LISA
Jennie swore she wanted her first time to be with me, before I left for college. And though I was in love with her, I refused. Because while I did love her, I also knew that things would change once I moved away for school.
I guess I should clarify. I refused—at first. But eventually I gave in. Because a naked and willing girl in your bed trumps everything else at age nineteen.
Maybe I should regret what we did, but I can't bring myself to. Our first time together felt like it was meant to be. It was perfect. Although nothing is as perfect as the way Jennie feels in my arms right now.
I never knew sex could be this good. I greedily drink in everything I've craved so desperately for the last ten years—Jennie in my bed, naked beneath me, the bliss of her hot, tight body squeezing my cock, her soft, sweat-damp skin against mine, the air thick with the sounds of her pleasure. And her beautiful brown eyes, sweeter and warmer than melted chocolate, shining on me like I'm her whole world.
But could I be? Could I be lucky enough to have that kind of love twice in a lifetime?
With my mouth fused to hers, I slowly sink deeper. Her hips lift, finding an angle that makes her shiver with pleasure.
She makes a sound that's drenched in desire, and I love it. Then she moans out my name, and it's the best thing I've ever heard.
"Yes, baby. Fuck, it's so good."
I can't help but move faster, pushing her closer to her release. It's all I want. I've waited years for this.
She says my name again and comes apart, her body gripping mine in wave after wave of exquisite pleasure. I groan aloud as my orgasm slams through me.
We collapse together, panting. I head from the bed to the en suite bathroom to remove the condom and wash my hands, and then I'm back where I belong—in bed with Jennie.
The need to keep her close still burns, and I gather her into my arms to hold her against me. As we cool off and our breathing slows, the peace of an indescribable afterglow descends, loosening tensions I hadn't even known were gripping me, and everything is warm and serene and perfect.
We lie there together for several minutes, and I lazily stroke her arm that's draped over my chest. This feels right.
Stay here with me.
But before I can get the invitation out, Jennie says, "I should probably go. If I'm around in the morning, Lauren might ask questions that are hard to answer."
Unable to argue with that, I mutter, "Whatever you want."
I help her find all her clothes, watch her cover up the gorgeous body I just worshiped, and walk her downstairs.
She opens the door, then says, "Well . . . good night," with a smile I never want to stop looking at.
Then she gives me a kiss, soft and lingering, and before I know it, she's gone.
And me? I go back to bed alone.
• • •
I wake up to something yanking my hair. Hard. Still half asleep, I let out a grunt of discomfort and confusion.
"Hi, Dada," Lauren says cheerfully, then starts tugging at my cheek as if she's trying to stretch taffy.
"Good morning to you too." I pry off her tiny, surprisingly strong hand and sit up to look at her. Even after attacking me, she's cute as hell, grinning and bright-eyed with her pale hair all mussed and sticking up in crazy directions. "I'm guessing you want breakfast."
Bobbing her head, she says, "Hungwy."
"Then let's get you something to eat." I stand up reluctantly, still able to smell Jennie on my sheets. But that's only a small consolation for my empty bed, the cold spot where she should be.
Last night was mind blowing, and I hate that she had to sneak out instead of sleeping over. I wish we could have woken up in each other's arms and cooked breakfast together, fed Lauren, played with her—shared the closeness of all the little things that make up a life. But that's not how it worked out, and today I'll be doing all those things by myself. As usual. And I'm trying not to feel bitter about that.
On autopilot, I heat up sausages, butter toast, wash grapes, and get Lauren set up in her high chair, my head filled with nothing but Jennie. What's she doing today? How does she feel about last night? How soon can I see her again?
There's an easy way to find out the answers to all these questions, idiot. Grow some balls and ask her.
"Daddy, icky!" Lauren yells.
I look up from my plate, which I notice is half-empty, even though I don't remember eating anything. "What's wrong?"
"Icky!" She flings her toast away. Naturally, it lands butter-side down. At least the floor is tile in here.
"We don't throw food on the floor," I say, then realize that I gave her buttered toast when I know damn well that she hates butter, which is, of course, insane. Butter is amazing.
"Sorry, love bug. Dada was distracted and made a mistake. I'll fix it. But you should still use your words and be patient instead of throwing stuff, okay?"
I give her fresh toast, her favorite jelly-topped version, and we finish breakfast without further incident.
After Lauren is dressed and absorbed in playing, I reach for my phone—then put it down, instinctively thinking, No, I shouldn't act too clingy. Then I think, Fuck playing games, and pick it up again, but sit there frozen for a minute trying to figure out what to say.
Finally, I just hit CALL and hope the right words come on their own.
Jennie picks up after a few rings. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Lisa."
"I know. Your number's saved in my contacts." Her voice sounds amused and . . . happy is the most fitting descriptor I can think of.
"Right. Um, how are you?" I ask.
"I'm fantastic."
"I agree," I say, chuckling. "So you . . . about last night, you don't . . ."
"Regret it? No." Her answer is quick and her tone absolutely certain.
Relief floods through me. Thank God.
Keeping my voice low, I say, "I'm glad to hear that. I had an incredible time, and I wanted to make sure you did too."
"I definitely did. But it's sweet of you to check up on me."
I take a deep breath. "I know you said one date, but I thought I'd ask if you'd be interested in hanging out again? Maybe we could grab lunch?"
Lunch is the most nonthreatening meal there is. She can't say no to lunch, right?
"That sounds nice. I'm actually not doing anything today, if you have time."
"Yes," I say immediately. I can figure out how to rearrange my schedule after I get off the phone. "How about noon at Hazel's Cafe? I went there with Mom the other day, and the food was great."
"Sounds good. Text me the address, and I'll be there."
• • •
We take advantage of the warm, but not yet oppressive sunshine with a patio table. Not long after we order, who should pass by on his way out but the old man with the huge dog. Lauren gasps and flails until Jennie takes her out of her high chair and puts her down.
They pet Hamburger together, with Jennie occasionally delivering gentle admonishments when Lauren gets too rough in her enthusiasm, but the dog wags her tail regardless. The sight of them together is calming. Jennie really is amazing with kids.
As we watch them enjoy themselves, the old man says to me, "Now I see where the little one gets her looks."
It takes a second to process what he means. Jennie and I lock wide, alarmed eyes with each other.
"She's not Lauren's mother," I say. "She's . . ."
She's what? I don't even know if this is a real date, let alone if I can say we're dating.
The old man clears his throat. "Oh, I see. Pardon me. I only meant to compliment your lady friend, not bring up any awkwardness."
I shoot a questioning glance at Jennie.
She just smiles, although she still looks a little uncomfortable. "It's all right. Thank you."
"You all have a nice day, now," he says as he leaves.
For a minute, we just sit and listen to the sounds of the birds and the wind rustling the tree that shades our section of the patio. I place Lauren back in her high chair while Jennie wipes both Lauren's hands and her own with hand sanitizer.
Smart.
When our meals arrive, Lauren immediately scoops up two fistfuls of oatmeal and stuffs them into her mouth, smearing most of it all over the lower half of her face. We can't help chuckling despite the mess. Lauren looks so proud, grinning at her attempt to feed herself.
"Try your spoon," Jennie says, gently wiping off Lauren's nose and cheeks with her own napkin. "That might work better."
This time, the sight of her caring for Lauren hits me even harder than usual. Something deep in the back of my mind whispers, What would it be like if that man had been right? The thought provokes a flurry of strange feelings—not good, exactly, but far from bad. And although I quash it, refusing to acknowledge anything, I can't quite ignore it either.
The rest of the meal passes in a blur of bliss. It sounds cheesy, but I love this. The lingering glances and stolen touches between Jennie and me. And the sweetness of seeing the two most important ladies in my life so happy with each other.
When Jennie bumps her knee against mine, I dare to caress her leg under the table and am rewarded with a mischievous smile.
She murmurs with a sultriness that makes my skin tingle, "After Lauren's down for her nap, maybe we could—"
Lauren grabs at Jennie's sleeve and shouts, "Mommy, juice!"
The word crashes into us like a wrecking ball. The carefree atmosphere vanishes.
Stunned, I turn to look at Lauren. Jennie also watches her, her eyes steady and intense, ready to hang on whatever she says.
"Gimme juice." Lauren reaches for the cup that's just out of her grasp.
I fight to keep my voice calm. "I'll get you more in a second, love bug, right after you tell me what you called her." I point to Jennie. "Please. Who is that?"
Lauren frowns at us as if she can't believe how dense we are, then says again, too clear to deny it, "Jenjen, Mommy."
She hasn't said that word before. But every time a cartoon mommy comes on the screen, I cringe, and have been waiting for this. Maybe to Lauren, any woman who takes care of you, cleans your hands, and plays with you is called Mommy?
It's sweet and heartbreaking and impossible, and I have no idea what to say to Lauren. How do you explain the truth to a two-year-old?
Jennie still hasn't said a word. I tentatively touch her hand, only for her to pull it away. Under her breath, she says, "When we get back, we need to talk."
Fuck.
I nod, feeling a little numb.
We quickly finish our meals. I don't know about Jennie, but eating the rest of my food feels like forcing dry sand down my throat. Without another word, we drive home.
Once we get Lauren settled down to nap, I follow Jennie back downstairs, where she says quietly, "We have to stop this, Lisa. It's not fair to Lauren. We're obviously confusing her." Her voice cracks, and she looks down at the floor. "I can still be your babysitter, but that's all I'll be. No more sharing meals, no more going on outings together, no more sex. It's not healthy."
I just stand there staring at her, struggling to think. What the hell can I say to that?
I was just as disturbed to see Lauren confused about who her mother was. I've always known I'd have to explain to her someday, when she was old enough and the time was right. But I always thought I had a long while, so I never worked out how best to approach that conversation. And now I'm afraid it'll need to come sooner rather than later.
At the same time, hearing Lauren call Jennie Mommy also triggered a wave of that sense of rightness, of how things could be, should be.
And the idea of losing Jennie again, this time before we were even really back together, makes me feel like punching something.
Jennie swallows hard, looking away and blinking fast. "I'm sorry. I have to go." Before I know it, she's turned and headed out the door.
The sound of the latch closing jolts me. The shock of losing her now, as an adult who has much more at stake, is so much more painful than it was all those years ago.
And I know it's entirely my fault.