We rode along in silence for awhile, Joe concentrating on the increasingly slippery road. I never seem to get enough of looking at him, so I saw a fleeting look cross his face. Kind of a smile, but kind of sad. "What?" I asked. Again, Joe knows I have more curiosity than any cat.
"I was just thinking." Yeah, so…
Before I could say anything out loud, he continued. "I was just thinking about the rings. Well, our rings, I guess." He looked kind of sheepish. "They…" he trailed off. Nodded his head as if he'd decided it was okay to continue. "They kept me company a few nights, Cupcake."
"Sometimes, we'd have a knock down drag out fight, and you'd leave. I'd just stare at those rings sitting in the palm of my hand for hours, like they had all the answers if I just knew the right questions to ask. The night…"
Joe choked up, and I could see tears pooling in his eyes, though none fell. "The night I sat out in your parking lot. The night you were with… him. I just held onto those rings so tight. It was like the pain of those rings cutting into my hands was all that kept me anchored." He laughed a short, sad laugh. "The next day at work, I had to keep my hand clenched shut, because you could still see the marks."
"The worst one, though, was April." I sucked in a breath. Remembering April hurt like hell, even when viewed through the lens of everything coming out okay on the other side. April was my nightmare. April was ugly. April was so full of hurt and anger I never wanted to go back there. I blindly reached for Joe's hand. If he was determined to face down April, I could force myself to do it, but only if I had his strength to rely on.
Joe's voice was quiet, controlled, but I couldn't even imagine what it was costing him in terms of self-restraint. "I got home from work that night. I pulled out a beer. I got a glass down from the cupboard. I dropped the rings in the bottom of the glass, and filled it to the top. I was done. I didn't want any more reminders of what could have been. I drained the glass without stopping for a breath. When I looked in the bottom, the two rings were overlapping each other and stuck to the bottom of the glass." Joe paused for breath, then continued.
"I downed six beers in a row that night, and the rings never budged. I finally fished them out of the bottom of the glass, and drug my drunk ass up the stairs. I threw the rings in my nightstand and slammed the drawer shut. I swore I'd never open it again."
"And I didn't. I left it closed for six months." Joe struggled for composure again, and maneuvered the SUV around a couple of slick corners.
"And then your mother showed up with your letters." Joe sniffed and shook his head to clear it. "I went upstairs and opened my nightstand. The rings were still right there on top. Still stuck together, still overlapping. I spent hours that night. Staring at those rings, reading your letters over and over again. The rings just sat there, not moving, still bonded together. And I began to hope that maybe there was a chance. If I wasn't stupid, if I was just straight with you about how I felt and what I wanted, maybe you would love me back. Maybe I'd finally be able to see that ring on your finger instead of staring up at me from my own stupid hand."
I was crying silently but uncontrollably by then. I didn't know how to stop. If April had been hell for me, it had been nothing less for Joe. I understood then what Grandma Bella had meant about needing to know that Joe would stand with me at the gates of hell.
Words failed me in the face of Joe's disclosure, so we finished the drive home in silence, stealing touches and glances. Joe brought Sofi into the house while I carried her diaper bag. She roused by then, hungry and demanding. I smiled softly at how different yet how like father and daughter were. Joe's eyes were hungry and demanding too, and looked remarkably like Sofi's but for entirely different reasons.
Joe headed up the stairs to change Sofi, and I quickly followed him. So far, we hadn't had time to do much more than stuff Sofi's cradle into Joe's former office. We had big plans for repainting and turning the room into a real nursery after the wedding, but things had been pretty hectic. I turned left at the top of the stairs and went into our bedroom while Joe continued down the hallway with Sofi. I dropped my clothes quickly, and slid into bed. Unfortunately, the old row house had old-fashioned single pane windows, and on this wintry night the sheets were chill and I shivered alone in the big bed.
I could hear them coming down the hall before I saw them. Sofi was in full-on gripe mode since she'd had to wait for food. Her Daddy's reassurance that she'd really needed a clean diaper first wasn't cutting any ice in her tirade. Since waiting for food wasn't my favorite thing to do either, I kind of understood where Sofi was coming from. Besides, my breasts were aching and swollen, and if she didn't get here soon, I knew I would start to leak. Sofi gave a particularly sharp cry, and sure enough my milk let down and began to flow. Damn. I started to reach for a towel from a stack next to the bed, and looked up to see what was keeping them.
Joe had stopped dead in the doorway, a starving Sofi still squirming in his arms. The conversation in the car had left us both emotionally charged, but the Joe standing in the doorway looked primal, fierce. His eyes burned like coals, and his breathing was ragged. From across the room, I could tell his erection was frantically straining against the front of his jeans. I held out my arms, taking Sofi in one arm and pulling Joe toward me with the other. Sofi latched onto my breast with a ferocity that caused me to catch my breath. I fumbled one-handed with the buttons on Joe's shirt, overwhelmed with the need to feel his skin next to mine. With a guttural hiss, I gave up and tore his shirt open, scattering buttons across the room. My own impatience seemed to unleash something in Joe. With a deep moan, his mouth settled over my other aching breast, sucking powerfully at my nipple. His hands made quick work of his jeans and boxers, and he lay on the bed fully exposed to my hungry gaze. He slowly wrapped both arms around me, encompassing me and the baby in the strength of his embrace. His warm fingers massaged my naked back, and I instinctively arched to give him greater access to my breast. His hand slid down my hip and around the outside of my thigh to settle at the juncture of my legs.
Looking down at the two dark heads at each of my breasts, engaged with each of them in such an elemental way, I could literally feel the walls of my vagina convulsing with desire as Joe slid two strong fingers deep inside of me. The combination of the strong pull of Joe's mouth on my breast and his hand buried deep within me, touching the mouth of my womb was too much, and I began shivering in anticipation of a major orgasm. Joe let go my nipple and stilled his hand, his mouth kissing its way softly up to my ear. "Shhhh. Let it build. We have all night." I moaned in denial, but I knew he was right. As much as I wanted the sweet release of climax, I wanted to savor this night. I wanted to touch every inch of him, I wanted to leave no doubt in his mind that my love for him knew no bounds. I moaned again, "Yes. Slow…."
Joe climbed behind me then to nestle me between his legs. His fingers beat a soft tattoo down my arms, in stark contrast to the flaming erection that rammed into my back. Soft kisses rained down the side of my neck and spilled over onto my shoulder. The cool air and Joe's hot mouth made me feel like my skin was catching fire. Thankfully, Sofi finished nursing and fell bonelessly asleep. I quickly transferred her to her cradle, and swaddled her with an extra blanket to ward off the night chill, then rushed back to the bedroom to slide my now shivering body next to the warmth of Joe's.
His hands moved with slow and exquisite precision over my body, knowing it better than he knew his own, I sometimes thought. I brushed my lips gently against his, then continued down his chin, past the strong cords of his throat and onto the silken skin of his shoulders. I kissed my way through the whorls of hair on his chest, paying special attention to his erect nipples. I laved and bit them tenderly, and laughed low in my throat when I felt his erection jump in response.
The laugh may have been a tactical mistake, because Joe growled and I found myself flat on my back with Joe's weight pinning me to the bed. I ran stroking fingers through his hair as he suckled my breasts, then licked his way along my belly to my dripping folds. I yanked his hair in reflex as his tongue settled on that spot. His hands insistently spread my legs as far apart as they would go, and he seemed intent on exploring every fold, every crevice, every inch of me. As Joe's expert tongue played over me, I knew I was once again reaching a point of no return. "Please," I begged. I didn't know what I was even begging for, but I knew that my only hope was Joe.
Hooking one of my knees over his shoulder, Joe gave me what I begged for, and I screamed his name as he rammed his monstrous erection home. I clutched wildly at his ass, as if I could pull all of him inside me. The only thought I had was that I wanted to keep him with me, keep him a part of me. If I could have taken his entire body inside my own, I would have. Joe kept a steady and mind bending rhythm as I rode crest after crest of ecstasy, my muscles clutching his erection to squeeze every drop of him into me.
Joe grabbed my ass with both hands, and rode me with an intensity I had never known. He finally gave a last guttural cry and I could feel his hot seed filling me, soothing me, making my own orgasms complete.
I lay there in the lamplight, contemplating the man next to me, inside of me. I was suddenly overcome with emotion and grew teary. "I love you, Joe," I whispered huskily. "I never thought I could be this happy." I felt Joe nod against my breasts.
"I love you too." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think I'm dreaming. Two weeks ago, I felt like my heart was broken, and I would never be happy again. How do things change this much so fast? You and Sofi…" he broke down and I could see he was fighting tears of his own.
"Miracles, maybe?" I suggested. "Maybe if you take two broken hearts, and you add enough love, you get a miracle. And those hearts heal as one heart. Because that's what it feels like to me."
"You are my heart," Joe whispered.
"I know. And you're mine," I said. Then I gently turned him over on his back. I began massaging and kissing my way down his exquisite body. "Heart, soul, body… all mine. You belong to me, Joe." I ended my declaration of ownership by half-swallowing his still semi-hard erection, taking him deep into my throat, and palpating his glans against the roof of my mouth.
"God, yes," he replied, hands tangling in my hair.
"Say it," I demanded, licking along the ridge on the base of his penis.
"I'm yours, Cupcake."
I smiled to myself before licking him in earnest. Good to get these things clear.
I woke up Sunday morning and stretched languidly in the wintry light. Joe had brought Sofi in early to nurse, but they were both absent from the bed and the bedroom. I could hear vague kitchen sounds downstairs, and the half grin I'd awakened with turned into a completely self-satisfied smile. Joe and I had certainly shared a number of memorable nights, but last night's sweetness lingered in the giddy sense of well-being that profused every inch of my body, and even the welcome soreness that advertised a night spent being well-loved. I took a quick shower, and dressed in a loose pair of jogging pants and an old Trenton PD t-shirt of Joe's. I pulled my mass of curls back into a loose ponytail and decided I'd rather spend my morning downstairs with Joe and Sofi than applying makeup.
I stopped short at the bottom of the stairs when I heard an unmistakable female voice coming from my kitchen. I took a deep breath. Get a grip, Stephanie. Joe spent last night exactly where he wanted to be. And the evidence of that was written all over my face, and in the small marks of passion Joe had left on my neck and shoulders. I might be disadvantaged by the wild hair all over the place, bare face, and Joe's old workout clothes, but even a blind man would be able to see I'd obviously just tumbled out of Joe's bed after a night of marathon sex. Use the tools in your toolbox, right?
I strolled around the corner, and gave a slow smile. Sofi was settled in her bouncy chair on the kitchen counter avidly watching Joe's every move. For his part, Joe was moving efficiently around the kitchen, making an elaborate breakfast. "Good morning," I drawled. Good, my voice still had that smoky, just-woke-up quality.
Joe moved around the counter and came over to land a quick kiss on my mouth. "Hey, Cupcake. Sofi and I were going to bring you breakfast in bed."
Still no visible sign of the interloper, and she wasn't talking either. Okay, fine. I can play by those rules. "Mmmm," I purred, playing dumb. "Good thing I woke up starving." I ran my hands up Joe's spine and pulled him close for a deep kiss that promised wild acrobatics on our return to the bedroom.
A throat cleared from the breakfast nook. Gotcha. The best part about playing chicken is watching the other person blink. "Joe," I said innocently, "you didn't tell me we had guests."
Joe didn't just fall off the turnip truck, and his eyes gleamed wickedly at me, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what I was playing at, but to his credit, he just let me play. "Terry dropped by," he said, without expression.
"Terry?" As if I had never heard the name before. I peeked around the corner of the breakfast nook. "Oh, Terry." That was me—all surprise and wouldn't say 'shit' if I had a mouthful. "I'm afraid we're getting started a little slow this morning." I smiled complacently. Choke on it, Terry.
"Good morning, Stephanie," said evil, nasty, perfectly groomed with her boobs sticking out to here Terry Gilman. Unless you got dragged into church, who has on pantyhose at 9:30 on a Sunday morning, anyway. Bitch.
"What brings you by?" I poured myself a cup of coffee with an easy familiarity, then scooped up Sofi and settled in at the table next to she-who-must-die.
"Well, I just wanted a chance to congratulate Joe on his beautiful baby girl." Her smile was plastered in place, but her eyes were overly bright and glaring daggers through me.
"Yes," I cooed at Sofi. "She looks just like her Daddy, don't you Princess? Are you Daddy's princess?" Sofi squirmed then waved her arms and legs angrily. Momma was in the room already and Sofi was not nursing. All was not right with Sofi's world. Momma was late for feeding time, and Sofi wasn't happy. She started to howl in earnest, and I saw Terry flinch from Sofi's high-pitched keening. Such a smart little girl, helping Momma out to get rid of mean, icky Terry.
Sofi latched on, hungrily and noisily, insistently kneading the breast I'd bared to feed her. Remembering the ferocity with which Joe attacked my breast last night, I raised my eyes to meet his. Joe stood transfixed in the kitchen, unmoving, spatula still in his hand. His eyes were hot as he watched his daughter greedily suckling my breast. I smiled a slow, wicked smile.
"Your pancakes are burning, Honey." I said, cool as water.
"Shit!" Joe went into panic mode in the kitchen, while I just smiled lazily. Terry seethed in the chair next to me.
"Terry, did you want to stay for breakfast?" I asked innocently. "Joe's terrific in the kitchen." Joe shot a warning glance over at me, and I just raised my eyebrows and gave a lingering glance to that spot on the kitchen floor. Joe was, in fact, terrific in the kitchen. And on the table, and on the couch, on the stairs, all the bedrooms, in the bathroom, in the hallway once when we couldn't make it into the bedroom, up against the wall…
Joe scraped his burned mess of pancakes into the sink, then gave up and threw in the other pans he'd been using. Pity. Breakfast didn't sound like a bad idea, but there wasn't going to be anything edible coming out of this kitchen this morning.
"I think I'll pass," Terry grated out as she slithered out of her chair. "Your baby really is lovely. I'll see myself out."
I concentrated hard on the top of Sofi's head, since I didn't think "Fuck off," was really an appropriate rejoinder, but I knew I wouldn't be able to force any other words past my lips.
I heard the front door close behind the pantyhose-clad anti-Christ. I got up and carefully placed a sleepy Sofi back in her bouncy chair, then moved the chair into the living room and set it safely on the floor. I walked back into the kitchen, where Joe was still regarding the burned mess that had been such a promising breakfast a little while ago.
"No breakfast," he said, unnecessarily.
"That's okay," I replied. "I wasn't hungry for breakfast anyway."
I took him by the hand, led him over to that spot on the kitchen floor, and laid him gently down. I kissed him soft and slow, then slowly took off my clothes. Joe smiled at me. Then his clothes. It was soft, it was gentle, and it was thorough.
Terry Cooties had been all over my kitchen, but we had thoroughly exorcised them by the time I was done having my way with Joe on the linoleum. I'd marked my territory, on Joe and on my kitchen.
Then my stomach growled.
"Probably the mothers got donuts." Joe rumbled under my ear.
"Works for me," I said into his chest hair.
Sweaty sex on the kitchen floor definitely called for another shower before facing the mothers. Besides, I needed to make sure there weren't any residual Terry cooties left on Joe, so I was sure to soap him up really thoroughly. After running all three of us through the wash cycle in the upstairs bathroom, it was nearly lunchtime and we decided to invade my parents' house in hopes of lunch. Thankfully, Grandma Mazur had abandoned Joe's privates as a topic of conversation. However, she was in fine form and in a full swivet about her choice of date for our wedding on Saturday. And she was compelled to discuss, at excruciating length, the various advantages and disadvantages of each potential date's privates and her estimation of their bedroom performance. God knows how long she had been stuck in this groove. My father's eyes were glazed over and he looked like he had been starched into his shirts. My mother's hard consonants were suspiciously slurred, and she kept tearing up about her baby getting married. Since she had been pushing me to get married again before the ink was dry on my divorce decree, I just rolled my eyes at this last bit. She had also laid in a good supply of a very nice merlot (Joe) and an enormous pineapple upside down cake (me). That's my mother: always prepared. My guess is she'd been ironing into the wee hours all week, and tamping down the urge to clock Grandma Mazur with the iron on an hourly basis.
I loved my grandmother, but I didn't have to live with her.
When lunch was finished and my mother got up to go get the dessert from the kitchen, I rose with her and followed her in to the kitchen table. She kept up a monotonous chatter as she gathered dessert plates and forks, then fluttered to a stop in front of the cake. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. I squeezed her slightly. When had my mother become shorter than I was? When had her bones become so thin and bird-like? When had the laugh lines on her face become permanent? She reached up and covered my hand, and patted me like she had so many times when I was growing up. Three light taps, in quick succession always meant that everything would be okay, my childhood talisman invoked in this familiar kitchen even as my own child slumbered in the other room.
"Thank you, Mom. I know I don't always say it, but thank you." I started to tear up. "Thank you for Joe. Thank you for bringing him back to me."
"No, sweetie. I just gave him a push. You and Joe found your way back to each other." My mother smiled gently at me, and I realized how beautiful those laugh lines were. How many times had I seen just that look on her face, and never paid any attention?
"But you helped." I smiled at her through my tears.
"Of course I helped. I'm your mother." She took a knife and began cutting the cake into slices. When in doubt, keep your hands busy and your guests' mouths full. "You don't just stop being a mother because your child grows up." She leveled a significant glance at me. "Or when your child doesn't want you to mother them any more."
I looked away, ashamed at my earlier self—the one who fought so hard against anything and everything my mother had ever tried to tell me. My adolescent rebellion had long outlasted that of most other people. When I was sixteen, my mother told me to stay away from Joe Morelli, and nothing could have induced me more to hover like a moth to his flame. When Joe came back into my life a few years later, leaner, older, more mature, and my mother tried to push me in his direction, I resisted. No good reason, except I was still determined to define myself by what I was rebelling against instead of what I wanted.
"You have Sofi now," my mother continued. "You know. You'll never stop being her mother. They take that little body out of your own, and somehow your heart comes with it. And forever after that your heart is walking around outside your body. You'll never stop wanting her to be happy, to keep her safe. Sometimes I know you thought I stifled you, and maybe I did. But I did it because I worried, and because I loved you, Stephanie. Please never doubt that."
"Never," I said. I kissed my mother softly on the cheek, and picked up half the dessert plates to follow her in to the dining room.
Sofi was happily grinning from her grandfather's lap when we went back in, and Joe was making goofy faces at her. Her grin was so wide I was surprised her little face didn't crack, but she was obviously happy and well-loved. I spared a glance at my mother over the top of Sofi's head, and she gave me a conspirational smile. In the old days, I would have railed against the necessity of my becoming a mother before I could bask in my mother's approval. Believing absolutely in the karmic game of "what goes around comes around" I figured Sofi would lead me a merry chase in her later years. If the worst thing I did was try to protect her too much, I would still be a pretty good mother. Not perfect, but good enough. And finally that was enough for me in my relationship with my own mother. She wasn't perfect, but she loved me and that was good enough. We would probably never see things exactly the same way. I loved my new job, loved the challenge of stretching my own capabilities, and I had no desire to trade that in to learn to make manicotti at six on the dot every night. Lucky for me, Joe could cook, and didn't mind takeout. Our marriage wouldn't be a carbon copy of my parents', but that was okay. We would build something together, something that would work for us.
Dinner at Joe's mother's house was uneventful but relaxed. I still hadn't settled on something comfortable to call Mrs. Morelli, but figured that would eventually sort itself out. After dinner, Grandma Bella brought out the old photo albums, and we spent a companionable evening looking at generations of Morellis. As a bonus, Grandma Bella seemed determined to trot out every potentially embarrassing photograph of Joe that had ever been taken. From his first bath at home at three days old, to a buck naked and screaming two year old Joe running hell bent for leather in the sprinklers. A scowling Joe at the cub scout award banquets was self-explanatory as to why Joe had never become a boy scout. Joe with santa at seven with no front teeth and a really bad haircut he could have only given himself, judging by the jagged forays into his scalp at irregular intervals. Finally, a devastatingly handsome Joe at eighteen in his crisp Navy white dress uniform. I think my breath actually caught in my throat. Joe smiled in devilish anticipation.
We made our excuses and headed for the SUV. It would be a busy week with a full work load for both of us followed by Saturday's blowout wedding and christening, then the open house afterward, but we were both anxious to have the formalities done with.
We pulled up in front of the house on Slater, and Joe turned to me, eyes gleaming in the light from the street lamp. "So you liked the whites, huh?"
I smiled lazily up at him. "Took me back to being sixteen again. If you'd had on your uniform, we would have never made it to behind the pastry case."
He grinned his slow wolf smile at me. "You want me bad."
"Don't you ever doubt it."
