure you're all right?" Her voice was laced with concern. "You were so upset earlier."
"I'm fine," I answered, and gave her a reassuring smile.
"You're sure?" She was still worried, and I guess my screaming run from the house would have been enough to shake anyone.
"Yes," I answered, hoping if I kept my answers short, Joe and I could make a break for it.
"And you two are really getting married?" She asked, looking from my face to the ring on my finger, and back again.
"Yes," I answered again.
Joe grinned, and I could see the devil dancing behind his eyes. "She's been saying that a lot lately," he joked. I laughed and threw myself into his arms, not even caring that my parents and Grandma Mazur were standing right there. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly, right there on the church steps.
"Well, then," harrumphed my Dad.
Joe turned to meet his eyes, suddenly all serious. "Sir, I love your daughter very much, and I'll do my best to make her happy," he said. My Dad nodded, and they awkwardly shook hands. Then Dad clouted Joe on the shoulder. He hesitated another moment, and wrapped his arms around Joe and they gave each other the patented two-thump man-hug.
"You be good to my girl," my Dad finally said.
"Yes, sir."
"You two need a ride?" That was my Dad, all business.
Joe shook his head. "It's a nice night. We'll walk."
"I'll see you tomorrow," my mother promised, and I nodded my agreement.
"Nice package," whispered my Grandmother. She's from the MaryLou school of whispering, and Joe's ears turned pink.
"I know," I whispered back, just as loud. "And it's all mine!" She cackled merrily and went off with my mother and father, tottering her way to the car.
"And just what are you going to do with your package, little girl," Joe whispered seductively in my ear.
"Oh, I have a LOT of ideas," I murmured against his mouth. I felt Joe stiffen and his eyes grew distant.
"There's a black SUV across the street," he said, completely emotionless.
I shook my head at him. "That's over," I said definitively. I wrapped my hand around his arm and nudged him toward the sidewalk. "Let's go home, Joe." He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.
We didn't speak on the walk back to the row house on Slater Street. We walked in companionable silence, our footsteps muffled by the new-falling snow, and we watched the dance of Christmas and street lights through the gently twirling flakes. Joe shook his head and grinned at my poor, pitiful dead car still blocking his driveway, and I muffled my own laughter against his jacket. He looped his arm around me and swept me into the house, thankfully having no problem with the front door lock this time.
We draped our coats over the hall tree, and I ran my hands over Joe's sweater-covered back. I couldn't keep my hands off him another second. He turned to face me, and the fire in his eyes was nearly my undoing, without him ever laying a single finger on my more than ready body. I growled low in my throat, a primitive, feral sound and launched myself at him.
His mouth felt so ripe, so sweet under my onslaught. I couldn't get enough of him, the heady taste of him filling my head, his tongue stroking along the delicate membranes of my mouth. I whimpered and reached for the snap of his jeans.
He caught my hands. "Wait," he said.
"Why?" Years worth of pent-up frustration came out in a single word.
Joe was breathing heavily through his nose, and obviously trying to get himself back under control. The hell with that—I wanted him out of control! I tried to work my hands free and start touching him again, but he held me fast.
"What's wrong, Joe?" I asked, anxious to get past whatever it was and get on with mind-blowing sex.
"It's Christmas Eve," he bit out.
I gave him a "duh" look.
"It's Christmas Eve, and all the stores are closed, and I haven't got a single condom in the whole goddamn house," he snarled.
I blinked at him. "Is that all?"
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "All? I think it's a pretty fucking big deal!" Poor baby, he was overwrought. I smiled wickedly. That's okay. Stephanie could make it allllll better.
"You know what I think?" I asked in my most seductive whisper. I slowly pulled my sweater over my head. "I think you worry too much." I worked the button loose on the top of my wool trousers, and lowered them down my legs. "I think you need to have a little faith." I carefully stepped out of my trousers and toed off my shoes.
"Faith?" he ground out.
"Mm hmm. In miracles. You said you believed, right?" He nodded slowly, mesmerized, as I unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. "I think we need to make a miracle right now." I leaned forward and kissed him, lots of tongue, and pressed my near-naked body tight against him. "Make a baby in me, Joe. Do it now."
He growled and pulled me down on the rug in front of the fireplace. "And if there's a black SUV parked across the street?"
I pulled his sweater up and over his head, leaving his chest gleaming in the lamplight. "I think voyeurs need to make sure they want to see the show before they start to peep in windows. That's what I think." I finished unsnapping his jeans and worked the denim down past his thighs. He muttered in frustration and quickly stood and divested himself of the rest of his clothes. He stood over me, and I drank in the sight of him, all light and shadow, his body as familiar to me as my own. He reached down a hand, and pulled me to my feet. He fisted his hands deep into my hair, and kissed me with an unleashed savagery. I met him thrust for thrust, licking, biting, sucking—unable to get enough of him. I was starved for the feel of his body under my hands, under my mouth. He snapped the strings of my thong and I felt his throbbing erection burn into my stomach. I half-growled and half-laughed, giddy on the emotion of being at last in Joe's arms, with both of us just a little out of control.
There would be time for niceties later, time for tenderness and slow, leisurely lovemaking, but that time wasn't now. I ached to feel Joe moving inside me, needed him to make me feel complete. I ran my right foot up the outside of his leg, pausing just above his knee to push off slightly and raise myself higher on him. Joe answered by backing me against the wall and wrapping both my legs around his waist. I screamed in satisfaction when I finally felt his massive length slide home in one smooth thrust. I held on for dear life as Joe pounded into me, the tight coil of desire winding tighter and tighter with each slam of his body into my own. He had one arm supporting my hips, but slid the other hand between us, his thumb working its way to the juncture where our bodies met and writhed together. No lazy circles or light strumming, just a hard pounding need, and his wicked fast fingers sent me into a screaming vortex as he thrust one final time, the head of him pressing tight against the opening of my womb.
I felt him start to move away, but I held on insistently with my arms wrapped tight around his neck and my legs still twined around his waist. I made a small negative sound, and he shushed me. He lowered us both to the rug in front of the fireplace, and pulled the afghan off the couch over our still-joined bodies with one arm. We slept, wrapped deep in each other's arms. And sometime in the night, the SUV drove away.
I smiled the next morning before I even opened my eyes. I could feel the warm length of Joe pressed against my back, our bodies aligned perfectly from shoulders to shins. His warm breath fanned the hair on my neck, and I could tell by his even breathing he was still asleep. We had made love in the living room last night until the hard floor and cold draft of the old windows had gotten to us. Sometime after the third orgasm, Joe had finally sworn under his breath and lifted me into his arms and stomped up the stairs to deposit me unceremoniously in the middle of the bed. I had laughed, then, feeling free and happy, and he had pounced. I smiled more broadly at the memory, and snuggled my hips in closer to Joe. He made a sound like a low purr deep in his throat, and pulled me closer. I luxuriated in the moment, then realized I was never going to get back to sleep with my bladder knocking insistently on my consciousness. Hating to leave the warmth of Joe's bed, I slid quietly out of his arms and headed to the bathroom.
Once I'd used the facilities, splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth, I was awake whether I wanted to be or not. I pulled rummaged around the closet without waking Joe, and finally pulled on one of his sweatshirt and a pair of running pants. I could at least cinch up the drawstring on the pants, and I didn't want to put my own crumpled clothes back on, assuming I could even find them. Somehow, being carried naked up the stairs in the dark of night felt very different from waltzing down the stairs naked in the cold light of day. I laughed at my own oddball scruples, and padded on into the kitchen to start some coffee.
It's funny, I couldn't help but remember the first time I'd awakened in Joe's bed, several years before. The sense of rightness and well-being was identical. I'd gotten up that morning, well loved and vulnerable, and wanted to make him breakfast, squeeze him fresh orange juice, do his laundry. I shook my head at my own naivete. If Joe had crooked his little finger at me that morning, I'd have followed him to the ends of the earth. Instead, we'd had some lame conversation about cookie jars and circled each other like sparring opponents.
"Morning, Cupcake," Joe's sleep-rasped voice sounded behind me, and he looped a possessive arm around my shoulder, pulling me back against him for a quick nuzzle of my neck. I smiled. "I like seeing you in my kitchen," he mused.
Funny my thoughts were following a similar, if parallel track. "Not always," I told him, and smiled to take any sting from my words.
"Yeah," he said, and rubbed the stubble on his face, still looking tired. "I was an asshole."
"Joe!"